I am so sorry that this update took so long. It was a combination of real life, research, and muse stubbornness that slowed me down. Thank you all for being so patient and still retaining interest in this story.

Also, I hope this chapter's religiousness doesn't offend- it's just my take on an underdeveloped character…

SciFiGirl: Thanks! Actually, I'm finding this story to be a lot less twisty than my other ones…
Mustbekarma: Oh good- I'm glad you don't totally hate John anymore. We'll see how long that lasts… As for Pastor Jim and Dennis- I'd like to think that Jim's just one of those people that has a very high tolerance for everyone he meets.
Humblefan: Thanks for the patience, and if you're enjoying reading the torture- just think how weird it is for me to write it!
Lauriena: I'm so glad that you're enjoying the boys and all their issues… And thank you so much for letting me know that you thought they were accurate to their age- I'm always worried about that.

Sica: Chapter 14

Dean watched the TV from his prone position on the bed. It was an episode of The Honeymooners, one of his all time favorite TV shows- but he couldn't enjoy it. For one thing, it was on mute and The Honeymooners just weren't the same without Ralph Cramden's voice yelling at Alice, Norton, and Trixie. Second, and more importantly, Dean was too busy watching his father to pay any attention to the show.

It had been over six hours now since he had left to call Jim Murphy. Six hours since Pastor Jim had told him, "I'll look into it, call back around 10." Dean checked his watch. It was six hours since the last phone call and thirty minutes till the next. Maybe he could leave early for it…

For the past six hours he had been trapped. Trapped in a room with his father and brother- and there was no way out. Sam, for his part, had been in and out of a pain-filled sleep the entire time. Each time he'd wake up, more pain medication and baby formula would be forced fed to him and then he'd just fall back asleep.

Their father, had barely spoken a word since he'd come back- other than to ask Dean questions about the phone call or issue instructions regarding Sam's care. Really, Dean couldn't blame the man; it was obvious John was feeling caged himself.

This was not his father's modus operandi. Something had tried to kill one of his children and, on top of that, the man was enraged. With those circumstances, Dean would normally be wishing luck to anything supernatural within a hundred mile radius. His father wasn't one to sit on his anger. When John Winchester was angry- evil things were massacred.

Dean could see the twitches in his father's muscles, the curling and uncurling of his fists, the grinding of his teeth… The man was itching to kill and there was no doubt Trevor and the fat man were at the top of the kill list. Well, maybe they were tied for second place behind the thing that killed their mother, but either way…

Unfortunately though, John wouldn't be killing anything tonight- possibly not for the next few days. He had made a promise to Sam, necessary or not, and while he may have been furious with his son, he would never break a promise.

So instead the man was drinking, seated at the small round table, feet up on a nearby chair, staring blankly at his youngest son. His mind was obviously elsewhere as Dean hadn't seen his father blink at all in the past ten minutes. At least he was drinking the tequila out of a glass this time.

Dean laid his head on his arms as he watched his dad absent-mindedly swish the alcohol around in the small glass. The silence in the room only seemed to push the walls in closer. If it weren't for the incredibly loud crickets outside, Dean would've felt like he was in Sica Hollow.

A sudden loud knock at the door caused Dean to jump. His father was also shaken from his reverie and looked over at Dean, signaling, as he made his way to the door.

Standing up and grabbing his gun off the bed, Dean walked over and covered his brother's face and chest with his body. In his drugged sleep, Sammy slept on.

Once Dean was in position, John looked through the peephole. Dean watched with curiosity as unexpectedly, his father let out an annoyed sigh, rolled his eyes, and opened the door.

On the other side of the threshold, Pastor Jim looked amusedly at the two guns being held on him. "What a kind way to welcome guests to your temporary home…"

John kept his gun pointed at the minister's head. "You're not welcome here."

Concern replaced the smile on the pastor's face as he noticed the man was serious. The clergyman held up a brown paper bag. "I'm sorry he's hurt, John. I brought you a meter."

Dean wanted to put down his gun, Pastor Jim was a close family friend, someone they had always trusted, someone who his father had left them with many times, he really didn't think he'd be able to shoot the man. But as long as his father's gun remained trained on the minister, so would Dean's.

Dean flinched as his dad growled at him. "I gave you clear instructions, Dean."

Shit! He had failed his father again! Except that he had done exactly what his dad had said. He hadn't given the minister any indication as to where they were. But of course his father would assume that he had. He had already proven to his dad that he couldn't be trusted…and now he wasn't.

"Star, six, nine, John."

Dean watched his dad squint over the site of the gun. "Excuse me?"

The clergyman rolled his eyes. "Star, six, nine. It calls back the last number that called you- whether you know the number or not. And the people of Wheatland Pharmacy were more than happy to give me their address. Once I got there, it wasn't hard to figure out which motel you were staying at, seeing as though there's only one in the area."

