A/N: Thanks to my SN betas, mimishell and CagedTroll, for all their help with my chapters. They've been looking at versions of this fic since late November. Thanks, you two!! Also, thanks to those of you who have reviewed or added this fic to your story alert list!
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
Chapter 2: The Sting of Betrayal
Reaching the Impala, Dean winced as he threw open the driver's side door, feeling the pull of the stitches in his side as he tossed his crutches in the back seat, knowing that the gash there was actually the least of his problems. The knee was going to hurt so much more, he knew. He fought back a groan as he slowly crammed himself behind the wheel, his knee protesting the movement vehemently. Angered by the pain, he slammed the door closed and started the car, unwilling to acknowledge how much the simple act of getting into his car pained him. At this point, things can't get much worse. My knee's completely effed up, and Dad just dropped a shitload on us without any warning. The Impala's familiar roar, usually filling Dean with a sense of well being, was no comfort as his father's words seemed to echo in his mind.
"Damn it," he said, hitting the steering wheel with a clenched fist. Pain shot through his hand, and he cursed his stupidity, regretting the impulsive action as he tried to shake off the pain. With an angry sigh, he was just putting the car into reverse when Sammy opened the passenger side door and jumped inside.
"Thanks for not leaving me," he said breathlessly. "I didn't wanna ride back with Dad—it's a bitch to be stuck in a car with him." Dean didn't reply, just nodded as he backed the car out of the parking space and pulled away from the diner. His father's truck appeared in his rearview mirror shortly after, quickly lessening the distance between the two vehicles, and Dean scowled, fighting the urge to floor it.
"What's wrong?" Sam asked hesitantly, and from the corner of his eye, Dean could see him staring at him worriedly. "Your knee or your side botherin' you?"
What should I do? Dean wondered, lie and say yes, so he'll get off my back, or tell him the truth and say no? Either way, he's gonna keep asking annoying-ass questions until he's satisfied, but still…
"Yeah, Sammy, that's it."
"Oh. Well, if that's true, why don't you let me drive," Sam offered lightly.
"It doesn't hurt that bad. You can forget it."
"But you told Dad that you'd let me drive if—"
"Yeah, and I lied. There's no way in hell you're driving my car, Sammy."
Sam huffed, and even as angry as he was with their dad, Dean had to fight the urge to smile at his brother's display of annoyance. At least he quit asking questions, Dean thought with a shrug.
"So how come you're all pissed at Dad now?"
Shit.
"Don't worry about it."
"Is it about our sister and brother? You know, Dad forgot to tell us their names," he mused, before turning to look at Dean once again, waiting for an answer.
"Look, Sammy, just let it go."
"Well, I think it's pretty awesome. I guess they'd be eight or so, right, since Dad said he helped out their mom eight years ago. Wasn't that what he said?"
"I dunno," Dean muttered, hoping that his younger brother would get the hint and leave it alone.
"It's pretty cool, you know, them being twins. And boy-girl twins—it's like two for the price of one. We get to have both a younger sister and a younger brother, instead of two brothers or two sisters."
"Yeah, well, I've already got a younger brother, don't I?" Dean said stiffly, his hands tightening around the steering wheel.
"Oh. So…you mad because Dad has more kids?"
"I don't want to talk about it, Sam."
"But, Dean, it'll be great—imagine all the fun we can have messin' with Dad now that there are four of us—twice the firepower," Sam said with a mischievous grin. "And Prank Wars take on a whole new dimension!" But Dean wasn't in the mood for it.
"Sammy, drop it," he said coldly.
"What bug crawled up your ass?" Sam groused, casting an annoyed look at his older brother.
"Sam, I swear, if you don't let it go—"
"Alright, alright. Bite my head off," Sam mumbled, his face settling into a disgruntled pout.
A long moment went by, and Dean felt the tension slowly beginning to leak away as silence settled around them. He carefully leaned forward, intending to turn the radio on, but before he could twist the dial, Sammy's voice piped up once again.
"Even if you don't tell me, you know Dad's gonna interrogate your ass until you tell him what's got your panties in a bunch," Sam said smugly.
