Chapter Eleven: We could find that we're all alone

"So, who is this guy?" Sam questioned, popping a TV dinner in the microwave and pressing the appropriate buttons to start the device.

"I told you, Sammy," Dean began, simultaneously pulling two water bottles out of the fridge. Bottled water had seemed, at first, like a useless luxury - then the brothers had seen the water that came out of their tap. Now neither doubted its necessity. "He's a guy I work with - older, you know. Not a crack head."

"Always a plus." The younger brother took his eyes away from the cooking device to rummage around their tiny kitchen for some paper towels. "He has kids, though, right?"

"He's married too." Dean nodded, "Why? Does it matter? I mean, its not like I wanna date him." The elder got a dish towel whipped in his direction, and a few moments later found him plucking it off his head, chuckling heartily.

"Seriously," Sam continued after pulling the dinner out of the beeping microwave and tossing in the next one, setting it accordingly and starting it again. "How much are you telling him? I mean...what does he know about us?"

Dean sighed, rubbing his face tiredly, "Not much, Sammy." He affirmed to his little brother that he hadn't risked any sort of exposure to their secret. "This and that. Trust me, he won't call the cops or anything like that."

"Because he doesn't know anything or because you trust him?" The forever-distrusting fourteen-year-old asked suspiciously.

"Both." Dean answered easily.

"You actually trust him?" Sam asked disbelievingly and Dean was suddenly incredibly sick of having to defend himself.

"Yes, Sam." He snapped. "I trust him, okay?"

"No," the younger boy exclaimed, looking affronted, "It's not okay."

Dean sighed as the microwave beeped, working with the distraction, he focused on getting both their meals set up at the tiny island stationed between the two rooms. Dean pulled up a stool in the kitchen and Sam rounded his way into the living room and sat opposite him.

"I just can't believe, after everything that happened in Kansas, you'd just tell this guy all about our life." Sam started up again, pushing his food around with his fork.

Dean began digging into his own meal with a flourish. So processed meat substitute with a lump of something white on the side didn't exactly look appealing - it was there and he was hungry. "Chuck isn't...you know, he isn't a bad guy."

"You mean he's not like your last friends?" Sam bit.

Dean shot him a look, his emotions were ranging from anger to guilt, and that was clearly portrayed. "You know," he looked down at his food and tried to sound casual, "If you're still pissed about all that..."

Sam sighed, taking a bite of what looked like it was supposed to be corn, before continuing. "I'm not mad, alright? I never was."

Dean snorted.

"I wasn't, man." He insisted. "I mean, you kinda scared me..."

"I messed up, Sammy. I messed up bad."

Both remembered his incoherent ness of that night. The night Chance died. The night that changed everything.

"...but I never...I never thought it was your fault."

Dean clenched his teeth and swallowed hard. He'd wanted to have this conversation with his little brother for over a year. Nearly sixteen months it had been with him, weighing his every decision, impacting each mumbled word.

It seemed only fitting that they were finally talking about it over frozen TV dinners in their tiny, crap apartment - which they weren't supposed to be living in, in the first place. No, the Winchester's could never do anything normally.

"Yeah?" He tried to confirm casually, yet the underlying fear was still there - right along side the built up tension and guilt.

"No, Dean." Sam said the word firmly, and the elder lifted his gaze to meet his. "What happened with Chance wasn't your fault."

He tried not to cringe - having not heard that name spoken aloud in such a long time, though, created a whirlwind of unexamined emotions. "Yeah, I know."

Sam nodded, and waited a few minutes before continuing. "It's just...we don't even know where dad is, you know? He could be off on some job, or he could be sitting in our old place just waiting for us to get home."

Dean couldn't help but smirk lightly at the image. He'd be waiting for a while, that was for sure.

"I mean, he could have called the cops already." There was so much fear in Sam's tone then - Dean was acting instinctively, trying to quell it without thought, immediately.

"He hasn't called the cops." He stated firmly.

"How do you know?" Sam insisted, sounding very much like the little kid he still kind of was. "Seriously, how do you know Chuck isn't an undercover detective or something?"

"Because." He rolled his eyes.

"Because what?"

"Because if Chuck was an undercover anything, we'd already be arrested." Dean answered honestly, "And you know as well as I do that dad wouldn't hire a private detective. I doubt he even called the cops. Hell, I doubt he even knows we're gone yet."

