Author's note (edit):

I forgot to mention this when I first published this chapter, and that's totally my bad, but I'd like to give a warning that this is close to where things start to get a little intense. Moving on, we'll likely have some light-to-moderate depictions of blood (nothing too grotesque, that's not how I roll), violence, etc. Thought it'd be nice to give everyone a heads-up.

Thanks for the support!


"Dean. We should get back to tracking those witches down..." John interrupted the solemn silence that had been contained for the past 15 minutes. He'd been trapped in his furious thoughts long enough, and now he was itching to get back to work, get his mind off of the recent argument.

However, he looked over to see that Dean didn't quite share those sentiments. He still seemed disturbed.

What do you say to someone who had to watch his brother walk out on him? Someone who was once again caught in the middle between his father and brother? Sitting and watching a quarrel that he couldn't end?

How do you even begin a conversation like that? John wasn't sure. But he settled with "You alright, son?"

Am I alright? Did he really just ask that? Dean wondered...

...Then again, does he even mean it?

Nah. It's a courtesy.

"You know what, Dad? No, I'm not okay," is what he wanted to say in reply. He wanted more than anything to be able to muster up the guts to tell him that what he did was wrong. "He's your son, and you didn't even show him a little support" would suffice. Or "It's because of you that Sam walked out without saying goodbye. And now we may never see him again."

It's what he was thinking, after all.

But he couldn't.

He may have been fearless when it came to offing monsters, facing darkness, looking evil straight in the eye. But he couldn't bring himself to stand up to his father.

Yeah, he was a coward, he knew it. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't face it, not today.

So instead, he wiped a hand across the bottom of his moist eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and, biting back a sob, muttered, "Yes, sir."

Even if he had been a convincing liar, which he wasn't particularly, Dean had no good reason to be okay with what happened. He could try to hide it all he wanted, sure. It was his specialty, after all. But John knew that Dean had to be upset. He and Sam were too close, had gone through too much together for him not to be.

John shifted his chair so it was facing toward Dean, and let out a sigh, not knowing what to say.

Feeling his father's eyes upon him made Dean more uneasy. He wasn't ready to be harassed with a pep talk or a confrontation. He couldn't tell if John's sigh had come out of sympathy or disappointment. Disappointment in his vulnerability. Disappointment in Sam, in life... Who could tell? But he figured it was safer to assume it was some sort of disappointment.

He decided that if he focused on their work, his father might skip giving him the "This is our job. Yeah, it's brutal, but we can't afford to let something like this knock us down" speech. Or, worse, the "Sam was always a lost cause, quit worrying about him" speech. So in order to avoid that, Dean cleared his throat and began recalling details on their latest case.

"Going over what we already know, there were three victims. The police found the last guy's body 2 days ago. No more signs since then, but these witches are probably still out there, gunning for a fourth as we speak. There were a few connections between their victims-"

"-Hold on," John cut him off. "That stuff can wait... We need to talk."

Oh no. Here it comes.

Dean had hoped the unpleasant parts of the day had finally ended, but now he was seeing that wasn't quite the case.


"Did you know about this, Dean?"

"Know about what?" Dean asked, faking naivete, as if he had no clue what his father was referring to. Which, of course, he did. All too well.

"About Sam. Leaving."

"What? N-no," he stuttered unwillingly. Although this was the exact topic of question he had been anticipating, it still somehow caught him off guard. "Uh, I was as surprised as you were."

"Tell me the truth for once, Dean," John said. As though Dean had done something to prove himself untrustworthy. Like he had any reason to think Dean was lying in this moment.

"I didn't know anything about it," Dean insisted.

I wish I had.

"Come on, Dean, you expect me to believe that? Doesn't he tell you everything?"

"Yeah. Well,... not this time, I guess."

Not sure why.

"Well then, if you weren't in on it, how could you let it happen?"

"What, me?"

"Yeah. I mean, he trusts you. You could've done something to stop him from walking out. Right?"

"You asked me to stay out of it," Dean retorted as calmly as he could. He didn't want to anger his father any further, sure. But he definitely wasn't about to let John dump the blame onto him.

"You could've intervened when the timing was right."

"And done what? Chained him to the bed when he said he didn't wanna stay? Look, Dad, as much as I hate it, neither of us saw this coming. And there's nothing we could've done to change his mind. Besides, you're forgetting that he's an adult now. He can make his own decisions."