Dean slammed on the brakes, jerking the wheel hard to the right, gravel spraying up around the car as he brought the Impala to a screeching halt on the side of the road. Sam looked over at Dean with wide eyes, even as their dad pulled up behind them, throwing open the door of the truck and storming over.
"What the hell are you doing?" he yelled, his face dark with anger as he placed his hands on the frame of the open window.
"Sammy's gonna ride with you for awhile," Dean told him, staring straight ahead through the windshield rather than at his father.
John was silent for a minute, and Dean knew without looking that his father's heavy gaze was on him, trying to figure out the answer to his question.
"Get out of the car, Dean."
"Why?"
"Well, for starters, because I said so," John said, and Dean had figured out long ago not to argue with that tone, even if Sammy hadn't. With an angry, annoyed sigh, Dean pushed the door open, climbing painstakingly out of the car to stand face-to-face with his father.
"Now what's the problem, son?"
"I don't have a problem," Dean said sullenly. Why can't I just be pissed off in peace? Why does everybody have to expect a freakin' explanation?
"Obviously you do, and you didn't answer my question."
"I don't wanna talk about it." Dean leaned back against the Impala, folding his arms over his chest as he turned away.
"Tough. Start talking."
Dean knew it was stupid and immature, but he couldn't help but feel a sense of anger and betrayal at the thought of his father with another woman. I mean, sure, I sort of knew he wasn't always alone some of those nights when he'd disappear, but somehow, knowing he's got two kids running around makes it more real…I thought he loved Mom.
"Now, Dean."
"What the hell do you want me to say, Dad?" Dean exploded. "Do you want me to tell you that I'm pissed off at you because you went chasing after some piece of ass and got her pregnant and now we're stuck with more family members to worry about? I mean, is that really what you want me to say?!"
"First of all, she doesn't deserve that. Whatever issues you have with me stay with me, do you understand?"
Dean looked away angrily, his eyes hot as he turned to stare off toward the distant sun, unwilling to look at his father as fury burned through him. But turning away from his father in an argument had never worked before, so Dean could hardly say he was surprised when John's hand suddenly came up and cupped his chin, forcing him to turn and meet his father's eyes. But John's gaze was never an easy one to match, and Dean had to fight the urge to jerk his head out of his father's grasp, just so he could avoid the older man's eyes.
"I said, do you understand?" John asked, his tone biting as his dark eyes pinned Dean in place for a long, painful moment.
"Yes sir," Dean replied, his jaw clenched with anger as he lowered his eyes, unable, as always, to bear confrontation with his father.
"Look, son," John said, with a sigh, his tone gruff but not unkind as he released his hold on Dean's chin and instead placed a gentle hand on Dean's shoulder. "I know we've never been much for all this touchy-feely emotional crap, but…I'm sorry about all this. I know getting two more younger siblings to take care of isn't exactly what you wanted, and for damn sure it's not gonna be easy. But we can't just ignore this either. Their mother has disappeared, maybe like your mom, and they're alone and scared. Now, I can't just turn my back on that. Can you?"
Dean swallowed, anger warring with guilt.
Why couldn't Dad just keep it in his pants? If he had just stayed faithful to Mom, then none of this would be happening. That lady would never have had kids, and we'd be takin' it easy, watching a kick-ass Bruce Willis movie on motel cable television. It'd almost be like we were normal…Instead, we have to get saddled with two eight-year-olds…two eight-year-olds that are scared because some fugly sonofabitch might have killed their mom. Dammit, why do I gotta feel sorry for them, anyway? Don't I have enough shit to deal with?
"No sir," Dean said, his eyes meeting his father's for only a moment before he looked down, staring at his feet.
"We good?"
Dean shrugged his shoulder, knowing that they were far from good, but there was nothing else to say, not really. It's not like he can change anything. What's done is done. His dad gave him one last look before he stepped back, willing to let it go.
"Alright, well, we need to get moving. I don't want to leave the twins alone any longer than I have to. Do you still want your brother to go with me? I'll take him, if that's what you want."
"He can stay with me."
