CHAPTER 35

Bobby took the warm soapy water and started washing down Dean's face and hair. He was extra gentle, not knowing how much even the slightest touch would hurt him. He couldn't help but think of the small boy he first met. He was so bashful. He wouldn't speak and hid behind his dad.

Bobby ran the washcloth through Dean's hair, cleaning the vomit and sweat. After cleaning the opened burns on his head his covered them with antibiotic cream.

He remembered when he first met Dean, his hair was so much longer than it was now. It was a light golden color. He had thin, straight hair that ran past his ears. John had said Mary loved his hair and didn't want it cut short. She insisted he looked like a cute little boy exactly the way it was. As Dean got older he chose to cut his hair. He didn't like it long. It also darkened and grew some thickness to it.

Bobby finished with his hair and top of his head and moved back to his face, cleaning his ears and neck, doing the same with the wounds and ointment.

He remembered Dean's little freckles that ran across the bridge of his nose and cheeks. He always had such a cute little smile. He could use those deep green eyes the same way Sam had mastered his puppy dog eyes. One look and Bobby would melt under Dean's innocence. Bobby chuckled as he remembered one-time Dean had been running around the junkyard in the rain and slipped in a deep puddle, covering himself with mud. It took them almost 30 minutes to clean all the mud from that boy. Even after a good bath Bobby still sat and cleaned mud from his ears and hair.

Bobby took a pair of scissors and cut Dean's shirt off. His heart sunk with the sight of more burns that had opened and oozed out. He knew they were there, he just wasn't prepared to see them yet. He continued to clean Dean's chest and arms, applying ointment once he was cleaned.

Dean was always so small and lanky when he was little. As he grew and trained he became solid muscle. With the latest events in his life he had lost a lot of muscle tone and was becoming skinny. Too skinny. Every girl Dean came across would stop and stare at his body. They only saw the muscles and tone. They didn't see the scars it held. They didn't see how hard he had to fight to build those muscles, how they were his weapons for survival. He had to be fit and strong to survive the things he hunted. His arms had held both life and death in them. They had taken lives of things that were no longer human.

Bobby cut away Dean's pants, leaving his boxers for last.

Again, the muscles and strength his legs once held was diminished. Weakness had taken over what was once strong. He held the strength of ten men, but right now, he couldn't even hold the strength of himself. Bobby hated the way John would strength train Dean. He pushed him far too hard. Forced him to run miles at a time followed by workouts that grown body builders would struggle with. But, it made Dean strong, Bobby had to admit that. And, never once did he disobey his dad's orders or complain about it being too difficult. Dean was always pushing himself, even without his dad telling him to.

That boy was born with a strength like no one Bobby had ever seen. He had also been through more torture and heartache than anyone he ever knew. Most recently, were the events that led them to where they were right now. He was pushed to a new level of torture, given a new heartache that he should never have to carry.

Bobby carefully unbuckled the restraints, making sure Dean was still unconscious. He picked him up and laid him on the floor, he flipped the mattress, giving Dean a clean place to lay. He then laid Dean back on the bed, this time he laid him on his stomach, reattaching the restraints on his arms and legs in case he happened to wake up again.

Bobby continued cleaning Dean and tending to his wounds. He couldn't help but notice every small scar that covered his body. Every reminder of the life he had. A reminder of every battle he had fought.

Bobby remembered the time Dean was around 11 years old and he was playing with a new knife. Sam had been irritating him that day, no matter how much Dean asked him to stop, Sammy was wanting his brother's attention. He came running into the room where Dean was sitting, knife in hand, cutting on a piece of wood. Sam ran straight into Dean, causing him to stab the knife into his leg. Bobby never heard a boy scream in terror the way Sam did at the sight of Dean's blood. Dean remained calm.

His eyes showed pain, but his voice was steady and calmed Sam. He told him he was okay, and no matter how many times Sam apologized, Dean reassured him he knew it was only an accident and Sam didn't mean for anything to happen. Bobby removed the knife. Dean's body flinched with the pain, but he held his crying brother close. He didn't even let Sam know when Bobby was stitching him up. His obligation to Sam was stronger than his need to care for himself.

Bobby couldn't remember it ever being any different. From the time he had first met them, to now, Dean was always strong for his brother. He wasn't fighting for himself, not right now. Right now, he would be just as happy giving up, ending the pain and suffering. He was fighting for Sam. He couldn't give in, he had to stay for his brother. Sam needed him more than Dean needed the suffering to end.