"Are you defending him?"

Dean knew it was now or never. He could live the rest of his life afraid of his Dad, afraid of upsetting him, of disappointing him,... or he could tell him that what he did was wrong.

After all, family should be the ones to tell you when you do something stupid or douchey. They should be the ones guiding you, helping you change. It's not out of hatred, of spite, or fear. It's, essentially, out of love.

"... Yes. I am defending him," he said dryly. "That's my job, he's my brother. That's always been my job. Especially since-..." Dean bit his tongue. Did he really want to say that?

"Since what?" John wasn't about to let that sentence go unfinished.

"...Well let's be honest, Dad. You were hardly around for us, growing up. Yes, you taught us well, but 'nurturing' is hardly what I'd call you. And it's because of you that now he's all upset, and I-... Hell, I might never see him again."

"What, you think this is my fault?"

"Not entirely, no. He's obviously been wanting to go for some time now."

"...Really?"

"Yeah, Dad. He talked about it all the time." Dean was shocked at how oblivious John had truly been to this. "He always told me, either Duke or Stanford. Mighta said something about Harvard a few times, too. It was his goal, there was no convincing him otherwise. And look at the way you talked to him. 'Don't come back'? I mean, you basically banished him from our lives."

"Banish is a strong word."

"Oh really? Is it? 'cause I know the way he thinks. And right now, I'd bet everything that he feels like you disowned him. That means he's not gonna call, he's not gonna write, he's not gonna pop in on weekends, or between semesters, or even on Christmas... And, yeah, I can see why he'd think that. Because you told him, straight out, never come back. And you meant it. But I-" Dean paused, chewing his bottom lip and inhaling sharply through his nose. He hated this. Having to bite back tears while his dad couldn't care less. "I didn't ask for that."

"Dean-"

"-No, you know what, Dad? You've never once told him, not once, that you're proud of him. He... - he did something good, Dad. And you threw him out. What kind of a father does that make you?"

"Excuse me?"

"...You heard me. You're being selfish-"

"-Oh, this is so not your place." John continued to look more and more frustrated by the minute.

"Oh, yeah? If this isn't my place, then what is? I was just trying to be his brother, show him my support, but you... You said some things that were way out of hand. And you should be ashamed of yourself."

"And you should learn to be more respectful in the things you say."

"Oh, respectful? Respectful? You mean just like you were during that pleasant conversation with Sam? I don't think so. We're way past that."

Whoa. Did I really just say all that?

Dean had to step back for a minute to realize what he'd done. He was used to keeping his thoughts inside, especially when it came to talking to his father.

Yeah... Yeah, I did.

But this time he actually spoke his mind.

...I'm gonna regret that.


"Now you listen to me, Dean," John rose and grabbed Dean by the collar of his t-shirt, clenching it tightly between his fists.

Soon enough, Dean was being thrown up against the wall, pinned by his father's grip on his collar. He tried to be strong, but ended up flinching more than he was proud to admit. His eyes squeezed tight, lips trembling involuntarily. He could fight monsters and demons any day, but God forbid, should anyone put his own father up against him-

"If anyone's out of hand, it's you," John stated. And what was scary was, John truly believed what he was saying. Even though Dean couldn't have disagreed more. His eyes were cold and intent upon Dean, his voice was piercing, like he intended to drill everything he said deep into Dean's mind. "You shouldn't speak to me that way."

"Dad, please," Dean rasped, too afraid to look his dad straight in the eye. "I don't wanna argue with you. Okay?" That was the truth. He was fed up with arguments. He just wanted the three of them to reconcile and get along for once in their lives. "But take a look at yourself right now. You've got a temper. And when you get out of control like this, you could use someone telling you you're wrong."

"I'm wrong? I'm out of control? Are you completely forgetting what your brother just did? Are we really gonna keep glossing over that?"

"You say that like he just joined a cult or something. He went to college. Cut him some slack!"

"I can't believe this," John scoffed. "It's like both of my sons lost respect for me in the same day." He released some of the tension from his grip on Dean, hanging his head.

"No," Dean quickly disagreed. "You're wrong. I do respect you, Dad. I respect you more than anyone. And that's why I'm telling you this."

