CHAPTER 29

Dean startled awake with a scream for someone to stop something, his body covered in sweat. The covers were restraining him, causing panic he wasn't sure how to handle.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Sam soothed him. "You just got your covers wrapped around you, I'm going to get them untangled, okay?"

Dean nodded, his body trembling, his stomach tying itself into knots. His breathing was labored. His forehead and hair were dripping with sweat. It wasn't even hot in the room, but his body was reacting to something that wasn't in the room.

Sam continued to sooth his brother while he untangled the blankets that had wrapped around him, completely removing them from on top of him, making him feel the least restricted that he could.

John, hearing the commotion made his way into the room. He watched and listened to what Sam was saying and doing, taking notice of Dean's need to not be restrained.

"Everything okay in here?" John asked as he made his way to Dean's side.

"He just had a nightmare and got his covers tangled around him, I'm just helping him not feel restrained." Sam said, keeping his voice calm, as he pulled the last of the covers from his brother.

John nodded at Sam, returning his attention to Dean. "You okay there?"

Dean closed his eyes, trying to slow his heart and calm his breathing. But the vision of the dying man flashed behind his eyelids and his eyes flew back opened. Fear lacing the edges of his features. He wiped the sweat off his face, and remained silent, not sure what answer to give his dad.

Was he okay? Hell no, he wasn't okay. Was he okay for that moment? No, not really. Was it only a nightmare? Yes. Was anyone hurting him at that moment? No. So, he figured in a sense he was okay, but not really, because he couldn't get that memory, that image out of his head. Those dying eyes that looked back at him, the eyes that closed as he took his last breath.

"I… I watched him die." Dean choked out in a quiet, cracked voice.

"Who?" John asked.

"I don't know, I don't know his name, he was there… with me… beside me… I watched him die."

"The detective said someone in the room you were in had passed away."

Dean nodded his head. "He was beside me, on one of the… beds, mattresses? I guess. I… there was this man… he was going to… to… he was heading for him… but that look in his eyes… it said he wasn't going to last much longer. I couldn't let him die, not like that. I'm not even completely sure what 'that' was, but I couldn't, I just couldn't."

Dean started letting his tears fall, his brokenness showed with the newly found memories.

"It's okay, son, take your time." John held him against his chest, his arm wrapped around his back and his head resting on his shoulder.

"I did what I had to. I got his attention away from him and onto me. I fought him. I knew I wouldn't have a chance, but I had to give that other guy a chance. While he… the… man… while he… did his thing… I laid there… and watched him… his eyes… I could see the life leave them as he took his last breath." Dean started sobbing, "I watched him die! I did everything I could, I couldn't let him die in the hell that they inflicted."

"Hey." John tightened his hold on his oldest son. "You did good, you did exactly the way you were trained, and it's okay, you let that man die in what little peace he could have, you did good."

Dean leaned against his dad, his body shaking, tears running down his face. "I don't feel like I did." His voice cracked with the tears.

"Trust me, you did, and you can feel proud about it too, I know I'm beyond proud of you. You take one hell of a beating from life and keep on fighting. I know, right now, you may not feel like fighting, but you still are."

"I just… Dad, I don't want to live anymore. I just want to be done with everything."

"That's not an option, now is it?"

"Yes, it is."

"Dean!" Sam was shocked at his brother's response. John raised his hand toward Sam, telling him to cool it, to let him handle it.

"And, how is it an option?"

Dean shrugged. "There's several ways I've thought of, but I haven't completely figured out how to keep Sammy from being too traumatized and you from being disappointed in me."

"Dean, I would never be disappointed in you, no matter what. But, I think if you were to leave this life, there's no way your brother isn't going to be traumatized, rather its intentional or not, it's going to break him."

Dean closed his eyes, trying to shut out the world for a moment when the dying eyes reappeared behind his eyelids. He quickly opened them again, making a mental note to not close his eyes again.

"I need a shower." Dean announced, trying to end the conversation they just had, trying to escape the feelings it brought on.

"You gonna be okay?" John questioned, concerned about leaving Dean alone at the moment.

"I'd be better if someone could hook me up with what I really need, but whatever!" Dean's tone turned angry and irritated. He glanced up at the doorway, planning his escape from the room when he saw Bobby standing there silently. Not speaking, just listening. "Look!" Dean practically shouted. "I don't need a damn babysitter, okay?"

He pushed himself off the bed, grabbing the dresser beside him to hold his balance.

"But, you might need someone to hold you upright." Sam noted.

"I'm fine! Okay! I'm just freakin' peachy! I can handle shit on my own, I don't need anyone!"

"Unless we're going to allow you to become a drug addict?"

"Whatever, Sammy, just shut up!"

"Well, that's not going to happen, so you might as well forget it!"

"What? You shutting up? Yeah, trust me, I've lived with you my whole life, I know that'll never happen."

