Chapter Twenty One

From the time he was four years old, Dean had been taking care of and protecting his little brother, and maybe he'd grumbled and complained about it sometimes like any kid or teenager would, but not once in all that time had he purposely left his brother to fend for himself. Or at least he hadn't until now. Sam knew him better than anyone, could read his face and knew his expressions as if they were his own, and it wouldn't take much for him to figure out what Dean had done. Yes, he had saved Jacob's life and also prevented the younger boy from pulling the trigger to kill Driscoll for what he had done to him, and he should have felt good about that, but guilt didn't work that way.

I – I was gonna kill him . . . I saw him – he was gonna . . . I couldn't let him do that to someone else. Jacob's rough whispered voice echoed through his mind whenever he chanced a glance in his little brother's direction. With his own eyes, he'd witnessed what it must have been like for Sam to be trapped in that hellish basement while Driscoll snapped off pictures of him to add to his sick collection. He wanted to tell Sam he understood everything he was going through, he wanted to say that with every swallow of whiskey he was right back in that basement with Driscoll tracing his tongue along Dean's lower lip…he needed to tell him that he drank to remember those moments when he nearly gave up and shut down almost as much as he drank to forget that night entirely.

In his mind there was only one of two ways that night would have played out, and both of them ended with someone dead. Dean knew that with every fiber he had in him. If he had given up and shut down, no longer fighting the darkness that threatened to drag him into unconsciousness, he would have ended up just like Greg Peterson. They had never found Greg's body, and they wouldn't have found Dean's either. He knew that – he knew it, so why could he let go of the damn guilt that kept him from being there for Sam when he needed him the most?

When Sam moved out of the bedroom they were sharing, it was like a kick to the gut. Not that he would say that to his little brother, not that he would let on that it would have hurt less if he took a knife and cut out his heart. As long as he was sharing a room with Sam there was always a chance that he would admit to everything in a drunken haze, and then it would out there, no taking it back. Secretly he'd hoped that would happen, that liquid courage would prevail, and together they'd figure out a way to muddle through the wreckage Driscoll left behind in his wake.

Instead he chose a different path, veering down a dark road that drove him further and further away from the people he cared about the most. If there was a way back, if there was a way out, he couldn't see it, and with Chaser as his constant shadow he knew he wouldn't find his way back to Sam. For whatever reason, he'd decided Dean was going to be his new best friend, and it didn't seem bother him in the slightest that Dean only showed at the park every night to get drunk or stoned or both.

In fact, Chaser was waiting for him right now, he'd likely already cracked open a bottle of Jack and was working his way through the bottle without Dean. He'd almost made it out the door, almost got away, but before he could take a step outside –

"Dean," his father called out to him from the kitchen as if he was waiting to hear the door open, and cursing under his breath, he turned to face his father as he walked out of the kitchen and circled around one of the two recliners to come to stand toe to toe with him. "I don't know where you planned on heading, but you're staying home today."

"Is that an order?" Dean cocked a brow. "And if it is, and I leave anyway, what are you gonna do about it, Dad?"

"You're good, Dean, real good, and I have no doubt that someday you'll be the best damn hunter there is or ever will be – that's not today though, and there are still some lessons you haven't learned."

"Is that a threat?" Dean laughed. "I'm pretty sure there are laws against that sort of thing. Should I call the police and find out for sure?"

"You know what, maybe you should." He nudged his head sideways at the phone sitting on the table. "In case your boozed soaked brain doesn't recall the number, it's 9-1-1. When they get here, we can take them to your bedroom to have a look around. I'm sure they'd be real interested in that white powder I found in your dresser. Hell, they might even arrest you. The problem being that since you're not a minor anymore, you'd probably do some jail time. Not that you'd care because the new and improved Dean Winchester doesn't care about anything other than getting his next fix."

"You wouldn't dare," Dean said, glancing toward the hallway leading to his bedroom.

"You're right, I wouldn't, but I would dump that shit down the toilet."

"You didn't!" Pushing past his father, he raced down the hallway, flung open his bedroom door, the doorknob smacking into the drywall, and stopped short when he saw his bottom drawer was left wide open with his clothing hanging over the side.

"Starting now there's going to be some changes around here," his father said, and Dean turned to glare at him as he leaned against the doorframe. "As I said, you may be good but I'm better. For all your cockiness, I've followed you and your new drug dealing friend for the past few nights and you didn't even know it. He's selling to kids – they were kids, Dean! Some of them were Sam's age and younger."

"It's not my job to protect every damn kid that wants to get high, Dad." His stomach began to churn violently as the words slipped out of his mouth. He slumped on his bed, and looked down at his open palms. "I was drunk and not exactly thinking straight, but I swear it wasn't me who was selling anything to those kids."

