Chapter 9 - A Man Alone

Dean struggled into wakefulness, clawing his way upward against yet another dream trying to suck him down into terrifying depths.

He sat up, shook his head, took a drink from the water bottle on his nightstand, and laid back down.

You are going to beat this thing. You're not a child. Lots of people have survived this sort of thing. And if they can do it, you can do it.

He jerked the sheet up to his neck with an anger that defied the nightmares to return.

I'm not a scared little kid!

###

Dean's phone rang at 8 a.m., and he groaned. But after it rang three times, he figured he at least ought to see who it was. Two more, and it would go to voicemail.

It's Mom! He sat upright and answered it hurriedly. "Mom...I forgot to get back with you yesterday! I'm so sorry! Things have been so crazy…."

"Your father and I have been really worried, son! How could you do that to us?"

"I…." Dean ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to. I was...I was in pretty bad shape yesterday, and I wasn't thinking straight."

"It's already begun," she said, in a voice which was half-sad, half simmering with anger.

Her words slammed into Dean's gut with agonizing familiarity. That's what Mira said.

"Mom...it's going to take me some time to learn to deal with this, okay? But Dad's going to help me…."

He instantly knew that those were the wrong words. His mother lost it.

"Your dad?" she shrieked. "Your DAD? He's the last person who can help you!"

"No, Mom, he knows where the dangers are, and he can point them out to me. He's been doing that. He learned from his mistakes, and I've learned from them, too. You know that! You know he learned how to deal with the cop life!" He was almost shouting at his mother, and somehow he didn't feel bad about that. Normally he would have.

He could hear her trying to calm herself. "Dean... I can't lose you like I lost him, okay? I can't do this again. I can't watch you get torn apart like that!"

"It's not going to happen, okay? I won't let that happen. Dad won't let that happen. Perkins won't let that happen. They've got my back, Mom."

"You'll forgive me if I don't find those promises reassuring."

Silence fell.

"How is Mira taking it?" Mom asked.

Dean felt the question like a fist in his gut. "She um…" his voice broke. "She broke up with me."

"What?"

Dean just struggled with the tears.

"Because of your job?"

"Yeah."

When she spoke again, it was clear that anger was winning over her fear. "Wives and girlfriends always become expendable when you put that uniform on."

"Mom, I don't need this right now, okay? I'm going through enough."

"You just sounded exactly like your father used to sound." Her anger cranked up yet another notch.

"I'm not my father!" He stopped, confused by his own words. I've never thought of 'like my father' as a bad thing before. Not since I met him.

And she never accused me of being like him before I met him.

"Then stop being in such a hurry to follow in his footsteps!" his mother hissed, and slammed the phone down.

What the…?

Rage bubbled up, and he yelled; a wordless wrath that, for a moment, sounded like Ed when he'd been digging Clark out of the rubble.

That memory revived his rage against Marcus Faber, which in turn brought up everything he'd ever felt about Craig Hammond. And suddenly Dean no longer cared about restraint, or about who might hear him in nearby apartments. He roared against the universe, and against all the evil in it. He picked up his pillow and slammed it against the bed, as hard as he could, over and over. And then, still roaring, he slammed it against the door frame with all his might, until he felt spent.

But then the sight of his dresser top made his eyes widen. There was one of his favorite photos. Himself and Mira at the Prom.

This time his roar had words, lots of them, of the type that he never used. His stepfather's gentlemanly example shattered along with the breakables on his dresser, which he swept off with one violent swing of his pillow.

The photo frame landed face down on the floor, and he assaulted it with the pillow, and then stomped on it until his roar finally gave way to sobs, and rage gave way to remorse.

He picked up the photo, turned it over, and gasped in horror at what he saw. I broke us. I broke us. The shattered glass made him feel as evil as everything he'd raged against.

"I'm sorry, Mira, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" He hugged the photo close and sobbed until his chest ached.

When he could bring himself to get up off the floor, he crawled into bed, still cradling the abused photo, and burrowed up to his neck under his blanket.

"What have I done?" he cried aloud to the silent walls. "What have I become?"

The unresponsive walls told him.

They told him he was alone.

He looked at the photo one more time, jarred by the faces that still smiled stupidly at the ruined glass in front of them. They can't even see that everything is ruined now.

"Mira, you were right. You're better off without me." His voice, hoarse from shouting, choked itself off, and he could no longer bear to speak.

The Dean Parker in that photo died. He died when he saw evil. He died when he killed.

Almost instantly something hardened inside his soul. His tears dried up. His rage deadened. His grief disappeared.

He was numb again.

###

The thick Texas drawl of his stepfather's message urged Dean to pick up the phone. But he just stared at it, as he'd stared at all previous callers.