Bobby couldn't even begin to imagine what Dean had been through. He was always good at understanding him. Understanding the fight that he felt he had to fight. The fight for everyone else. But, now, he had suffered in a way that was unimaginable. He couldn't understand where Dean had gathered the strength to survive, the strength to fight, not once, but twice.

Now, he was having to fight, not only the memories and physical effects, but the supernatural as well.

"How's he doing?" John's voice broke Bobby from his thoughts and memories.

Bobby just shrugged. He really wasn't sure how he was doing. But, he felt if he spoke he would end up releasing tears he had been fighting back. He choked back the lump of tears.

"Almost got him cleaned up." Bobby choked back the tears again. "You mind getting him some clean boxers and sweatpants?"

"Yeah, sure." John replied, leaving to retrieve the clothes.

Bobby finished cleaning him and knelt at the edge of the bed, in front of Dean's face. "You gotta hang in there for me, kid. I can't lose you. Your dad, Sam, and me, we all three need you. The fight is almost over, you just gotta keep hanging on." A tear slipped down Bobby's cheek as John placed his hand on his friend's shoulder.

Bobby hadn't even noticed John returned. He quickly dried the stray tear from his cheek and rose to his feet. Choking away the lump in his throat.

"Help me get him dressed, then we'll get him turned onto his back."

Without a word John followed Bobby's command. Bobby released the restraints on Dean's legs and helped John get Dean's boxers and pants pulled around his waist. He then undid the restraints around his wrists and together they turned Dean unto his back. Once Dean was in position they reattached the restraints.

"I'm gonna take care of this dirty stuff, get some fresh towels and water. Then we need to wake him and get him to drink some of this brew." Bobby informed John as he gathered the things and left the room. Really, it could have waited, but Bobby needed to get away. He had to get a break before he lost it.

He couldn't continue watching his boy suffer. Even though he was resting now, he knew there was more to come, and he needed to take a moment before he continued. He made his way into the bathroom, pressed his back against the locked door and slid to the floor. His knees bent to his chest and his face buried in his hands. His cap sat on the floor at his feet. The old man sat and cried silent tears for a boy he called his own.

He cried because he understood. He cried because he reminded him so much of the life he had lived. He cried for the lost childhood they shared. He cried for the struggles they both faced. He cried for the love of a parent that they missed out on. He cried for the supernatural that brought them together but also ruined both of their lives. He cried because he couldn't hold the emotions any longer.

Bobby always appeared tough. Only Dean knew better. Dean always tried to appear tough too, but Bobby could see right through him. They were both so much alike. Bobby knew if the shoe was on the other foot, Dean would be the one hiding to cry in silence.

Bobby took another moment to collect himself and dry the salted tears from his face. He splashed some water on the overly exhausted face looking back at him through the newly replaced mirror. Bobby knew what it felt like to hate the person staring back. He knew what it was like to want to shatter that person. But, now was not the time. Now was the time to take care of Dean. To make sure he was okay. To make sure he survived.

Bobby placed his cap back on his head and grabbed some clean towels, filling the bucket with fresh warm water. He opened the door, put on his brave face, and headed back to the panic room where Dean awaited with his dad and brother.

"You wanna leave for this?" Bobby asked Sam.

Sam shook his head.

"I can't guarantee it ain't gonna be hard. I don't know what to expect."

"I know."

Bobby nodded. "Alright, but if you need to leave it'll be okay, I think we'll all understand."

Sam nodded.

Bobby knelt beside Dean. "Hey, Dean, need you to wake up now." He gave him a shake on his shoulder.

Dean grumbled a little but didn't wake.

"Come on boy, don't make me do this the hard way. I need you to wake up for me."

Dean still didn't show any signs of waking.

Bobby released a hard sigh, picking up the cup of brew. "This ain't gonna be pretty." He said as he placed one hand under Dean's head, raising it from the bed and started pouring the liquid into Dean's mouth.

After a couple chokes and coughs Dean's eyes opened as he tried to fight away from Bobby.

"Oh, no you don't. We didn't just go through what we did to stop now. You gotta drink this stuff rather you want to or not." Bobby demanded as he continued to pour it into Dean's mouth.

He tried to spit it out, tried not to drink it, but wasn't given much of a choice. Sure, some of it went into is lungs. But, so did the vomit earlier. Bobby just prayed the boy didn't end up catching pneumonia. After forcing the entire cup into Dean, he laid his head back and gave him a break.