His father showed no reaction to the other hunter's explanation.

Finally Jim sighed. "John, please. I'm not here to hurt your children." The minister held out the bag.

Cautiously, John accepted the bag and then looked in it. Dean lowered his own weapon as his father pulled out an EMF meter. Forgetting their new visitor, John turned the meter on and walked over to Sam.

Dean lifted himself off of his brother, giving his father room to scan. The machine clicked softly and the minimal lights lit up, but nothing further occurred as the meter was moved over Sam's body. Finally, with a breath of relief, the meter was turned off.

John returned the machine to Jim, who had now fully entered the room and placed himself beside Dean. The pastor accepted the meter back with a comforting smile. "I'm glad it was unnecessary."

Dean watched his father squint in reply before walking over to the dresser and pulling out the bag of salt. Taking a pinch of the salt between two of his fingers, the man walked back over to Sam and pulled out the boy's already injured hand. Sam let out a small moan at the movement and Dean noticed his father stiffen, closing his own eyes in a pained response. Then, with a breath, his dad dropped the small pinch of salt onto Sam's hand and quickly wiped it off.

From his angle, Dean couldn't see anything on his brother's hand as his dad inspected it. "Dad?"

With a relieved smile, his father looked up. "We're clear."

Dean sagged in relief and Pastor Jim smiled over at him.

Carefully, John replaced his son's hand next to his head and then smoothed the boy's hair in a comforting gesture.

The minister stepped forward. "John, I spoke with Dennis."

Dean watched his father look up quickly, a suspicious glare on his face. The minister gave no further comment and Dean just looked on as both men read each other's eyes. Finally, his dad sagged down, his muscles beginning to noticeably shake.

Just as Dean's own anxiety began to rise in response to his father's trembling, he felt the pastor place a hand on his shoulder. Dean looked over at the man and the minister spoke. "Weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning, Psalm 30, verse 5."

Despite being comforted by the calming gesture and voice, Dean wriggled out of Jim's grasp. "The morning may be all sorts of rejoice worthy, but that don't mean shit when you're livin' out the night."

The pastor smiled sadly and turned to John. "You shouldn't assume. You know what they say about that…"

Dean saw his father raise his brows in amusement. "And what is it that I'm supposed to be assuming?"

Jim replied, "One, that I'd take sides, and two, that if I did, I take Dennis's."

Shrugging, the worn hunter walked between his son and friend and back over to the dresser. He spoke as he replaced the salt in his bag. "I thought you were always on the side of the right."

The minister smiled. "Politically…yes. As for the rest of the world, good and evil are one thing, but when a gun is pulled between two friends, I cannot believe that one or the other was entirely 'right'."

John sneered and turned to face the clergyman. "You get that one out of your big book?"

The smile faded from Jim's face. "Don't mock The Bible… not in front of me."

The elder Winchester nodded. "You know what Bible quotes I got thrown at me this week? Some real good shit. Let's see…first there was, 'The rod of correction imparts wisdom, but a child left to himself disgraces his parents'."

Through widened eyes, Dean watched his father smirk as he moved onto the next verse. "Oh, and then there was, 'Discipline your son, and he will give you peace; he will bring delight to your soul'. Dennis said he got that one straight from one of your sermons. So you tell me Jim, what else does that great book of yours say? Anything else I should be doing to bring delight to my soul?"

The minister shook his head. "John, you know I don't believe in corporal punishment. Dennis does, but then Dennis never had a Sam. He had two Deans. Perhaps if he had had a son like Sam, he might not be so quick to discipline with the 'rod'."

Dean scoffed. "Yeah, or maybe he'd have just killed him."

The pastor smiled and raised his brows in concession. "Or that…"

Then Jim became silent, a downcast look upon his face as he shook his head at the ground. After a minute, he looked at his old friend. "Those verses were from Proverbs, passage 29, and they were never meant for you. You wouldn't blame a gun for the shooting would you? Don't blame the Book because someone misused it." He took a calming breath before adding, "There is a verse from that passage, however, that I think would benefit you, 'Do you see a man who speaks in haste? There is more hope for a fool than for him'."

John nodded, anger marring his features. "That's fine. Get out."

The minister shook his head. "I don't know if you've noticed, but you're not under attack right now. You and your family are safe."

Dean stepped back as his father's face became red with rage. "We are never safe and you damn well know that! Everywhere you turn evil is waiting to take you…" He walked forward, spit shooting out between gritted teeth, "…to take your child, seduce him, betray him, strangle him, and leave him terrified and broken. So you don't get to stand there on your high and mighty altar and preach to me about not being on the defensive. My family is under attack and I'm not gonna sit by with my thumb up my ass, waiting for an imaginary God to take His damn head out of the sand."

