Thanks for reading. Originally, I'd planned for this chapter to be longer, but I really liked where I left it. It felt right to leave it there, and hopefully everyone will agree. Let me know what you think as I do live for reviews...bambers:)

Chapter Twenty Three

John waited a good twenty miles before he abruptly pulled off to the side of the road, flung open the door, stumbled out of the vehicle, and threw up. He'd always prided himself on being able to hold it together when most men would have crumbled. Maybe it was his military training or maybe he felt the worst of the worst in his life had already come and gone when Mary died, and all the truly bad things that had come afterwards paled greatly in comparison. Hearing that Sam had been raped, ripped away that arrogant belief that he could withstand anything, and then listening to Dean explain how hard he fought not to be another victim and hearing the guilt in his tone for doing what was necessary to not only survive but also save someone else in the process – that was his undoing.

In different ways, Driscoll had taken both of his sons from him, and left behind the broken pieces of them in his wake. Why did I let him go by himself to follow Driscoll? He's just a kid for Christ's sake. I should've taken care of it myself. His stomach lurched again, and gripping hold of the door, he wretched some more, the contents of his stomach splattering onto his boots and the ground.

He knew his eldest son well enough to know that even in the face of something as horrible as what occurred in Driscoll's house, he would have still had the presence of mind to cover his tracks and get rid of any evidence that might lead the police back to the Winchesters. He didn't ask for the details for two reasons. The first one being that he didn't want Dean to have to relive those moments over again, adding to the staggering guilt he already felt. And the second, he needed to look at the crime scene the way the police would, looking it over with a critical eye to make certain his son hadn't missed anything.

That thought had him coughing and throwing up once more, the rest of the meager contents of his stomach mingling with the loose gravel on the ground. Pull yourself together, John. Sam needs his brother, and that means I have to do everything in my power to make sure they aren't separated. With everything the coach had done, he didn't believe Dean would be brought to trial much less spend any time in jail, but he couldn't trust the fate of his son's life into the hands of anyone other than himself. If there was any evidence that could possibly incriminate Dean in the death of the coach, he'd find and destroy it.

The sound of a car horn blaring and someone shouting obscenities at him, drew John out of his troubled thoughts, and focused him on the problem at hand. He waited until another car passed by him then slid behind the wheel of his truck. Driving to the next town, he pulled over into a gas station, gassed up his vehicle, and then made a beeline to the payphone at the side of the building. He couldn't do everything that needed to be done on his own. Not many people would recognize him, but he had registered and also withdrawn Sam from school, and having someone remember who he was while he snooped around for information on a murder was something he couldn't afford to have happen.

The phone rang twice before Bobby Singer answered with a gruff hello. "Bobby, it's John…I need your help," he said, dispensing with pleasantries as the other hunter wouldn't expect them. "It's Sam and Dean…I can't explain over the phone…I need you to meet me in Wheatland, Wyoming."

A short pause, and then Bobby said, "Yeah, let me pack up some stuff and I'll meet you there tonight." While he and Bobby might not always see eye to eye on things, he had always had a soft spot in his heart for Sam and Dean, and in truth he was the closest thing to a friend that John had had since Mary died. "Are they alright?"

"I'll explain everything when I see you tonight." His hand tightened around the phone, and he glanced over his shoulder to make certain no one was around to eavesdrop on his conversation. "I'll be at the –" he pressed his eyes closed and mentally pictured every crummy motel Wheatland had to offer, "– Pineview Inn. Bring a suit." He didn't need to explain further. By telling him to bring a suit, the other hunter would understand that they would be dealing with the police, and for now that would have to be good enough. "Thanks, Bobby."

"I'll see ya tonight…."

He hung up without saying goodbye, and John lumbered back to the truck for the long drive ahead of him. He sat behind the wheel staring down at the wedding ring on his finger, vision blurring as he thought of the promise he'd made to Mary after she'd died to protect their boys with his life if necessary, and yet when Sam had needed him – when Dean had needed him, he'd failed them both miserably, and they continued to suffer due to that failure. I'm so sorry, Mary. I thought I only needed to protect them from the things I hunt…I never stopped to consider that the thing that would hurt them the most would be another human being.

He'd spent countless hours upon hours training them to fight and protect themselves with every kind of weapon in their arsenal along with their fists and bodies. He didn't doubt for a second that even Sam, at his young age, could take down a full grown werewolf if he needed to. What he couldn't do, what no one could do, was fight off the affects of a drug meant to incapacitate him. Then there was Dean who could will himself to continue fighting long after his last stores of strength had been utterly depleted, and from the injuries he'd sustained at Driscoll's house, that had to be the case…he'd lost himself in that fight for his life, and John feared that neither of his boys would ever recover fully from what Driscoll had done to them.

Those thoughts circled round and round inside his mind as he drove to the Parkview Inn. Sam didn't believe he cared, not in the way a father should care about his children, and John couldn't blame him for that. His youngest son had never known a time when John wasn't a hunter, and he also knew that Dean's memories of those long ago days were vague at best. Still, it was enough for Dean to hang onto, enough for him to still see John as a man who would do anything for him and Sam. He didn't like to think back to those times, to remember a world where his biggest fear was whether or not he could pay some bill. If he did, he would crumble under the weight of all he'd lost.

Yet, there were good times, those precious few memories he guarded very close to his heart. As the miles passed by, he recalled coming home from work every Friday to find Dean waiting at the front door for him, and how he'd scooped him up into his arms, and kissed his cheek, leaving behind a smudge of grease on Dean's face. Carrying him to the kitchen, he would set him down on the counter as Mary took out a jar from the cabinet and handed it to Dean. Dean would shake the jar, coins jingling around inside, green eyes narrowing in an attempt to count the money inside the container.