"Dean, son, I'm really worried. Your mom says she went off on you, and she's really sorry...you know she was just scared. Please pick up, Dean. We love you, son, and we're so worried about you."

Somewhere deep in his soul he felt the tug, his love for this man who had taken him in and been all that a father should be. But it couldn't rise to the level of action.

"Okay, son. I guess you've gone somewhere without your phone. Please call me as soon as you can. I need...we need to know how you are. And your mom promises she won't get upset with you again, okay? Please call."

The voice sounded so sad, but Dean didn't twitch. He just lay there, as he had when his mother had called before (countless times), when his father had called (twice), and when Perkins had called.

He felt vaguely aware of hunger. Other than trips to the bathroom, he hadn't gotten out of bed since he'd attacked his bedroom, and now the dinner hour was upon him.

But hunger was just another feeling, and Dean had had enough of feelings.

###

Greg's phone rang and he snatched it up. His eyes widened at the caller ID.

"Joanne! Hi."

"Greg...have you heard from Dean?"

"Not since he left here last night, no."

"He never called me back yesterday...did you give him my message?" Her voice dripped with the old accusations, and Greg felt his soul tightening into the old fear.

"Yes, I gave it to him. In fact, he was getting his phone out to call you when his girlfriend called him. That was a rough call, from what I could tell. He wasn't willing to talk about it. He's having an awful lot of terrible challenges right now, Joanne. We have to give him time."

"Easy for you to say, when he's so close to you. How do you think we feel, so far away and so out of the loop?"

Greg closed his eyes. Her accusing tone never failed to curdle something inside of him, carrying as it did the memories of a thousand agonies and losses. "He's not here, and he didn't answer my calls this morning. Have you called him?"

"Yes, and he hasn't answered." Her voice lowered suddenly, and Greg thought he detected a touch of guilt in her tone. "Not since the first call this morning."

"Oh, you did talk to him once?"

"Yes, I talked to him once!" she snapped.

"I'm guessing it didn't go well…." And you're blaming yourself, and you don't want to admit it.

"No, it didn't." She did sound a bit less antagonistic when she said that. "And he hasn't answered any of my other calls."

"Then he's telling us he wants space."

"Maybe, or maybe something's terribly wrong, and he can't get to the phone. You're the cop, hadn't you thought of that? He's following your footsteps, you know...can't cope with life, girlfriend left him…."

The comparison made Greg reel. "Did she leave him, for sure?"

"Yes, that's what he said."

Greg needed a while to rein in his emotions. "He's starting on much stronger footing than I had. He's not following in my footsteps. He's got a better head on his shoulders. I'm sure nothing has happened to him. He just needs time. And you know I won't give up on him."

"How do I know that?"

"Joanne, that's not fair!" he nearly yelled it, and had to slow down his breathing before continuing. "You know what I did for him after he was kidnapped. You know how I've been there for him all this time, since he was sixteen! You know I'm not the man I was before. You admitted that a year ago, right here, when you said you knew I had changed. Now I know you're hurting and scared, and so am I, but don't you dare use that as an excuse to treat me like I'm still the same man I was!" He realized he was squeezing the phone so tightly that his hand hurt, and he was back to nearly yelling.

"Greg, in many ways you have changed for the better, but let me tell you what hasn't changed. You're still a cop. And that's what put my son in that uniform…."

"OUR son," he corrected.

"Fine! That's what put our son in that uniform. He never would have chosen to be a cop if not for you. He never would have moved back to Canada if not for you. I'm losing my son because of you!" Now she was yelling.

"I lost him for ten years!" Greg yelled back.

"Whose fault was that?" She hung up.

Greg closed his eyes again, reeling. I had thought we were past all of this. I had thought we could at least have some peace.

"Greg?" Marina asked softly.

"Not now, Marina!" he snapped.

After a few moments he got up and went to the kitchen, though he didn't want anything there. He just felt the nervous need to move. He paced, and he thought, and he grew more tense by the moment.

I need to do something!

If he won't answer his phone, he's in a bad way. And what if Joanne is right? What if something has happened to him and he can't answer the phone?

Greg was too much of a cop to doubt what could happen to anyone who had been through all that Dean had been through. But he refused to consider that possibility with Dean even though, with any other person, it would have urged him to immediate action.

Subjects might be suicidal. But Greg couldn't let his mind go there about Dean. At least, not consciously.

But his desperate need to do something was growing to the point of near panic. So, he did what he always did when he needed serious emotional support. He dialed his phone.

"Ed, I need you to talk me out of going to Dean's apartment...if I need to be talked out of it...because I'm about to head over there." Greg was pacing back and forth, gripping his car keys so tightly that they dug painfully into his hand. I don't even remember taking them off the hook.

