CHAPTER 4

Dean tried to stay conscious once they left but he was fairly sure he lost himself to oblivion a few times before he was able to come to some semblance of thinking straight. He'd lost a lot of blood as the sticky puddle pooling beneath him could attest, add the nausea, dizziness and ringing in his ears to the predilection for sleeping and he could say with certainty that he had a slight concussion to. Damn, but that woman could hit.

Though he wasn't a crier, he couldn't stop the tears from running down his face. He was glad John never fought to keep Sam from Mary's parents. He didn't know what he'd do if Sammy had been with them. Just for a second, in this moment, he wished that he had chosen to stay with the Campbells. He was just a kid himself. No kid should have to live the life he's lived. But then the moment passed and he had no regrets. John had needed him and had been the only father he'd known since taking custody of him after his mother, John's sister Nadine, had died in a car accident when Dean was just three years old.

Before Mary had been killed a year later, John had contemplated doing what Nadine never had the nerve to do and contact Dean's biological father but Dean was all he had left of his sister so he put it off. Things changed with Mary's murder. The importance of family, and knowing just how anything could happen to them, struck home. Who was he to deny Dean a chance at knowing his father? So after Mary's funeral he finally sat down with his little nephew and told him the truth. Dean took one look at the grieving man he'd always known as his only father and without saying a word hugged him and didn't let go. So John held on a bit longer figuring he needed Dean there more right then than some man the boy had never known.

It wasn't till the day he'd lost custody of Sam that John brought it up again. He handed over a small envelope with all the info he'd had on the location of Gibbs and an acknowledgement that Dean could go look for him if he wanted.

Dean didn't know this man. Knew nothing about him except that he had been a Marine who'd spent a couple months with his mother. He'd never been there to care for him when he was sick or taught him how to shoot. He hadn't raised Dean in anyway. The man didn't even know Dean existed. That being said, as far as Dean was concerned John Winchester was his father and he had needed Dean now more than ever. So Dean took one long look at the envelope, packed it into his bag and asked John if he had another job lined up.

And now, as far as he knew, the only father he had ever known was dead, the last time he'd talked to any of the Campbells was three years prior so they'd have no clue he was in trouble, and he was relying on a man he knew nothing about to come and free him. Yeah. Dean wasn't about to hold his breath waiting on that to happen. No, as far as he was concerned he was on his own and the sooner he dealt with that the better. He just had to rest his eyes a moment that's all.

"Just rest my eyes…" he mumbled before passing out.

Dean woke at what he guessed was a few minutes later based on the degree of coagulation of the blood his hand rested in. He slowly pushed himself into an upright position, looked down at his chest and slowly pealed back the sticky material of his ragged shirt. There was too much blood for him to tell exactly what exactly it was that she had carved into him but he had a pretty good idea it was her name. He took very small comfort in the fact that the blood flow had gone down to barely a trickle. At least it had started to clot, he thought.

Dean dropped the bit of material he held at the sound of the door being unlocked. One of Paloma's armed men stepped in followed by the last person he wanted to see.

"Marissa," Dean huffed out a humorless laugh. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Sorry about dis, gringo," she said carrying over bandages and a bottle of water. Dean shifted and the guard took a step forward so he stilled further movement. He had no desire to become a target at the moment so he tried to make himself as nonthreatening as possible. Considering his current condition, it wouldn't be hard.

"What are you doing here, Marissa?" Dean asked, brow furrowed in obvious suspicion. Last he'd seen the young Mexican girl she'd taken the drink she'd given him from his hand before he'd tumbled from his chair at the cantina.

"I think it's clear what I'm doing, gringo," she replied crouching down beside him. Marissa placed the items before her and cracked open the bottle. She poured a bit of water on Dean's wound and moved to wipe it clean but Dean grabbed her wrist before she could touch him. Ignoring the advance of the guard, he took the gauze from her fingers before letting her go and proceeded to take care of the cuts himself. He wanted no help from Marissa seeing as she had a hand in putting him here.

Marissa sighed and pushed the bottle and bandages towards Dean before standing back up. "Lo siento, Dean, but everyone here knows who your papa is and what he did. I should never have told but if I were to say not'ing and la Señora found out… it would be di same as killing mi familia myself."

She sighed when it was clear that her former friend was going to ignore her and turned to go.

Dean looked up from what he was doing long enough to watch them leave. Given what he knew, he could understand her reasoning but it still pissed him off. They had been alone when he told Marissa and he firmly believed that if she'd just kept her mouth shut no one would have ever been the wiser, but of course if he'd just kept his own mouth shut Marissa would have never told anyone and John would be….

So really, Dean thought, he really had no one to blame but himself. All because he wanted to do the typical teen thing and go out with a girl on his birthday. He should have known better.

Dean finished cleaning the blood from around the cuts and picked up a clean folded up square of gauze and carefully fixed it to his chest with the bandage tape Marissa had left behind. Pushing his shirt aside, he glanced down and was happy to note that the keeper on his belt was still in place holding the tail end of the belt down. They hadn't found the knife.

Swinging his legs around, Dean lay on the floor and looked through the inch high gap beneath the door. The hall was as dimly lit as the room he was kept in but brighter at the end where he was barely able to see three men sitting at a table playing cards and drinking beer.

