Chapter 26

When he and Bobby pulled into the hospital parking lot, Sam could see Ellen waiting out front, Jo cradled in her arms. She looked anxious, her head twisting back and forth, as if she was nervously looking for someone. When she spotted them driving up, Ellen darted forward, heading straight for the car. Bobby slowed down so she could get in.

"Drive!" Ellen shouted, jumping into the backseat while keeping Jo close to her body the whole time. Sam wasn't quite sure how she managed to hold a teenage girl as easily as one would hold a small child, but he wasn't about to doubt her strength.

"What happened?" Bobby asked, turning in his seat. Sam followed suit, and the two of them saw Jo's battered face. "What did—?"

"Drive," Ellen repeated, pointing back to the hospital. A couple security guards walked out the front door, peering around. "They kept trying to ask questions, the police are coming, we have to go."

"Where?" Bobby turned back around, exasperated.

"I don't know," Ellen said, her voice cracking. "I didn't see him, I don't know where he is, but we can't stay here." Sam met her eyes, and he must've looked pathetic, because she tilted her head sympathetically. "Sam, I'm so sorry. We can still have Ash go in and get Dean, it'll be okay, I promise."

Sam was getting tired of hearing that. Everyone kept making promises they couldn't actually keep. They kept saying everything would be fine, but it never was. They kept saying they would get Dean, but they never did. He wasn't positive he'd ever see his brother again. He didn't even get to see him in the hospital, so the last image he had was of Dean walking into the road and…

"He's not there," a small, croaky voice spoke up, and everyone in the car tuned in to listen. Sam could see Jo through the rearview mirror. She peeked up from her mother's hold on her, her face splotched with red and purple. "Dean isn't at the hospital anymore."

"What do you mean?" Bobby asked.

"John took him. He put him in the car before he threw me out." Jo, her voice sounding more confident, crawled out from her mother's grip to lean forward. She pointed around the hospital. "He drove away out back, there's a road there." She sniffled and sat back down, curling up to Ellen's side.

Sam hadn't realized he was holding his breath until Bobby stepped on the gas pedal forcefully, sending the car lurching forward. Sam fell back against the seat and let out the breath he was holding in, hoping no one else in the car could hear the anxiety in his gasp. His stomach clenched at the thought that their dad had Dean again. After everyone seemed to be promising that'd never happen again, it was happening.

It wasn't fair. Dean didn't deserve this. Any of it. He was always the one when they were younger to step in front and take the brunt of whatever their dad had to offer. He was always the one to cast away his own needs in favor of Sam's.

He was always the one to save his younger brother, and now Sam wasn't sure he would be able to step up and do the same.

The car was hurtling down the beat-up back road, faster than Dean could ever remember it going. The pavement was cracked and uneven, so every few seconds the car shuttered, making him grip his torso and contort awkwardly with the pain. The grass and distant trees and buildings whizzed by outside the window, whipping out of sight so fast he was starting to get carsick. Or maybe the nausea was just out of pain. Or fear. He wasn't sure anymore.

Beside him, his dad had one hand on the wheel, the other working through his hair over and over, as if he was fidgeting. He kept checking the rearview mirror every few moments, and each time they passed a road sign he sighed and adjusted himself in the seat. Dean squinted, realizing his dad was actually nervous.

Dean hadn't ever seen his dad nervous before. Maybe a little worked up over cases, sure. But never like this. His dad was really anxious.

"I don't know what to do with you, Dean," he muttered, staring through the mirror again. The front wheel dipped harshly into a pot hole, jarring the both of them. Dean tightening his grip on his middle, opening his mouth in a silent scream at the jolt of pain in his ribs. "They're going to come after us. They're going to want you to go back."

Dean wasn't sure who "they" were, and he wasn't sure if his dad was actually talking to him or to himself. But as to what should be done with him, Dean just wanted to be left on the side of the road. Let the buzzards have him. That had to be better than anything his dad had in store.

"I need to dump you somewhere," his dad continued, and now Dean figured he was definitely just talking to himself. Yes, please, Dean thought. Just dump me on the side of the road somewhere. I'll take it. "There's a section of woods a couple miles south. I could dump you there, I guess."

Dean closed his eyes tightly. He wasn't being dropped off, he was being dumped, like how they always dumped the corpses from hunts. And his dad seemed like he was in such a hurry, Dean wasn't even positive he'd be dead when he was dumped. His dad might just toss him in a shallow grave and cover him up while he was still alive and breathing.

That sent a wave of panic through him. When they were younger, his dad had taught him and Sam how to escape being buried alive, just in case. Dean remembered how difficult it had been having to break through the coffin and dig his way up to fresh air, dirt filling his ears and mouth, nails scraping desperately at the loose earth, swallowed by the fear that he'd never make it to the surface. It had been hard enough with a healthy teenage body; Dean was absolutely sure he wouldn't be able to pull it off now. He'd suffocate and die, buried alive. And, probably, no one would ever find him.