"But you don't know for sure." There was something in the way Sam was talking now that Dean couldn't put his finger on, but he didn't like it.

"No." He had to admit, finally letting his fork drop to the counter top and staring at Sam. His baby brother wouldn't meet his eyes. "But why are you pushing this now?"

"What do mean, why?" His gaze was still shifted downward. "I'm worried about dad finding us. I know your eighteen, but I'm not, Dean. If dad really wanted to, he could make me go back. And then what, huh? I'd be stuck with him."

Dean scrunched his brow in confusion. Sam's suddenly passionate speech was somewhat out of context and that worried the older boy. "You know I wouldn't let that happen, Sammy." He tired to say it factually, but the betrayal he felt at Sammy's words bled through. "You're not going back to Kansas, or anywhere near dad. And if you ever have to - for any reason - I'll be right there with you."

"You say that now." He said almost flippantly.

"Damn it, Sam!" Dean snapped, resisting the urge to bang his fist on the table. "What's gotten into you? Do you suddenly not trust me? I mean, I've kept you away from dad for nearly five months, I'm pretty sure I've kept every promise I ever made you. What else do you want?"

The scrawny teenager didn't respond at first, just hung his head low, letting his long hair fall in his eyes, protecting him from view. Dean studied him for several long minutes, frustration giving way to good old fashioned brotherly concern rather quickly.

"Sammy?" He pressed gently.

"I'm sorry." He mumbled quietly.

Dean didn't miss it. "Sorry for what? Sam?"

"I've been..." he took a deep breath and raised his gaze finally to meet his brother's. The older man saw in that look a myriad of emotions, so many that it was impossible to pick out just one. He felt suddenly useless. He listened to Sam because it was all he could do. "I've been leaving the apartment. Everyday."

Dean barely comprehended the words, heard only his brother's fear, and responded as only a big brother could. "Okay...well, that's not too bad. I should have known better than to try to keep you cooped up, right?"

"I've been putting us at risk, everyday."

"It's a big city, Sam." Dean waved a hand slightly, unconcernedly. "As long as you haven't been jumping up and down outside police stations..." his brother was still staring solemnly. "God, you haven't been, have you?"

He meant it as a joke, but Sam just took a deep breath. "I've been sitting in on classes at the Community College." He said it quietly, but Dean heard it. His eyes bulged accordingly.

"You what?"

"That book you got me? The philosophy one? I…well, its kinda a long story, but it ended up being a textbook for a class down there, and I've been going. Twice a week." He sounded so scared; and Dean didn't know what to say to any of this. Had too may raging emotions to choose from.

He kept them all, though, safely tucked behind a blank expression. "For how long?" He asked levelly.

"Over a month."

"Sammy…" he trailed off, still not knowing what to say.

His little brother picked it up easily. "Look, I know its stupid, okay? I know there are a lot of risks there, but I just couldn't…stay here, you know? I mean, you go out, go to work everyday, and I get that you do that so we can keep living here, and I…" he shook his head, not giving in to the chick-flick moment, "But I had to get out. Had to do something."

"Okay…" Dean felt the full affects of what Sam had just admitted hit him at last. "I can understand that, Sammy…but come on! Did you seriously have to start going to college?" He chuckled ironically, "I always knew you were a little geek."

Sam bit his lip and stared expectantly.

"Man…out of all the things you could have started doing… Do you know how many cops and shit wander around campuses like that? Do you know how outta place you look?"

"Yeah." He admitted dejectedly.

"Goddamn it, Sammy," Dean dropped his head into his hands, running them through his hair and lifting his gaze once more. "If you hated it here that much..."

"I don't hate it," the younger boy picked up the trailing sentence. "I just..." he didn't seem able to form words, ending with a simple shrug.

Dean stood abruptly. "I gotta...I'm gonna go out for a while." Even as he spoke the words, he was moving away from the kitchen counter.

"Dean..." Sam tried uselessly; watching helplessly as his big brother haphazardly threw on shoes and a jacket.

"I'll be back." The elder hated how stiff his voice was, but he had no other option. He couldn't stay in the apartment.

He didn't dare look in Sam's direction as he made his way through the front door.


Dean didn't make it farther than the small park a few blocks away from their crummy apartment. He felt himself start to deflate when he caught sight of it.

