Disclaimer: Nothing of Supernatural belongs to me. Just still playing in Kripke's sandbox.
A/N: Tag to episode 5.16 - Dark Side of the Moon. When Dean spoke to Sam about when dad came back after Sam had run off to Flagstaff, it got me thinking. Just the look on Dean's face made me think something happened. I'm sure someone, or a few people, have already written about this but thought I'd jump in too. Now, I don't see John as violent or abusive but the look Dean had made me think that maybe the odd time, something may have occured. Anyway, enough of my rambling. Enjoy!
Silence
The isolated, dingy motel on the outskirts of town was currently filled with silence and a certain sense of dread. The cool night air was a welcomed change although the young man in room number ten at the end of the walkway was pacing nervously in the tiny space, muttering his excuses under his breath. All of them sounded utterly ridiculous when he said them out loud but he needed something plausible and fast. He could already imagine the kind of deep shit he was in.
The distinct slam of a car door sounded, breaking the silence and he swore under his breath. He could pick that noise out from anywhere and it made his heart beat that little bit faster. Coming to an abrupt stop near the foot of the bed furthest from the door, he looked towards the window. Only darkness filled the space and he breathed out shakily, straining his ears for the inevitable sounds of his doom.
As the jingling of keys reached him, he swallowed hard over the limp swelling in his throat that felt like it was getting bigger by the second. And without further warning, the door burst open, swinging violently on its hinges, the back hitting the wall hard. The frame of a man a little taller than him and heavier, stockier stood in the doorway. His hazel swept over the room, searching and quickly stopped, landing on him. The stare was dark, accusing, making him want to fall through the cracks in the floor.
It was obvious that his father was angry and he suddenly wondered if there was anything he could say to change that. But he was the one who had called him for help. He had to. He was out of options and felt as though he were out of time. That was a few hours ago now and Dean didn't think he would feel worse about this but he now knew he was wrong.
"Dean!" shouted John, his voice booming strongly off the walls, startling his eldest son. "What the hell have you done!?"
Suddenly, all of Dean's excuses left him, leaving him with an empty head and no words to fill his mouth which opened and closed, doing nothing but successfully stuttering unintelligibly, making John's anger overload.
The sound of keys hit the floor along with a bag and within three large strides, John reached Dean, shoving him forcibly against the wall, ignoring the pain wince Dean showed. As John raised an arm, Dean flinched, thinking he was about to get struck but John just ran a hand through his hair, pulling it slightly, frustration clearly showing on his face.
"What have you done?"
The question was quieter but the tone was just as biting. Dean looked down, avoiding his father's hard gaze. Still unable to find the right words, he shifted in his stance, feeling like a small child who had done something unforgivably naughty.
"Answer me, Dean," John demanded in a hard tone, his raspy voice giving him goose bumps.
"Sammy took off and I... I can't find him," Dean stammered, feeling humiliated and still unable to meet his father's eye.
"How did he take off, Dean? You were supposed to be watching him!"
"I... I was!" Dean stammered loudly, finally looked up at the accusation, wishing even more that the floor would open up and swallow him whole. "We just... we had a stupid fight and I left but-"
"You left!?" yelled John, clearly outraged.
"But I wasn't gone that long," said Dean quickly, finishing what he had been saying.
"God, Dean, how could you be so fucking stupid!"
John turned away angrily, still fuming about the unwanted news, thinking about his options. Guilt ran through Dean's chest heavily. He hated seeing the disappointment flood his father's features which was his fault, caused by his actions. Dean stepped forward, grabbing his father's arm.
"Dad, I'm sorry. I-"
A sickening smack echoed the room, stopping Dean's flow of words as John backhanded him across the face. Dean wobbled on his feet and fell against the wall for support, his head spinning, shocked at what just happened.
"Sorry just isn't good enough, Dean," his father said quietly, in a tone Dean hated more than yelling. "I thought I raised you better."
As silence came between them, Dean kept his eyes on John, fearing that if he looked away, even for a second, that he would disappear and not come back. John walked away, stopping close to the window, keeping his back to Dean. He couldn't look at him right now. The thoughts of where Sam was right now and what he was possibly doing made his stomach tie into tight knots.
A heavy, loud sigh sounded through the room and the keys were heard again as John picked them up off the floor. Holding his red and sore cheek Dean took a shaky step forward, ignoring the stinging of tears in his eyes.
"Dad, where are you going?"
"To do what you're incapable of," said John sharply. "Stay here in case he comes back and keep trying to call him. Don't leave this room until I return."
As the slam of the door echoed loudly in his ears Dean flinched, clearly startled. There were many things he wanted to say to John but never got the chance to say them. Dean knew he spent hours looking for Sam, thinking he couldn't get far but he hated the thought that he didn't try hard enough. The look from John sealed it.
As his tears spilled over, Dean slid down the wall and stared blankly at the back of the dirty white door. The sound of the truck pulling out soon filled his ears and the headlights briefly shone past the window. He had failed. Sammy was gone and it was his fault. Dean didn't think he could feel any worse.