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Chapter Twenty Four
Dean took several moments to collect his thoughts after he hung the phone up. His father didn't usually dole out compliments or give heartfelt speeches with flowery praise. In fact the last time that Dean could recall his father giving him some sort of praise, it went something along the lines of – well, you're not too banged up, but next time keep a better eye on the werewolf. Sam wouldn't have taken that as a compliment, and in truth no one else would either, but Dean read between the lines of what his father did and didn't say, and took it to mean he'd done a damn good job.
He preferred that kind of praise from his father – he could handle that kind of praise, but this was something different entirely and it threw him for a loop. It was the kind of thing he'd expect his father to say if he didn't think he was going to make it back from whatever hunt he was on. It was the kind of thing he might say if he planned on doing something stupid like taking the blame for Driscoll's murder to protect Dean. No, he wouldn't do that. He's just going there to make sure I didn't leave behind any evidence that would lead the police back to me.
Dean mentally retraced his steps of everything that happened after Driscoll died, and he couldn't pinpoint one thing he'd overlooked in making it appear as if he'd never been there. He'd gathered up the buttons from his shirt, cleaned away all of his blood with ammonia, and wiped down everything he might have touched in the stairwell and basement. Maybe the police might have found a stray hair that would have been impossible for Dean to find, but it could easily be attributed to one of Driscoll's victims. Sure, it might have looked suspicious that the basement had been wiped clean of evidence, but there wasn't a body, at least not one that anyone would ever find, and without a body they couldn't prove anything. Well, at least they couldn't prove anything unless Jacob came forward to tell them what happened, and there was always a chance that he might do just that.
No, that's not going to happen. Jacob doesn't want anyone to know what Driscoll did to him. Raking his hands through his hair, he took a slow measured breath, and pushed away the thoughts of Driscoll to focus on the problem at hand. He needed to get the knife away from Sam without making him think he didn't trust him to have it in his possession. Easier said than done since he'd already tried to take it away from him once.
A knock at the front door interrupted his thoughts, and carefully prying the blinds open a crack, he spotted Chaser standing on the porch with his fisted hand poised to knock again. This time the knock was a little harder, a little more impatient, and Dean cringed at the reminder of what his father had done with the drugs Chaser had given him to hold onto for him.
"Answer the damn door, Dean!" Chaser shouted, pounding more insistently on the door. "I know you're in there so stop hidin' like some chickenshit coward!"
It wasn't that he didn't think he could take Chaser in a fight – he knew he could. That wasn't why he hesitated to face the other teen. If it was just Chaser he needed to worry about, he would have beat the hell out of him, and warned him never to step foot on their property again. No, Chaser was just a cocky two-bit dealer who believed he was more important than he actually was. If he died or was imprisoned, his suppliers would find someone to take his place in a heartbeat. It was those people he needed to worry about as they would think nothing of hurting Sam or Pastor Jim out of revenge for the money they'd lost.
The sight of Sam coming down the stairs spurned him into action. He caught his brother's eye, brought his index finger to his lips, and Sam nodded in understanding. Sam disappeared upstairs only to return a few moments later with one of their father's guns, and trained his sights on the door. Maybe he was hurting and scared, and broken in ways that would take a long time to heal, yet beneath all of that, Sam was still the trained warrior that Dean had helped raise. Hope swelled in Dean's chest at the sight of his little brother prepared to protect and defend him without a thought of his own safety.
There you are, Sammy. I haven't lost you. A faint smile ghosted on his lips as he nodded once more to his little brother, and then silently went to retrieve his own gun from his bedroom. Tucking it into the back of his waistband, he went to answer the door.
"About damn time, Dean-O," Chaser said, tilting his head to the side to grin up the staircase at Sam. For some reason Chaser had started calling him Dean-O, and from that moment onward the rest of his friends followed suit. When Dean was drunk or stoned it hadn't bothered him, sober was another matter entirely. It grated on his nerves, and if that hadn't bothered him, the way he was eyeing Sam sure the hell did. "Your little brother know how to use that gun?"
"Make a move to hurt my brother, and you'll find out real quick how well I can use this gun," Sam said, the confidence in his tone giving Chaser pause, a flicker of concern in his hazel eyes.