Dean took a deep breath, noticing that the minister had barely flinched during his father's tirade. After the room had been silent for a few minutes, Jim casually wiped the spit off his face and calmly replied. "You're angry with God, don't pretend you're an atheist."

John huffed and heatedly shook his head at the ceiling. Infuriated, he turned back to his old friend. "Get out, Jim!"

Dean checked on Sam, but somehow the teen still slept on, unaware of the verbal sparring going on around him.

The pastor shook his head. "Push me away all you want, John. You're at the end of your rope and I know you too well… You need help."

The man deflated a bit and nodded. "I don't need it from you."

The minister took on a confused look. "Then who will you get it from? You're pissed at God, you've isolated yourself from your friends; even if you hadn't, we both know you're too damn proud to ask for it; and you're so damn paranoid, you wouldn't even let me in the door. So who is it that you plan on turning to?"

Dean held his breath as his father met his eyes and held them for a moment. Then the man turned back to the clergyman. "I've got it under control."

The pastor rolled his eyes and then sighed. "I haven't hurt you. I consider you and your boys to be some of my dearest friends. I wouldn't have driven six hours to deliver a EMF meter if I was against you."

John nodded. "You want to trade Bible quotes? Here, I got one for you, 'Rise, take up your bed, and walk,' - John."

The minister nodded. "'Behold, I have played the fool, and have erred exceedingly'- Samuel."

For a moment, everything was silent, and then slowly Dean watched a smile break on his father's face, followed by bouts of laughter. Finally, the laughs died down and his dad wiped the tears from his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. Finally, he sighed. "I should get that stitched on his backpack."

The minister smiled. "Yeah, well, I hear the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

Staring fondly at his sleeping son, John nodded. "Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them."

The clergyman grew confused. "Who said that?"

John smiled. "James Baldwin. One of the guys in my squad had his book, and I had a lot of time to kill in the marines…"

Silence lingered for a bit before the pastor spoke again. "I'll leave…" Jim looked over at the Tequila bottle on the table, "…but share a drink with me first."

With a drained sigh, John rubbed his temple before looking over at the table. Giving a tired laugh, he walked over and picked up the bottle and two glasses. He turned to his friend. "Don't go expecting a confession…"

The ministered laugh and threw an arm around his friend's shoulders. "How lucky it is for you that I liked sex too much to become a catholic priest…"

John laughed and opened the door. He turned to Dean. "Watch your brother. We'll be on the porch."

Dean barely had the chance to nod before the door closed and his father and the pastor were gone.

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Dean awoke to a cramp in his neck and an indent on his face. Thoroughly confused, he blinked his cloudy eyes and attempted to mold his jaw back into its original position. Over by the window, he noticed spots of sunlight being deflected to the floor by the curtains. Startled by the light, he looked at the clock. It was six in the morning. He had been asleep for seven hours.

Rubbing the sand from his eyes, Dean pushed himself up and moved to check on his brother. From the other bed, Sam appeared to be in the same position he'd been in all night, but as Dean came closer, he noticed that Sam's eyes were open, silent tears being squeezed out every time the eyes clenched shut.

Dean kneeled down by his brother's head, "Sammy."

Sam shut his eyes once again and gasped in a large breath. Appearing embarrassed, Sam lifted a bandaged hand and tried to wipe the tears away. The movement seeming to trigger a fit of coughs and he moved his hand to his strained neck.

Dean stood up and began splitting the capsules of medication into a glass. How long had Sam been awake? How long had he been crying, suffering in silence? Guilt flooded Dean. He had slept for seven hours while Sam was lying in the bed next to him crying in pain. This was twice in the past week that he had utterly failed as a brother. His father didn't trust him anymore; his brother couldn't depend on him. He was just completely worthless.

Shoving his guilt briefly to the side, Dean approached his brother with a glass of medicated formula. Because he had fallen asleep on the job, Sam was now about six hours overdue for pain medication. God, he hoped that Sam hadn't been suffering for six hours…

"Hey Sammy, can you sit up?"

In response, Sam sucked in his lips and pushed down on his arm in an attempt to push himself up. He was only able to lift his head about three inches before the pain was too much and he fell back down to the bed. Sam scrunched up his face, clearly overwhelmed by pain and upset with his inability to sit up on his own.

Placing the glass on the end table, Dean bent down and carefully helped his brother into a seated position. Turning the pillow, he propped Sam up against the headboard. Then he lifted the glass to his brother's lips.

Both brothers held the glass together as Sam drank. The first mouthful seemed to go down without too much trouble. However, the second mouthful appeared to get stuck in his throat. Immediately, Sam choked, coughing most of the liquid back up, leaving him choking and gasping for breath.

