Hi, guys! Sorry this took me so long to write. My creativity hasn't really been flowing and I just didn't like any of the ways I ended the chapter, so I kept re-doing it. This one, finally, sits alright with me. We're finally going to see John and Dean interact.
"You left your brother alone? Are you kidding me, Dean? What were you thinking?" The single punch to the gut is far less than Dean deserves, he knows that, but anything more and Sam would definitely notice- something John won't risk. Besides, it's been nearly a year since they left Cas and his quaint town. "You're worthless. Can't even protect your brother right." John spits on the ground in front of Dean before going to "play nice" with his favorite son. No doubt, John would have done worse had Sam still been in school. Those were the worst four years of Dean's life. No Sam and an eternally drunk John. Dean shivers and stumbles to the car, sliding behind the wheel. John will tell Sam that Dean is on a supply run, which Dean will inevitably need to get to in a few minutes, but first a need pulses through him.
The silver steel glints in his hand, somewhere on a long driveway in the middle of nowhere. Finally. The word breathes through his mind as blood shines, pain sings, and relief hugs him tight. Again and again, the blade breaks the skin of his leg. When the emotions are entirely banished, he lets it fall and his mind wander.
"Cas," he whispers. His diner is doing well, according to both the website and Yelp. Dean checks once a week on the town, making sure Cas hasn't moved, gotten hurt, or been anywhere near a monster. The day he had left…
"If you ever- ever- need anything," Dean looks down into blue eyes, "call. I'll be there."
"But you aren't coming back." Two little lines appear between Cas' brows.
"If you need me, I will. All you have to do is ask."
"You should know, that works in reverse, too. Call, send an email, or show up on my doorstep- when you need something, I'm here."
"That's- good, ah, good to know." Dean looks away, avoiding eye contact.
"Dean," Cas whispers, his voice thick with emotion. Dean's eyes flash to his.
"I have to go."
"I know. I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you, too." From Dean, that's as good as an admission of love. His hand pulls Cas into him. Their lips meet one last time. Unlike every other kiss they shared, this one is sweet and gentle. There is still desperation, but no lust, not like before. No, this kiss is a goodbye without words. Dean pulls away, keeping his eyes closed and walks to the car.
He doesn't look back.
God, why didn't he look back? He should've. Should've taken one last look at Cas' face. But the heartbreak scrawled across it would've broken him. More than I already am. What good would that've done?
Baby starts with a rumble. The trees turn into houses and stores and Dean parks. He buys plenty of supplies; beer, pie, beef jerky, turkey, cereal, peanut butter, bread, and bananas. Toiletries end up in the basket, some sewing needles, and dental floss. After checking out, Dean sits in the car for a moment, then opens the glove compartment and opens a small black pouch containing his morphine. Five doses left, but who knows when John will leave? So he places a call. Twenty minutes later, he's ten doses richer and halfway back to the cabin. Thank God my guy is quick. The drive back isn't near long enough.
"There you are," John says, faking a smile for Sam. "What took so long?" Danger lurks in John's eyes, but Dean plays along.
"Some crazy traffic on the way there. Cleared up on the way back, otherwise I might've been another hour." Dean keeps his voice mostly calm, allowing only some mild annoyance to color it.
"Must've been people trying to beat the rush for the holiday. Memorial day is Monday," Sam informs both of them.
"In that case, I'll run to town Monday morning and grab some steaks. We can grill," John decides, as if they're the Brady Bunch. Sam wanders off to his room, probably to search for a case. Don't leave me with him. "Was that really the best you could come up with? Really, Dean? Traffic?"
"He believed it, that's what matters."
"What did take you so long, anyway? Took you that long to recover from one little punch? Maybe you need some training. With that recovery time, it's a wonder you last more than a minute in a hunt." John grabs his arm and drags Dean outside, forcing him through the woods. No, no, please, no. This used to happen, but never when Sam was around. Never. Only when he was going to be gone for a while- particularly at school. John's fist slams down, over and over. Why is he doing this? Sam will notice! John leans forward, "You stupid waste of space." Alcohol rides his breath. He's drunk. He hits Dean on the temple and Dean falls to his knees. John starts kicking him. There's a soft rustling, like something moving through the woods, but John takes no heed.
"Dad? Dean? What the fuck? Get away from him!" Sam starts to run over.
"Sammy, stop," Dean croaks.
"We're just sparing, Sam," John lies.
"Sparing? Really, Dad? This looks more like a beat-down."
"Sammy, leave it," Dean tries again to get him to leave. Sam looks at him this time- really looks.
"This isn't the first time, is it? The first time he hit you? How long, Dean?" He turns to John. "How long have you been doing this?"
"He's supposed to protect you," John snarls, "and he left you alone." Dean watches Sam freeze, remembering all the times Dean would have a bruise that seemed out of place, every time Dean flinched from John, every time John seemed angry at Dean.
"He was a kid!" Sam explodes and punches John as hard as he can, taking him down in one blow. His anger doesn't disappear when he looks at Dean. Then, Dean flinches. John is standing up.
"You're as stupid as your brother." Sam frowns and then his eyes go wide. John's boot had connected. Dean can't do anything, can't stop John as he attacks Sam. His little brother fights back, but John doesn't go down this time. They had both forgotten just how ferocious John is in a true fight. When Sam falls and John follows him, Dean stumbles to his feet. He has to stop this. His little switchblade opens in his hand, his blood from earlier still on it. He'd forgotten to clean it. He raises his arm and brings it down.