"No, smartass, any of us helping you get drugs."

"I said shut up!"

"Whatever, Jerk."

"Bitch!"

Dean fumbled around, finding some clean clothes as he argued with his brother, then pushed past him and Bobby, using the wall to help hold him upright. He was never so thankful to finally be alone in the bathroom. The door closed and locked, no one shooting words at him, no one touching him. He knew they were only trying their best, but he couldn't even process what was going on in his own mind. He didn't need everyone else's minds mixing with his.

He turned the water on as cold as it would go and stepped under it. His body was breaking out in a sweat, but it was shivering under the need for something more. He tried to distract his mind, tried to relieve himself of the cravings, but it didn't seem to help. Nothing seemed to help. Maybe everyone was right, maybe it was going to take some time? Time, he didn't want to give. He needed this to be instant, to take everything away without time.

Once his body was freezing cold, the sweats replaced with shivers he stepped out of the shower. He dressed himself, nearly losing his balance several times, and made his way out of the bathroom. Looking in his room he saw it was empty, so he made his way downstairs where is dad sat on the couch.

Without a word he hesitantly sat on the couch beside his dad and gave him the bandages he needed put back in place. Dean was tired of constantly feeling like his bandages needed replacing, but if he could stop waking up in sweats then he wouldn't need so many showers. John didn't even react in anyway but normal as he started to bandage his son's ribs, wrists, and ankle. Noticing they were healing some, but not as well as expected. He was sure it had something to do with the lack of nutrition in his body.

"You know, if you want these to heal faster, you need to eat something. They aren't going to heal if there's nothing in your body to heal them." John pointed out.

Dean rolled his eyes. He knew his dad was right, he was always right, but Dean didn't want to get sick like he had before.

"Can you tell me something?" John asked.

Dean looked up at him, waiting for the question.

"Why don't you want to eat? And don't bullshit me."

Dean dropped his head, his hands laid in his lap, his fingers twisting around themselves. "I don't want to get sick." He simply stated.

"What does it matter? You've gotten sick before, and it was cleaned up and you felt better. It's not a big deal, we'll handle it if it happens."

"I…" Dean's voice was shy and timid. "I don't want to… I… if I get sick… I don't want to be… punished."

He stumbled over every word that came out of his mouth. He knew he was with his family. He knew he wasn't going to be hurt or punished, but the fear was still there, somewhere, somehow, it had gotten stuck in his head and he couldn't seem to get rid of it.

"You're not going to be punished, or hurt, you're safe now."

"I know, but… I still… it still scares me." Dean confessed, not able to lift his head, not able to look at his dad through his shame.

"Hey." John said as he grabbed a hold of his son's chin, lifting his face to look at him. "It's okay, it might take a while for you to completely realize you're safe and have nothing to fear, or that fear might always be in the back of your head, somewhere. But, I'm telling you, right now, at this moment, you have nothing to worry about. No one is going to hurt you, and we actually expect you to get sick the first few times you eat, your stomach isn't used to having anything in it. But, son, you have to eat, or you're going to die, just like that man beside you did."

Dean's eyes filled with tears. He didn't want to think about him, didn't want to think about dying the way he did.

"But, Sammy…" Dean couldn't finish his thought.

"Yeah, Sammy is going to be beyond devastated if that happens. So, what you going to do about it?"

Dean shrugged. "I… I won't get punished? Even if… if I get sick?"

"You won't get punished for anything, I promise."

Dean nodded, allowing the words to sink into his head, allowing himself to believe he was safe. He's with his family, it should be easier than this. He shouldn't feel the fear that he had. But, something was keeping him from feeling completely safe, from totally believing what everyone was telling him.

"Time." Dean whispered to himself. "Gonna take time."

"Here, kid, why don't you eat a sandwich? It shouldn't be too hard on your stomach." Bobby suggested as he stood in front of Dean, holding out a sandwich he had prepared for him.

Dean took it. "Thanks." He mumbled.

His hands were trembling. If he ate and got sick he would be punished, if he didn't eat and disobeyed then he would be punished, either way, he was doomed for punishment. Which would be worse? Disobeying would definitely be worse. If he got sick, it might be grosser, but not as painful.

He took a small bite, trying to satisfy everyone but himself. Food wasn't what he wanted. He wanted something so much more! Something that would help shut his mind off. He tried to stand, to make his way to the fridge but barely made it past standing before his weakness got the best of him.

"Where you think you're going to?" John asked.

"To get a beer."

"You think that's best right now?"

"No, I'd prefer whiskey, or something stronger, but I'll take what I can get."

"And how is that going to work for you not getting sick?"

"It'll help make all the crap in my head slow down."

"How about we make sure we keep the food down before adding alcohol."

Dean rolled his eyes and huffed. He had already had so much of his life that seemed to be taken from him, so many of his own decisions made for him, this was just one more to add to the list.