Dean replaced the glass on the nightstand as he rubbed his brother's back in an attempt to slow the coughs. The front door opened.

"What's going on?"

Dean looked up from his formula covered brother to see his father storm into the room. Pastor Jim followed closely behind.

"I was giving him more meds and he had some trouble getting it down."

His father squinted. "When was the last time he got the meds?"

Dean felt his face turning red with failure. This was twice in a row now, added on top of the whole 'striga' thing. If his father thought he was unreliable, untrustworthy, and a disappointment before, he could only imagine what the man would think of him now. "Ten o'clock…"

His dad looked down at his watch and then looked up, startled. "Last night?"

Dean nodded and shrunk as his father's expression morphed into an angry glare.

Jim coughed. "How are you feeling, Sammy?"

Sam slowly looked up, white formula covering his chin. Upon seeing the owner of the voice, the boy jumped in shock and then scrunched his brow in confusion.

The minister laughed. "Your daddy wasn't sure if you were possessed and since he lost his EMF meter, I thought I'd come by and bring him one of mine."

Sam's eyes widened in surprise and what looked like insult. John turned to his friend, a menacing look on his face, as he issued a warning. "Jim…"

The pastor gave a submissive smile and waited for his friend to turn back around. As soon as John's attention was back on Sam, the minister caught the teen's eye and rolled his eyes at the boy's father. Sam gave a small smile through his pain.

"Get out of the way, Dean."

Dean scrambled to get out of his father's way even as the man pushed him off the bed. Dean felt completely useless. He watched as his father cleaned Sam off and then helped him finish the rest of the formula. As he watched the scene, he felt Pastor Jim put a hand on his shoulder. "A man once told me, experience is what we get right after we need it."

Dean gave a sideline glance to the minister. "You're just full of meaningful shit tonight, aren't you?"

The pastor sighed and turned Dean towards him. "I said this to your dad and I'm saying it to you too- you hold in all your guilt and blame and it's gonna just keep piling and piling until you self-destruct. You need to learn to forgive."

Annoyed, Dean shook the minister off. "I did forgive Sammy. He promised me he'd never pull shit like this again and I believe him. 'Sides, I don't think he'll be forgetting these consequences for a long time." Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw his brother give a slight nod of agreement.

Jim nodded. "And that's great, Dean. But like your dad, you need to forgive yourself, too."

Dean moved to argue, but the pastor cut him off. "That doesn't mean you have to forget it. It only means that you lose the anger and accept the fact that you made the decision that you made at the time and there's nothing you can do about it now. You learn from your mistakes and move on."

That was never going to happen. How could he just say that it's okay that he hid the fact that he'd been separated from Sammy? He had almost gotten Sam killed, as it was, Sam had spent the past 24 hours in pain because he had prevented him from telling his father everything that had happened that day. How could he ever forgive himself for that?

Turning away from the minister, Dean crouched down to see if he could help his father with his brother. Behind him, Dean heard Jim's whispered comments. "If you could only learn to love yourself as much as others love you…"

Unsure if he was meant to hear the comment, and not in much agreement with it, Dean ignored it. After all, he was pretty sure that his dad blamed him for Sammy getting hurt just as much as he blamed himself.

"Hold his head against the headboard so he doesn't have to use the muscles."

Dean nodded and did as his father requested. It took ten agonizing minutes, but eventually Sam was able to finish the medicated formula. Dean noticed his brother motioning as he helped him lay back down.

Understanding Sam's gestures, he began looking around. "Dad, where's the pad?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his father stiffen and make a face. "Check behind the dresser."

His father walked into the bathroom and Dean moved the dresser away from the wall. Sure enough, lying on the floor, by the wall, was the motel pad. Sam's written words, "I'm sorry. I'm a stupid kid," still at the top.

Dean picked up the pad, ripped off the page that had infuriated their father, and handed the pad to Sam. Immediately, the teen began writing. Why would I be possessed still?

Dean shook his head. "You're not, but we figured, better to be sure."

Sam seemed to accept that answer before writing more. Dean, you didn't do anything wrong. This was all me.

Dean stood staring at the pad, clenching it within his shaking hands. First it was Pastor Jim and now Sammy? It figured…the two of them often thought alike; look for the good in everybody; forgive rather than punish… Well, Dean wasn't like that. He accepted responsibility for what he did and he knew he wasn't the only one who thought he had screwed up. He knew he wasn't the only one who blamed him for what happened to Sam…his dad was thinking it too. And now what? Pastor Jim and Sam were just telling him to forget about it? To ignore the swollen, black neck and the tears on his brother's face and just move on?

Dean threw the pad across the room and walked out the door.

We'll be returning to the hunt soon, hopefully after or during the next chapter…
As always- feedback is most appreciated…