Summary: AU Dean has to protect Sam from a lot of people and evil supernatural things. He never thought he'd have to protect Sammy from one of the most trusted people in their lives.

WARNING: Abuse of a minor, implied sexual abuse, swearing, Dark Themes.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, nor am I making any profit from this at all.

Special Thanks: To Mimmi85 for your kind review. Hope this chapter is to your liking. Thanks to everyone who is following and has read or viewed this story. Your appreciation means a lot. Hope you enjoy this next instalment of the story.

Note: This was honestly supposed to be the last chapter, but it just kept growing and growing and because I didn't want to rush the ending, there should be one more chapter after this one.

CHAPTER FOUR

Everything moves in slow motion once Dad pulls out the gun and points it at his baby brother's chest. Dean can see Sammy's eyes nearly bulging out of his sockets, panic and fear within his hazel eyes as he opens and closes his mouth, looking almost comical – like a gold fish out of water – harsh, whimpering sounds finally escape his brother, wordlessly pleading with their Dad not to do this.

Dean hears Dad cocking back the hammer, his heart pounding within his ears – Oh God, Dad was serious! He was going to shoot Sammy – and then Dean knows that there's not enough time for him to prevent this from happening.

Oh God!

"Dad! Stop!" Dean hears himself shout, but it's muffled and distorted, the horror at the whole craziness of this situation – Dad's going to shoot Sammy! Oh God! There's not enough time! Not enough time! – as Dean tries to process the sheer madness of the events unfolding before his eyes.

"Dad, stop this! Please!" Dean can hear himself pleading, begging; his father's finger on the trigger now, his dark eyes no longer wavering or hesitating – Oh shit, he was really going to do it! – as Sam exchanges one last look with Dean before the inevitable happens. And it's Sam's expression – horror, pain, confusion, guilt, love, forgiveness and finally … acceptance – that finally kicks Dean into action.

No! Not going to let Sammy die! No way in hell that's going to happen on his watch!

Deadly calm and focus takes over Dean, his heart beating in time with his breaths as his world narrows down to just this moment. Don't miss, he tells himself. You can't miss or Sammy's dead!

Dean steadies his shaking hand, concentrating so hard that he can feel a tension headache flare to life behind his eyes, readjusting his aim as he takes a deep breath in, eyes fluttering closed as he offers up a quick prayer to – hell, Dean doesn't really care! As long as it is someone who can help him save his brother – as Dean slowly depresses his trigger, eyes wide open, hearing the sound of his gun going off in his ears as John's raised arm falls to his side, a look of shock and confusion on the older hunter's face as Dean quickly rushes forward and slams a fist into his father's face, watching as John's eyes roll into the back of his head and he falls to the ground, knocked out cold.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees Sam fall to the ground – Oh god, was Sammy hit? Did Dad get off a shot before Dean could incapacitate him? Was Sammy dying? – and Dean's heart stops cold, not able to draw breath as he whirls around to face his brother.

And then, just like that, everything speeds up and Dean finds himself running – sprinting – to his younger brother's side, falling to his knees as he's reaching for his brother … his kid!

"Sammy," Dean gasped, his voice choking up with fear, his eyes quickly assessing his baby brother from head to toe. "Sammy … Sammy!" Dean both pleads and demands as he gently rolls his brother onto his back, large, horrified – dead looking – hazel eyes are staring back at him.

Oh God no! Please, not my kid!

Sam blinked and Dean's whole universe kicks back on-line. Alive. His kid was still alive! "Sam," Dean cried out hoarsely, swallowing back his fear as his heart began to settle at a normal level. "Are you okay? Are you hit?"

Sam stares at him uncomprehendingly for long seconds before he wordlessly shook his head, his hazel eyes devoid of any clear understanding.

"Are you sure?" Dean demanded, panic making his tone harsher than he intended, hands automatically patting down the length of his brother's body, eyes frantically searching for the bullet wound he was more than convinced would be there.

Sam licked his lips, his eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. Hearing the frantic, barking, terrified tone of his big brother immediately snapped Sam out of his daze as he reached over and grasped his brother's shaking wrist. "No Dean, I'm okay." He said. "I'm not shot. I'm fine."