Might as well. If he goes with Dad, they'll be at each other's throats in no time, and then I'll get stuck with Sam anyway, except instead of being chatty and annoying, he'll be moody and annoying.
"Ok. I'll meet you boys at the motel."
Dean watched him go for a long moment before he sighed and got back in the car, giving Sam a stern look before he eased the car back onto the road.
"Don't, Sam," Dean said as he saw Sam start to open his mouth.
"What? I wasn't gonna say anything," Sam complained.
"Yeah, you were."
"Ok, so I was. But you don't know what I was going to say," Sam argued.
"Yeah, I do. You were gonna be your usual annoying self and ask me a bunch of chick-flick questions that I don't wanna answer."
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
A calm silence fell, and Dean reached for the radio once again, holding his breath as he waited for Sam to say something. But when his little brother said nothing, Dean breathed a silent sigh of relief and turned the volume up, only to grimace at the sound of the perky boy-band that was currently masquerading as music on his radio.
"You been messin' with my radio, Sammy?"
"No." But Dean knew his brother well enough to know that Sammy was lying through his teeth.
"Dude, how many times I gotta tell you to leave my radio alone?"
"Your stations suck," Sam complained loudly.
"Look, we've talked about this. I'm the oldest, it's my car, and what I say goes. If I wanna listen to Metallica and AC/DC all freakin' day, tough. Deal with it, because I'm sure as hell not listenin' to that shit you call music."
"It's better than your shit. This station plays what's cool right now."
"Yeah, you just keep tellin' yourself that. Meanwhile, we're listening to what I wanna listen to, and I don't wanna hear about it," Dean retorted, pushing a tape into the tape deck and amping up the volume. As the base exploded and guitar riffs thrummed through the speakers, Dean felt a moment of contentment, glad, for the moment, just to be in his car, where he could pretend for awhile that everything was okay.
Casting a look at his younger brother out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sam slumped against the leather seat, sulking as the familiar sounds of Dean's music settled around them.
No way Sammy's gonna let me off that easy, Dean knew. It was only a question of how long it would take Sam to throw caution to the wind and start asking questions again. But I'll take what I can get, Dean thought, deciding to enjoy the peace and not-so-quiet while he could.
Arriving at the motel, Sam shot out of the car, leaving Dean to drag his crutches out and follow at a more sedate pace, and by the time he got inside, Sam was already putting his neatly folded clothes into his bag. Dean rolled his eyes before he slowly started gathering his things. At least I haven't been here long enough to have pulled a bunch of shit out. For once. Usually, it took Dean longer to pack than any of them, not because he tried to fold his clothes but because he usually had strewn them around the room and had to go about gathering them up. Zipping his duffel closed and cradling his left side, Dean shoved the bag off the side of the bed, deciding against trying to tote it out to the Impala when pain flared in his knee, protesting even the slightest movement. Bruised insides and these stupid-ass gashes in my side are bad enough, but this busted-up knee is a bitch. When's this gonna stop hurting already?
"Hey, Sammy, why don't you be a good little brother and take my bag to the car," he said, aiming a winning smile over at his brother, hoping that his effort to pretend that everything was okay was convincing enough.
"Dude, I'm not carrying your shit. Get it yourself," Sam retorted, giving his brother a look that clearly said that Dean was stupid for even voicing it.
"Sam, get your brother's bag and take it to the car," John ordered, having walked through the door in time to hear Sam's retort.
"Aw, man," Sam complained, even as Dean smirked at him.
"Dean, have you taken one of those pain meds yet?"
And that quickly, the smirk disappeared.
"No sir," Dean said tightly.
"Take care of it."
"Dad, I don't need one. I'm fine." Play it cool—he'll never know if you just play it cool, Dean told himself firmly. Don't let him see that you're hurting.
"Take your own advice, son—don't bullshit me. Swallow the pill, take a piss if you need to, and go get in the car."
"Dad—"
"That wasn't a suggestion."
Swiping the pill bottle off the bedside table angrily, Dean stormed into the bathroom. Maybe he won't know if I just pretend to take one.
"And Dean?" John called through the door.
"Sir?"
