Chapter 35 – down the friggin' rabbit hole

Lee hung back.

There was something in the air around the humans. It was a vibration, something he'd never felt before. If he'd still been alive it would have set his teeth on edge and made his skin tingle. Meat all around, living and moving and breathing, and all he had to do was slip inside, underneath the skin, let one of the stupid sumbitches breathe him in like cigarette smoke.

Lee wasn't the only one who had the idea of slipping into a meatsuit, but he had no problem hanging back and letting someone else take the plunge first.

One of the spirits, a tall red-headed man in a rumpled brown business suit, floated up behind one of the humans in the yard. Lee remembered running Brown Suit down in the woods and slicing him open from his Adam's apple to his navel with a machete.

Lee waited.

The human was short and stocky, about Lee's age. He wore blue jeans and work boots, looked like any other piece of meat they'd snatched from Kugel's Keg. He frowned up a little as though he sensed something, but he shook it off as the other men climbed out of the trucks all around him.

The spirit grinned from ear to ear as it turned into wisps of grayish white smoke, pressed hungrily against the man's skin.

Nothing happened.

Brown Suit shook his head angrily, then tried it again, with the same results. The second time he popped harmlessly like a soap bubble. He materialized a few feet away, dazed and fearful.

The human didn't even notice.

Lee floated up into the air as he backed away. He froze when he saw the man who was in charge of the group.

Missy's little piggy was back for his pound of flesh.

That steely glint in the older man's eyes was clear and sharp; the shadows of that trucker's cap he wore did nothing to dim or hide it.

Other spirits tried to slip inside human flesh, with the same result. The dead backed away, confused and bewildered.

The humans were shielded. The rest of the men all had that same intense look to their faces. Lee got it. He understood. They were hunters. After all those years, all those victims, the bill for the Benders had finally come due.

Lee laughed. His fear and anger scalded the air around him like acid. The windshield of one of the trucks sitting nearby cracked, jagged cracks stitched deep into the glass.

Trucker's Cap glanced in his direction, and Lee felt a shock of fear and panic stiffen his spine. He couldn't stop any of this, and that frightened him even more. Missy's little piggy limped up the front steps into the house, followed by five men carrying heavy containers in each hand.

Lee willed himself back to his grave in the space of a heartbeat.

They'd come for him soon enough.

Crazy…

Jo caught a flash of pale freckled skin, short sandy blond hair and bright green eyes on Sam's right side.

Dean's crazy, he hit Momma he hit Momma…

"Let go of me, you sonofabitch," Dean gritted out. "Let go…"

"Dean, it's me, It's Dad," John whispered softly, like he was gentling an unruly, half wild colt. "Dude, it's me. Sam's here too."

Dean arched his back as he tried to break free of John's grip. His muscles tensed up and the cords in his neck bulged tightly. "Fuck you…you're not my Dad…you're not…he wouldn't touch me like that…" Dean shook his head from side to side. "He wouldn't…"

Jo's eyes narrowed as she tracked him with the muzzle of the gun. John jerked Dean back as Sam moved to block Jo's view. Sam's face was set in stone, hard, angry.

"Get out of the way, Sam." Even as she said it Jo knew Sam wouldn't budge.

Sam shook his head. "Hell no. You're not gonna hurt my brother."

"Not gonna ask you again." Jo was surprised at how calm she sounded. The gun in her hands felt solid, and her hands didn't shake, never mind that she was holding a fully loaded shotgun on the three men she once considered to be family.

Sam glared at her. "I don't care. You're not hurting Dean."

"Joanna Beth?"

Ellen coughed as she rose slowly to her feet.

"Momma?" Jo didn't dare turn to look at her. The moment stretched out, slowed down. One careless moment could send the whole thing spinning out of control. Jo's finger was on the trigger, and all it would take was just a little more pressure. Sam could decide to rush Jo. Ellen didn't dare reach for the gun. So many things could get fucked up in a hurry.

"Joanna Beth? You put that gun down, you hear me? Right now."

"No. Dean hurt you, Momma."

"Jo? Honey?"

Jo looked over the barrel of the Mossberg and froze. The muzzle of the gun wavered slightly.

Bill Harvelle moved slowly, painfully, as he led with his left foot. The skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. Despite the limp, and the silver-gray threads in his light brown hair, he still looked larger than life to her, like Steve McQueen. Jo felt her stomach tighten. She knew what he was going to do, and it was so unfair. Dean hurt Momma. That cocky, lovable boy she'd grown up with was gone, and in his place was this wild-eyed, bruised psycho.