"Then why did you fall down?" Dean challenged, knowing how crazy he sounded, but he couldn't help himself. This kid had scared the shit out of him, so sue him if he was acting just a tad like an overprotective, paranoid parent.

Sam frowned slightly and offered his brother a lop-sided grin. "Because you pushed me to the ground … you big jerk!"

Dean stared at the teen doubtfully for a few seconds before Sam's words sunk into his mind and Dean can't help but return his brother's grin with a cocky smirk of his own. "Yeah, well, someone has to save your ass … bitch!" Dean shot back teasingly, offering his attempt of an apology to his younger brother.

Sam pushed himself up onto his elbows, his eyes falling upon the motionless body of John Winchester. "Shit Dean," Sam's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. "Did you just shoot Dad?"

Dean followed his brother's gaze. "He didn't really give me a lot of options Sam." He retorted, feeling slightly sick now that the whole event had ended. "He was going to shoot you!" Dean defended himself weakly, trying to convince himself that his actions were justified more than defending himself against Sam.

"Yeah, I know," Sam agreed; and there was no contempt or accusation within his little brother's tone, only conviction and belief in his older brother that Dean had done the right thing. "Did you … is he dead?" Sam asked softly.

"Nah," Dean shook his head, helping his brother to his feet. "Just a shoulder hit Sammy. He'll live … unfortunately," Dean growled the last work under his breath.

"Then why isn't he moving?"

Dean grinned and lightly punched his brother on the arm. "That's cause I knocked him out." Dean said and he couldn't help the sense of satisfaction that rolled through him at having been able to punch his father for all that Sammy had endured at his hands. Of course, Dean wouldn't be satisfied with just a single punch. There would no doubt be more punches later, along with some scathing words from Dean.

"Dean, that … that wasn't Dad." Sam turned to Dean, his wide eyes burning with tears as the full realisation of what had just occurred finally began to hit him. "Dad doesn't talk like that Dean. He never expresses himself or explains himself. He just barks orders at us and expects us to obey him. Dad would never willingly discuss his feelings like that."

Dean frowned. The kid had a point. Dad hadn't exactly been acting like himself. It was … weird. And the feeling of wrongness Dean had had ever since he had seen his father standing in the doorway, returned with a vengeance.

"Maybe … do you think …" Sam's breath hitched in his throat. "Did I do this?"

"No Sammy," Dean denied immediately, barely suppressing a groan. Of course Sam would try to blame himself for this! Damn Dad for filling his baby brother's head with all of this rubbish! "None of this is your fault." Dean placed a hand behind the back of his little brother's neck and squeezed gently, reassuringly. "Don't worry, we'll get to the bottom of this, okay Sammy? I promise." Dean's eyes cut over to the prone, unmoving form of his father and beneath all of the anger and betrayal he felt for the man, there was also mild concern and worry because maybe … just maybe he was wrong and there was something supernaturally wrong with their father.

"C'mon Sammy, we've got to move … now!" Dean urged, hearing the distinct sounds of sirens in the background. They had to be out of here before the cops arrived. Every trace of them having been here, had to disappear, along with the three of them. The last thing any of them needed was to be way laid by – good intentions or not – the local police.

Thankfully most of their belongings were already packed and ready to go. Dean just had to gather the handcuffs – all five sets of them – and anything else that may imply that a horrendous crime may have occurred here tonight. The soiled sheets from his brother's bed were shoved into a bag to be burned later, along with any other incriminating evidence that may lead the police investigation in their direction (including that damn sex toy!).

During the last ten minutes, Sammy was in charge of gathering all of their belongings and putting them in the Impala, while Dean – after making sure that Dad was securely bound by handcuffs behind his back – had gone from room to room and retrieved every offending item that had been used here tonight to terrorize his baby brother, trying to right every over-turned piece of furniture and make the apartment seem at least relatively clean. There wasn't much Dean could do about the patches of blood or the tuffs of his little brother's hair, but he made sure to bleach every piece of physical evidence that could be tied to them to make it harder for the police to track them down.

Now, as Dean gruffly urged his brother to hurry up, the sirens in the distance becoming louder with every second, Dean gave the living room one last glance with an appraising, practiced hunter's eye, as he crouched down beside his still unconscious father, waiting for his brother to re-emerge so that he could help Dean carry their father to the car.

"Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on Dean … I'm done all ready." Sam muttered in exasperation as he entered the apartment from outside after having deposited the last of their belongings in the car, leaving the Impala's back door open so that they could easily manoeuvre Dad into the car.

Sam swallowed hard as he looked down upon the still form of his Dad, finding it difficult to look at him without remembering what had happened between them tonight. "Which end?" Sam asked his voice barely above a whisper.

Dean's eyes immediately sort out Sam the instant he heard the drop in his brother's tone, glancing up at him worriedly, seeing all of the classic signs of his brother's rising uncomfortableness that would soon turn to panic if Sam was left to his own devices.

"You grab his feet Sammy," Dean directed his brother as he wrapped his arms around his father's chest – under his arms – and waited for Sam to latch onto Dad's feet before he shot a questioning gaze at his brother, seeing Sam's weak attempt to reassure him with a trembling smile before the two of them lifted their father on the count of three and between the two of them, they deposited their unconscious father into the back seat of the Impala before shutting the door.

"Sammy, you good?" Dean asked, watching as his brother's face turned ashen and then white.

No," Sam admitted, that weak, trembling smile making an appearance once again. "But I will be."

"That's my boy!" Dean applauded Sam encouragingly as he pulled out the keys for Dad's truck and held them out to his brother. "We can't run the risk of leaving Dad's truck here for the police to discover his secret stash of weapons. You okay to drive?"

Sam scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I've been driving since I was thirteen Dean. I can manage the damn truck."

Dean tried to hide the smirk at his brother's sarcasm as Sam plucked the keys out of Dean's hand. "Just follow me and keep to the road rules Sammy. No speeding and any trouble –"

"Yeah, I know, flash the headlights twice." Sam waved at Dean almost dismissively as he climbed into the truck and waited to follow Dean out of this God forsaken town and some place quiet where they could hopefully get some answers from Dad.

They were able to get out of vicinity of the apartment block before any police showed up and Dean couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief, watching Sam follow behind him in the rear-view mirror and then glanced in the back of the Impala to check on his still knocked-out father before looking ahead to make sure they were headed in the right direction; and then Dean would repeat each action. Slowly, some of the tension within Dean's shoulders began to lessen and his mind could finally concentrate on more than one thing at a time.

With a sigh, Dean dug into his pocket for his phone and called Caleb, not looking forward to this conversation at all. How the hell was Dean going to explain to the other hunter that in order to protect Sammy, Dean had had to shoot his own father? Dean was almost tempted to tell Caleb that everything was sorted and he no longer needed Caleb to come and collect Sam, but Dean knew that they needed a quiet place to bunker down and honestly, Dean wouldn't complain about the extra pair of hands when dealing with an awake, irate and extremely pissed off John Winchester. Whatever had caused Dad's massive melt-down tonight – either supernatural or otherwise – Dean was determined to get some answers and to make sure that nothing like this ever happened again.

"You did what?!" Caleb screeched and Dean had to pull the phone away from his ear, least Caleb's shrill voice busted an eardrum as he sighed loudly, knowing the lecture that was about to come about how careless he had acted; he should have known better than to react when he was emotional; blah, blah, blah …

Worried green eyes flicked toward his unresponsive father. It had been nearly twenty minutes now since Dean had knocked him out; surely Dad should be showing some signs of coming to by now. Dean honestly didn't think he had hit him that hard and the bullet wound was barely a scratch – straight through, with minimal bleeding that had been hastily treated at the apartment before they had left – so maybe it was something else that was keeping his father from regaining consciousness … or he was playing possum.

Dean heaved a sigh. "Yeah, I know Caleb, but he didn't give me any other choice." He interrupted Caleb's tirade.

"There's always a choice Dean," Caleb snapped back. "Damn, everyone that knows John has wanted to shoot him at one time or another … I honestly didn't think it would be his son that would actually do it!"

Dean chuckled darkly, rubbing a weary hand over his face. "I'm still having trouble believing it myself Caleb," he reluctantly admitted. "But, like I said, he didn't give me any other choice."

