Reassurances

"Shoulda made the sonovabitch suffer. Bastard called me pretty." I pushed away the memory of the last time I'd been called pretty. My legs buckled and Dad was right there to catch me. I didn't want to be as reassured as I was by his presence, his arms around me. Just one more sign of weakness. But I'd always been weak where Dad was concerned so this was really no different. It was just harder to ignore now, like ever weakness I had was amplified. My head… I was barely hanging on to consciousness, darkness dancing at the edges of my vision as the adrenaline flowed too quickly out of my system.

I realized that we were both on the ground and wondered how we'd gotten there. Dad was poking at my skull, obviously trying to determine if it was in one piece. I hissed every time he got too close to the wound and he just clenched his jaw the way he did whenever he had to do something he didn't want to and kept going.

"Thank God for that hard head o' yours boy. Concussion?"

I tried to shake my head and what a fucking bad idea that was. It took me a second to answer because I had to keep my jaw clinched against the nausea that hit me in a sudden wave and disappeared just as quickly as it came. "Not serious." I wondered how many people could diagnose their own concussions.

"You sure?" I glared at him and he smirked. "Fine. Just want to be certain. No need to get all pissy on me. You hurt anywhere else?"

"Nope. Bastard threw me into the wall head-first. Played dead."

I felt my father's rumbling laughter go through me as he pulled me against his chest. "Good boy."

"'M sorry."

"What the hell are you sorry for now?" His voice was a mix of affection and irritation.f

"Let it get the drop on me. Put you in danger."

"Boy, you do realize you're talkin' to the guy who was pinned helplessly to the wall not five minutes ago. You saved my ass, with a concussion. If you apologize to me again, I'm gonna have to kick your ass just on principle."

I laughed, which wasn't the world's best idea, but I couldn't help it. Dad's arms tightened around me and I closed my eyes for a moment to soak it in before pulling away and squinting up at him. "So are we just gonna stay here and cuddle?" Because, really, this was getting a little weird.

He huffed out a soft laugh as his lips twisted into a slight smirk at my sarcasm. "Whatever smartass. Think you can walk?"

"Only one way to find out for sure."

We got up slowly, most of my weight supported by my father. Part of me still saw him as invincible, but sometimes I thought about how fucking old he was and it amazed me that he could still do this. Still be pinned to a wall one minute, and half carry my useless ass around the next. That he could take on things that could effortlessly kill men half his age. Hell, I was half his age and I wasn't sure I'd live to be his age. Most of the time I was certain that I wouldn't. But it never mattered to me. Death didn't scare me. What scared me was the possibility that I'd die alone.

I wavered on my feet and didn't fight it when Dad pulled me against him, held my head against his shoulder. I took a deep breath, inhaling his scent – soap, gun oil, smoke and just Dad. Longing for the past twisted suddenly in my gut and I wished for the days when no matter how fucked up things got all it took to make my world right was crawling into his lap. I started trembling so hard, all I could do was clutch at his coat and bury my face in the crook of his neck. Why did everything, every god damned thing, have to remind me of what happened? Why the hell did I have to keep going back there?

"It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be alright." He said it over and over like a mantra, like a fucking incantation. And damn if I wasn't starting to believe it a little.

I don't know how long we stood there before he got us moving again, got us to his truck. He checked my eyes with a pin light and grunted in relief then told me to stay put while he checked on the poor bastards the demons had been possessing. I tried to stay awake, tried to keep an eye on his six even as he disappeared from sight, but it was a losing battle. I was asleep by the time he returned.

The hand on the back of my neck was like a vise. Every inch of my already bruised body hurt from the beating I'd just taken, and I could feel the bleeding from my torn stitches. It was too much, and I wondered if they'd punctured something. I was pinned over a stack of crates. My body screamed every time I tried to move. Not that I could move much. Bastards knew what they were doin'. I growled in frustration. Another hand pressed against the small of my back and I gasped in pain from my ribs and open wound. The pain was so bad, it took me a second to realize that they were pulling down my pants and boxers. Now my legs were effectively trapped by the heavy denim of my jeans and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to get out of this. With mounting horror, what was happening finally sunk in. I had known it all along, but it hadn't seemed real until this moment, bent over and pinned down, my naked ass in the air like a perverted offering.