Bill stopped directly in front of the Winchesters. He'd blocked her shot; Jo figured her game face was good for about five seconds more.

"D-Daddy…no…"

"Jo," Bill said softly. He leaned heavily on his cane as he raised his right hand up. "Put the gun down. Please, darlin'. "

Jo hesitated for the barest second. Her hands shook as she pointed the Mossberg down and to the side. The words caught in her throat, thick and hard. She was going to strangle on them if she didn't get them out. "Dean…Dean hit Momma, Daddy." Maybe he didn't see, didn't understand. Maybe she could make him understand. "Dean hurt Momma…"

"I know he did. I know. Dean's not well, baby. He's not." Bill limped forward. Jo tried to keep her game face on, but it slipped sideways from her now. As her father limped forward Jo stepped into him and put her arm around his waist. She pressed into his side as he put his free arm around Ellen.

"That's my girls," Bill whispered softly. Jo sniffed noisily as she looked at her mother. Ellen's right eye was bruised and very nearly swollen shut. Jo's fingers gave a sharp, angry jerk, as she imagined pulling the trigger.

Nothing happened.

She looked down and realized that the Mossberg was in Ellen's left hand now. Ellen snorted. Her arm slipped around Jo's waist and tightened. "This little bump? Heck, I've had worse."

Dean took a deep shuddering breath. His eyes rolled white; those impossibly long dark lashes of his came down like a shutter. His head lolled backwards and then forward, his chin nearly touching his chest. John held on, felt the tension in Dean's muscles melt away as Dean went suddenly limp. It was over. Dean had worn himself out. He didn't have the energy for anything else, but John held onto him anyway.

The look Sam gave John was sharp, pointed. "Dad? That's enough."

John loosened his grip.

Dean's eyes snapped open.

It all went south in a damn hurry.

Dean tensed up again, coiling like a tightly wound spring. He somehow hooked his right leg behind John's leg and jerked forward, sending John off balance.

The next thing John knew Dean was on top of him. Dean smiled down at him, bright and slightly crooked. All John could do was bring both hands up to shield his face and chest. He felt the slap and sting of Dean's fists against his skin. Dean's skin felt too warm, feverish.

For a wild moment John believed he was back in the woods again, and this wasn't Dean, it was Gabriel all over again. Dean looked healthy, despite the fading bruises on his face and that long thin cut down his right brow and cheek. He didn't wheeze anymore, and he sure in the hell wasn't weak or tired. If anything his color was a little too rosy.

Sam rushed up from behind and wrapped his arms around his brother. Dean pushed off with his legs, driving backwards hard, slamming Sam hard into the bar behind them.

John scrambled to his feet just as Dean turned to face Sam. A blow to the face staggered Sam despite his best efforts to block, and then another to the chest, and incredibly enough Dean smiled at the sight of his brother in pain like that.

John bulled his way in, pushed Dean up against the bar. They traded blows, and at one point Dean lashed out with his left hand and John caught his hand by the wrist.

Dean's skin was so hot John nearly let go. My God, he's burning up.

A right to Dean's jaw staggered him. Dean blinked as he stared at John's face, as though he was seeing him, really seeing him, for the first time in a long time. His eyes widened, deer in the headlights.

It was the damndest thing. Dean's skin cooled off almost instantly. His skin color changed, went from flushed to pale and freckled. John held on, and the sensation raised the hair at the back of his neck, stiff and painful.

"Dean?"

Dean blinked.

"It's okay. You're safe."

Dean's eyes skittered over in Sam's direction, took in the bruises on Sam's face as he leaned against the bar.

"S-Sam?" John could see the realization dawn in his eldest son's eyes. Dean seemed horribly young somehow, pale and shaken. He didn't even glance towards the Harvelles, and that was just as well.

I hurt Sam.

He stared at John's face again. I hurt Dad.

John released Dean's wrist, and as soon as he did Dean stumbled backwards. His face changed, that brief glimpse of vulnerability smoothed out into that curiously blank expression that John knew all too well.

Dean looked calm, but he was screaming inside.

I hurt my family…

John didn't move. Dean backed up. John wasn't surprised to see Dean snag a bottle from one of the open boxes at the corner of the bar.