He tried to sit up a little in his seat, his mind running through as many ideas as possible for escape. Nothing seemed like it would work. He could never fight off his dad in this condition, and there was no way he'd be able to outrun him. He was trapped.

"Yeah," his dad mumbled, setting his other hand on the steering wheel. "I'll do that."

Shit. Dean fought to breathe regularly, his chest heaving with the effort. The pain and fear was making it impossible to think straight, but he knew he needed to get out the car. He had to at least try.

"P…p-pull," he gasped for air, struggling to get any words out. His dad didn't even seem to be able to hear him, caught up in his own thoughts. "Pull o…" Dean closed his eyes and tried to compose himself. He had to get it out. He had to try.

"If I take the next exit I can get there from here," his dad said, almost too softly to hear. The next exit, Dean could see from a road sign that they hurtled past, was in half a mile. He was a dead man barely walking.

He gnashed his teeth together against the agony in his lungs. It felt like he was spitting up fire. "Pull over."

His dad's head snapped to the side so he could glare at him. "You shut the fuck up," he warned. Dean had had enough of it.

"You," he leaned over and reached out, despite his protesting body, "pull over!" Dean grabbed onto the steering wheel tightly and pulled, sending the car off the road with a deafening screech.

Sam wanted to lean over to Bobby and scream in his ear to drive faster, but he knew that it wouldn't actually help at all, and that Bobby was already pressing the gas pedal down as far as it would go. Still, he felt like they were trucking along at a snail's pace. They'd never catch up at this rate.

He wasn't even sure how long after his dad they had left the hospital, so there was no way of knowing how far behind from him they were. Every second counted, though. His dad could have turned into one of the smaller side roads and gone to hide in some neighborhood. He could have made it all the way to the next city over, for all they knew. It was a gruesome guessing game as to where he was, so to Sam, it felt like they were chasing after nothing.

In the back seat, Ellen continued to soothe Jo. Beside Sam, Bobby was stoic, both hands firmly on the wheel and eyes set unwaveringly forward, probably so he wouldn't miss it if he happened to come up behind the Impala. Or maybe because he was too tense and scared to look at anyone else, in case he lost it.

Sam turned away and stared out the window, not really taking in any of the scenery. He couldn't stop seeing Dean. Not the Dean he used to know, who was always strong and smiling and cracking jokes. That Dean seemed dead now. Sam could only picture his brother sliding onto the hood of a car and cracking the windshield. His brother hiding his bruised face in the shadows of a motel room. His brother being beaten over and over by their dad.

And now it would keep happening. Sam ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath, using every ounce of energy he had to keep from bursting at the seams.

Sam felt like this entire problem was his own fault. It had to be. He was the one who decided to abandon his family and run away, leaving Dean to handle the consequences on his own. He didn't even say goodbye or give his brother any warning. And of course, deep down, he had known how his father would react. He always had a temper. He always yelled at his boys if they stepped even an inch out of line. Sam had to have known what leaving would mean. And he still left.

His chest tightened at that thought. He felt so selfish for leaving Dean alone like that. And look what it had led to: Dean could be dead. Sam could very well be the reason his own brother got murdered.

Sam brought in a loud, shaky breath, much to his embarrassment. He tried desperately to hold it back, but after just a few seconds, a sob escaped. He buried his face in his hands and fought to hide his sniffling.

"Oh, Sam…" Ellen whispered from the back seat. Sam felt his ears turn hot. He shouldn't be crying, there were more important matters at hand. If he couldn't even stay strong enough not to cry like a baby, how was he supposed to be strong enough to save Dean?

A warm hand planted itself in the middle of his back, and he turned his head enough to see that it belonged to Bobby. He didn't rub comforting circles like Ellen had, but somehow his touch seemed to ground him a bit. Enough to take a deep breath and clear his head.

"Shit," Bobby hissed, stealing his hand away from Sam's back and smacking it back onto the wheel. The engine groaned, like Bobby had slammed his foot even harder onto the pedal, willing the car to go faster. Sam pushed himself back into a sitting position and stared out the front window. "We got him."

Not too far ahead, Sam could see a familiar black car several feet off the road. It looked like it had taken a road sign down with it on the way out. The passenger door swung open, and Sam let out a breath when he saw his brother tumble out onto the ground.

Dean felt his head hit the ground, and after that everything was unclear. A shrill whine sounded in his ears, pain radiated throughout his entire body, and the world wouldn't stop spinning around. He slammed his good hand onto the grass in an attempt to push himself up, but he got dizzy and face-planted, getting a mouthful of dirt.

There was something he needed to be doing, he was sure of that. He fell out of a car— was he supposed to get back in?

No. He had gotten out of the car. That was on purpose. He was pretty positive about that.