"Greg, it's probably fine for you to go there, but not until you've calmed down."

Greg stopped pacing, closed his eyes, and forced his hand to relax. "I'm a mess, Ed. Hard to believe I was a cop."

"You're not being a cop now, buddy, you're being a dad. And believe me, that can be a whole lot harder to handle."

"I'm not handling it, Ed. I'm not. I know I'm not." He lowered his voice. "Marina is really worried about me, almost as much as she's worried about Dean."

"I won't lie...I'm worried about you too, buddy. This thing is hitting you in ways that are far deeper than the present. I mean, the present is tough enough, right? But you're tying this in with all the pain of your past, your losses from so long ago...they're all combining against you right now, buddy."

"Yeah, well, it's hard not to do that, with Joanne throwing the past in my face again. She's blaming it all on me, Ed."

"No way, that's not fair. You don't have to listen to that. You know the truth about who you are now, and who Dean is. So hang up whenever Joanne lays that garbage on you, and whatever you do, don't lay it on yourself! You have got to put the past back where it belongs. That's not what this is about."

"Marina hit it on the head a few hours ago, Ed. She told me I'm not just afraid of losing Dean. I'm afraid of failing him. So afraid of failing him…."

'She's right, and you need to deal with that, because it's not going to help you or him get through this thing."

"I don't seem to have the strength, or whatever it takes, to talk sense to myself...to get things back into perspective. I'm so raw-afraid, Eddie. It's...sometimes it's felt close to panic. You know what it does to me when Joanne goes off on me. That's why I haven't gone to his place yet. I think I might not be good for him, in my current state."

"You need to stop giving Joanne so much power over you. Why does her opinion of you matter more to you than mine, or Dean's, or Marina's, or anybody else's on the team?"

"Because she's right!" He let that come out more heatedly than he'd intended.

"She's partially right about who you were, and totally wrong about who you are. Do you hear me?"

Greg just shook his head.

"Do you hear me?" More emphatically this time.

Greg ran his hand over his head. "Yeah, I hear you. But you know how hard it is for me to really hear it. I need...I need perspective, Eddie."

Ed sighed deeply. "Give me a minute to think about this, buddy."

"Yeah, okay." Greg had paced back to the living room by this time, so he sat down on the couch and waited.

Marina came out of their bedroom, and Greg saw that she had been crying. Alone? I should have been there for her! He started to stand, but she waved him down and sat beside him, cuddling against his side.

He squeezed her and kissed the top of her head, then rubbed her shoulder gently. I'm so sorry, hon. I haven't been much good to you or to Dean.

"Okay, Greg," Ed continued. "Look, if the past is scaring you so badly here, then we need to do a little reality testing about it, okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

"The past is what you're afraid to return to, right?"

"In a sense, yeah. Losing my son, failing him."

"But are you the same man you were then?"

"Yeah, just a bit wiser."

"Then in the most important ways, you're not the same man."

"Okay, I guess."

"But listen, if the past is the big scary deal, then tell me this...did you come through your past better, or worse, ultimately?"

Greg sighed. "Better." For some reason, he hated to admit it.

"And was Dean lost forever?"

"No, he came back. But those ten years were lost forever, Eddie."

"Nobody's denying that. But how does that relate to now?"

Greg thought. Finally he had to shake his head. "I guess it doesn't."

"That's right, it doesn't. And even if it did, the worst case scenario wasn't able to destroy you when it happened, and it wasn't able to keep you and Dean apart forever. So now, being a much wiser man, whatever failings you still have are not going to be enough to keep you and Dean apart again, okay, Buddy? Are you hearing me?"

Greg sighed, but it was a freer sigh, now. "Yeah, buddy. I hear you." He ran his hand over his head. "Listen, I'm gonna try to stop calling you so often. Sophie must hate me by now."

"She did say something about it being easier if I would just move in with you."

"Oh no, did she really say that?"

"She was joking, Greg."

"Yeah, and jokes are cloaks that hide many a dagger, Eddie." Dean's not the only one who needs to stand on his own two feet here. "Thanks for all your help, buddy. I'll call him one more time, and if he doesn't answer, I'll head over there. More calmly."

"All right."

He hung up, and Marina sighed.

"Hey, hon...you're really hurting. I'm sorry." He scooted to the edge of his seat so he could turn and face her. "How can I help?"

She looked down. "I'm not sure now's the time. You were wanting to call Dean."

Greg hesitated. Dean's case is more urgent….

Or is it? His brows knit as he studied Marina's face. She's avoiding looking at me. She doesn't usually do that.

I was very short with her earlier.