His strides, which just moments before had been purposeful and long, became lackluster and weighed down. He reached one of the swings and barely had the energy to plop his ass onto it.

He felt completely and utterly defeated, resting his head against the metal chain of the swing and kicking off lightly with his foot. He smiled sadly as he rocked back and forth gently.

"What if dad finds out?" The terrified tone of his six-year-old little brother couldn't deter Dean's movements, yet they caused the grip he had on Sam's little hand to tighten considerably.

"Dad's at work." He reminded.

Sam bit his lip and continued walking, "All the other kids go to the park."

"That's why we're going now," the ten-year-old boy said confidently. "We're gonna be normal for a while, kay?"

Sam's pensive smile turned into one of honest delight. "Okay." He agreed, and Dean loved how easy it was to gain compliance from the child. Thought vaguely that he should appreciate that.

They made it to the park where all the other neighborhood kids were playing, and Dean watched with a certain pride as his little brother ran ahead of him to reach the swing set on the other side of the playground.

Sam's little legs stopped when he was halfway there, as turned back around, hair flying, face flushed, "Come on!" He called; gesturing with his right arm, keeping the scarred left one from view, as he always did, subconsciously. "You have to push me!"

Dean followed with a smile on his face and a warmth in his heart - maybe their father hadn't completely destroyed his son's lives.

Dean's smile now wasn't as carefree or innocent, andthere were many things tainting that warmth in his heart -but he knew it was still there. Past the pain, death, hate and fright... It was there. Sam still kept it there.

Thinking about his little brother, Dean knew he wasn't honestly angry with Sam for his decisions of late. He couldn't be, not justifiably, not after all the mistakes he'd made over the years. Not after the fear that he'd caused Sam.

He thought of his father then too, because John Winchester was one of the most influential people in his life. Whether he liked it or not. John had been his only parental figure, Dean had seen his father not cope after his wife's death, had seen him run away like a coward from all that upset him.

"John Winchester, I could just smack you." The round, black woman set her hands on her hips and looked at his father with deep disapproval. "I know you miss your wife, honey, we all do-"

"Don't talk about her, Missouri!" He snapped, causing Dean, who was seated on the couch in the other room where the grownups thought he couldn't see them, to jump. Sammy, who was sleeping fitfully in his arms, whimpered, but didn't wake.

"Mary was a dear friend of mind," Missouri said gently, "You know that. And I think you know that her death-"

"I said, Shut up!" He yelled again, this time Dean had been expecting it, and didn't so much as flinch, just tightened his grip on his little brother. "I can't..." John's hands went to his head, gripping firmly, too firmly. "I can't do this!" He flung his arms out, and Dean noticed how the older woman took a step back.

"Your sons need you," she sounded resolved. "Now more than ever. Do you really want to abandon them?"

John's breathing was shallow and frightening, it was the only sound in the entire house. It seemed to Dean to last forever, the time spoken between Missouri's words and his father's next movements. Finally though, a decision was made.

"I have to get out of here." Then he was heading for the front door.

Dean felt blind panic grip his insides. He understood that his mother was gone. Knew somehow that flames of just hours ago had taken her away. He knew that she would never be returning to him. He also knew somehow that it hadn't been her choice.

And all he saw now was another parent leaving him - the only one he had left was choosing to walk out the front door and abandon him. There were no flames in that decision.

"Daddy!" Dean was on his feet before he could even think about it, Sam was still in his arms, but was quickly transferred to Missouri, as she ran into the room to meet them.

"Dean!" The elder yelled after him as he darted past her, as soon as Sammy was safely in her arms. She tried to reach out to him as well, but it was no use. He wouldn't listen, couldn't comply. He was outside, bare feet hitting dewy grass, he didn't remember making it through the front door, all he saw was his father.

Just recalled the panic, the need. He watched his father climb into a battered pick-up truck and that panic became all-consuming.

"Daddy!" He yelled again, and the older man stopped. He turned to look at his son.

Dean had tears glistening in his eyes, which still stung from the heat and smoke at their house. "Don't go!" He'd stopped as soon as his father had turned; he was halfway through the front yard now. "Please don't go!" He no thoughts other than the fear of losing his father.

John's face was hard and cold, even in the darkness of the night, which was slowly fading to morning all around them, Dean could see that there were no emotions there. He sounded no words as he shook his head at his son and turned away. Getting into the driver's seat of the vehicle, and he pulled away without hesitation.