Dean fought with everything he had left. He tossed his head from side to side. He choked and gaged. He releases some hisses that didn't belong to him. Then, he started throwing up the same green looking puss that had boiled out of his skin.

Bobby quickly turned his head to the side. He was already prepared for the throw up. He had placed a towel under his head to soak it up and had the water and towels ready to clean him when he was finished. He waited for Dean to stop vomiting and his breathing to become normal before lifting his head and forcing Dean to drink again.

This time, Dean started fighting harder. John stepped over, placing his hand on Dean's forehead, keeping him from tossing his head away from Bobby. Dean had started trying to fight with his body but he was too weak to even try to fight the restraints.

Another round of fighting the effects and vomiting, followed by a repeat of forced drinks and more of the green, puss throw up. After the third time, Dean's body gave out to the exhaustion as it fell back into unconsciousness. Bobby cleaned him up again, leaving him to rest from the day's events.

"How often do we have to do that to him?" Sam questioned.

"Every couple of hours." Bobby replied, exhaustion filling his voice.

"Is it always going to be that hard on him?"

"Don't know."

"Hey, Sam." John interrupted. "It's getting late and we've all had a long day, why don't you head on to bed. Your brother will be fine, we'll take care of him, and I'm sure you'll have a better morning if you sleep in your bed tonight."

Sam pouted, not wanting to leave his brother but ended up doing as his dad ordered and he stomped upstairs to his room.

John patted Bobby's shoulder. "How about you go get you some sleep too. I can give him the next drink in two hours. Its going to wear us all down if we don't take shifts. I think you've exhausted yourself more than I have."

Bobby agreed. He made sure John understood what to do and John agreed if he needed him then he would wake him. Bobby headed to his bed and John sat in the chair at the foot of the bed. He settled in, setting a timer for 2 hours in case he drifted to sleep.

John sat and watched his oldest son sleep. Even though his eyes were closed and a form of unconsciousness had filled him, he didn't appear to be getting much rest. His body twitched with the fight taking place inside of him. Pain and fear creased across his face. His fists tightened into balls then loosened. His body would arch against the restraints, then his muscles would completely relax.

His head shifted from side to side with groans of agony. His closed eyes would squeeze even tighter. His boy was in so much distress, so much discomfort. John's heart sunk.

He had always counted on Dean. He had always been his backbone, his rock, the thing that kept him going. He was always able to fight the good fight, to hunt the monsters, absentminded, because he knew Dean would take care of things. He knew Dean would do whatever needed to make sure his brother was safe and taken care of.

He never imagined that would include some of the things he had done. He never imagined his faith in Dean meant the kid would sell himself, like a prostitute. At least he never completely crossed that line, not that John knew of anyhow. But still, a sexual act is a sexual act, no matter how it occurs. And, Dean had taken it upon himself to use his own body to take care of John's responsibilities.

John should have been the one to be there, to make sure his boys were taken care of, both of them. Instead, he depended on a child to take care of things. A child who had to grow up way too fast. A child who never had a parent to teach him how to do the things that were forced upon him.

Bobby was the closest thing to a parent Dean had when he was younger. John was never there, and when he was, he was more of a drill sergeant. He would work on training Dean to be a hunter. He would stay drunk and visit the bars as much as he could. There were so many nights when he should have been home, when he wasn't hunting, that he never made it back to his boys. Instead, he found himself waking at another woman's home. Waking in the arms of someone who was so far from being his love.

He would stumble into the place they were calling home, and collapse on the bed. Dean would take care of his hangover. He would make sure Sam was taken care of while John slept off the night before. Even when he was there, he wasn't really there.

John's heart ached with that thought. His mind wandered back to those times. Adding what he already knew and what he had recently learned, his eyes filled with tears of regret. John would push Dean. He would stumble in from a drunken night at 2 in the morning, waking Dean in the process. Dean would always help him to bed, help him undress, take care of him. And, in return, John would slur hatred at him and order him to run miles while him and Sam slept.

Dean never complained. He never disobeyed. He would make it back about the time Sammy would wake. He would be so exhausted, covered in sweat, but Sammy always came first. He would make sure his brother had his breakfast, and depending on John's alertness and mood, he would turn cartoons on for him to watch. Then he would make sure his dad was good before heading to the shower to care of himself.