"I swear I'll fucking kill you." But my voice didn't sound threatening. It sounded small and frightened.

Several of them, maybe all of them, laughed at that. "You ain't exactly in any position to threaten anyone, are you boy?" The voice was behind me. I didn't answer. Just closed my eyes.

I cried out in pain as something thick and blunt shoved its way into me. I was vaguely aware that I was pleading, begging like some little bitch for them to stop. Whatever was being forced into my ass didn't stop and I knew there was no way it wasn't tearing me. But I knew what it was. I was being fucked. I felt like I was going to be sick and I wasn't sure what was the most responsible – the pain, my helplessness or the fact that another man's cock was in me. I blinked away tears of pain and humiliation and tried to fight again, buck the man off my back. That only sent fresh pain ripping through my nerves and pulled a whimper out of my throat. Laughter echoed through the alley and I just closed my eyes against the shame. Fighting would only make this more real and all I wanted was to be somewhere, anywhere, else.

My brain just sorta switched off. I was only vaguely aware of what was happening to me, of being moved and positioned, of being penetrated repeatedly, of being scratched and bruised, of my phone ringing several times. But it was almost like one of those out of body experiences you read about, like I was there but watching what was happening. Almost like it wasn't happening to me.

Finally, I heard someone say, "come on. I think we broke the little bitch."

Laughter echoed in the alley. "He was a tight whore, wasn't he?"

I think I drifted off because the sound of my phone ringing again made me jump. I was alone and laying on my side. I was foggy, not really sure where I was or why, just that I was cold. Fucking freezing actually. I tried to sit up and the pain brought everything back in a rush because as many times as I'd been hurt on a hunt or in a bar fight, I'd never been hurt there. Tears stung my eyes as my brain skittered around the edges of what had happened, trying desperately to ignore it but not really succeeding. I gagged and rolled over onto my hands and knees just in time as everything still in my stomach came up. It wasn't much, mostly bile. I hadn't eaten yet. I was going to pick something up on the way back to the hotel 'cause Sam probably hadn't eaten either. Jesus, Sam! He must be freaking out by now. It took me several tries to get on my feet and pull my pants on. I felt wet and sloppy and torn in half and my jeans rubbed me in all the wrong ways. I tried to walk out of the alley, but ended up stumbling against the wall. My legs began to tremble and I slid down the cold slimy bricks with a strangled sob. Fresh tears started falling when my ass hit the ground and pain lit up all the nerves in my body.

My phone rang again, reminding me that I needed to get back to my little brother. I didn't have time for a breakdown. I couldn't let him find me like this, couldn't let anyone find me like this but especially not Sam. I just wanted to forget it ever happened and if Sam found out that would be impossible. Being the emo little bastard he was he'd want to talk about it. That was the last thing I ever wanted to do. So I needed to get my ass up and find somewhere to pull myself together. Only problem was I wasn't sure I could actually move. Blood loss, my brain supplied for me. Well thank you Captain Obvious, I replied bitterly to my inner voice. I managed to get up on my knees but a wave of dizziness kept me from raising more.

"Dean! What the fuck, dude!"

I jerked away from the voice, landing on my sore ass again before I realized that it belonged to my brother. Fuck! "Sammy?"

"What the hell happened?"

For the first time that night, my luck improved. I passed out before I had to answer that question.

I woke up with a start and a muffled shout, pain slicing through my head at the sudden movement. I groaned and swallowed hard at the bitterness in my mouth as my stomach tried to revolt, mostly from the pain but partly from the nightmare. I reminded myself that I wasn't in that alley. I was in Wisconsin hunting demons with my father. The room was still dark, but part of the sky that I could see though the window was a bright scarlet, promising one hell of an impressive sunrise. Last I remembered was being in the truck waiting for Dad, now I was in the bed furthest from the door in our hotel room. I rolled my eyes as I realized that the man had actually tucked me in. Seriously? I slowly pulled myself up into a sitting position, my back against the headboard as I looked over at my father's bed. It was empty. He wasn't in my bed – I refused to dwell on how much safer I felt when he was – and the bathroom door was open and the light off. Had he left again? Maybe called Sam and told him to come get me?

Just as panic was setting in, I heard a key in the lock and Dad stumbled in with two large paper bags. "Oh, you're up. How you feellin'?" He kicked the door closed behind him as he studied me for a second.