Dean turned his head to the side and spit out a blade of grass. He closed his eyes and tried to really think about what was happening. If the damn high-pitched buzzing in his head would stop for just one damn second then maybe he'd be able to form a coherent thought. He tried to lift his head enough to shake it out, but a shock of pain put that to an end quickly.

Above him, the car door slammed shut. He hadn't done that. Had he?

No. Dean opened his eyes again, this time not moving his head. Someone was standing above him, he thought. He could see boots in his peripheral vision. Large boots. A man?

Yeah, probably. Ok, good, he got one thing right. But he wasn't quite sure who it was still.

Whoever it was, he was giving Dean anxiety. His heart sped up and he got something like an adrenaline rush telling him to get away now.

Oh, right, that's what he was supposed to be doing.

Dean reached out his hand and grasped tightly, digging his fingers into the dirt for leverage. He used all his strength to move away, moaning with the effort. His body inched forward, protesting the whole time. Still, at least he was moving.

Suddenly, the boot he had seen before slammed down onto his hand, pressing it hard into the earth. The sound of cracking bone pierced through the buzzing in his ear, and pain shot up his arm.

He screamed.

Bobby, Ellen, and even Jo had nearly catapulted out of the car once they got close enough. The car had barely come to a stop and everyone seemed to have already been out the door and sprinting to the scene.

And for some reason, Sam found himself frozen, unable to do anything but watch.

He could only watch as Dean collapsed out of the passenger side of the Impala, crumpling onto the ground like a rag doll. He could only watch as his dad jumped out of the driver's seat and stalked around to the other side of the car to slam the door shut over Dean's body. He could only watch as his brother weakly tried to get up before falling back down, then desperately tried to drag himself away to freedom.

Then his dad crushed Dean's hand under foot, and the gut-wrenching shriek his brother let out brought Sam back to reality.

Well, almost. Sam felt like he was floating away, frantically trying to cling to his own body. He was spaced out, like the world around him was moving in slow-motion. His body, too, was refusing to go as fast as he wanted to be going.

Sam turned his head to the side and looked into the back seat on the floor board. Tucked under Bobby's seat, but peeking out just enough to be calling to him, was a pistol. With painfully slow speed, he reached down to grab it. He didn't feel entirely in control of his own hand, but surely enough his fingers wrapped around the weapon and picked it up. Then, almost robotically, he got out of the car.

Each of his steps felt deliberate. Ahead, he could see the other three had already gotten to his dad. Bobby was shoving him away from Dean, but John barely stumbled back before returning the blow, twice as hard. Jo bravely swiped at his legs to get him to fall over, but was easily grabbed up by the arm and tossed away. At that, Ellen jumped in and tried to carve away at John's face with her bare hands. She caused the most disturbance, making him topple over onto the hood of the car. But still, he got right back up and shoved her away.

Sam felt like maybe he should be right up there with them, throwing punches and kicks as revenge for what his dad had done to Dean. Really, for what his dad had done to them for years and years, not even just the recent events. This was all just the climax of what they'd been put through their entire lives.

He looked at Dean, who was motionless in his place on the ground, broken hand outstretched in front of him as chaos broke out above. He had to be tired of all of this. There weren't any moments of peace anymore. It was always violence and fear.

Sam stopped several feet away from the fight. His vision blurred, but not from tears. He didn't feel like crying anymore. Really, he didn't feel much of anything at the moment. His body was numb, his mind floating off somewhere else, refusing to face anything like panic or sadness.

Though maybe, he thought, he should be feeling some sort of guilt for what he was thinking of doing. He had killed monsters before for doing much less. Shooting wasn't something new to him. But he didn't consider himself to be a murderer. If he could help it, he tried to save lives rather than take them away. That was how he tried to live his life, generally. The less corpses on his conscience, the better.

But then Sam thought about when he and Dean were little and his older brother had messed up. Dean had run his mouth at school and gotten himself detention. Not a big deal, really. Any other thirteen year-old boy had done the same from time to time. But for them, it meant that their dad had to go out of his way to show up at the school and pick him up. Sam had been watching TV when the two got home at the motel. Their dad slammed the door shut, and Sam peeked over the couch just in time to watch his dad smack Dean so hard he sent him tumbling sideways, head slamming into the countertop. Dean's head started to bleed all over the place, but their dad didn't care. Apparently, a hunt had been interrupted. He left the two alone, and Sam carefully walked up to his brother. Dean laid still on the ground, watching blankly at the blood pooling underneath him.

Dean looked the exact same now as he had when they were younger, unmoving on the dirt as he stared at his broken hand his dad left him with.

So, Sam thought, should he feel guilt for this?

No. Not even a little.

He raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

Notes: Everyone's gonna get whiplash from this chapter, I swear. Sam to Dean to Sam to Dean to Sam- pick a perspective!

Also the police in this town are just really conveniently slow okay... lol