"Yeah, I figured that much out myself when I saw you stumble over the curb." Blowing out a heavy breath, he pushed away from the doorframe, and went to sit beside Dean. "This isn't you, Dean. I'm not a hundred percent sure what happened to you, but I think I have a pretty good idea, and I need you to know it wasn't your fault."

Horrible understanding dawn on Dean. Maybe his father hadn't thought it at first, maybe it felt safer to believe the lie Dean had told him. Dean had done his job well, picking fight after fight with his father in hopes of making him angry enough not to delve any deeper into what really happened the night he went to Driscoll's house. He could live with being a screw up in his father's eyes, but he couldn't stand the thought of him feeling compassion for him. Not for this. For anything else, yes, but not for this.

"It's not what you think, Dad." Dragging a trembling hand down his face, he shook his head. "Driscoll didn't rape me." He pushed up from the bed, and set to pacing back and forth as he worked up the courage to tell his father what he'd done. "It never would have happened if he hadn't taken those damn pictures of Sam – I couldn't let him have those pictures, Dad…I couldn't."

"You went inside his house," he said, and Dean's mind flashed back to the night Sam had told him what Driscoll had done to him, and how Dean had to fill in the blanks of what he couldn't say. "Was he home?"

"He was home, and then he wasn't…then he came home again and pulled his car into the garage," he said, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Once it all came out, he wouldn't be able to take it back, wouldn't be able to unsee the look in his father's eyes when he realized his son was a murderer. "I was going to leave…I was heading toward the door. He wouldn't have even known I was there, but I couldn't go – I couldn't leave him there…I couldn't let it happen again."

"He brought another boy home," he guessed, and lips pressed into a grim line, Dean gave a curt nod. "Did the boy see you?" Another nod and his father cursed under his breath. "How did you get so beaten up?"

"I didn't go there to kill him…I wanted to – God, I wanted to, but I'm not a cold-blooded killer, Dad. I swear to you I'm not." His stomach rolled and lurched, violently protesting against coming clean. Dean swallowed hard against the acrid taste of bile at the back of his throat, and raked his hands through his hair. "I-I thought I'd knocked him unconscious, and I was trying to get Jacob out of the basement – I was struggling to get him up the stairs, and the next thing I knew I was on the floor, and Driscoll kicked me in the side of the head." Stomach churning, he drew in a staggered breath, and touched his fingers to his lips. "He kicked me in the ribs a few times and slammed his boot down into my stomach then punched me in the face…h-he wanted me to fight him it – it excited him, and he was going to…he wanted to –"

"You don't have to say it, Dean. I know what he wanted to do," he uttered in a hoarse whisper, and on his feet within a heartbeat, he pulled Dean into a tight embrace. "It was self-defense, Dean. Do you hear me? If you hadn't killed him, he would have raped you and more than likely killed you, and he probably would have murdered the other boy as well." He pulled back slightly and looked Dean in the eyes. "Do you believe he would have killed you?" A thick knot forming in Dean's throat, making it impossible for him to utter a word, he nodded. "He'd already killed one person that we know of and it's very possible that there could be others. He hid that body too well for it to have been his first time. You were in fear for your life, and did what was necessary to not only survive, but to also save that other boy. I won't let you feel guilty for protecting yourself and Jacob. I won't." His warm, calloused hands framed Dean's face. "I'm going to go and make certain this never leads back to you, and while I'm gone I need you to watch out for your brother."

"Dad, I-I –"

His stomach lurched again and then a second time. Jerking back away from his father, Dean clamped a hand down over his mouth and bolted for the bathroom, running almost blindly down the hallway. Stumbling forward the last few steps, he dropped to his knees and heaved into the toilet, throwing up violently as his stomach continued to roll and churn. He heard the water turn on in the sink then off, and a few seconds later his father draped a cool cloth on the back of his neck.

"Your grandmother use to do this when I was sick. I'm not sure if it helps, but I figured it couldn't hurt." He crouched beside Dean and gently ran his hand up and down Dean's back. "It's going to be okay, Dean. I know you boys think I'm a terrible father, and that's probably true, but that doesn't mean I didn't raise two amazing sons that have given up so much so other people can sleep safely at night. Sam, and especially you, would give up your lives to fight and protect innocent people, and you would never willingly hurt another person, even if that person might have deserved it." Stomach revolting once more, Dean threw up again. "It was self defense, Dean, and I promise you I'll keep drilling that into your head until you stop punishing yourself for saving not only yourself and that boy, but every other kid that bastard would have hurt along the way."