He gently lifted her chin so she would look into his eyes. "I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier. That was way out of line. You were only trying to help. Will you forgive me?"

She sighed. "Of course." But her pain didn't seem lessened.

He searched her face some more. "I've messed up worse than I know. Please tell me."

She sighed. "Who helped you see that you were afraid of failing Dean?"

"You did."

"Who reminded you to call his Dallas family?"

He couldn't help injecting a little of course into his tone. "You did!" What's the point of this exercise?

"Who has helped you comfort him...as much as you would allow?"

Allow? What does she mean by that? "You did." He bit back the questions which were starting to make his stomach queasy. Listen. Just listen.

"Who has helped you for years as we've been through crises with Dean? Who has learned to love him like a son? Who has helped your heart heal from your first marriage, and finally helped you believe in love again?"

He was beginning to feel more afraid, even though her tone was calm, not angry. "You, you, all you...but why do you even feel the need to ask these things?"

"Who do you always turn to when you're upset, scared, needing advice...even if I'm right here, even if you have to snap at me first and then go call him?"

Greg's jaw slackened, and he averted his gaze while her words sank in.

"Greg," she continued gently, turning his face toward her again. "I understand that I walked into your life long after Ed was already your best friend, confidant, and advisor. And believe me, I don't begrudge that. Not at all. I love your friendship. He's a good man, and you deserve each other's friendship and support. But when, if ever, will you at least start to see me as someone worth turning to, someone who might have something meaningful to contribute?"

His fear hardened like lead in his gut. He felt his breath coming a little short. I've messed up another marriage….

She took his face in her hands. "Greg, don't be afraid. I love you with all my heart, and I'm not going anywhere. Okay? Do you hear that?"

He drew in a deep breath.

"I'm not going anywhere," she repeated.

"Yeah, okay." Calm down, calm down.

"I know there are things that only Ed can relate to. Cop stuff. But Ed's not the only one who can relate to your love for Dean. I love him too. And all I'm asking is that your eyes don't glaze over when you look at me, as if I'm not even there, while you call Ed every time there's a problem with Dean. If I can't help you, then call Ed, of course. But please stop making me feel like I'm not really your wife, like I'm not really Dean's stepmom when the times get hard. I am those things, I love being those things. I love you. Both of you. Please stop shutting me out!"

She'd kept her tone soft, her eyes gentle, her words pleading rather than demanding. Not at all like Joanne would have approached him.

But his heart still pounded, his mouth was still dry, and his thoughts still fled from the fear of screwing up and losing a wife's love again.

"Greg, look in my eyes, please."

He complied.

"I love you. I'm not going anywhere. All I'm asking is that you let me be what I am...your wife, and Dean's stepmom. Please."

He looked away. She's not Joanne. She's not even like Joanne. Calm down.

Her eyes searched his face. "You are so afraid," she whispered. "I never dreamed I could scare you so much."

"I um...I'm pulling it together." His stress response was backing off, slowly. He took her hands in his. "I guess it's just...so soon after Joanne went off on me...all of that old agony, and all of my worrying about Dean...I guess I just thought it was all happening again."

"It's not happening again, not now, not ever. I love you. I'm not going anywhere." She smiled.

He managed a little smile, too. "Thank you. For loving this thick-headed guy...and my son."

She put a hand on his chest. "Our son? Can he be that?"

Greg nodded, surprised at how hard it was for him to agree at first. She's right, I'm really resistant to this. Even though she came into my life not long after he did.

She deserves better. He nodded again. "Yes, of course."

"Okay, thank you. Now, I think you were about to call our son."

He nodded, then drew her close and kissed her forehead. "I don't know what I ever did to deserve you."

"Ditto."

###

The phone rang.

Again.

It had rung almost endlessly for hours, with the unique ringtones assigned to one parent or another, or to his partner. But the phone was over on the nightstand, and silencing the ringer would have required Dean to move more than he wanted to.

His blanket felt like a very safe cocoon.

But for some reason the sound of this particular call finally annoyed him enough to force him across the threshold, to move him from lethargy into action.

It's Dad. He picked it up. "I'm right here."

"Dean, thank heaven, I've been so worried about you! I mean, we've been."

"Can't a guy just have some time to himself, without the whole world banging on his door?"

"Sure you can, bud, if you tell us that's what you want. But when you just disappear, we don't know what to think. We were really worried."

"I want time to myself. Would you please tell Mom and Glen to stop calling me, too?" He hung up and silenced the phone. Then he rolled over on his other side, and put the pillow over his head to block out any other noises which might disturb his sanctuary.

Everybody just leave me alone!

###

Greg hung up the phone and turned, wide-eyed, to his wife. "That doesn't sound like Dean at all!"