"I know exactly how many pills are in that bottle, so don't even try to get out of taking one."
Dammit, how does he know? Maybe I could flush one instead…
"And don't try to flush one either!" John hollered, and Dean heard Sam laugh, even as he grimaced.
"How did you know?" Dean called back grudgingly, hating to admit it but wanting to know how his father managed to always stay a step ahead of him.
"Because, son, I'm not stupid, and I know how you think, because it's an awful lot like how I think. In fact, open the door. I want to see you swallow it."
Dean cursed under his breath before tugging the door open to see his father standing there with his hand held out.
"Pills," he said, holding his hand out. Dean slapped the pill bottle into John's hand, watching resentfully as his father opened the bottle and shook one out into his palm. "Here. Take it." Dean took the pill and swallowed it dry, wincing before he started past John. But John reached out and stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder. "Open your mouth."
"Dad, what the hell? I'm not a kid, you know."
"Oh yeah? Then stop acting like it," John said with a hint of a smile, parroting Dean's earlier words to Sam. "You always were difficult when it came to taking meds. Now open up."
Rolling his eyes, Dean opened his mouth, showing his father that he had indeed swallowed the pill. Satisfied, John clapped him on the shoulder before nodding toward the door.
"Go ahead and get in the car. Sam and I will be out in a few. Oh, and Dean? I'm assuming I don't have to tell you that you're strictly riding shotgun this trip."
"Yeah, Dad, I got it," Dean said resentfully.
"Good."
Dean resisted the urge to make a face at his father's back, instead heading for the door. Reaching the car, he pulled his jacket off, wadding it up and using it as a pillow to put between his head and the window. A few minutes later, his dad and Sam were piling stuff into the trunk of the car. The familiar sound of the trunk slamming shut was quickly followed by the creak of the Impala's doors, and then, John was in the driver's seat, his truck locked and secure in the corner of the parking lot where hopefully no one would mess with it.
Please don't let someone jack Dad's truck. If anything happens to it, I'm back to sharing my car and traveling with Sam and Dad together and at each other's throats.
As his music began piping through the speakers, Dean watched his father frown and lean forward, popping the tape out and replacing it with the sound of old school country music.
"Yes," Sam crowed from the back seat.
"Shut-up, Sam," Dean grumbled.
"You're just pissed because Dad changed your music," Sam said with a teasing laugh.
"Dude, what the hell? You don't like Dad's music any more than I do," Dean said, turning to stare at Sam incredulously.
"Yeah, but at least if I have to be miserable, I won't be the only one."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
"Boys."
The car became silent, except for the voice of Merle Haggard on the radio and the sound of John tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Dean felt the pill beginning to kick in, his eyes starting to close as the pain in his knee and the ache in his side began to fade away to a dull throbbing. He could feel himself starting to drift when the sound of Sam's voice over the music jerked him out of his stupor.
"So, Dad, what are the twins' names? You didn't tell us."
"Aubrey and Braden."
"And they're eight?"
"Yeah."
"So what happened anyway? I mean, why did Aubrey call? I thought you didn't know about them, so how did she get your number?"
"Something happened to their mom, and whatever it is, it's not natural."
"How do you know?"
"There are traces of sulfur—they could smell it coming from her room. The kids knew something was wrong, and their Mom had told them to call me if anything ever happened."
"Do you think they're gonna be okay until we get there?"
"I hope so."
"Do you think it's the same thing that happened to Mom?"
"I don't know, son."
"Well, if their mom is…well, if the same sort of thing happened to their mom that happened to ours…are they going to live with us?"
"Yeah. They don't have anyone else."
Dean fought the pull of sleep, not wanting to miss the conversation his dad and Sam were having, and he must have made some sound because a second later, he felt his father's hand on his head, ruffling his hair gently.
"Don't fight it, son. Get some sleep." The imagined pressure he'd been feeling ever since his dad's revelation seemed to melt away under the influence of the happy pain pills, and finally, Dean allowed himself to relax into a blissful sleep.
A/N: So here's the second chapter. How am I doing so far? Next up, a Sam-centric chapter for your reading pleasure.
