Why am I letting this get to me? He's just upset, and scared. Wait, why am I defending him? He's a selfish jerk. All I've done is look out for him and take care of him and this is the thanks I get. No freakin' way, I'm not taking his crap any more. If he really thinks he can do this on his own, well, then, I'm gonna let him. Ha! He probably won't make it a day, and then he'll have to crawl back to me for help. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Sammy boy?
"You wanna another?"
Dean shook his head, as if the movement could erase his thoughts and clear his mind. "What?" It was the only word that came to him through the haze.
"I said, do you want another?" Dean brought his head up and locked eyes with the older man behind the bar.
"Sure, why not?" It had been four hours since Dean had stormed out of the hotel room leaving Sam to fend for himself. He had just drove around for the first couple with no direction, he was pretty sure he had seen the entire parish by now. Eventually, he had spotted a bar—Catastrophe, the sign had read. Well, how's that for irony. The bar was geared toward the younger crowd, and the name pretty much summed up the atmosphere. The walls were all different colors covered with vodka induced scribbling, the tables and chairs scattered all over, there was no order here, no sense of direction or purpose, it was just, for lack of a better word, a mess. The mood fit Dean's perfectly.
He really hadn't intended to drink as much as he did, but the bartender kept offering and he couldn't refuse. Usually the more he drank the better he felt, but tonight was different. Every empty bottle served as a reminder of how pathetic his life truly was. Pathetic. That was Sam's word.
Dean was about to revert back to his previous spaced out state of self-pity when he heard his phone ring. Reaching for his cell, he couldn't help but smirk. Sam didn't even make it through the night. He flipped open the phone without even gazing at the caller id.
"Have something you wanna say to me?"
"You bet I do!" Dean froze. He recognized that voice on the other end and it definitely didn't belong to his kid brother. Despite the 7 beers he had downed, Dean was suddenly fully aware of the situation and the angry tone that encompassed his father's reply further served to jolt him back to reality.
"Dad? Is that you?" He wasn't sure why he asked, he knew his father voice. It's just that for that past 6 months it had been nothing but text messages, no vocal communication whatsoever except for that one call, and he had only gotten at the very least a minute of conversation in because Sam wouldn't give him the phone. Dean could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his baby brother was fighting dirty. "Sam called you, didn't he? I'm gonna kill him!"
"You are going to do no such thing, young man. You hear me, you lay a hand on that boy and I'm gonna give you a beating you ain't never gonna forget!"
"Yeah, you'd have to find me first." The words flew out of Dean's mouth so fast it didn't even register that he had said them until he heard his father's heavy breathing.
John's patience was running thin. As if it weren't enough that his oldest son who he had trusted to carry on the family business while he was away had shirked on his responsibility and had made little or no progress concerning the spirit he had sent him to destroy. He had sent Dean those coordinates weeks ago. But now Dean had gone and left Sam, his baby, alone, blind and alone, without even calling to check up on him. John had been in the middle of an interview when he had gotten Sam's message, although he couldn't understand half of it, the boy was crying and mumbling through the whole thing. But the part he did catch was that Dean had walked out and Sam was blaming himself for it as he always did.
"Son.." Dean cringed, he knew what was coming and mentally prepared himself to hear the lecture of the century. That's why the next thing his father said took him by surprise. "What is taking you so long in Terrabone?"
"What do you mean?" Dean asked, his voice shaking as he tried to control his temper.
"I mean, I gave you those coordinates weeks ago and you still haven't taken care of that spirit. This was a simple assignment, Dean. A novice hunter could take this thing out. You shouldn't even need Sammy's help on this one. It wasn't like I gave you a poltergeist."
Dean took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. His father wasn't just implying that he didn't know how to do his job but that he was incapable of handling an assignment on his own without screwing it up.
"Yeah, well, I've had a lot of other stuff to take care of." Dean's response was weak and John picked up on that. Dean never could defy him, at least he hadn't yet.
"I'm assuming you're referring to your currently blind little brother who you left alone in a hotel room. Dean, what are were you thinking?" John's reply was a mix of anger and disappointment.
Dean knew what his father was trying to do. John pulled that same routine every time Sam got hurt on his watch. One thing his father was good at was making him feel guilty. Not this time, old man.
"What are you thinking Dad? Huh? If you are so worried about your little boy, why don't you come and see him?" Dean was screaming into the receiver now, out of the corner of his eye he caught the puzzled looks on the other customer's faces as they just sat and stared at him. He was just going to ignore them, until he glanced toward the bartender and saw the irritated look on his face. Okay, I get it! He grabbed thirty dollars out of his wallet, and slammed it down on the wooden counter. Then turned and walked out, letting the door slam behind him, all the while waiting for his father's reply. He wasn't scared anymore of the impending response, if anything the liquor was now serving as the backbone he had never had.
John couldn't believe his ears. Never had Dean spoken to him with such indignation or so authoritatively. When did Dean decide it was his right to question me?
"Dean, I need you to finish the job. There's more evil out there that you need to take care of."
"No."
"What did you say?"
"I said no. What, Dad, not what you wanted to hear?" Dean scoffed.
"Are you refusing a direct order?" John stated, his tone had dropped a couple octaves and he paused slightly after each word.
"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I am. I'm twenty-six, not ten—an adult. You can't strong arm me into doing everything you want anymore!" Dean paused taking a deep breath. God, I sound like Sam. Oh, no, Sam. Why'd I leave him? Why does my family have to be so screwed up?
"An adult, huh? Wouldn't know it to look at you, you still act like an immature child. Let me tell you something boy, you will not test me! You hear me? When I give you an order you are to do it!" John was yelling now, he was done screwing around. His son needed to know he wasn't in charge, Dad was, and he would have a fight on his hands if he tried to yank his authority out from under him.
"Yes sir, whatever you say sir!" Dean spat the words out, he had mimicked the trademark phrase perfectly, after all, he was his dad's little soldier.
Dean didn't wait for a reply, he closed his phone, got into his car and began the long drive back to the hotel, back to Sam.