"No, it sure doesn't!"

"Now I'm more worried than I was before I called. I'm really tempted to go over there."

She looked very dubious. "He made it pretty clear what he wanted."

"Yeah, well I often made it pretty clear what I wanted, when it was a bottle of Scotch. Doesn't mean it was good for me, or that my friends didn't try to intervene."

"I doubt that Dean is doing anything as potentially harmful to himself as drinking a bottle of Scotch."

Greg sighed. "You're probably right." He picked up the phone again. "I'd better call Dallas."

Marina gave Greg a sympathetic look, and offered him her hand.

He took it, but not until a few seconds later did he realize why she'd offered it. She knows what it does to me to talk to Joanne when she's mad.

I've been a fool not to appreciate her more in a crisis.

"Thank you." He squeezed her hand and rubbed her knuckles with his thumb as he placed the call.

Glen answered, and Greg felt his anxiety melt away. "Hey, Glen, here's the latest…."

###

Dean slept better that night. Only two nightmares, and they had been brief. So when 9 a.m. rolled around, he finally opened his eyes with something other than a desire to hide.

I'm so hungry!

He started to pull his blanket aside, but was stopped by the sound of crunching glass. The abused photo frame still lay, face up, in his bed, though he'd put it on top of the blanket at some point, for fear that the glass would come out.

Oh, man…. He picked it up and looked at it, but while it saddened him, it no longer threatened to break him down. I can get another frame. Or I can put it in a photo album. He set it carefully back on top of his dresser. I'll deal with it later.

He made his way to the kitchen and looked for something appetizing. Leftover pizza from several days ago still looked edible, so he finished it off, with a cola to wash it down.

Mom wouldn't approve, but….

He winced at the thought of his mother. I really ticked her off, and I don't know how to talk to her anymore. Her fear came through more clearly now, in hindsight. Dad was right. She's just scared.

He sighed and tossed the uneaten pizza crusts into the trash. The longer I put off calling her, the madder she'll get.

I put it off all day yesterday. He sighed again. This will not be fun.

He called anyway. To his relief, his stepdad answered.

"Dean, thanks for calling, son!"

"Dad, I'm sorry. I was a mess yesterday. No excuses, though. I owe Mom an apology."

He heard his dad whisper, "It's Dean!" Then he said, "I'll put it on speakerphone, son. Your mom's right here."

"Hi son," his mom said, sounding kind-of stiff and formal.

"Hi, Mom. I'm sorry for...everything." Wait a minute...what am I apologizing for? What did I do wrong?

He shook his head and dismissed his confused thoughts. Just pretend you did something wrong. Make peace.

"I...I'm sorry too, Dean. I shouldn't have compared you with your father. That was wrong of me."

Dean felt odd about the comparison again, and after a moment he couldn't help responding, "Well, it would be okay to compare me with who he is now...but yeah, it wasn't right to compare me with who he was then. But I forgive you."

"Son...you can't begin to imagine how much it terrifies me, seeing you walking down the same path that…."

Dean heard his stepfather murmuring something in the background. He couldn't make out the words, but the tone sounded cautionary, like he didn't want Mom to continue that train of thought.

Mom paused. "Anyway, son...how are you today? Any better?"

"Uh, yeah. I hardly got out of bed for most of the past 24 hours. I was really exhausted, and I needed the rest. It helped. I feel a lot...better, I guess." I don't know if that's the right word, but I don't know any other way to describe it that would make sense. Except maybe that I feel more like myself. He finished off his cola, crumpled the can, and threw it in the recycling bin.

"That's good, son."

Silence.

"So anyway," Dean continued, "I just wanted to say that I'm doing better, and I'm sorry I worried you. I'll try not to let it happen again."

"Okay, son. Listen, we're hoping to come up to Toronto soon. Hopefully we'll get to see you while we're there," his mom said.

"Of course, absolutely."

"We'll get back with you on the dates when we finalize things," his stepfather added.

"Okay, sounds good." He began to feel antsy for the call to end. "Listen, I called you guys first, so I still have several more calls to make."

"All right, we'll let you go."

Dean was about to dial his father, but then his phone rang. It was Perkins' ringtone. He picked it up. "Hey, partner."

"Hey, yourself, Parker. I was worried about you, son!"

"I know, I'm sorry. I pretty much slept the whole day away."

"No worries. You must have needed it."

"I did. I feel a lot better."

"Good, good to hear it. Listen, I'm cleared to start light duty tomorrow, but I'm off today. I thought maybe you and I could get together. Do lunch, maybe?"

"Yeah, that sounds good." They made their arrangements, and then Dean called his father.

