Wednesday's Child is Broken By Sensue

Summary: The death of a parent is one of the hardest things a child can go through in their lives. He watched one parent die as a child, too young and afraid to do anything but run away, then spent years hiding, afraid of the monsters out there. He grew up, fought hard to make her proud of him…and then watched it all fade away.

Author's Note: This is something different. I'm not sure how to explain without ruining the story line, it's emotional, introspective.

Storyline: After John's death, Dean transformed from a laid-back hunter who lives for the safety of his family to a man walking right along the edge of suicide, rage, and utter devastation. He wants nothing more than "for it to be over." He pretends that he is fine, that he's in control—and Sam lets him, knowing that he is the only one keeping his brother alive, but he himself is unable to shake the fear that he is the cause of his family's pain. For the sake of this story, I'm going to ignore the whole FBI manhunt and Dean being wanted by the police.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, the series, the characters or anything else Supernatural related. I just watch the show…and dream about what I could do IF I owned them.

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Chapter One
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Dean sat in the grimy booth, waiting for his brother and his small bladder to come out of the bathroom and join him for a lunch that did not come out of a microwave, for once. He tapped on the table top, then picked up the salt shaker and twisted the cap on and off.

The heavy-set waitress came up to him, "You still waitin' on your friend, there?" She sounded bored, popping her over-used bubble gum again.

"Yeah. I'm still waiting. How about a refill?" He lifted up his sludge filled mug, giving her a smirk. Glaring at him, she pounded off to the kitchen area and grabbed the coffee pot. Striding over to his booth, she made a big show of pouring his coffee, then swaying her large curvy hips, walked away.

It took all of Dean's self-control not to belittle her. It wasn't her fault that Sam took forever in the john.

He turned around his seat, surveying the diner for the millionth time since he'd sat down. It was a disgusting dump. The place was hardly sanitary, dead flies lay decaying on the window sill, as the sound of deep fried fat boiled and hissed in the background. Unfortunately, this was the only place to eat for the next hundred miles—unless they wanted to microwave their meals at a gas station as they'd been doing for the past week and a half.

Sam had nearly dug his heels in and refused to come in the place after they'd seen the garbage lining the door of the restaurant, but Dean forced him inside. "Sam, if I have to eat another 'hot pocket' today, I'm going to puke."

His brother's eyes bulged as he viewed the inside of the diner. "I can't believe that this place hasn't been quarantined."

"Dude, shut up! It has food! It has meat! Real meat. So, just shut your trap and enjoy it."

They'd sat down at a booth near the door, Sam fidgeting as he tried to avoid a grease stain on his seat. He'd spotted a waitress sitting near the back, watching a little pocket television as she smoked. "Uh, excuse me, Ma'am. Could we get this table cleaned?"

Dean nearly slapped his stupid little brother, for certainly he'd led them to their doom. Sam and all his 'Stanford' greatness had forgotten the number one rule of eating at a small diner. Number 1: Never interrupt or insult the chef or waitress, you'll end up with either a shit-filled sandwich or a coffee full of spit.

The waitress, who'd most certainly sampled all of the menu items on a daily basis, huffed as her 'show' and cigarette break was interrupted and then took an old hanky that was tucked in her bra and stared wiping the table with it.

"That all?" She raised her eyebrow at him, as if daring him to ask her for anything else.

But NO, Sam didn't stop there, no matter how many times Dean signaled to him to stop. "Uh, actually, we'll both have a cup of coffee to start. And a menu would be great."

The woman, who's tag read, "Here to Serve You: Doris" walked over to the dust covered stand and picked up a couple dirty menus and threw them on their table. She poured the coffee and then, spilling it everywhere, left them to go back to her show.

"You're an idiot! She's going to spit in our food – and that's the best case scenario." Dean angrily whispered to his brother.

Sam scooted up in his seat and leaned his head closer to Dean's. "This is the stupidest thing you've asked for in a long time, Dean. This place is disgusting. I don't want to eat here. Look – They have fly traps taped to the ceiling. There's a rat trap under our table!"

"It has character!"

Sam just huffed and ran over to the men's room, where the little cry-baby was hiding for the last twenty minutes.

He came out, still as grump as when he'd gone in. "Did you order?"

"No. I was waiting for you. God, how long does it take to take a piss?"

"Uh, excuse me –but it took ten minutes to find a stall that wasn't completely covered in feces."

"That's completely gross, Sammy. I did not need to know that!"

"You're the one who wanted to eat here. Jerk!"

"Bitch! And I told you to shut up."

They were about to start in on one of their legendary fights, when Dean's cell phone rang. He gave his annoying little brother one last glare before removing the cell phone from his pocket.

Sam sat back, wide-eyed with curiosity as he sipped at his cold coffee, listening to Dean's side of the conversation.

"Yes, this is Dean Winchester. How did you get this number?"

"Oh, god…Is he alright?"

"Yeah—NO, uh. My brother and I will be there as soon as we can. What's the address?" Dean snapped his fingers, waiting for Sam to hand him a pen and paper from his pocket.

Sam's concern grew as he listened.

"No. Just, please tell him that I'm coming. And, uh, that it'll be okay." Dean's voice cracked slightly, he swallowed, suddenly a lump in his throat.

"Thank you for calling. We'll be there by tomorrow afternoon." With a heavy sigh, Dean closed the cell phone and then wiped his face with his hand.

"Dean?" Sam asked, "What's wrong?"

"We have to go. Now!"

"I thought you were starving, Dean?"

"Not hungry anymore, come on, Sam. Move your ass!"

Dean threw the money on the table, then practically flew out the door and to his car. Sam barely had sat down and closed the door before Dean hit the gas, sending pebbles flying everywhere.

"Dean! Where are we going?"

"Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin."

The location was familiar…then it hit him. "Why Dean? I thought that after Sheriff Devins died, that the spirit of Peter Sweeney was finally laid to rest. They drained that lake! Did something else happen?"

Dean swallowed again, not looking at his brother. "Andrea's dead. Car accident. Lucas was in the car with her – watched her die. There's, uh, the kid didn't have anyone else to call; everyone in his family is dead. So, he gave them my phone number."

"Oh, man." Sam breathed in, "Poor kid. But Dean…what're you going to do?"

Dean shook his head, "I don't know…something. I'm not going to just let them stick him in some kind of facility!" He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, pushing the gas petal to drive faster.

"What do you mean?"

"That was uh, Child and Family Services. They said that Lucas stopped talking again…they want to put him in a facility for 'troubled children'. Hell, you know what those places are like, they might as well be prisons. I can't let Lucas go there."

"But Dean--."

"Sam," Dean whispered, "shut up."

And Sam did.

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To Be Continued…