Dean had kissed up to his father before, it was true. But there was nothing about this statement that wasn't completely sincere. All he'd ever striven for was gaining his father's approval. To finally feel like he'd done enough, to feel like he was wanted, loved.

And John couldn't seem to understand that.

"Look," Dean added with a sigh, softening his voice, finally looking his dad in the eye. "It's not gonna be easy. I miss him already. But we've gotta support him. We're his family."

"Yeah? He must think real highly of this 'family' for wanting to leave us," John said with disdain.

"We... We've got our flaws, Dad. In case you didn't notice, we don't exactly have the picket-fence, station wagon life."

"Do you think I asked for that thing to come in the middle of the night? Do you think this is what I wanted for us?"

"No. -Look, we'll never get our old life back. I know that. It's always been the three of us, up against the world, but... Sammy's tired of it, Dad. He never enjoyed it the way you do."

"You think I like the fact that this is my job?"

"You know that's not what I'm saying," Dean returned, upset that John would even think for a minute that he would ever insinuate something like that.

"Then what are you saying, Dean? Huh? That you back his choices to abandon us?"

"This isn't abandonment, Dad. You've gotta put yourself in his shoes. He's a wide-eyed genius kid who wants to do more with that brain of his than hunt creatures for once. We gotta let him have this. We'll manage without him, we've done it before. You need to let it go. P- put me down. Please."

John slowly nodded, fully released his grip on Dean's collar, and set him back on the ground. Dean exhaled sharply and began to back away.

"See?" Dean asked with a nervous smile, brushing his shoulders. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

John gave a silent nod in reply, but something in his eyes told Dean he wasn't quite ready to forgive and forget. The way he was staring off blankly, the way he was clenching his jaw, it seemed like he still had unresolved feeling boiling in his mind.

"Let's just... get back to hunting those witches. Okay? ...Dad?"

John mumbled a quiet agreement, which Dean couldn't make out. Something was still off. John was still angry, there was still a rage in his eyes, no matter how subtle it was.

But that was normal. John often took a while to let go of grudges. He'd be upset for a while, but at least there was no more verbal argumentation. At least they could finally get some work done without having to deal with any more conflict.

And right when Dean was starting to feel a small certainty that they had reached a peace, he was proven wrong. Because John was grabbing him by the shoulders and forcefully shoving him off to the side. Storming past him towards the door, not a care in the world that he'd harmed his son.

Stumbling over himself, unable to catch his balance, Dean hit his head on the corner of the side table that sat beside John's bed. Letting out a pained yelp with the impact, he then crashed to the floor, collapsing onto himself.

So...

guess he's still mad.


"I'm going to get a drink, and then I'll find the witches on my own. I'm gonna check out my own motel, somewhere else. You might find yourself better off not joining me until you've learned to keep yourself in line." John may have been angry earlier, but he was fuming now.

"D- Dad..." Dean swallowed hard.

No, he can't do this to me. Not now.

John didn't look like he was kidding, though. He was gathering up his stuff and not even giving a single glance in Dean's direction.

"Hey, wait- N-no, Dad, please, you- you can't leave me like this," he begged in a strained, shaky whisper. His vision was already starting to go black. He couldn't get out of this on his own. "Dad?"

Still, John walked out on him, in the very way Sam had before. In a huff, inconsiderate of Dean's feelings, and slamming the door behind him.

"Dad... Dad! Please. I'm sorry, please, come back. I- can't move. I can't m-"

His breath caught in his throat before releasing into a choked sob that he couldn't hold back.

God, today hadn't gone as planned at all.

This was it.

He knew someday he'd manage to get both his dad and his brother mad enough to leave him on his own, what with his stubbornness and snark and irritability. But what an inopportune moment it was for that to finally happen. He knew his family was dysfunctional, but to abandon loyalty? To leave each other to die? His family had serious issues.

His head throbbed, and he could already feel blood beginning to pool around it. He knew it could be futile to lift his head off the ground, and it felt too stiff and heavy to even try.

Still, he knew he was on his own this time. He'd have to get out of this somehow.

His eyelids started to feel heavier. But before he could doze off and give in to the pull of unconsciousness, tempting as it was, he shook himself awake. Snapped back into the moment. Because he knew if he let himself fall asleep, he might not ever wake back up.