"Dean, c'mon, I know that you were pissed off at him but you didn't need to take it this far man," Caleb gently reprimanded the younger hunter.

"He was gonna shoot Sammy!" Dean growled in irritation before he could stop himself.

Silence from the other end.

"Something was … off with Dad, but I don't know what. If it's supernatural, it's not anything I've ever seen before. Look, I just need a quiet place where I can keep him safely confined until I find out what's going on."

"Okay," Caleb sighed in resignation. "If you say you didn't have a choice, then I believe you. I find it hard to believe that Johnny would want to shoot Sam though."

"Yeah, me too." Dean said bitterly.

"Do you know of anything unusual that John might have said or done before he …"

"Went psycho on our asses?" Dean supplied for his friend, hearing Caleb's short bark of a laugh at Dean's comment. "Not that I can think of … except … Dad did mention that he went to meet Martin for a beer to discuss the hunt that they were going to undertake today. Think he might know anything?"

"I'll look into it." Caleb promised. "In the meantime, you guys can crash at my family cabin. It's about ten minutes away from where you are. I'll meet up with you when I can."

"Thanks Caleb," Dean said gratefully, feeling a huge weight lifted from his shoulders now that he knew they had someplace safe to go.

"No problem. Just … if you feel the need to shoot John again, can you at least wait until I get there?"

Dean laughed. "No promises Caleb. But I will try and not shoot Dad again, okay?" Dean ended the call with Caleb and finally began noticing the first signs of his Dad slowly returning back to the land of the living and Dean felt both relieved and anxious at the same time. Relieved because, at least he knew he hadn't hit Dad had enough to knock him into a coma; anxious because there was no telling what sort of mood John would be in once he awoke.

To say that John Winchester was pissed when he returned to full consciousness was an understatement. When John learned that he was restrained by handcuffs, placed on him by his own son … Dean had never seen his Dad so angry before or heard him use such a long string of intense cuss words that he sent toward his oldest son, his dark eyes narrowed and livid with fury.

"It's for your own good Dad," Dean had told the frantically thrashing older hunter in the back seat of the Impala. "For your own safety and ours … you didn't leave me any other options."

John stilled at his son's words. Their safety? What did Dean mean by that? Had he tried to hurt his boys?

Images suddenly came at John hard and fast. He saw himself mouthing off at Sammy like he normally did this one day of the year, a few back-handed slaps, followed by a few kicks – nothing that would leave too many unexplained bruises, least Dean grow more suspicious than he already was – finishing off half a bottle of hard liquor before telling Sam to tidy up this mess before his brother got back and then he'd left to meet Martin at the pub.

After his drink with Martin, that's when things started to become hazy and unclear. He remembered going back to the apartment and seeing … Mary. How was it that Mary was still alive? John didn't care how … or why, Mary was back and he was determined to make the most of it.

Wide, terrified hazel eyes stared up at him; tears rolling down his checks, pleading, begging John to stop. Sammy?! But wasn't he just with Mary? And why was Sammy handcuffed to the bed? Hang on son, let me get you lose. What happened to you? Who did this?

Horror suddenly dawned on John. Oh God, he did this … to his baby boy! But … it was Mary. It had been Mary! What did you do to me?! Rage filled John as he chased Sam through the apartment, wanting – needing – to remove his son's hair that was so much like Mary's. Holding him down, punching, kicking his boy into silence as he determinedly shaved his son's hair, ignoring Sam's pleas and promises that he'd be good from now on, he'll listen, he won't argue, please Dad, don't do this.

The sound of whimpering fills his ears now as fear descends upon him. Somehow Sammy has tricked him, tainted him, and infected him to do what he'd done. Sam had made him do this; made him see Mary. Oh God, he had to protect Dean. What if Sam infected Dean too? No! No, John wouldn't let that happen.

John was handcuffing his son to the basin's pipe, pain and hurt filling his entire being because now his baby boy was lost to him forever, just like Mary … And honestly, if this was going to happen, if Sam was going to infect both his father and brother, then why had Mary died? Her sacrifice had been for nothing! Nothing!