Hell of a thing. John wanted to be a father to his boys now, at least more of a father than he'd been in the past, and now all he could do was fall into old patterns and stand and watch.

Dean turned and stumbled for the back door with the bottle in his hand.

An hour later John crouched in the brush in the lot behind the Roadhouse. He didn't turn around as he heard the footsteps behind him. He knew Sam was angry at him now, furious that he'd allowed Dean to take off like that in the first place.

"Hey." Bill didn't even try to kneel down. His right leg wouldn't unbend that far.

"Christ, What a mess. What about Ellen?"

Bill shrugged. "Told me to come out here and see how you and Dean are."

The two men watched in silence as Dean Winchester stood in the clearing several feet away. Dean staggered a little as he lifted the bottle up to his lips and drank from it. The tight, tense look of the muscles of his face didn't relax. He wanted to get drunk, but he wasn't doing a very good job of it.

John shrugged. "We're leaving, as soon as Bobby comes back."

"Need some company?"

John rose to his feet, brushing his palms against his jeans. "Nah, I got this."

"John, you can stay as long as you like." Bill sounded pissed off. "I told you that."

"No. Dean's got this idea in his head that you're not family anymore. I don't…I don't trust my boy around people anymore. Just me and Bobby and Sam."

Bill still didn't move. John chuckled. "Go back inside, Bill. Take care of your family."

Candy is dandy but liquor is quicker…

Dumb ass rhyme. Dean stared at the empty bottle in his hand with disgust. His head felt funny and his legs weren't working right. The ground seemed a lot farther away than he ever thought it would be, so maybe it was best to sit down this time.

Dean put his back to the tree trunk and slid down. His ass hit the ground with a hard thump, but he barely felt it.

"Hey, kiddo."

"Hey, Dad," Dean whispered hoarsely. He stared wide eyed as John slowly sat down right beside him.

"Maybe you shouldn't…" Dean muttered. "I'm not…safe to be around."

"Yeah, you are," John drawled softly. Dean didn't answer. He stared wearily into space.

"You okay, son?"

Dean sighed. " 'm fine."

John snorted. "Hell you are. Bud, you told me that last night when I asked you how you were feeling. You said the same thing this morning. You're not fine. Talk to me, Dean."

Dean closed his eyes.

"Come on, kiddo. Don't leave me hanging like this."

Dean took a deep, shuddering breath.

"It felt…good…."

"What did?"

"Hitting you," Dean slurred. "And Sam. It felt good." His face twisted with grief and pain at the thought, and then just as quickly, smoothed out again as he opened his eyes.

"I didn't…didn't know it was you at first."

John nodded. "I know you didn't."

"I remembered what you said about Ellen not hurting us. I did. But I kept seeing those scissors out of the corner of my eye and I lost it. I fucking lost it. Went right down the friggin' rabbit hole. I couldn't stop myself."

"Rabbit hole?"

Dean laughed. There wasn't any humor or mirth to the sound. "Alice in Wonderland. Sammy liked that book, remember?"

John looked momentarily blank.

Dean didn't notice. His expression shifted, became happier, more relaxed. "Got it from a thrift store somewhere. I used to read it to him. He got mad at me if I changed the story. I added stuff. Called the rabbit Bugs Bunny, had him driving a car. Sometimes I did that just to piss him off."

John snorted.

Another change in Dean's expression. The blankness flowed over his fine features again, too smooth, too controlled.

"Gabriel drove most of the time. When we…when I…was at Sweetbriar. Whenever I came out Beck…" Dean swallowed thickly. "Beck was there. Told me it was mind over matter. They didn't mind, 'cause I didn't matter."

"They'd come at me five or six at a time. I kicked their asses as much as I could. Wasn't gonna lay down and be Beck's little bitch, y'know? I made him work for it."

Dean sighed again, and John waited. Four years apart from his family, and John knew that Dean never would have confessed to anything that happened to him while he was gone. He would have stuck to the lie that he was fine, that everything was all right.

Not any more.

He couldn't hide it, couldn't hide from it. Dean's defenses were down, and it wasn't because of the whiskey. He was too tired to run from it anymore. There was a time for everything in this world, and this was Dean's time for this.

I got you, kiddo, John thought. I'm here.

Dean talked about Sweetbriar in a low, oddly calm voice, and John listened.

Next post: Monday. Bobby at the Benders' place, Sam makes a phone call, and Jimmy and Castiel tie up loose ends at Sweetbriar.