Bobby sat in a chair across from Dean, he made sure Dean knew he was watching him, paying attention to what he ate. Dean thought maybe the whole poison in his food didn't sound like a bad idea after all. He tried to finish after a couple bites, but Bobby insisted he continued to eat. The way Bobby figured, if he had enough food in his stomach when he got sick, then he would only vomit part of it, which would leave some to do its job.

Half way through his sandwich Dean started feeling flush, he could tell he was going to get sick. He scrunched his face, cover his hand over his eyes. "I can't." He pleaded with Bobby.

"You need to finish that sandwich." Bobby insisted.

Dean drew in a deep breath, trying to keep what he had already eaten in its place. He moved his hand from his face and rubbed it against the back of his neck, willing the flush feeling to go away.

John went to his side, trash can in hand for when he needed it. It tore at his heart to see his son suffer so much, especially over something as simple as eating. But, he knew it was necessary, and he knew Bobby was the best one for the job. The way Dean would scrunch is face in discomfort and hold his breath to keep from vomiting, and the beads of sweat that formed on his forehead and neck would have had John and Sam giving in a long time ago. But Bobby had the ability to look past all the emotional mumble jumble and take care of what was needed.

¾ of his sandwich was eaten when he dropped it from his hands. He placed his elbows on his knees and held his head in his hands. He tried hard to keep from allowing the food from coming back up. He fought against the heaviness of his stomach, the twisting and turning that was going on inside.

He wiped the beads of sweat from his face and stopped with his hand covering his mouth. This was a battle he wasn't going to win, but he'd be damned if he gave up without a fight.

His head started spinning, he stopped being able to concentrate, he dropped to his knees on the floor. John was there instantly, trash can under him as he released the food he fought so hard to keep in. It was worse than he could ever remember it being. He was pretty sure vomiting never made him feel this miserable before.

He managed to stop himself before the dry heaves started, leaving at least a little food in his system. He fell back onto his heals, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry. I tried." He confessed with shame.

"It's okay. I told you we expected that to happen, next time won't be as bad." John reminded him.

All Dean wanted to do was lay down, he didn't care where he was, he rolled his side against the chair and rested his head on the seat with his eyes closed.

"You good?" John asked, rubbing his hand up and down Dean's back.

"I… don't… wanna… move." Dean drew deep breaths between each word.

"It's okay, you don't have to." John assured him.

His heart was shattered watching his son in such a miserable situation. He knew he would feel better if he could start eating again and gaining some energy, but it was going to be a working progress. It wasn't going to happen overnight. The tough part is going to be keeping Dean fighting until he can regain his strength.

Dean allowed his body to go limp and fall to the floor, his back against the chair. He didn't want to move, didn't want to fight, he was worn out. He was tired. He just needed a break from everything. A break he never seemed to get. Why couldn't it be easier than this to just let go and leave this life? Why did dying have to be so hard? If he could, he would just let himself go, let himself die, but he couldn't seem to do that.

"Dad, I just want it to stop." Dean had never sounded so desperate in his life.

"I know, son, I know. I do too. But, you gotta fight your way out of this slump in order to reach the top. It will get better, you just gotta take it one step at a time."

Dean shook his head. "It never does. Life has always been shitty."

John sighed. Dean was right. His life always seemed to be hard on him, he never got to see the good in it. He made sure Sam saw the good, he made sure his little brother was sheltered from the worst of life. He even made sure his dad had the support he needed, the care he required to make his life a little easier. But, Dean didn't get the care he needed. He wasn't sheltered from anything. He faced life head on, pushing his way through the toughest of situations.

Dean laid on the floor and had fallen asleep. His body worn out from just existing. John lifted his son and carried him upstairs. His body was way too light, he should have been heavier if he had the proper nutrition and muscle mass. He laid Dean in bed, covering him with a sheet and wiping his hand through his son's hair.

He remembered Dean being so young. He would come home late and find his oldest son lying in John's bed or on the couch, he had fallen asleep waiting for his dad to come home. He was so innocent. If Dean was on the couch, John would pick him up and carry him to his bed, making sure he was tucked in. He would give him a small, gentle kiss on his forehead, rub his fingers through his hair, whisper "good night" and head to his own bed.

If Dean had fallen asleep in John's bed, he never had the heart to move him. He would let him stay, lying next to him, he often embraced his son. Taking the small moment to remember what it felt like to be a father again.

Since those small moments in time, this was the first time he had been a father to his sons, especially to Dean. Sure, he would come around, but the older they got, the less they would see him. Dean really was forced into being both parents and a brother for his brother. John knew it wasn't fair. He just wished he would have realized it before now. Before it was too late.

He bent over, giving Dean a gentle kiss on the forehead, rubbing his fingers back through his son's hair. "Good night, son." He whispered before giving another long look at his son and walking out of the room.