John hated that vile, filthy thing he'd handcuffed in the bathroom. "I wish you'd never been born!" He'd said before leaving again and vowing to deal with that … thing before Dean returned because neither of them would be safe around Sammy anymore. The demon had won. He'd taken both his beloved wife and baby boy. John was determined that it wouldn't get to Dean too. No. All that mattered now was that John had to protect his oldest boy. And if that meant killing that thing to do it, then that's what John would do.

Returning back to the apartment and facing an irate, suspicious Dean and an obviously traumatized Sammy, John forgot what he had come back here to do. He knew it was important, but it all fades into the back ground, more concerned and worried about his boys. Something had happened here. Who had done this? Who the hell had hurt his boys? John was going to hunt them down and … wait … Dean thinks that he did this? Dean thinks that he hurt Sammy? That's impossible! Ludicrous! John loved his boys. He wanted to protect them and keep them safe … why would he hurt them?

Something is stirring within the back of his mind now. The reason he'd come back to the apartment. Sammy had infected him and now Dean … John had to protect Dean. He was all the family that John had left and he would not let Sammy infect Dean the way that he had infected John. Sorry son, this has to be done. It's the only way to keep your brother safe, John thinks as he pulls the trigger upon his gun that is aimed at the heart of his youngest son.

"Dad!"

John gasped, pulled back to the present by his son's commanding, worried tone. "What?" John grumbled gruffly, trying to cover up the fact that he hadn't heard a word Dean had been saying for the last five minutes and that he is suddenly scared by the images that he had seen within his mind.

"I said, what do you remember?" Dean repeated as he turned onto an abandoned dirt road. Wherever they are headed, they much be getting close.

John closed his eyes, not wanting to reveal the images he had seen, not willing to believe that he had done all of those things, feeling ashamed and guilty for the thoughts that he'd had about his baby boy and how far he was willing to go in order to protect Dean.

Oh God! Had John shot Sammy?!

John's eyes flew open, fill of panic as he stared into the green eyes of his oldest son. "Sammy!" John half gasped, half sobbed. "Dean, tell me that I didn't shoot Sammy."

Dean stared at John for a long heart beat before he shook his head. "Nah Dad, I never gave you the chance."

"But I remember a gun going off," John said a sick feeling of dread filling him.

"Yeah, you did," Dean agreed, his expression blank and devoid of any emotion. "That's because I shot you before you could shoot Sammy."

Dean's words sunk in and John relaxed against the back seat of the Impala with a sigh of relief. "That's my boy," John praised his oldest son proudly, thankful that at least someone had been there to keep the youngest Winchester safe because he sure as hell hadn't been tonight (if the images in his head were anything to go by).

John Winchester couldn't stop the cold shudder that ran down the length of his body. "Dean, son, I think there's something … what's wrong with me?"

Dean stopped outside of a cabin and turned around to meet his father's worried, anxious expression, the sarcastic remark Dean was about to say died when he saw the look of fear within his father's dark eyes. His Dad never got scared; and if he was, he would never have let either of his sons know it. "I don't know Dad," Dean said instead. "But we're going to figure it out, okay?" He smiled reassuringly.

After helping his father inside, Dean reluctantly decided that it was safe enough for him to remove John's handcuffs. Apart from his excessively enlarged pupils, John appeared to be back to his normal – albeit a little more sullen and quiet than usual – self. But to be on the safe side, Dean relieved all weapons from his father's person and placed them out of his father's reach. John had looked hurt at his son's actions, but he understood the need to be cautious, especially since he had apparently already tried to shoot Sammy.

John let out a long sigh as he sat down upon the couch, noticing that his youngest son stood in the doorway of the room, head down, hunched shoulders, endlessly twisting his hands together, looking miserable and uncomfortable within his father's presence. And really, who could blame the kid for that? If John had in fact done all of those things to his baby boy, then John was actually surprised at the amount of worry and concern he could see within his son's expressive hazel eyes – overshadowing the obvious fear that he held for his father now – much less be in the same room as him.

John couldn't help the rush of pride that flowed through him. His baby boy still loved him and worried about him, despite everything that had happened tonight, and the last five years that John had viciously blamed him for his mother's death, taking his own frustrations and failure out on the boy.

