Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, not gettin' paid for this.

Scars from the Past

Chapter 8

Dean's eyes were closed when John slowly pushed open the door. He stood across the room, watching him and afraid of what would happen when his son's eyes opened. John didn't let things scare him. He had a healthy respect for a lot of things, but he didn't let them scare him. But as he approached the bed, he felt an unfamiliar pang that he recognized as fear.

Dean moaned and turned his head to the side spurring John to his bed in only a couple of steps. He put his hand on his son's arm, but removed it when Dean flinched.

"It's Dad, Son." John took stock of the various bandages and uncovered wounds on Dean's skin. He could only imagine what the hospital gown was hiding. He gently put his hand back on Dean's arm. This time Dean was still, but his eyes remained closed.

"Are you awake?" John waited a moment for an answer, then moved a chair closer to the bed and sat down. He kept physical contact with Dean.

Dean kept his eyes closed; hoping John would think he was sleeping. He didn't want to talk, but he hoped his father didn't leave. He replayed the hours he spent handcuffed to the bed over and over; knowing there had to have been some way out. There must have been something he missed. He was afraid John would be disappointed in him and that thought hurt almost more than the physical injuries he sustained.

Despite the pain medication he was given, his shoulder hurt. He had heard the doctor say he had a third degree burn but, luckily, it was on over a small area and wouldn't require skin grafts. He silently took an inventory of the other injuries he could feel. He almost wanted to ask for more pain medication, but thought that maybe the pain would make him sharper; better for the next time. Maybe he would remember the agony he felt now and not let the same thing happen again.

OOOOOOOOOOO

Dean had no way of knowing how much time passed, but he thought he might have fallen asleep. He opened his eyes slowly and saw John dozing in a chair next to the bed. He silently watched his father and wondered what John thought of him. He always tried so hard to make his father proud and letting himself get kidnapped by Wally… He didn't want to think about what happened inside that room.

Not for the first time, he wished Sam hadn't gone off to school. He was proud of his younger brother and secretly happy he had the courage to live his own life, but Sam understood him in a way that John never could. It wasn't really John's fault; brothers had a relationship different than parents and their children. Sam probably wouldn't have needed Dean to say much at all. Somehow, he would have understood with only the exchange of a look. He sank further into the pillow under his head, trying to imagine what would be happening if Sam was here.

OOOOOOOOOOO

John opened his eyes. It took him a moment to realize where he was, but as soon as he did, he leaned forward to look at his son. Dean appeared to be sleeping peacefully. John touched his hand, hoping not to wake him.

There were a lot of things he felt guilty about. He never intended to miss his boys' childhoods while hunting demons, ghosts and other supernatural beings. He never thought that it would take more than twenty years to find what took their mother. He never wanted to alienate his younger son. But what he felt right now went so far beyond the guilt he felt about those other things. He not only let Dean down, he put him in danger. Worse yet, he let Wally get away with something all those years ago.

It took him a long time to forgive himself for taking his eyes off of Dean at that park. If it had been more than a few minutes, Wally would have done a lot more to the young boy than talk to him. John's only thought at the time was getting his boys out of the park and to the safety of their small, run-down apartment. Dean didn't talk for days.

John went back to find Wally, but he'd already moved on. It was Jim who convinced John that, no matter how bad Wally was, it would be wrong to kill him. Their job wasn't to bring justice to human beings; there were already systems in place for that. They possessed a special knowledge that most people didn't have and they, and people like them, were all that stood between evil and innocent people. They had to use their skills for that and let this world take care of the evil humans.

It didn't take long for their paths to cross again. Caleb brought John in on a job to get rid of some pretty nasty poltergeists in an elementary school. Wally was the head custodian and the person who contacted Caleb about the haunting. They had known each other for years, though Caleb had no idea what Wally did with his free time. All he knew was that Wally had connections to some pretty nasty people, as well as access to often extremely useful information. Once John told Caleb what his contact was really like, they formulated a plan to deal with the situation.

Caleb had his own connections to the seedy human element. Even criminals possess a code of ethics and child molesters were not looked upon kindly. All he had to do was drop a few rumors and the rest took care of itself. John felt a little like that was the coward's way out, but Caleb and Jim convinced him otherwise. Wally ended up in jail on some minor charge and was rendered incapable of physically molesting children by his fellow inmates. He never connected what happened to him to John or to Caleb.

OOOOOOOOOOO

John was standing at the window, watching the sun rise, when he heard Dean's breathing become labored. He turned his attention to his son. Dean's head was turning from side to side and he began to moan quietly. He was mumbling before John made it to his bedside.

"Dean, wake up." John said gently, placing a hand on his chest.

His eyes flew open and he tried to sit up, but John held him down. "Easy, Dean. It's okay, it was just a dream."

Dean lay back against the pillow, closing his eyes and trying hard to calm his breathing. Even slight movement caused him distress and nearly sitting up had given him an entirely new level of pain. John took a cloth from the bedside table and wiped away the sheen of sweat on Dean's forehead. Then he poured water into a cup and handed it to his son, helping him to sit up so he could drink.

"Better?" John asked a moment later when Dean handed back the cup. He nodded and closed his eyes.

"Are you in pain?" John asked, wiping his forehead again.

Dean didn't respond.

"I know what you're doing." John said soothingly. "You've done this ever since you were a little boy. When something hurts you too much, you stop talking. You try to deal with it inside, I guess."

John sat down next to the bed. "You didn't talk for months after your mother died. There were other times, too. Maybe you think I didn't pay attention, but I did."

Dean turned his head away from his father and John put a hand on his arm. "I know I haven't always been the best father. I guess there were a lot of times you probably felt like you didn't have a father. But, Dean, I – I hope you never questioned my love for you and your brother."

Dean tried to hide it, but John saw the small tear that rolled down his face.

OOOOOOOOOOO

"Well, hello there."

Ellen wasn't normally surprised by things, but finding someone in the hotel suite she'd just rented surprised her. "What are you doing here?" she asked, trying to hide her shock.

He smiled. "Don't you know I'm always here? There's nowhere you can go that I can't find you."

She returned the smile and sat down on the couch. "What can I do for you?"

"You took the boy back." it wasn't a question.

"I did. But you must already know that."

"You're right. I do."

"Are you going to tell me why you're here?"

"I don't like loose ends."

Ellen looked at him. "What?"

"You heard me. You didn't think you'd make it out of this alive, did you? I mean, you did a great job for me. You did everything I asked, but let's be reasonable here." He grinned. "You know what my favorite part was? That spell you cast to make everyone in the town who saw the van forget about it. That was cool. Really messed with Winchester."

"Who the hell do you think I'm going to tell about this?" Ellen asked.

"Gee, I don't know. You might have a change of heart and tell Winchester what you know. Granted, you don't know one-tenth of what's going on here, but I don't like to take chances." He grinned again. "What do you think you're doing?"

Ellen was sitting on the couch, not moving and trying to keep eye contact. She was a powerful witch and could cast spells without a lot of the props that those with lesser abilities needed. But she was no match for a demon.

TBC