Notes: Oh, look who hasn't updated in forever... I don't even have a good excuse, really. I've been a little busier than normal, but not a whole lot. I just have absolutely no drive lately. Lol I've been lazier than normal.

Sorry, though. The update wasn't suppose to take this long. :/

Chapter 10

Dean was sweating. Or maybe he was just crying. Okay, he was doing both.

It was the middle of night still, so he had to be careful not to wake anyone else up. It was pitch black in the room, and he honestly wasn't sure if he was making noise or not. All he could hear was his heart, and he hoped that it wasn't actually as loud as it sounded to him. As quietly as he could manage, he packed up the few things he had, feeling for them blindly with outstretched arms.

A soft crunch sounded from underneath his foot, and Dean lifted his leg up slowly, stepping away from the area. He knew what it was, though. It was his phone, smashed and broken on the floor. He couldn't help it. Once the message ended, he had just… snapped.

"I swear to fucking God, Dean, answer your phone…"

Dean wiped at the wetness on his face, smearing it rather than clearing it off. He sniffed quietly and searched the room until he found what he needed. By the light of his cell phone, he grabbed the pencil and wrote a small note on the back of a stray piece of paper for Ellen. No doubt, she would flip out when she woke up to find an empty room. He hoped the note would soften the blow and, hopefully, keep her from trying to find him.

Dean finished writing the note and looked it over, choking as he read it. He hated lying to Ellen, but he really didn't have a choice. He left it on the end of the bed then reached for his things, taking them with him as he tip-toed out of the room. A few of the floorboards creaked with his weight, but no one seemed to wake up. The entire place was dead, eerily silent and dark.

When Dean finally made his way out the front door, he sucked in a dusty breath, coughing it out violently with a sob.

"Ok, fine, if you're going to play this game… Your damn brother is on his way here right now. I'm going to tell him everything."

Dean covered his mouth with a sweaty hand, stifling a low keen. He kept walking, tripping over his own feet and almost falling to the ground more than once. He had to get back there. He had to stop his dad. He had to… He had to…

He paused in the darkness long enough to bend over and throw up, trying to keep the noise down. He spat and made himself stand back up, feeling impossibly worse than before.

He regretted listening to the message on his phone, more than anything else he had ever done. His dad's voice played over and over in his mind, getting louder each time. Dean didn't even like knowing what was going to happen, even if Sam was involved. He wished he could be ignorant again. He'd be useless, but he'd be happy.

"I am going to tell him what a sick fuck you are, and what a little shit you've been to me…"

Sam couldn't know what had happened. Dean didn't think he could ever look at his brother again if he knew what their dad had done to him. Sam would be repulsed, for one thing. He would see Dean as the disgusting freak that their dad…

Dean shivered and picked up his step. Sam would look at his brother and see someone who was weak and cowardly, too idiotic to even grow up and fight back. Someone who took a hit and turned around, only to take another hit once more. Dean was pathetic, and Sam would know that now.

Worse than that, Sam would no longer see Dean as the strong and protective older brother. When they were little, Sam always looked up to him. What did he have to look up to now? A bruised little bitch? No. He would look down on him now. Dean couldn't save him anymore, so what was the point?

"You better get your ass back down here, Dean. Sam will be here soon, and if you're not here, I'll do to him what I did to you. I fucking swear, I'll be ten times harder on him…"

Dean stuck out his thumb, standing a bit too far into the road. Maybe if he was lucky, someone would hit him and kill him. He had no such luck. However, a pick-up truck pulled up next to him, and a middle-aged man leaned toward him through an open window.

"Where to, stranger?" The man in the car grinned up at him through the night, his teeth glinting unnervingly white from the moonlight. His voice was low and smooth, sliding over to Dean and making him shiver. He told him where he was headed, and the guy nodded thoughtfully. "That's a little bit off my course, but I guess I could swing it," he smiled again, "for a price."

Dean soundlessly nodded and got into the vehicle, feeling light-headed and sick. He had money, and he'd give it all away if he could get back to his dad and Sam. That's all that mattered.

"You get here and I'll let Sam go. But you're a fucking tattle, you know that? I can't have you going around telling people lies. You come down here, and I will kill you. I swear, I will fucking murder you. It's your choice, Dean. You or Sam."

He would always choose Sam.

Paul Miller was heading back south when he passed a young kid on the side of the road with his thumb stuck out firmly. He would have continued driving, since he had a schedule to keep, but something about the sight made him pull his truck over and lean out of the window.

"Hey, kid," he called, catching the young man's attention. He beckoned him to come forward, and at closer inspection he noticed the kid was donning a backpack stuffed with what looked like everything he owned. He was lanky and baby-faced, with hair that covered his forehead and fell into his eyes. Paul was taken aback at how young he really looked; there was no way he was any older than eighteen.