Sam was stronger than John gave him credit for. And John could feel the overwhelming guilt of how he had treated his baby boy, the things he had accused him of, blamed him for, fill every corner of his being. How could he think that an innocent baby could be responsible for Mary's death? Sure, the demon may have been there for Sam that night, but wasn't it his job as the boy's father to protect his sons? His boy; who wore his heart on his sleeve; who could still hold so much compassion and love for a father who no longer deserved or had the right to ignite these feelings in his youngest.

Shamefully, John shook his head with disgust and regret, vowing to himself that things would be different. No longer would he blame his baby boy for anything. And when this dreaded anniversary rolled around next year, John would make sure that he would be well away from both of his boys. He loved them; he didn't want to hurt them. But John feared that if he didn't remove himself, distance himself from them – especially at this time of the year – then he would become worse and worse, taking his frustrations out on Sam more and more until … until he became the shell of the man he once was and all he would hold for his youngest son would be malice and contempt. John refused to let it come to that. He would never lay one more hand upon his youngest in drunken anger ever again. He could fix this. He could, he would. That is, he could if Dean allowed him to.

John's dark eyes flickered over to his oldest, who stood in the middle of the room, almost as if he was a damn referee, a dark, solemn look on his too young features, not quite growling at John if he so much as looked at Sam for too long. John knew how protective Dean was of their youngest – hell, that's how John had raised him – so it shouldn't really be that big of a surprise that Dean would stand in his way … especially if it was to protect Sammy. If it was to come down between him or Sammy, John honestly didn't know who Dean would choose. John just hoped that he hadn't totally destroyed this whole family. He didn't know if he could survive losing both of his boys. They were all he had left in this world and … hopefully they could figure out what was wrong with him. And when they did – because surely John wouldn't have done this of his own of his own accord – John would work damn hard to make it up to his boys.

The ringing of Dean's cell phone caused both John and Sam to look at Dean curiously. "Caleb," Dean said by way of explanation as he glanced over at Sam, raising his eyebrows questioningly in silent communication that only the two brothers understood.

Sam tilted his head slightly and nodded, eyes moving toward John before returning to Dean and shrugging his shoulders before giving Dean his bitch-face, barely holding back an eye roll.

John felt his son's green eyes bore into him warningly, the message received loud and clear; no moves on Sammy or Dean would make him regret it. John nodded his compliance as Dean moved off into the other room to answer Caleb's call in private. Hopefully he'd found something that could explain John's unusual behaviour tonight.

Sam felt completely naked without his hair to hide behind. He couldn't discreetly look at their father while shielding himself behind the curtain of hair that he had gotten used to for the last fifteen years. Now he had no shield and no barrier between him and the things that frightened him or made him uncomfortable or to hide his emotions when he was on the verge of tears and didn't want either his father or brother to know.

Now he was completely barrier less, his expressive hazel eyes out there for all to see, barring his soul, feeling as if a major part of himself had gone; his first line of defence, obliterated in a single night of hell that he was trying really hard not to dwell on right now as Dean had left the room momentarily to take a call from, but keeping Sam well within his sights which helped to ease Sam's tension and nervousness a little, considering that John Winchester was in the room with Sam – on the opposite of the room – as far away from Sam as he could possibly get.

Sam tried to stop the subtle tremors that he could feel running up and down the length of his body at being alone with his father. The last time they'd been alone together … Sam swallowed hard and violently pushed those thoughts away. He was safe. There was no need to dwell on what happened; besides, it was beginning to look as if he hadn't been his Dad who had done it after all.

Regardless, the earlier pattern tonight had been the same for the last five years – John was obviously in his right mind then, before he had left the apartment the first time – and Sam knew that if he had to go through something like that again … he would rather eat a bullet! So, whether his Dad had been in his right mind later or not, Sam knew that he still had to leave Dean and Dad behind. Dean shouldn't have to choose. It was simple really.

Sam could feel his father's eyes upon him once more and he couldn't help the involuntary shudder that coursed through his body.

"Sammy … I think we need to … talk about … what happened …" John stammered almost awkwardly.

Sam's head snapped up, surprised by his father's words. Since when did John ever want to just talk? "Why?" Sam said and he could have kicked himself at how terrified his voice sounded at that one word, his heart pounding fearfully within his chest.

