Whoops, school's making it a bit difficult to update as regularly as I'd like to but I'll try not to leave it this long again!

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June 29th, 1970

"Dean, it's your dad. He says he wants to talk to you." Zeke shouts down to Dean's room where he's working on another song. Sam's with him and they just give each other a look. It's been a year and a half since they last saw their dad, since they last walked out of their home for good.

"Tell him to piss the fuck off." Dean replies causing Sam to flinch slightly. There's a slight hesitation from upstairs.

"Just talk to him, Dean. That's all you have to do." It's Sam who fills in the silence. Easy for him to say, dad doesn't want to talk to him. Dean swears low under his breath and heads up to the living room where Zeke is holding out the phone receiver. Dean takes it and holds it to his ear, not saying a word.

"Dean? You there?" His father's voice sends a wave of anger through him. His dad is the last person he wants to deal with right now, there's work to be done and he doesn't have time for this.

"Yeah, what do you want?" He makes no effort to hide the venom in his tone.

"I have something for you...For Sam as well. I was wondering if you guys could come get it."

"Why can't you bring it to us? Drop it off on the doorstep or something, we'll get it eventually."

"Please, Dean. Just come over." Dean sighs and hangs up with an unnecessary amount of force. Looking around the room he sees Zeke has left but Sam's standing at the top of the stairs, looking unsure of himself.

"What did dad want?" He asks tentatively.

"Get the keys to the van, dad wants us home." It's not technically their van, it's Gabe's, but the whole group more or less has unlimited access to it as long as they remember to fill the tank up. Sam doesn't question this request and does as he's told, within the next ten minutes they're there. It's so close by that Dean almost feels bad about not visiting more, that is, until they pull up to the driveway. There's a moving van out front, and numerous boxes piled up around the front porch. A sold sign is slapped over the for sale one on the front lawn and suddenly there's a lump in Dean's throat that won't go away. This was their home, even after the fire they built it back up, even though they didn't live their anymore, it didn't give their dad any right to just throw it away.

"What the fuck is this?" Dean yells at him as he exits the car.

"Dean!" Sam is close behind him and he can hear the panic in his voice.

"Don't you talk to me that way." The content look on his dad's face was gone in a second.

"Why not? You're selling our fucking house! You can't just do that without consulting us."

"Like hell I can't! You don't even live here anymore, it's not your decision, Dean."

"Like hell it isn't! Why? Why the fuck are you selling it?"

"Because I can't live here anymore. With you and Sam gone, it's too empty, there's too many memories, too many ghosts." His dad sounds defeated and his eyes drop to the ground.

"There's just one ghost, dad, just one." Dean can hear Sam's sharp intake of breath but he ignores it, his dad doesn't even react.

"I can't live with that hanging over me anymore, I have to move on, you have to understand that."

"And where are you gonna go? What's left for you out in the world?"

"I guess I'll go where the work's good. There isn't much business in town anyway." His dad steps off the porch and heads towards the garage. "Come with me, there's something I want you to have." The brothers silently follow him and step inside to a place where they both spent a good part of their childhood. Dean can remember sitting on the counter in the far corner, watching his dad work on old cars, trying to fix them up new again. Sam thinks back to the time his dad showed him how to fix the chain on his bike, using the old tool set that his grandfather used to own. Everything looks rusty and dated, apart from the shiny, black 67' Impala that stood up like a sore thumb. Dean can remember the day his dad bought it, it had been his pride and joy ever since.

Their dad busies himself with something in the toolbox and Dean pokes around the shelves lining the walls a little. Nothing here has been moved, his dad hadn't boxed anything up yet; he wonders if he even will.

"Here! A set for you and a spare for Sammy." Dean expects to see some tool pack in his dad's hands but there's only two keys.

"No way, you're giving us the Impala?" Dean chokes out, not quite believing what he's seeing.

"Yeah, I've been thinking about it for a while now. It's high time you and Sam get your own car instead of having to drive that junker around and besides, it won't do me any good on the road anyway. I don't think she's made for it." His dad gives him a strained smile and Dean takes the keys with shaking hands.

"Thanks, dad..." Sam murmurs and Dean can't bring himself to do the same.