"Good evening, sir," the kid responded, looking up to the truck. "Could I catch a ride with you?"

"Where're you headed?"

"Kansas," he said, adjusting the bag on his shoulders.

"Yeah, I'm going through there," Paul said, sitting back in his seat. "Hop in." The kid walked around to the other side of the truck and got in, actually ducking his head to avoid hitting the top. He was taller than he looked from down on the street.

"Thank you, sir," he said breathlessly, setting his bag by his feet.

"Call me Paul," he insisted, "none of that 'sir' stuff." Paul smiled, and the grin he received from the kid was full and friendly, slightly crooked and extremely bright. He chuckled softly and looked down.

"My name is Sam," he introduced, jutting out a hand. Paul took the warm limb in his own and shook, surprised at how open this kid was, considering his young age. And by the looks of the stuffed backpack, it could be assumed that he was running from home, probably. Though why his decided destination was Kansas, of all places, the driver couldn't be sure. As Paul started the truck up again, he tried to look at the kid from out of the corner of his eye, searching for any clues that could give away his story.

"So, Sam," he started after a few minutes of comfortable silence, "what's in Kansas?" He glanced over at the other seat, watching his facial expression. Sam had been looking out the window, watching the passing scenery, so he turned in his seat so they could converse.

"My brother," he answered, the corner of his lips moving up ever so slightly. He took in a deep breath and hesitantly added, "And my dad." His expression was oddly tight when he spoke the last part, and he scratched his nose absently.

Dad issues, it seemed. And he was close with his brother. Paul noted the observations in his mind.

"So you're not running from home, then?" Paul couldn't help but relax a little in his seat. He hated giving rides to runaways. Seeing kids, especially young ones, cutting themselves off from family ties was always depressing. They were young and hopeful, with bright eyes and excited smiles. They'd twitch in their seats and rave on about what their dreams were and where they were headed, but all the while they usually didn't have any real plans on how to get where they wanted to go. They were basically running nowhere.

"No, no," Sam laughed, looking down at his lap. He twiddled his fingers a bit before staring back at the road. "I guess I already did that."

"Running back?" Paul tried, smiling a little. He at least wished Sam would be going back to his brother. He wasn't sure about the father, but the kid seemed excited to see his sibling again.

"Not exactly," he shrugged. "Just visiting." The driver nodded, sensing that this was an area that wasn't going to be waded into, no matter how much he pressed.

"Well, we have a while to go before we get to Kansas, kid," Paul sighed, adjusting his legs and leaning back, "and you look tired." Sam smiled slightly, and it accented the bags under his eyes. "You should get some sleep."

"Yeah, probably," Sam muttered, scrunching down in his seat and leaning his head against the window. He faced away from the driver's seat, but Paul could see that the kid's eyes stayed open, fully awake. He didn't even nod off or take a nap. He was alert the entire ride, but Paul didn't give it away that he knew. Maybe the kid just needed some time to think.

Jo sat on a bar stool, hugging her arms tightly around her midriff. Ash was behind the bar counter, attending to the drinks and pretending he wasn't hearing the yelling in the other room— his room. Ellen's loud voice carried into every room, so there was no escaping it.

"Bobby Singer, answer your goddamned phone," she screamed, and Jo turned the stool in the other direction, staring out the front door. She was hoping— praying— that she would catch a glimpse of a tall figure coming back through the door, explaining why he had been out all night, and why his phone was in pieces on the floor, and why the note had said what it did.

But no matter how long she stared, the figure wouldn't manifest.

Why would he just leave like that? Jo couldn't wrap her mind around why Dean had up and left in the middle of the night like he had. He was finally free, and he was going to stay with Bobby until he got himself together. He had salvation at the tips on his fingers, and he just stopped reaching.

"Bobby! He's gone," Ellen's voice interrupted, making Jo close her eyes tightly. "Dean's gone." There was a long pause. "I don't know! He was doing so well, and this morning… I went into his room and found a note, and he wasn't here."

Jo glanced over at the piece of crumpled paper on the counter, where Ellen had left it when she was storming all around the place. She turned and fingered it lightly, wishing they had read it wrong. But the letters and words on the sheet wouldn't change, and their meaning was the same every time she read it over.

Don't worry about me, I'll be fine. Thanks for everything.

Dean

Short and sweet, like a gunshot.

"I can't get ahold of him, his phone's destroyed," Ellen announced to everyone from the other room. Ash continued to act as if nothing was happening, and Jo got off the stool to go outside. Maybe from out there, she could see Dean coming back.

Yeah. Maybe.

Notes: Alright, alright. I know. It would be completely improbable for Paul to give a ride to both brothers. But you know what? It's fiction. Anyhting can happen in fiction. Especially fanfiction. :)