It was Dean's turn to grin. "You heard him, Chaser. He learned from the best, and I should probably warn you that the last time he missed any target, he was six years old."
"I was five," Sam corrected, taking two steps down the stairs, the barrel of the gun never wavering from Chaser's chest.
"Is that any way to treat a friend who stopped by to visit?" Chaser said, regaining his composure, and fishing out a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his jean jacket, he pulled out one and lit it. Taking a long drag, he blew the smoke in Dean's face. "Where were ya, Dean-O? Thought we had plans to get fucked up?" He looked from Dean to Sam, and smiled again. "What'd ya say, Sammy, wanna get higher than a kite with yer stoner brother?"
"I'm only gonna tell you this one," Dean said in a low menacing tone as he held up one finger. "You don't talk to my brother – you don't so much as look in his direction, and if I ever find out you've tried to sell him anything to get high, I'll put you in the hospital. Is that clear?"
"Not smart, Dean," he said, glancing between the two Winchesters as he took another drag off his cigarette. "You think you're foolin' yer brother with this sober as a saint act ya got goin' on? If so you're dumber than I thought. I'm sure little Sammy's seen ya stumblin' in the house, trippin' over your own feet, shit-faced drunk with a nose candy chaser."
"Get the hell off of our property," Sam warned, descending the last few steps and coming to stand beside Dean. "And stay the hell away from my brother. He's done with you and all your friends."
Chaser lifted a brow. "Is that so, Dean?"
"You heard my brother," he said, nudging his head toward the road. "And if you know what's good for you, you won't come back."
"Alright," Chaser said, flicking his cigarette at Dean. The cigarette butt hit his chest, dropped to the ground, and Dean grounded out the lit end with the toe of his boot. "Just get me my stuff, and I'll go."
"I don't have it," Dean admitted, stomach twisting in knots.
"Then you better damn well have the money to pay for what you snorted."
"What's he talkin' about, Dean?" Sam asked without taking his sights off of Chaser, and Dean's heart dropped into the twisted mess of his stomach.
"I'll get you your money, I just need some time," Dean said, ignoring Sam's question. He wasn't going to explain to his brother about their father finding the drugs he'd hidden and flushing them down the toilet with Chaser standing right there with a smug expression on his face. "Just give me a week and I'll bring you your money."
"Five thousand is a helluva lot of money to come within one week," Chaser pointed out, and although Dean was certain he wouldn't have made that much money selling his supply on the streets, he couldn't very well argue over drug money with his little brother standing right there. "What, you gonna rob the Preacher man?"
"He said you'd get your damn money," Sam said, motioning with the barrel of the gun for Chaser to leave. "If you come back again, I won't think twice about shooting you."
"You got more balls than yer brother, kid." Chaser chuckled as he turned and headed down the stairs, calling back over his shoulder, "One week, Dean-O. If I haven't got the money by then I'll make sure to tell my suppliers where you live."
Dean waited until Chaser had left their yard and was well on his way down the street before he shut the front door and shifted to face Sam. Carefully taking the gun out of his brother's trembling hand, he set it on the table. "For a moment there I almost believed you would have shot him if he didn't walk away."
"I would have shot him if he tried to hurt you," Sam said, and from his tone and grim expression, Dean didn't doubt him for a second. "It felt good not to feel so damn helpless."
"You're anything but helpless, Sammy." His eyes strayed to the gun on the table. "You think you've changed – you think Driscoll took away everything that made you who you are, he didn't, Sam. I saw that clearly today. You didn't hesitate. You weren't afraid. You stood up to Chaser and you made him go away. That was you, little brother, not me. The bravery you have inside of you is something that no one can take away from you, and I'm damn proud that you're my brother."
"He's gonna come back, Dean," Sam reminded him, brow furrowing with worry. "He's gonna come back, and you don't have ten dollars to your name much less five thousand."
"I'll figure something out." In truth there was no figuring it out. He didn't have the money now and he still wouldn't have it in a week. "Maybe we could head to Bobby's early, and have Dad meet us there."
"He knows about Pastor Jim," Sam said, moving away from the door to take a seat on the edge of the couch. "If you leave without giving him his money, Chaser and his friends could hurt him."