He gave his dad all the usual assurances and apologies. This is getting to be a real drag. Is it really so awful for a guy in my shoes to need to rest? But his dad was supportive, and that helped.

Now what? What do I do between now and lunch? He looked in the fridge again for something to snack on in the meantime, but it was almost empty.

Man, I need to get paid!

Wait a minute! He looked at the calendar, and at the date on his watch. It's payday! But it's too soon for the direct deposit to work, so I have to go to the station to get it.

He hurried to his dresser for his car keys, but had to hunt for them until he found where they'd flown after his pillow assault. That was so stupid! He averted his eyes from the smashed picture frame, and trotted out to his car.

It's good to be able to function again.

I can't ever let anything throw me that badly again.

He drove to the station, and by the time he'd arrived, he felt fairly sure that he was back to himself.

It's all good.

He headed inside, down a hall, around a corner, and heard the unmistakable sound of break-room chatter. He recognized the voices of several of his academy classmates in the mix.

Wouldn't hurt to stop in and say hi.

He walked into the break room, and several people turned to see who'd come in. Delgado was one of them, and he called Dean over.

The other rookies fell silent.

"Hey, Dean, how are you doing?" Delgado seemed truly concerned, and it warmed Dean's heart.

"It's uh...it's been rough, but I'm doing better now." He smiled at the sergeant.

"That's good to hear." Delgado smiled back. "Have you seen Perkins?"

"Just once since the firefight, but we're meeting for lunch shortly."

"Good. I was hoping you guys would reconnect soon. I saw him yesterday. He's gonna be fine."

"Yeah, I can't imagine what shape I'd be in if...you know."

"I've known Perkins a long time," Delgado nodded. "He's top-notch. It would have been a shame to lose him."

"Yes sir."

"You here to get your paycheck?"

"Yeah, just heard the chatter and thought I'd stop in and say hi."

"Glad you did." Delgado smiled and gave Dean a friendly pat on the shoulder, then turned back to whatever conversation he'd been having before Dean had come in.

Dean walked over to a large table seating almost exclusively rookies he knew. "Hey guys," he said.

"Hey." The greetings sounded polite, but they all seemed strained, uncomfortable for some reason.

Must be my imagination. "Um...can I sit down?" He indicated an empty seat.

"Sure." The answer came from a rookie named Deever, and that was no surprise. From day one at the Academy, Deever had established himself as a leader...not so much from any superiority that Dean could discern, but from some power he had to sway people. Somehow, almost everybody was afraid that his disapproval meant ostracism. His approval was the definition of "in." No doubt the 'Big Man on Campus' in High School. And he's never outgrown his need for minions to make him feel like somebody.

Dean and Howell had become such close friends precisely because they had refused the pull of Deever's personality.

But I can't afford to make enemies in the department. I'll never be one of Deever's "followers," but that shouldn't mean they can't support another rookie going through a hard time. He seated himself and looked around the table at all the familiar faces.

What's wrong with everybody?

The rookies all looked to Deever to see how things would go. So Dean looked at him, too.

"So, is it true, Parker?" Deever asked, his expression strangely hard, his tone accusing.

"Is what true?" Dean didn't mind letting his distaste for Deever's attitude show.

"That you're the son of Sergeant Greg Parker, chief instructor at the Academy?"

"Yes, it's true. That's why I didn't take any classes from him."

"Well if you weren't getting any benefit from being his son, then why did you keep it a secret?"

"Maybe because I didn't want the attitude I knew I'd get from people like you," Dean replied, his tone as hard as Deever's. "I'm going to stand or fall on my own, Deever. I'm not riding his coattails."

"You can't prove a negative," his father's voice played back in his head.

Thanks, Dad. Dean leveled his gaze straight into Deever's eyes, refusing to be cowed.

Deever leaned forward and lowered his voice. His followers leaned forward, too.

"When I walked into the break room today, did I get a nice chat with Sergeant Delgado?"

"How would I know?"

"No, Parker, I didn't." The way he emphasized the name brought back painful memories of Clark's angry tirade.

Dean's nostrils flared, and his heart rate rose a bit.

Deever looked around at his cronies. "Are any of you suddenly buddies with Delgado?"

All heads shook.

Deever looked back at Dean, and lowered his voice even more. "Maybe you don't get favors direct from your dad, but lots of officers look up to him. They're not going to give you a hard time about anything, knowing who you are." His face and tone both radiated disgust, and he turned to his followers. "I guess we're out of luck, compared to Parker, here. No matter how good we are, we'll never get the perks he gets."