"How much do ya think is in there?" Dean asked, green eyes dancing with excitement. "Is it enough yet?"

"Not yet," Mary said, rubbing her pregnant belly as John pulled out his wallet and handed Dean a ten dollar bill to put inside the jar. "I think we'll have to wait until after your little brother or sister makes his or her arrival before we start planning the trip."

"It's gonna be a boy, right, Daddy?" Dean said, shaking the jar again, and John nodded in agreement. "An' I'm gonna be the bestest big brother ever in all the world. An' I'm gonna teach 'im how to go fishin' and how ta play baseball, an' when we go to the Grand Canyon, I'm gonna make sure he's not afraid of fallin' over the edge 'cause that's what big brothers do, right, Daddy."

"You're right. Your brother's gonna be one helluva lucky boy to have you as a big brother." Scooping Dean up in his arms again, Dean raised out his arms to the sides and made airplane noises with his mouth as John whirled him around and Mary opened the cabinet for Dean to place the jar back inside. "Only a few more months and we'll have enough money for those plane tickets and then you'll get to go on a real airplane."

Dean hands fell limply to his sides. "I don't think my lil' brother's gonna like airplanes, better ta take the car instead."

He looked to Mary and she mouthed the words, 'There was a plane crash on the news today, and he saw it before I noticed.'

"You're probably right, Dean," he said, nodding at Mary in understanding. "A road trip with my favorite people in the world sounds like a much better plan to me anyways." Setting Dean on the ground, he tousled his son's dark blond hair, and crouched in front of him. "How about if I go wash up and then we'll go out back and play some catch for a while before dinner?"

Big green eyes pleading with Mary, he said, "Can I, Mommy?"

"Alright," she said, trying her hardest to look stern. "But when you're finished, I want you to pick up your toys like I asked you earlier."

"Aww…Mary, the boy's only four years old. Let him have fun while he's young, he'll have the rest of his life to clean up –"

A car horn blared, jolting him out of the memory, and heart hammering in his chest, he swerved back into his own lane. The memory, much like the plans they had made all those years ago, ended abruptly. They'd never made it to the Grand Canyon, and even though the jar of money earmarked for the trip had survived the fire and John had offered to take Dean and Sam, Dean always found reasons why they couldn't go. Those reasons always center on Sam – he needed new shoes, his coat wasn't warm enough, his pants were too short…always taking care of Sam, always protecting him even when he was far too young to have to concern himself with such things. He feared that someday Sam would break Dean's heart because Sam was the type of person who would want to spread his wings and experience life outside of hunting, and Dean wouldn't know how to let him go.

With that thought in mind, he pulled over at the next gas station, parked in front of a payphone, and called their temporary home to talk to his eldest son. The phone rang and rang, and finally after the eighth ring, Dean answered.

"Hey, Dean, it's Dad," he said, rubbing the moisture out of his eyes. "I'm just calling to check on you and Sammy."

"He's okay," Dean said after a long pause, his voice rough with emotion. "Are you there yet?"

"No, not yet." Scrubbing a hand down his face, he cast a glance over his shoulder, looking around for any signs of trouble. Not seeing anything to raise his concern, he refocused his attention on Dean. "How angry is he at me?"

"It was pretty bad," he whispered hoarsely, and John could tell he was keeping his voice low so Sam didn't hear him. "I don't know how to do this, Dad. I don't know if I'm saying the right things or if I'm just making everything worse…we talked and he seemed okay, but –"

"But what, Dean?" he prodded when Dean's voice trailed off abruptly.

A long pause, only the sound of Dean's breathing to let him know he hadn't hung up. "He had a knife in his bedroom, and when I tried to take it when I left, he told me to leave it…should I have taken the knife, Dad?"

John's chest constricted, a deep ache spreading through him. I shouldn't have left. He begged me not to go, and I still left. If anything happens to him…. "Do you think he might hurt himself?"

"I dunno…I don't want to believe he would, but I dunno," he whispered, and John heard a slight tremble in his voice. "If I take the knife, he'll get angry and say stuff like how I'm taking away his choices, and how what he wants doesn't matter…."

"Take the knife and lock it up with the other weapons, Dean," John ordered, his stern tone meant to brook no argument. "He let you see the knife because deep down he wants you to take it away from him. If not he would have hidden it and you would have been none the wiser. Yes, he'll get angry, but you don't see a man on a ledge and leave him there alone to jump. You do what you have to do to make sure he survives, and then you keep on fighting for him until he has the strength to do it on his own."

"I wish I never told you what really happened," he whispered brokenly, and the sadness in his voice tore at John's heart. "If I hadn't, you'd still be here, and Sam…."

"Dean, you're the one who's going to get your little brother through this," he said, recalling how happy his eldest son had been in his memories when he thought about having a little brother. "It's not going to be me or Pastor Jim or anyone else – it was always going to be you. You just haven't realized it yet. You don't have to know the right things to say – you just have to be you. Whether he knows it or not, that's what Sam needs. He needs his big brother, and I'm pretty sure you've got that covered in spades."

Another long pause then he drew in a deep breath, slowly exhaling. A faint smile pulled at John's lips as he pictured his eldest son centering himself and finding his inner strength. "Thanks, Dad…I really needed to hear that."

"Yeah, I know you d-did," he whispered, his voice catching in his throat at the end. "Sometimes even the best big brother in the world needs to hear how special he is from his father…love ya, Dean."

"Love you, too, Dad…."