With a weary sigh, he fell silent; the sound of Dean retching up what was left in his stomach, the only noise to fill the void until another quiet voice took its place. "What's wrong with Dean?" Sam asked from behind him, and Dean cringed.

"Jack got the better of him," his father said, straightening to his full height. Without Dean having to beg him not to tell Sam about Driscoll, his father understood what that admission would do to him, and chose to keep it to himself. "I have to go away for a few days, Sammy. While I'm –"

"Dean's sick and you're leaving!?" Sam cut in, his voice rising in anger. "Why am I even surprised?"

"M'okay, Sammy," Dean muttered, yanking the damp washcloth off his neck to wipe his face. "He's only gonna be gone a few days, and then he's coming back."

"No, Dean," Sam snapped, and Dean shifted slightly to see Pastor Jim standing behind Sam in the doorway. "It's not okay." He flung out his arm, and waved a hand at Dean. "Dean needs you here – we need you here, but as usual as always, you're hightailing it out of here as fast as you can. Well, you can go, 'cause we don't need you here."

"Sam –"

"It's okay, Dean." His father caught his eye, and gave a subtle shake of his head. "Sam's entitled to his own opinion. I'll call when I get there to give you a number where you reach me at if there's an emergency." He reached out a hand, Dean clasped hold of it, and he helped him up off the ground. "While I'm gone you stay away from those boys in the park. They're trouble, Dean, and I don't wanna get a call saying you're in jail. Understood?"

"So that's it? You're really going to walk out on us again?" Sam said before Dean could respond, glaring at Dean when he didn't speak up to voice any objections. "Say something, Dean! Tell him not to leave!"

"I can't do that, Sammy," Dean whispered hoarsely, chest constricting at the thought of being the reason why their father had to leave when Sam desperately needed him stay. "It's only gonna be for a few days, I promise."

"Oh…just like you promised you wouldn't tell dad about Driscoll? Or maybe it was like the promise you made to always be there for me no matter what? You don't even know what the word means, Dean, so do us both a favor and stop using it."

"That's enough, Sam," John said as Dean made a conscience effort to keep his shoulders from caving inward at the venom in his little brother's tone. "If you want to take your anger out on someone, take it out on me, not on your brother. He did the best he could under the circumstances."

"Sam, maybe we should go for a walk," Pastor Jim suggested in a low, calm voice, trying to diffuse the situation before one of them said something they would regret but couldn't take back. In this instance it would likely be Sam who went too far as he seemed hellbent on starting a fight with the two eldest Winchesters. He was hurt and angry, and hadn't said anything untrue, not to their father, and definitely not to Dean. But tempers as they were in the Winchester family, a simple disagreement could escalate quickly, especially where their father was concerned. "The bathroom isn't the place for this conversation. Let's go for a walk and talk about it. Okay?"

"No," lips pursed and eyes filling with tears, Sam shook his head, "I'm done with this screwed up family. You said to trust them, Pastor Jim. You said to give them a chance – start with your father, you said," he laughed bitterly, "well, this is what trusting people in this family looks like…it's all empty words and drunken promises. So I'm done with hoping my deadbeat dad will stick around long enough to make a difference, and I'm done believing in the lies my brother tells me, and I'm definitely done listening to you, Jim."

Turning on his heel, Sam bolted out of the bathroom, ramming into Pastor Jim as he passed by him. Dean made to follow, cringing at the sound of angry footsteps pounding on the stairs, but his father gripped hold of his shoulder to stop him. A second later the bedroom door upstairs slammed shut, and Dean flinched. "Let him cool off a while, Dean. He's too angry right now to listen to reason and you'll only end up making matters worse."

Throat tightening to the point of being painful, Dean gave a curt nod as Pastor Jim said, "If you're leaving in such a hurry, I'm guessing something happened with Driscoll." A look passed between his father and Jim, and the pastor heaved a weary sigh. "Don't be gone long, John. Do what you gotta do and then get back here. Every bit of progress we've made has just been ripped away, and the longer you stay away the harder it will be regain the footing we've lost. Understand?"

"Yeah, I understand."

"M'sorry, Dad," Dean muttered, a deep ache blossoming in his chest.

"This isn't your fault, Dean." He gave Dean's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Just keep an eye on your brother and we'll figure out what to do next when I get back."

Author's note - I always just felt that even if it was the hardest thing he'd ever have to do, Dean would tell his secret to his father at some point because of the bond they share. If he's gonna reach out to anyone for help, especially while Sam is young, I would have to say it would be John, and I also believe John would step up for Dean, shouldering the responsibility and anger to protect his eldest son. Anyhow, that's my thoughts. Thanks for reading...bambers:)