Dean felt rage curdling his gut. But he instinctively knew that that was what Deever wanted, and he refused to give him the victory. With as calm a voice as he could muster, and with a steady gaze at Deever, he gave his carefully-worded reply. "You underestimate Delgado. He's nobody's minion. The reason he greeted me the way he did was because he saw what a hard time I was having after the firefight, you know...with my T.O. going down right in front of me. And he has probably heard from Perkins just how hard it's been for me to cope with the fact that I killed a man a few days ago. That's a really hard thing for any man to deal with, and you should appreciate Delgado for caring like that." He looked around at the others at the table. "He would have done the same for any of you."

He instantly knew he'd chosen the right tack. The others at the table seemed pleased with his response, and Deever seemed to have been broadsided by it.

Dean sat back, pretending to be relaxed, and waited for Deever to make his next move. He almost wondered at himself for relishing this confrontation, but then he remembered his words to Perkins. I'm frustrated that I can't make the perps from the firefight pay, so I'm itching for a fight. Deever's as good a target as any.

He also saw over Deever's shoulder that Delgado and some other older officers had grown quiet. He suspected that they were listening. If Deever shows them what a jerk he is, he's going to sink his own ship.

Dean waited, calmly, while Deever regrouped.

"Oh, I see how you're playing it," Deever said.

"Playing?"

"Yeah. We 'outed' you as Parker's son, so now you're going to play the 'Hero of the Firefight' card. Well played, Parker. Well played." Deever sat back in his chair with a posture of deliberate casualness.

Dean kept it just as cool "You didn't 'out' anybody. The newspaper did. And I don't have a game to play, Deever. I'm no more of a hero than anyone else who was there. It was the luck of the draw that made it my bullet, and not somebody else's, that took Peterson down. And to be honest, I wish it had been somebody else's. It's a sick, horrible feeling to know you've killed someone, Deever. I wouldn't wish that on anybody." He felt tears stinging his eyes as he said that, and though they didn't fall, he made no effort to hide them.

Dean felt a lot of his animosity fading. I really wouldn't wish that on anybody. It was the first empathy he'd felt since getting the news of his kill. And he found it very healing...much like his empathy for Mira had guided and consoled them both on the day she left.

I don't have anything to prove here. I don't need to win any battles here. I refuse to be part of any power struggle. It isn't all about me. And I'm happier when I remember it isn't.

Suddenly he saw himself and his father sitting on the couch in Dad's old apartment, getting reacquainted for the first time. Dad said, "Connecting is healing." That's how he pulled himself out of his mess. He reached out, helped people, cared about others, got his mind off of himself.

Dean stood, feeling immeasurably better. "Listen, I hope none of you guys ever have to go through what I've been going through for the past few days. But if you do, and you ever want to talk to somebody who understands, I'll be there." He looked around at every face, no longer feeling any need to prove anything to them, or to use them against Deever. I really do hope I can help them someday, when they need it.

"I have to go get my paycheck. See you guys around." He nodded a farewell to the group, and then to Delgado and his table-mates. And then he found his way to where his paycheck awaited him, feeling a slight echo of the joy he'd felt at how he'd handled Mira's departure.

I was a man in there, too. In the best sense of the word.

And I feel so much better!

He made his way to his car and settled into the driver's seat. Still almost an hour until I meet Perkins. Now what should I do?

He didn't ask himself if Deever's accusations had anything to do with it, but he pushed thoughts of calling his father out of his mind. Grow up, Dean.

He started his car, feeling the anxiety of the past several days settling over him again.

No, I can't go there again.

Connecting is healing. Who else can I connect to?

He'd driven about two blocks when it hit him.

Clark!

He drove to the restaurant where he would meet Perkins later, parked, and rolled down the windows. The weather was nice enough to sit in the car for a while.

He dialed Clark's number.

Clark picked up on the second ring. "Dean...I didn't expect to hear from you."

"Hey, man, I should have called sooner, but...things have been crazy." How much does he know? It hadn't occurred to him to wonder until now.

"I know, my dad told me."

"Um...how much did he tell you?"

"That you...Dean, how can we even talk about it so calmly? You killed a guy!"

For some reason, Dean smiled. Good old Clark. I should have known you'd be the first person who would say it like it is. It IS terrible! Somebody besides me needs to freak out about it...in a way that doesn't end our relationship.

That last thought erased his smile. "Yeah. Pretty unbelievable."

"And Mira broke up with you and moved away?"

"Yeah."

"Dean, what in the world? What is it with you guys and that uniform?"

For some reason, the question didn't raise his hackles, as his mother's animosity had. Maybe because it was less angry, and more bewildered.

He shook his head. "I don't know, Clark. I've been such a mess for the past few days, I don't think I've had a single clear-headed thought about the future. At least, not since Mira completely ended it. Maybe even before that."

"So you're not sure you're going to stay with the force?"