Dean kept staring. His Daddy never even looked back.

Dean remembered the night now with complete clarity. The same night that his mother had died, John had stopped being a dad. He would never forget the look his father had given him that night, it was one of the only real things he could recall from that time of his life.

After seeing John leave, Missouri had rushed outside and ushered him back into her home. He remembered sleeping with Sammy for a long time -and whether it was for one long night, or a few broken ones, he wasn't sure.

Everything else after that night was a blur. His father coming back, Sam crying, Missouri telling them not to leave, John making them leave anyway. It had been so many years since Dean had even thought about his mother's old friend. The woman had never contacted his family again, thus she'd fallen out of his thoughts.

Then they were out of Lawrence, and it wasn't long after that that their father's abusive streak started. The rest was history. Their history.

The rest Dean could never forget.

If John Winchester had ever given his eldest son anything, he realized now, it was a prime example of what never to become. That was Dean's goal for the rest of his life, and he believed honestly that everything would be all right as long as he met it completely.

He would never become his father.

With that thought firmly in place, he stood gradually and started walking the way he had come. Dean Winchester had made many mistakes throughout the course of his life, and he was sure to make many more. Human nature assured him of that.

But by God, abandoning his little brother would never be one of them.


Dean was back to the apartment less than an hour after he'd left the first time. Taking a few deep breaths, he prepared himself for what was sure to be one of the most important conversations he'd ever had with his brother.

He wanted to sit down with Sam and assure the younger boy, once and for all, that he would never, and will never, abandon him. He wanted to promise that they would be safe in Boston, and their lives would turn out fine. He wanted to set down some ground rules for healthy behavior and open communication.

He wanted to do all that. But he needed to assure Sammy that he would never, ever become their father.

With all this in mind, he opened the front door slowly, suddenly nervous. Taking another deep breath, he tried not to recall the look of defeat that'd been present in his little brother's eyes right before he walked out.

"Sammy," he called out lightly, taking a few steps towards the kitchen area, and then stopping abruptly.

Sam was at the far end of counter in the kitchen, facing away from Dean, he wasn't moving, but there was no doubt in Dean's mind that the younger boy could hear him.

Shaking off his bad feeling, he kept walking. "Look, Sammy," he started, moving slowly towards him. "I'm sorry I left before. You just freaked me out with the college stuff, ya know?"

There was no response, Dean thought now that this might end up being more difficult than he'd anticipated.

He chuckled nervously, "Hell, I thought if you were gonna start going to college without telling me, it'd at least be at Harvard. Have you ever gone by Harvard? It's a couple miles from here..." Sam didn't so much as flinch. "We should go. You can sit in on some of their classes illegally. All the education without the twenty-five thousand dollar bill."

A few seconds later found them in the exact same position, Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair with exasperation. "Come on, Sammy, ya gotta at least look at me. Don't forget, you're the one who's been lying and..."

He trailed off as he took the few steps still separating him and his brother. He was directly behind Sam and he could now hear the younger boy's shallow breathing.

"Sammy?" His voice was cracked slightly as he said a quick prayer to whoever might be listening - he thought sometimes his mom - asking that his baby brother be okay.

Sam finally turned to face him. The paleness of his skin took Dean's breath away and as he reached out - almost subconsciously - to grasp his shoulder, he noted the shaking. "Sam!" This time it was frantic, and there was still no reaction. He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves. "Hey, Buddy," he tried to shift to calm, breathing levelly, but raw emotion was bubbling below the surface. "Come on, what's the matter?"

When there was still absolutely no reaction, he grabbed his other shoulder with more fierceness. He tried to keep his grip gentle, he really did, but he was so scared now. Sam's whole body jerked slightly with Dean's movement.

And only then did the elder see the phone dangling limply from Sam's left hand.

"Sam?" He said in a breath.

"I..." he looked up, confused, and Dean urged him on silently by meeting his eyes and widening his own slightly. "I...I didn't think anyone knew our number here."

"Who called, Sammy?" He demanded steadily, a million and one different scenarios running through his mind.

"...dad..." he finally managed.

Dean's eyes flashed dangerously, "Dad called?"

Sam shook his head immediately, eyes darting back and forth over Dean's. "Dad... Some woman called...dad..."

"Dad what?" Dean snapped, frantic.

"He's dead."

TBC…