"'M fine. Head barely hurts 'slong as I don't move too fast. Where were you?"

"Taking care of the bodies. The demons rode 'em hard, they were dead long before last night."

"You didn't do that before we left?"

He shook his head. "Wanted to get you safe first. Only went back then in case they were still alive and needed help."

I snorted, thinking about the poor bastards whose lives were over, whose families would never know what happened to them. They died alone, locked in their own heads. "Figures. Hate demons."

Dad nodded in agreement as he sat the bags he was carrying on the table. "Got us some provisions. Think you can hold down some eggs and bacon?"

"Yeah."

"Good," he said as he pulled a carton of eggs, along with a few other things, out of the bags.

"Did you sleep at all?"

"I'll sleep once I get you fed." He brought over a bottle of water and handed it to me. "Drink this… slowly."

I watched my father's body language as he walked away. Noticed the slope of his shoulders, the darkness in his eyes. Like he was carrying a burden he had no intention of sharing. "What's wrong Dad," I asked as I opened the bottle and took a sip.

His shoulders sagged briefly, but he squared them as he looked at me over his shoulder and gave me a reassuring smile. "It's nothing for you to worry about. I just need to work some things out in my head. Everything's gonna be alright, kiddo."

Saying that Dad was hiding something was probably a little like saying that the sky was blue or water was wet. I grew up with his secrets. His silences and preoccupations. The thing that always made them bearable, comforting even, was the fact that it was all for us. For me and especially for Sammy. He was a man obsessed with keeping us safe. That's why I obeyed him without question, why it always pissed me off that Sam never seemed to trust him. If it hadn't been for Dad, we'd both be dead a hundred times over. Sam would say that he put us in danger in the first place, but I wasn't so sure about that. I always believed that Dad had a damn good reason for raising us the way that he did. It was just a reason that he wasn't willing to share.

I didn't understand most of what he wanted me to do, why he left me the way he did with no explanation and it drives me crazy. Over the months, it had gotten harder and harder to tell myself that he left for my own good. Because I can't help but think that he just couldn't stand bein' around me anymore. I got on his nerves one too many times, or had to be reminded to get my head in the game once too often and he took off. Just like Sammy had. Just like Sammy still wants to. Not that Sam's mentioned leaving again since… since I was attacked. I think he's afraid that I'd break completely if he brought it up. I don't ask 'cause I'm afraid he might be right. But I know he's going to as soon as we kill Yellow Eyes, as soon as he thinks I'm not a total wreck anymore.

I worry my bottom lip as I watch my father cook in the little kitchenette. His movements are efficient and precise. The man cooks the way he shoots a gun, or throws a knife. The only difference is that he can do anything with a gun or a knife, but with cooking… not so much. The simpler he keeps it the better so eggs and bacon, with maybe some toast, are just about right.

Like Sam, Dad's been different since he found out. I want to believe that they're both just showin' me what's been there all along, but there are times when I think that they just feel sorry for me. Those are the times when I wish I could just disappear. Then Sam and Dad would be free of me. But I can't bring myself to leave either of them no matter how many times they leave me. I'm not sure if that makes me selfish or pathetic. Maybe a lot of both.

A/N: I just want to thank all my readers. I am so glad that you are enjoying this story so much. Telling a story that no one appreciates is no fun at all. This chapter was the most difficult to get through so far (at least for me writing it). I hope you all enjoy it.

Hey deangirl1! The kid they had playing young Dean was cute, but you'd never think he'd grow up to be DEAN. I figured the pretty had to start somewhere.

You're welcome, riquitv. Dean's getting there slowly but surely. I hope this update worked for you.

I'm glad you're enjoying the ride, stndabvthcrwd1. I like exploring how this happening to Dean effects everything else. And frankly, the more John I can get the better. Cause the only improvement you could ever make on Sam and Dean in my book is adding John to the mix.

Thanks, DeanBeanWinchester! Poor Dean and John indeed…

Unfortunately Dean didn't really overhear anything, Yammy, but that doesn't mean he won't figure a few things out.

Thanks greendaypumpkin! I am so glad that you're enjoying this.

Thank you, EtainAingeal! I agree. A lot of writers enjoy piling on John, or turning him into a emotionally or sexually abusive father. He was just human. I think that's why I like him so much. He was a good man, not a perfect man.

-Angie