Dean shook his head again, and raised his free hand in an "I don't know" gesture. "Look, Clark, I don't get it, but I can't imagine quitting. I just can't. I haven't really thought about the future, but nothing in me feels like walking into that station and turning in my badge. Nothing in me wants to tell Perkins I'm through. Maybe that day will come, but it's not today."

Clark sighed heavily. "Dean, if your three-day nightmare of a career hasn't made you quit, nothing will. I mean, seriously...how much worse could it get?"

Dean's gut twisted a little. "Perkins might not have made it. That would have completely devastated me."

"You knew Donna. You'll know other cops who'll die. And for some reason, that won't make you quit either. I've seen it too many times. My dad can't quit, and neither can you. Maybe it's genetic, or evolutionary or something."

"Who knows? But if it was genetic, you'd be a cop, right?"

"That means the cop gene must be recessive. I should be eternally grateful for recessive genes."

"Yeah, whatever." For some reason, Dean was smiling again. "How are you, Clark...really? How are the panic attacks and all of that?"

Clark sighed. "I didn't have any the whole time I was back at my parents'. And I think I would have been fine after that, if I hadn't gotten the news about you...you know."

Dean's brow furrowed. "Me shooting Peterson made your panic attacks come back?"

"Yeah. But don't you dare tell my dad. I told him I was fine."

"I don't get it, man. Are you still going to counseling?"

"Yeah, my second session is coming up soon. I'll level with that guy, don't worry. But Dad doesn't need to know."

"I have a session this afternoon, after I have lunch with Perkins. But anyway, Clark, what does my job have to do with your panic attacks?"

"No idea."

Call me crazy, but I think he was hedging there. "You have a theory about it, don't you?"

A long pause. "It's stupid."

"I doubt it."

"Okay, maybe I don't want to talk about it."

"Okay, that's cool. You might want to tell your counselor about it, though."

Another pause from Clark. "You sound way too okay."

"I haven't been. I've been a basket case. But yeah, today is better."

"What's your secret?"

"A whole lot of sleep, for one thing."

"And what else?"

"Getting my mind off of myself. Caring about other people again, like the old me."

"The 'old you.'" You really feel like you're a different person now, don't you?"

Dean had to stop and think about that. "Yeah. I am."

"What's changed?" For some reason, the question sounded kind-of forlorn. And it carried with it a wrenching echo of Mira's voice. Hasn't it changed you? I don't know who you are anymore.

Dean thought again. "I...I don't know yet. I'll have to figure that out."

"Well until you figure it out, what do you feel like? A non-person? I mean...what's this limbo like for you?"

'Limbo.' Funny choice of words. Dean sighed. "Well, up until today it was just a horrible living nightmare. Hiding in my room, going crazy and smashing stuff in my room…."

"No way, you did that?"

"Yeah."

"Dude!"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. It's been bad. I've felt completely out of control, like I was on some sort of crazy roller coaster ride, except, instead of sitting in a seat with a seatbelt, I'm strapped to the outside of the car, flailing around helplessly and puking a lot."

"Seriously, puking?"

"Yeah. I never did that before, except when I was sick. I'm telling you, I've been out of my skull. It's been the most terrible time of my life."

"So why do you sound so okay now?"

Dean told him about the incident in the breakroom. "When I walked out of there, I felt like myself again, because like I said, I was back to caring about other people, feeling empathy and stuff."

Clark was silent for a while. "Maybe that's what makes me feel so good about music. When I'm making music, at least when I'm playing for other people, there's a sense in which I'm giving to them, reaching out to them." His voice softened, as if he was saying the next thought to himself. "That's what I told my counselor. Music is a gift you give."

"That's probably it," Dean agreed. "Same idea." Dean suddenly sat up straighter and squinted at a man he saw entering the restaurant by the far entrance. "I'm not sure, but I think I just saw Perkins." He checked his watch. If it's him, he's a little early, but not much.

"You need to go?" Clark asked.

"Uh...yeah, I think so. But listen, I meant what I said at the park. I miss you, buddy, and I don't want us to totally lose touch again."

"Yeah, okay. Just don't let the job destroy you, Parker. That's all I'm asking."

"I just survived worse experiences and feelings than I've ever imagined. If I can get through that, I can get through anything."

"I hope so, man. Go enjoy your lunch. I'm going to grab some food too."

"Okay, see you."

Dean got out of his car and headed toward the restaurant entrance.

I don't know why, but I feel the same way I felt when I signed on to the force. Like I've made a really huge decision.

Somehow I know, when I sit down to lunch with Perkins, it's going to be the end of my doubts.

I'll walk out of this restaurant a cop.

Next: Chapter 10 - A Man Among Men