Music played in the background loud enough, along with the men's chatter, to hopefully cover up what he was about to do. Dean stood up and unsteadily walked toward the window fighting the slight dizziness the change of elevation had created though overall he was steadier and more alert. He peeked out the window between the slats of wood and couldn't see anything but what was directly in front of him. He saw some foliage and some trees about eight feet out. It was wide open from the window to the trees and with the moon as bright as it was with no cloud cover he'd be an easy target if someone were looking. The foliage was high enough, though, that if he kept low he was pretty sure he'd be able to make it to the tree line.

Examining the spots where the boards were nailed to the window frame, Dean let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding when he noticed that the wood was starting to rot. A couple good tugs and he should be able to remove the boards with minimal noise.

Pulling the tail end of his belt from the belt loop of his pants and the keeper, Dean applied some pressure to the sides of the belt and slid the keeper itself to the side revealing a narrow three inch steel blade from the lining. The keeper was big enough that he could slide two of his fingers into it like brass knuckles with the blade resting against his fingers. He used the small weapon to get under the bottom board and carefully leverage each end up. A sudden burst of laughter gave him pause and he rushed back to the door to listen for approaching steps. The quick movement made him want to throw up but he fought back the nausea and checked to see if someone were coming.

Hearing nothing, Dean returned to the window more carefully than when he left it. He had to take another moment to let the some dizziness pass and let his eyes focus back on task before working on the boards again. It took him ten careful minutes to get two of the boards off leaving him with enough room to push up the window and look out. Scoping out the area, he noted some traffic to the left on the other side of chain link fence and nothing but more green to his right. Grabbing a hold of the top of the frame, Dean pulled himself up and slid his feet out the window. He didn't know when they would check on him so he had to get as far away as he could and as fast as he could. He just had to figure out where he would go and how he was going to get there. He needed to get out of town and find a place to go to ground, but not before he made sure that what he was told was true.

Dean stayed low as he crept through the foliage, moving quickly through the trees once he reached them. The sudden rush of adrenaline he felt helped push back some of the effects of his concussion and he was able to make it a decent distance before he noticed armed men on the street to his left rushing about with flashlights. Guess they came to check on him sooner than he thought.

Dean veered to his right traveling another twenty yards until he came to another street. There were several cars parked along side a cantina across the street. The same cantina he'd been at with Marissa. Looking both ways, Dean made sure the street was clear before quickly crossing to the car directly in front of him. Its door were locked as were the next three he checked. He lucked out on a rusted grey truck and climbed in.

He popped the cover below the steering column and yanked the wires and, using the bright light from the moon to see by, he used the blade he held to strip the wires and hotwired the old Ford. Grabbing a baseball cap he found on the seat beside him, he put it on and pulled out onto the road. He knew it wasn't wise, but he found himself headed to the house where he and John had been staying. Paloma had said his adoptive father was dead, but John was one stubborn ornery son of a bitch. He'd believe it when he sees it.

It took Dean five minutes to make it to the house; he parked it out front and quickly made his way up to the porch and inside. The lights were out in the house and he kept them that way till he reached the back room holding the small knife in front of him just in case. With the lights out, he wanted to assume that no one was in the house and made his way to where John stored the guns.

When he got to the back room he turned on the light only to find a broken lock and the lid of the chest it secured thrown open. He didn't want to acknowledge what such a violation meant and as he took a step into the room he found he didn't have a choice when he finally noticed a change in the sound of the floor beneath him and the heavy scent of copper. He looked down to find that he'd stepped in a dark, coagulated puddle that had pooled in front of the door and followed the pool to where it originated, seeing what he'd hoped he wouldn't see.

Dean walked over to where John laid still, eyes open and unseeing. Kneeling down, the teen dropped his knife as he reached out with shaking hands and gripped John's shirt trying and failing to hold the tears back and a strangle whisper of grief as he called out to him. "Pop…"

Dean shook John's body then leaned forward, eyes squeezed shut, touching his forehead to the cool skin of his father's. He sat back on his heels, looked at the man he'd always considered his father one last time and closed John's eyes. So caught up in his grief, Dean almost didn't notice the approach. Quickly, he dropped his hand and grabbed the knife swinging it up at one of Paloma's men slashing him across the stomach. He then made a break for the window, crashing through the glass and landing with a whoosh of breath before rolling to his feet and making a break for it.

He heard men shouting behind him as he ran through people's yards, hopping fences as he went. He'd made it to the third house down from his when something hit him from the side. Dean slashed to the right but his wrist was caught before his knife met its target. He kicked out and punched with his free arm repeatedly but the man atop him was big and took the punches like they were nothing, returning a couple punches of his own that knocked enough of the fight out of Dean that the next thing he knew he was face down with both arms pulled high behind his back.

"Puto niño!"

Dean was dragged to his feet. His vision going in and out as he came face to face with the first man he'd cut back at the house. He spat blood filled saliva at him and was rewarded with another punched to the head. The first man gripped him by the chin and stared him in the eye, breath reeking of beer huffed into his face causing Dean's stomach to roll.

"Better be glad we need you alive, idiota. Otherwise I would take your little knife and gut jou like a little pig." Turning to one of the other men that joined them he ordered "Burn the house!" He then released Dean's chin and struck him hard, knocking Dean out.

Lo siento = I'm sorry

mi familia = my family

Puto niño = fuckin' kid