Chapter Thirteen

After Dean brought the dishes into the cabin's kitchen, he heeded the call of sleep and climbed onto the couch in the den to close his eyes for a while and get some much needed- and deserved, in his opinion- rest.

He didn't know where his father was and he really didn't care as long as John didn't drive off with the Impala.

Eyelids slipping shut, Dean didn't notice his father open the cabin's front door and step inside.

SPN

Sam lay in bed but he didn't sleep.

He'd told Dean he was tired and although that wasn't a lie, he just wanted to be alone at the moment.

Shifting ever so slightly, wincing in pain, the teen closed his eyes.

He thought about his brother's question- what did he want to do- and knew that Dean wouldn't like the answer.

Sam had wanted to go away to college so badly- and he still did- but he knew that now it wasn't likely he'd be able to. It had been weeks since the beginning of the school year had started and even if Sam could come up with some explanation for his absences, he would struggle to catch up on the workload. On top of that, Sam still felt like shit and he didn't know how long it would take until he didn't. He didn't want to give up the dream of going to college but it seemed that it would have to be put on hold until further notice.

Sam felt tears well up in his eyes again but he quickly blinked them away.

Suddenly, his attention was drawn to the bedroom door as it opened slowly.

"Dean?" Sam called, wondering why his brother was coming back when Dean should think he was asleep.

It wasn't his sibling, though, who stepped into the room. It was John.

"Dad," Sam said without emotion.

He sat up in bed slowly, cringing in pain.

"How are you feeling?" his father asked, making his way slowly towards the bed.

"How do you think I'm feeling?" Sam asked bitterly.

John frowned and sighed, "Stupid question, I guess."

Sam watched his father warily as John took a seat on the edge of the mattress and the eighteen-year old abruptly felt cornered, boxed-in, trapped.

"I…Uh…" John stammered for a moment before blowing out a noisy breath, "I'm never this tongue-tied."

Sam didn't say anything. He leaned back ever so slightly, his body language clearly showing that he didn't want the older man so close to him.

"I just wanted to check in on you," his father explained, "Make sure those infected blisters aren't getting worse."

"Dean already checked," Sam lied poorly and although John clearly knew that, he didn't insist on giving his son an once-over anyway.

The eldest Winchester said nothing for a long moment so Sam forced himself to speak.

"What do you want?"

"I didn't know he was going to do that to you," John said, not specifically calling Flint by name but Sam who his father was talking about, "I thought he was just going to talk to you, that's all."

Sam didn't say anything. It was all well and good for John to say that now he didn't expect Flint to resort to torture to try and bring Sam back to the flock but his father wasn't stupid, he could have asked Flint about his methods, what he'd planned to do.

"It's a little too late for that now, Dad," the teen muttered.

"Sam," John said and the eighteen-year old looked up at his father.

His Dad's face looked more haggard than usual; his beard looked as though it was greyer than it was black, his brown eyes were moist and had dark circles beneath them.

"What was so wrong with me going away to college?" Sam asked quietly, whispering, his heart beating in anticipation, "Why couldn't you let me go?"

His father sighed and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair.

"Is it because Dean didn't go? Is it because you joined the Marines right out of high school?"

John shook his head, to Sam's surprise. He'd thought that going to college wasn't important to his father. John had never had a post-secondary education, getting a job at an auto shop when he'd returned from Vietnam. Dean hadn't even completed high school, instead deciding to drop out as soon as he was old enough.

"What… What Dean and I did has nothing to do with you going to Stanford," John said, "We made our own decisions."

"Then why couldn't you let me make mine?" Sam exclaimed, "Why couldn't you let me decide what was best for me!"

"Because…" John hesitated, "You wouldn't understand…"

"What wouldn't I understand? Tell me why! Dad, I'm not a little kid anymore! Not everything's on a need-to-know basis!"

Sam's father paused before sighing and clasping his hands in front of him. Sam waited anxiously, feeling as though John was going to tell him something very important.

"It's about your mother," John began, "The night she died, yo-"

The bedroom door slammed open and Dean stood silhouetted in the frame.

"Sammy," he said, his voice coloured with concern.

"I'm fine, Dean," the teen insisted but his brother ignored him and approached, eyeing their father warily.

Dean made it to the bed and standing right beside John, reached out and held his palm inches away from Sam's brow.

Frowning, he turned to their father, "Sam's hot again."

"Dean," Sam argued, pushing his brother's hand away, "I feel fine."

Sam was lying again and he knew Dean would see right through it.