John realized now, he should have sent Dean back to bed. He shouldn't have ever put him in the position to take care of his drunken stooper, but when he did, he should have sent him back to bed instead of making him run. He should have allowed his son the rest he needed. He should have been sober enough to take care of Sam, the way a father should have, when he was home.

He remembered one incident clearly. He had been out on a hunt. Had told Dean he would be back in three days, but the hunt went longer than expected. Eight days later he returned to his boys. They were staying in a run-down motel room. It wasn't the safest place, but it was attached to a truck stop that had a café and small convenience store in it. Between the truck stop and the motel was a laundry mat. He knew his boys would have what they needed, so he didn't worry.

The only thing was, he didn't think about the most important thing, he didn't leave them the money, or food, they needed for an 8-day hunt. It was early morning, around 3 a.m. when John returned home from the hunt. He felt the anger rise inside his chest when he walked into the room and found his youngest boy asleep in his bed, but his oldest nowhere to be found.

In a rushed panic Dean hurried inside the room minutes after his dad had returned home. He hadn't expected him and tried to hurry and finish his job as soon as he heard the roar of the impala. John didn't know, he didn't see what happened while he was gone. The only thing he knew was that Dean had left Sam alone in the middle of the night.

Dean was 12 years old, plenty old enough to start noticing girls. John wondered if that's where his son was. If he had left his little brother alone so he could go out with some girl. The anger just built the longer he stood and stared at his oldest son. Dean stood nervously in front of the closed motel door. He looked a wreck, but John didn't seem to notice.

Dean had barely been able to catch his breath from rushing back to the room before his dad made his way toward him, grabbing Dean's shirt collar, and pushing him back out the door. He didn't want to wake Sam and he figured if Dean had left him alone all night then he would be okay a few minutes longer.

John pulled him away from the door, into a dark walkway that ran beside the motel. Dean stumbled under his dad's force. His little body was already exhausted from the night.

"I want an explanation, NOW!" John shouted as he slammed his son into the brick wall beside them.

Dean was speechless he didn't know what to say. His mind was already twisting into itself with the recent activity he had just engaged in.

"I… I…" Dean knew if he didn't give his dad an answer his punishment would only be worse. "I didn't expect you back." That was the lamest thing he could have said, and he knew it. But, it was the only thing he could get to come out.

John's fist waisted no time connecting with Dean's face. Another to his stomach, causing him to double over with a grunt of pain. John pulled him up and held him against the wall, one hand pressed against his shoulder, the other connecting a balled-up fist with where ever it landed.

Once John's anger settled and he was afraid he would seriously hurt Dean if he beat on him anymore, he released his hold on him. Dean slumped to the ground, curling into a ball with a painful moan.

"On your feet now, boy!" John growled out his command.

With painful effort, Dean did as he was ordered and struggled to his feet. He used the wall behind him to hold himself on his feet.

"Run, 5 miles. I expect you back in two hours, you hear me?"

"Yes, sir." Dean knew that was nearly impossible. It would take every bit of strength and determination he had on a good day, and so far, this was not a good day.

"When you're done, I want 50 sit-ups, followed by 50 one handed push-ups, rotate the hand with each push-up. You got it?"

Dean nodded. "Yes sir." And he turned from his father and took off on a run. He knew his dad wouldn't keep track of the time, he was going to just lay down and sleep, but he still needed to make it as close to that as possible.

Dean knew if he didn't do exactly as his dad ordered and he was caught, he would have more than just a little hell to pay. So, he did exactly as he was told.

John did exactly what Dean had expected. He entered the room, checked on his youngest son, and removing the majority of his clothing and boots, he laid under his covers and fell asleep, not giving another thought to the son who was enduring a punishment far greater than he should have been able to handled.

That was the only time John had beat him like that, then followed it with such a harsh training punishment, but he was exhausted and pissed, so he wasn't really thinking at the time. And, if he had known what he knew now, that his son had spent the night on his knees, taking the abuse of other men so they could have enough food, then he wouldn't have even punished him. He would have sent him to bed to rest.

But, he didn't know. And Dean made sure he never knew. Not until recently. He knew Dean was already past his ability to cope when he had returned home, but instead of disobeying or arguing, he took his dad's punishment without a word.

The alarm charmed, pulling John from his thoughts. Two hours were finished, time for the next dose of brew to be forced into his already suffering son.