Dean's chest ached.
Surrounded by a sea of strangers, he felt entirely alone.
Sam was rows ahead, just another flat blue cap in a sea of flat blue caps.
Bobby was on his left. His dad was on his right, in the seat on the aisle.
Sam's going to Stanford.
He was assaulted by images of dressing the kid when he was younger, pouring his cereal, holding him when his little brother was sick or sad or scared. Remembered the games they'd played quietly on long car rides, the pillow fights and tickle fights and wrestling when they were allowed to make noise. Popcorn and bad motel TV. Serious talks about Dad and life and school and girls and monsters. Waking from a nightmare, lying in the dark and listening to his brother breathe.
That's all over now. Sam doesn't need any of that from me anymore.
But you still do.
He clenched his jaw. Hated that voice. Wish he knew how to silence it, once and for all. Doesn't matter. Sam needs this. He deserves it. I'll be fine.
But it was a lie, and he knew it.
Dean's whole existence was shifting.
He would be alone or with Dad, which was almost the same thing. Living for the days when he could check up on his little brother. Hear Sam's voice. Reaffirm his own reason for being.
He was terrified, and there was not a single soul that he could talk to about it.
Sammy's going away.
His soul bled.
"In honor of our new grad and birthday boy, we're going on a family vacation," John announced, pleased at the stunned looks on his sons' faces.
"What? Where?" Sam found his voice before Dean could.
"Place in the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee," Bobby supplied. "Owned by some friends a' mine. Retired hunters. Got a swank, all-inclusive resort for rich folks, and a smaller but equally fancy spot for hunters. Warded to hell an' back." He cast a meaningful glance at Sam and Dean. "Safe enough to let yer guard down."
"That sounds awesome, Bobby - " Sam began, only to be interrupted by his brother.
"So there'll be hot, rich chics there?"
Sam rolled his eyes, John scowled, and Bobby chuckled. "I didn't ask. Want I should call and put in a request?"
"You can do that?" Dean sounded awed.
Sam groaned. "That was sarcasm, Dean. He's being ironic."
Dean looked disappointed.
"Are you coming, Bobby?" Sam asked, his tone making it clear that he both expected and hoped that the older man would answer in the affirmative.
He shot a glance at John, whose face looked grim. "I'll come out the first coupla days. Maybe the last ones, too. But ya'all know I got a lot of hunters relyin' on me. Can't be away from those damn' phones for too long."
Dean grunted, remembering how frustrated he'd gotten try to manage all of that while Bobby had been laid up. "Pretty sure the entire North American hunter population would fall apart if you took a week off," and unlike Bobby, there was no irony in Dean's observation.
The older man shot him a grin, acknowledging the compliment.
"I suggest you boys do whatever you need to do." Family vacation or no, John's Marine corporal attitude was still in full effect. "We leave in thirty."
"Caroline coming?" Dean both hoped and feared that she would.
"No." John's answer was clipped. He scooped up his bag on the way to the bathroom, closing the door firmly on any further questions.
Dean turned to Bobby, eyebrows raised.
The older man shook his head. "Don't ask. But I don't think you'll be seein' her for awhile. Or maybe ever." He glanced at the closed door, the sound of running water announcing to all that the oldest Winchester had decided on a shower. "That man can hold a grudge like no other."
"A grudge about what?" She was helping.
"Me."
And that's all the gruff older man would say.
"We'll stop in Lawrence. It's about the halfway point. Catch a couple hours sleep, then push through."
Sam and Dean shared a look.
Their father typically avoided Lawrence. Rarely even said the name.
Dean shrugged one shoulder. "Sounds good."
John made sure the boys were settled and comfortable, Sam sharing a room with Bobby, John himself bunking with Dean. He waited until Dean was asleep before slipping out the door.
The sun was just starting to rise, bathing the headstones in a delicate rose glow. He hadn't admitted it to his boys, but John had visited this particular cemetery so frequently that he could have woven his way to the gravesite in the dead of night.
Mary Winchester
1954 - 1983
In Loving Memory
He'd always wished that it said more. That strangers could stop by and know that she'd been beautiful, and intelligent, and loving, and fun. That she'd been strong and fierce.
That she'd tried to make him a better man.
He stared at the inscription, hands fisted in the front pockets of his jacket, shoulders hunched in pain.
"Hey, Mare. I know I haven't been by in a while…."
The headstone blurred as tears filled his eyes.
Might as well have buried you yesterday. When does it stop hurting?
"I can't stop missing you."
Without warning, he was on his knees, hands folded over the gravestone, forehead resting on his knuckles.
"The boys - "
His voice broke, and he fought for composure.
"They're growing up, Mare, and you'd be so proud. Sammy's smart, real smart, graduated at the top of his class. And Dean…"
He sat back on the dew-coated lawn, curling in on himself.
"I gotta be honest, Babe: you'd be pissed at me. Dean...he's broken, Mare. So broken. And it's my fault."
He rocked, more vulnerable at that point than he had ever been.
"I just...I got so caught up in it, you know? Finding out who or what killed you. Making sure the boys would be safe." He wiped a hand across his face, clearing the way for more tears to fall. "And I made him grow up too hard, too fast. Made sure he'd always keep Sammy safe. And now he...he thinks that's all he is, all he's good for, and he - "
How do I tell her that her son's been raped?
"Something happened...not monsters, just horrible, evil people...and I don't think he cares anymore. I don't think he cares if he lives or dies. It's just Sam keeping him here, keeping him fighting, and I just don't know, Babe. I just don't know what to do."
He wormed his way forward until he could lean one shoulder on the headstone. "I might lose him...might lose them both...and I'm not even over you yet." He wiped his face against the shoulder of his jacket. "Please...help me out? Send me something. A dream, or something. I just need guidance. Just need to know what you would do. What you want me to do. Please?"
He hunched into the cold marble, needing with every fiber of his being, every fragment of his tortured soul, to feel her touch. Hear her voice. Press his ear to her warm chest, listen to her heart beat, and know that it would all be okay.
Pink had given way to a merciless gold before John finally forced him to rise and return to his sons.
