AN: Okay, if you read chapter 13 on the day I posted it, there was an uploading error and the last four or so paragraphs didn't post. I updated it, so you might want to go back and check, otherwise this won't make sense at all!

As always, thank you guys so much for your reviews. Like I said before, the characters are now completely out of control, but I don't think I'll go back and repost anything. This is just way too much fun! So far, I have at least two sequels for this fic planned, so don't worry, I won't strand our boys out in the cold. Hopefully I'll have the next chap up later this week, but no promises. Uzi

Chapter 14: Gone

The paper boy, or rather paper young adult, paused at the end of the drive, extending one knobby, stork-like leg to uphold his bike while he mulled over the two men seated on Missouri Moseley's front step. He lingered for only a moment before his superstitious fear of the psychic kicked in and he dropped the paper and pedaled off on his too-small Huffy.

"See, look what Sam's missing. He could be Lawrence's star delivery boy if I'd been a normal father," John grumbled wearily and dropped his chin into hands that were propped on his knees.

Dean, who hugged his own knees against the nip in the morning air, looked sharply to his father. "That's not what he means, Dad, and you know it," he said levelly, hoping his words wouldn't be taken as insolence.

John shifted just enough so that he could meet his son's gaze. "Is that it then? Do you agree with him?"

Dean turned away, chewing the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "No," he said at last with a small sigh. "But I do respect him," he continued quickly, leaving no room for interruption. "I just don't see why the two of you can't get along."

John snorted a laugh, drawing Dean's attention, and smiled wryly. "You respect your brother. I guess that means I'm not a total failure."

"No one ever said you were a failure," Dean insisted, letting his head slump sideways against the iron rail.

John sighed and stretched his legs, wincing at the twinge in his right shin. "The problem is," he said once he'd regained a comfortable position. "Is that Sam is too much like me. You, Dean, are just like your mother; a peacekeeper. You try to keep those around you in good favor, sometimes at your own detriment. But you've always got some sly little trick up your sleeve to bring somebody around to your way of thinking," he smiled. "Why do you think you were the one who always got the girl?"

Dean shrugged imperviously. "What can I say? I'm just a sexy beast."

John arched doubtful brows. "Don't get ahead of yourself, junior," he warned sternly but his features soon softened. "Sammy, on the other hand, is just too mule-headed for his own good. Would have made a damn good marine," he tilted his head at the thought.

"He is a damn good marine, Dad," Dean reminded.

John nodded in silent agreement, swallowing thickly. "I guess I just didn't tell him that often enough, huh?" Dean didn't respond, so he continued. "You know why I have to go, don't you?" His tone was quiet and searching, praying that his eldest would see the method behind the sheer madness.

Dean frowned, not liking the answer he knew to be true. "Let me guess – you need some time alone to deal with some weird, mysterious shit, and meanwhile we have a job to do." Dean waited with held breath, knowing he'd stepped over the line but not really caring.

His father shook his head sadly. "Cut and dry, huh?" he eyed Dean with a forlorn look. "But you're right. After everything that's happened, and after what Missouri said…there's just some stuff I need to take care of. I never intended to abandon you boys, and I'm certainly not doing it now."

Dean had never wanted to call bullshit on anyone so badly before in his life, but he bit down hard on his tongue instead, nearly drawing blood. He had always been the so called 'good son', the one who defended John at all costs. Maybe it was just the stress of the last few weeks, or maybe it was a sentiment long overdue, but for the first time Dean didn't really feel like jumping aboard his father's bandwagon.

A white and green striped Caprice came snaking around the bend at the end of the street, a small lit sign on the roof proclaiming it to be a taxi. John rose, working the kinks from his overused joints.

"There's an envelope on the dresser in my room," he told Dean; all business again. "I've left you everything I know about Charlie Elkins; last known residence, employment, everything."

"Elkins?" Dean hauled himself up to a standing position as well, brow crinkled in disbelief. "As in Daniel Elkins? The guy who had the Colt?" Dean conjured up an image of the ransacked cabin where Daniel Elkins had struggled to put the Colt to the test against a trio of vampires. It was the place where they'd last reunited with their father and the place where the supernatural weapon had turned everything to shit. If not for the Colt, Meg would have never captured John, nor would her father have possessed him…Dean shuddered inwardly.

"One in the same," John assured as the cab pulled to a stop at the end of the drive. "Charlie is his estranged son, hasn't seen his dad in years, but he's the only other living soul who might know something about this goddamn gun."

Dean nodded, realization beginning to dawn. "So what if we find this kid and he doesn't want to talk?"

John smiled. "Like I said, sly little tricks, son."

Dean folded his arms, a disbelieving look that wasn't quite a smile springing to his face. "Then this is good-bye, huh?"

John reached out a hand and settled a hand on Dean's shoulder, squeezing gently. "I'll meet up with you boys, I promise. I think we've already established the fact that I can't handle this bastard all by myself." His hand slid up to pat his eldest on the back of the neck. "Take care of Sammy," he whispered, and then he was gone, settling into the cab and closing the door with finality.

Dean watched the car disappear around the corner, shaking his head at the absolute insanity of it all. Then he turned grudgingly to head back into the house, not at all thrilled about the conversation he expected to have with his brother. John might be a bear, but Sam could be a real bitch.

-O-

"Dean! Dean!" Missouri met the eldest remaining Winchester in the foyer, already dressed for the day in a flowing, deep blue shawl over dark pants that did little to disguise her bulky frame. Her dark eyes were wide with worry and she fretted the hem of her shawl with trembling hands. Dean had never seen her so visibly disturbed.