John couldn't help but notice a trail of red marks along his son's jaw-line when Sam raised his eyes to meet his and John couldn't help but feel an instant moment of shame as he realised that he had done that. "I think I should explain …" John began before Sam's eyes narrowed and he shot John a look so Dean-like that it caused John to lose track of his words.

"There's nothing to explain." Sam told him in a low, dark voice that he hardly even recognised as being his own. "I don't want to hear your excuses or your explanations. And I most definitely do not want to talk about it!" Sam's eyes flashed dangerously, warning John to back off and drop this line of inquiry right now.

John blinked, confused by his son's behaviour, taking in his son's wild, flashing eyes; the fisted hands at his sides; the trembling of his shoulders; his bottom lip quivering as if he was about to …

Damn! Sammy wasn't angry. He was on the verge of tears. John realised that he would much rather deal with an angry Sam than a tearful Sammy. John had always hated it when Sam cried. It wasn't the fact that grown men shouldn't cry – although that was a part of the reason – it was the fact that John felt inadequate to deal with Sam when he got emotional like this. He felt helpless, useless. There was no simple way that he could fix the problem for Sam – not like he could if some evil bastard came at him and tried to hurt him – because it wasn't a physical problem but an emotional problem and John had never done well with emotions.

He wasn't equipped to deal with an emotional sobbing Sammy. That had always been Dean's job. But Dean wasn't here and as John could see the tears begin to well within his youngest son's eyes, John couldn't help but revert back to his old ways. He got to his feet and strode over to Sam, his lips stretched in disapproval as he placed his hands upon Sam's shoulders and shook him roughly a couple of times. "Get a hold of yourself Sammy; you're a Winchester for God's sake, not some … hormonal girl!"

But, instead of snapping Sam out of his emotional melt-down, it had only managed to cause Sam to spiral dangerously into another emotional down fall that Sam had … panic attacks.

Sam's eyes widened as he ripped himself out of his father's hold and backed up as much as he could against the wall, trying to put as much distance between himself and Dad, panicked gasps racing through him, keeping his eyes firmly fixed upon his father. No way was he letting him out of his sights!

"St-stay away fr-from me!" Sam ordered weakly, putting a hand out in front of him as a weak form of shield and defence. "You fucking stay aw-away from me!"

John held up his hands and backed away from his youngest, realising he had made a grievous error the instant his had put his hands upon his son's shoulders. "It's okay," John said soothingly, shooting a worried look out of the room to where Dean was, hoping that his oldest didn't walk in on this. Because, knowing Dean, he would jump to the wrong conclusion and probably end up knocking John out again. All Dean would see would be the terrified look within his brother's eyes and then he would react, instinctively wanting to shield and protect his brother.

"Calm down son, I'm not going to hurt you." John added his tone low and placating as he quickly tried to return Sam to a normal state. "Come on Sammy, you don't want Dean to see you like this, do you? You're big brother would be ashamed of you right now for acting like a bloody child!"

Those words seemed to stop Sam in his tracks as he stared at his father in shock. Dean being ashamed of him? Of course dean was ashamed of him! How could he not be ashamed after finding his brother like that?

"Dean's already ashamed of me," Sam spat out bitterly. "You made sure of that. Why the hell did you handcuff me in the bathroom? If you had never handcuffed me, then Dean would never have found out. He wouldn't know the truth. He wouldn't know how weak and pathetic his little brother is, how I caused Mum's death!"

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to regain some composure once more, noticing by the tones in his older brother's voice in the other room that he was getting ready to end the call. "Don't worry Dad; I won't be a problem for you … or Dean for much longer. As soon as Caleb gets here, I'm leaving. You and Dean can go hunting and play happy families without me. You won't have to worry about your monster of a son trying to kill you or … infect you while you sleep. I will go away and disappear from your life forever … it will almost be like I was never born."

John couldn't help but wince at Sam's words, hating himself even more because those were the words he had told Sam over and over for the last five years, beating it into him, and ingraining it into his soul. And now Sam thought that he had to go away, leave, disappear in order to make John and Dean's life better?

God, he was such a crappy father!

TBC