"Get out, Dad," Dean growled, not even looking at him, "You've already done enough."

"Dean," Sam and John said in unison but the twenty-two year old would not be swayed.

John stood up from the bed and retreated from the room, closing the door quietly after himself.

Sam turned his eyes on his brother. Now that their father was out of the room and Sam's emotions were calming, he was beginning to feel shitty.

"I'll get you some Tylenol to help you sleep," Dean told him and left the room as well.

Sam closed his eyes and wondered what his father had just been about to tell him about the night Mom died and why that had anything to do with going to college.

Dean returned with the promised Tylenol pill and a glass of water.

Sam took the pill and washed it down with the cool liquid inside the glass.

"Still feeling up to getting out of here in the morning?" Dean asked and Sam nodded.

The eighteen-year old lay down on his side. Dean smiled at him and Sam closed his eyes, noticing that his brother remained seated on the edge of the bed and guessed that he would stay there all night.

SPN

Before the sun had even begun to rise, Dean was awake and was checking Sam over.

The twenty-two year old started by carefully pulling the tape off the gash across his brother's forehead; now a bright red line as the two sides of the cut began to heal together nicely. Dean couldn't help but smile at his brother, glad his brother hadn't needed any sutures though he was sure the laceration was going to scar.

"How's your nose feeling?" Dean asked and Sam shrugged, "Sore."

The older brother nodded before turning his attention to the blisters. He knew that the majority would heal on their own but the ones that were infected worried him a bit.

Tearing open a packet of antiseptic wipes, Dean began cleaning the infected blisters on his brother's lower abdomen, cringing in sympathy as Sam winced in pain.

"Sorry," Dean apologized and his brother nodded once.

"Last night," Sam began to mutter and Dean looked up, curious, "Dad said that reason that he didn't want me going to school was something to do with the night Mom died."

Dean's head shot up and he narrowed his eyes at his brother, "Mom? What did he say?"

The twenty-two old paused in his ministrations to peer suspiciously at his brother.

"What's Mom got to do with anything?" Dean asked in an accusatory tone.

Sam glanced away and Dean sighed, "Did he tell you anything?"

"No," the teen muttered.

Dean sat back. He didn't know why their father would bring Mom into this but it was starting to piss him off. It seemed like John was willing to say anything to take the blame off himself for what he'd done to Sam.

"Dad's just trying to guilt you about school," Dean told his brother, "Still."

Sam stared at him for a long moment, "I don't think so."

Dean frowned at his sibling.

"He seemed really serious," the eighteen-year old insisted.

"Whatever, Sam," Dean muttered, tossing the used antiseptic wipe into the trash.

Dean didn't know what their father was playing at but it was really starting to make him angry.

Standing up, the young man stood and left the bedroom. Making his way into the main part of the cabin, he spied his father seated at the kitchen table, cup of coffee in his hands.

"What did you say to Sam?"

John peered up at him, confused.

"Huh?"

"Last night," Dean elaborated, "What did you say to Sam about Mom?"

John's expression turned to one of realization but then he cleared his throat and spoke, "I didn't mention Mary."

Dean eyed his father suspiciously, "Why did he tell me you did?"

"You said he had a fever again, last night, Dean," John replied, "Maybe he thought I'd said something about your mother."

Dean stared at his father for a moment before speaking again.

"As soon as I get some breakfast into Sam we're leaving," Dean told John, "With or without you."

SPN

John lifted his gaze and peered at his youngest son through the Impala's rearview mirror.

Sam sat forward on the Chevy's backseat, still only clad in his boxer shorts because any more clothing would chafe against the blisters.

Dean sat in the front passenger's seat; arms crossed over his chest, looking as though he wished John had opted to stay.

The eldest Winchester pulled the Impala out of the driveway, Flint's cabin growing smaller until it vanished behind a screen of tree branches.

It didn't matter at the moment where they went, as long as they left the area. John would drive until they came upon a town or city, then stop for a day or so before moving on again.

Author's Note:

Thanks to Jenjoremy, Jeanny, reannablue, StyxxsOmega, FIGHTTHEFAIRIES, jo1966, whatnosheep, Kas3y, SPN Mum, Icyfox West, Sad-Blue-Eyed-Angel 2010, jensensgirl3, Serenity Winchester, BranchSuper, babyreaper, Colby's girl, SamDeanLover28 and Guest for reviewing.

Please leave a review, rabid readers, and I will attempt to post another chapter later tonight.