"Oh honey, it's your brother," she continued before he had to chance to inquire as to her distress. "Sam…he's so upset…I could feel it, but the look on that poor baby's face…"

"Where is he?" Dean asked sharply, scanning what little he could see of the lower level for any traces of his brother.

"He's upstairs," Missouri panted. "Go to him, Dean. I'm…I'm afraid of what he might do."

The words were hardly out of her mouth before Dean was hustling up the stairs, momentarily blocking the physical stress from his mind. Only one thing mattered: getting to Sam.

A quick check of the bedroom they shared revealed that the room was empty, as was the bathroom. "Sam?" he called, trying to keep his voice calm. "Sammy, where are you?" The lack of response urged him further down the hall, the panic bubbling in his chest. Missouri had said that she was worried, what did she expect Sam to do? None of the possibilities that rolled through Dean's mind were comforting.

The door to the room John had used was cracked ever so slightly and Dean's pulse quickened upon seeing it. Preparing himself for the worst, he toed open the door and watched it swing lazily. At first glance, this room was just as empty as the others, but then he spied a familiar brown mop of hair peeping up over the edge of the crisply made bed.

Dean entered cautiously, still on guard as he rounded the end of the bed. "Sam? That you?"

The younger hunter was seated on the floor, leaning back against the bed with his legs angled out across the carpet. His head was bent over a crumpled handful of yellow paper that he gripped too tightly, his knuckles white.

Dean leaned forward and rested his hands on his knees, breathing with notably difficulty. His entire torso burned with the simple effort of jogging up the stairs, but the cleansing tide of relief was enough to wash the pain from memory. "Dude, give me a friggin' heart attack how 'bout it," he muttered with mock grumpiness, plopping down onto the bed and gazing down at his brother.

"Sorry," Sam mumbled faintly, continuing to stare at the paper and fingering its creases repetitively.

"Sam," Dean leaned forward so that his face was level with Sam's, even though the younger man refused to look up. "I talked to Dad…"

"Charles Elkins," Sam began reading loudly from the page in front of him, cutting Dean off with an overly cheery and informative announcer voice. "A.K.A. Charlie. Age: 33. Married, no children. Lives at 1642 Woodland Drive, Summerville, South Carolina. Last known employment…"

"Sam," Dean's tone was patient, but carried a heavy warning all the same.

"What the fuck!" Sam exploded to life suddenly, flinging both arms into the air and sending the papers swirling furiously through the room. He turned woeful, tear stained eyes on his brother. "What the fuck is all this? A job? A fucking job?" His voice rose with every syllable. "This is un-fucking-believable!"

"Stop!" Dean barked, pushing himself to his feet. "I've never heard you drop so many f-bombs in one conversation. Pace yourself, man!" He folded an arm across his chest and used his free hand to massage a pounding temple as he began to pace the length of the bed. "I'm so sick of all this shit between the two of you."

Sam let his head roll back against the bed and his arms dropped heavily to the floor, his outburst having sapped away the last of his strength. "He's gone," he said with entranced disbelief. "He's gone and he left us a job."

"Yeah he did," Dean scuffed the carpet roughly with each step. "He left us a name and directions…"

"And what?" Sam interrupted. "A hope and a prayer too? I won't do this, Dean. I can't do this…"

"Yes you can!" Dean insisted, pausing to lock strained eyes with his brother. "You have to."

"Why?" Sam asked, squinting through the semi-permanent glaze of tears. "To please him?"

"No!" Dean snapped and resumed his pacing.

"Then why?"

Dean stiffened, his shoulders locking together as he stopped in front of the window. He stared out at the back yard, not really seeing any of it and trying to prevent his brother from seeing the unnatural hitch in his breathing. "Because," he whispered hesitantly, wetting his lips. "Because I don't want to do it alone." He turned to find Sam staring at him intently, his head cocked to the side in curious puppy fashion. "Because…I need your help, Sammy."

Sam shook his head, the restrained sobs twisting his mouth into a false frown. "I thought you were the one who said revenge wasn't worth losing someone," he stated questioningly, not truly knowing the answer he sought.

Dean rolled his eyes skyward to regain his composure. "It's not always about revenge," he took a steadying breath and faced Sam once more. "Sometimes, it's about staying alive."

"I don't…"

"You heard Missouri, Sam. It's coming for us…for you even. Believe me, I'm all for backing off if we could, but I just don't think that's an option right now."

"Then what do you propose we do?"

Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair and let out his breath in a loud rush. "We gotta find Elkins' kid," he said, dropping to the bed once more. "Dad says he's our best bet as far as Colt info goes. So I figure we go to South Carolina, find the little shit, and beat as much out of him as we can."

Sam smiled a bit sadly and toed a sheet of paper that had landed near his foot. "Dad was writing this at the hospital. He was going to leave us then, Dean."

"Did you hear me? Carolina? Colt? Possible shit beating?" Dean pressed.

"Yeah," Sam sighed. The younger man dropped his forehead to his knees and was still for a long moment, letting the burnt out emotions run their course.

Dean waited silently, praying that their father wasn't sending them on a wild goose chase. After a lifetime hunt of the same prey, he and Sam desperately needed some closure.

Finally, Sam raised his head and locked eyes with Dean, all traces of tears gone. "Shit beating?"

Dean nodded, a tired smile ghosting his lips.

"Can I have the first swing?"

"Absolutely."

TBC