"Sam, do you mind waiting outside for a minute while I talk to your brother?" Sam obliges and their dad waits until he's gone before he speaks again. "I know this doesn't make up for everything I've done but I hope it helps.."

"You should've been there more...After mom...You just stopped caring." Dean says quietly.

"I know, I didn't handle it like I should have. But you have to understand how much her death affected me.."

"It affected all of us! Sam and I needed you and you weren't there, you were never there. I was four years old, dad, Sammy was just a baby. You had no right to just up and leave us all the time, if it wasn't for Uncle Bobby, who knows how we would've ended up."

" I tried my best..."

"Bullshit you did! You could've done a lot better but you didn't. There's no changing that now so don't even try."

"I know I can't change the things I did but I can apologize for them. And I can hope that one day you'll find it in you to forgive me. I know it won't merit much but I care about you and your brother very much, I always have. You're still my sons and I'd do anything for you, you know that." John's no longer trying to compete with Dean's voice anymore and the silence that follows his words is deafening. Dean wishes more than anything that at that moment he could find the strength to hate his father; he truly does.

"I have nothing to say to that." Dean says honestly before shrugging his shoulders and turning back to the impala. "I'm gonna bring the impala 'round front. If you need to spew your bullshit to Sammy, do it now." Ignoring the look of hurt in his dad's eyes, he opens the garage door and slips inside the car, reveling in the sound the engine makes as soon as he turns it on. He parks behind the van and flips on the radio, not wanting to be left alone with his thoughts for too long.

"I don't fucking need this right now!" Dean says aloud as Bridge over Troubled Water filters through the speakers. "Load of crap if I ever heard it." But instead of turning it off, he reaches over and turns the volume up. It isn't long before he's humming along under his breath and searching through the glove compartment for a piece of gum. His hands brush a small box and he pulls out a pack of cigarettes, without really thinking he lights one up and takes a long drag that ends in a massive coughing fit. Head swimming, he rolls down the window and holds the cigarette out, fully intending to drop it but also not surprisimg himself too much when he brings it back in for another puff. By the time it's down to the filter, his lungs are burning but it doesn't feel as bad as that first inhale. It's a feeling he thinks he could get used to.

Before long, there's a knock on the side of the car jerking him out of his thoughts. Sam's resting his arm on the top of the impala, looking as though he can't decide whether he wants to scream or cry.

"Were you smoking in there? Smells like an ashtray..." Sam says with only a slight break in his voice as he wipes his nose on his sleeve.

"Uhh, no...Are we ready to go?" Dean holds out the keys to the van and Sam grabs them all too eagerly. Watching his brother get into the van, Dean hardly notices when his dad walks over to his side of then car.

"Have you been smoking in here?" John asks, his eyes narrowing.

"Uh, no...But there is a pack of cigarettes in the glove box so that makes me think you have." Dean retorts staring straight ahead. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his dad's jawntighten but he doesn't further press the subject.

"I, uh, I saw you guys play just a little while ago. I went to one of your shows..." His dad admits as though it's some great shame.

"Let me guess, you think we're wasting our time."

"Not at all, you guys did really well...I'm proud of you. You're making quite the name for yourselves. Just don't do anything stupid, and take care of your brother." Dean rolls his eyes and turns to add his two cents, but his dad is already walking away. It's the last time he'll talk to him until the hospital calls five years later. And even then, every once and awhile, Dean thinks he sees him at a few of their shows, watching from the back row, but he's always gone before the encore and never does admit to it.

That night, Dean sits alone in his room with a pen and paper and smokes the rest of the pack of cigarettes. By daybreak, he's written four new songs for the album.


"What did your dad say to Sam? Did you ever find out?" Rachel breaks Dean out of his thoughts once more.

"I tried to ask but he wouldn't say. Probably more or less what he said to me. I try not to dwell on it much." Dean leans back on the couch and rubs his eyes. They've only been at this for two hours and he's already exhausted.

"And then in 1975.."

"We'll get there."

"But for continuity's sake, don't you think we should talk about what happened?"

"We'll get there! A lot of stuff happened between 1970 and 1975, it really doesn't do my story any justice to skip ahead so many years! Take 1971 for example, that was a pivotal year for the band."

"How so?"

"For starters, it was the year Charlie became a flower child," Dean grins. "And it was the start of our revolution."