"They won't hurt Pastor Jim."
"You don't know that for certain." Scarcely having taken a seat, Sam got to his feet to pace with nervous energy. "What were you thinking, Dean? You brought drugs into our house, and now people are after you." He turned in his steps and looked at Dean, panic and pain filling his big brown eyes. "Is it because of me? We're you so damn sickened by the sight of me that –"
"It didn't have anything to do with you, Sammy," Dean cut in, his heart breaking all over again as he watched his brother quickly spiral downward. "I figured I'd try to make some friends while we were here, and Chaser and his friends didn't seem that bad at first." That was an outright lie, but it was easier than telling him the truth about Driscoll's death. "They offered me a joint, and it's not as if I haven't tried it before…it was different though – laced with something, and for whatever reason I liked the feeling it gave me. I don't know how it got out of hand so fast, but I know I messed up. I was drunk and stoned, and when he asked me to hold onto his stuff for him, I didn't even give it a second thought. Then Dad found the bag and flushed it all down the toilet…I was glad he did it, but what he didn't consider when he did it was that someone would come looking for payment."
"You have to tell Dad you need the money."
"Dad doesn't have that kind of money, and even if he did I wouldn't ask him for it." Dean could be inordinately stubborn at times, and this was definitely one of those times. It was his mistake – his mess to clean up, and if he couldn't figure it out by himself, he deserved to get his ass kicked by Chaser's suppliers. "If Dad calls, you're not going to tell him anything about this. Okay?"
"I dunno, Dean," he said, his big puppy dog eyes pleading with Dean to come clean with their father. If anyone would know how to solve this problem for Dean, it would be him, and that's what Sam's look conveyed without the need to elaborate. And yet he did. "They aren't monsters you can kill and walk away from. They're people. They have the potential to be a helluva lot worse, and you can't kill 'em. You just have to live with what they've done to you, and I don't want to see you in some hospital hooked up to machines to breathe because you were too damn proud to ask Dad for help."
"That's not gonna happen, Sam."
"Yeah, well, that's what I thought, too." He splayed his arms wide. "But it did. I'm living, breathing proof that what you think can't happen to you, absolutely can and does happen all the time." He jabbed his index finger into his chest repeatedly. "I'm a victim, Dean. That's been something I've been living with every damn day since I was raped. You can dress it up real pretty and say I'm a survivor, but I don't feel like a survivor 'cause in my head –" now he jabbed at his temple, "– I'm still there in that basement desperately trying to claw my way out."
"You made it out, Sammy," he whispered hoarsely, and closing the gap between him, he opened his arms, and waited for Sam to nod before he pulled him into a tight embrace. "You made it out," he repeated, vision blurring as he held onto his brother. "And I'm gonna keep on reminding you of that until you believe it." He pulled back slightly and looked his brother in the eye. "Take back your life, Sammy. It's yours not his – not his. You're still here, you're still fighting strong, and that makes you more than just a survivor – it makes you a Winchester. Hell, we don't have money or a real home to call our own, but what we do have is the kind of strength that does not allow for us to quit. We get knocked down, we get right back up again, and God help anyone who screws with us."
"He got away with it," Sam reminded him, rubbing at his water eyes. "That was a great speech, but it doesn't change the fact that Driscoll is free to do the same thing to someone else."
"He didn't get away with it," Dean uttered after a lengthy pause, heart hammering in his chest. "Trust me when I say he didn't get away with hurting you."
"Well, we're here and he's back there still walking around free so I'm pretty sure that means –"
"I k-killed him, Sam," Dean stammered, pressing his eyes shut so he wouldn't have to see the look on Sam's face. "I killed Driscoll…."
"You – y-you killed him?"
"Yeah," Dean rasped, "I went to his house and I killed him…."
Author's note - i really liked writing this chapter with Sam putting aside his pain to be there for Dean, showing that he is still strong person he's always been beneath the pain. I could have made the chapter longer, but I thought this was a really good place to leave it with both brothers breaking the silence to share what has been going on inside their heads. Anyway, hopefully everyone enjoyed the chapter. Reviews are golden so let me know what you thought. bambers :)
