A/N: The last part is finally here. I could have made a few more chapters, but I promised you I'd finish it in three. It's long, but worth it. Thanks to all who reviewed – you rock! A couple of warnings; deals with self harm, and also, I needed tissues writing it, so I'd suggest you keep a box nearby. Enjoy, and review!
Chapter Four: Oblivious
Dean supported his head with his hand, looking down at the paper in front of him with glazed eyes. Another midterm. It was a history test. He actually knew some of the answers, but all he wrote was 'who cares' on the little line where his name should have been. His back hurt, his jaw was still very sensitive, but it was the fact that his father had hit him that hurt Dean the most.
"Time's up, Mister Winchester." His teacher said as he took Dean's test from him. Dean looked up at the teacher, a little startled, and then got up and left the classroom.
"Dean, hey, wait up!" someone called out after him. Dean stopped, looking back. It was Rebecca, a girl from his science class. He actually liked her, and used to flirt with her every now and then.
"Hi, Becky." Dean said. The three other girls shadowing Rebecca started to giggle.
"Hi," Rebecca smiled at him, "Guess what? My birthday's coming up next week." She said excitedly. "My parents are throwing me this really awesome party. They actually rented the arcade, can you believe that?" she asked excitedly, obviously waiting for him to show the same excitement, but Dean said nothing. It must be wonderful when people cared about your birthday. When they threw a party just for you, Dean thought. "Anyway," Rebecca went on, handing him a piece of paper. Dean looked at the decorated invitation. "it would be really great if you could come." She said, sending the other girls giggling again. "It's on Saturday. All the details are in here." She added, and Dean gave the invitation another glance.
"Sure." He said, ignoringthegiggles and whispers.
"Great!" Rebecca said, glaring at herfriends. "So… I guess I'll see you in science then." She smiled at him, and then left along with her friends. Dean looked at the invitation again, and then crumpled it into a ball and threw it in the first trash bin he came across.
A couple of guys from his gym class invited him to join them for lunch, but he didn't. He didn't want the company. Any company. He sat by himself, eating his sandwich, and ended up throwing it away, having no appetite. He was on his way to algebra when the school councilor stopped him. Great. Now what? Dean thought to himself, telling Mrs. Dwight he didn't want to be late for class, which wasn't exactly true, but teachers usually liked hearing that kind of crap. Unfortunately, Mrs. Dwight insisted, saying she'd write him a note. Sighing, Dean followed her to her office, trying to pretend he wasn't wincing or gritting his teeth in pain as he shouldered his schoolbag. Even the slightest touch against those deep cuts made him want to scream. Mrs. Dwight told him to take a seat, sitting across from him.
"So, how are you doing, Dean?" she asked. Dean shrugged.
"Okay, I guess." He said.
"And your father?"
"Fine. He's back home now." Dean said, putting on his 'everything is just peachy' face.
"And how are things at home?" Mrs. Dwight pushed. None of your goddamn business, Dean thought.
"Okay." He said instead. She eyed him carefully.
"How did you get that bruise? It looks pretty nasty." She observed.
"I fell." Dean lied quickly. She looked intently at him, and then gave a slight nod.
"Mr. Fletcher came to see me today, Dean." She said, studying his reaction. Oh, great. "Do you know what he had to say?" she asked. Dean felt hot under her intense look. He shrugged, even though he had quite a good guess. The correct one, it seemed, as Mrs. Dwight opened the large file before her and took out a familiar-looking piece of paper, pushing it his way. "Do you recognize this?" she asked in a very serious tone of voice. Dean felt the blood rushing to his cheeks, wishing he could just disappear into the seat. He shrugged again. "You see, Dean, when someone like you does something like that, it worries me." Mrs. Dwight said in a concerned voice.
"It was just a joke." Dean said quickly. "I didn't know any of the answers. I just… I don't like history all that much." He said. Mrs. Dwight seemed less than convinced. She glanced at Dean's file again. He had gotten a B+ on his last history exam. She looked back at Dean, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"It's not a very good joke." She noted.
"I'll make it funnier next time." Dean said without thinking, and then bit his tongue. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that." He apologized. He couldn't afford getting in any more trouble, especially not today. Mrs. Dwight said nothing for a long moment. She leafed through his file. Dean watched her nervously, his stomach turning.
"I don't understand it, Dean. You're a very smart boy, and yet your grades…" she shook her head disapprovingly. "And you keep getting in fights." Dean bit his lip, lowering his eyes. "Tell me, Dean, what would you like to do when you grow up?" she asked all of a sudden, catching him off guard. He looked at her for a long moment, truly thinking of an answer, but ended up shrugging again. It seemed to be the wrong answer. "I think I need to see your father." Came the dreaded words out of Mrs. Dwight's mouth, the words hitting Dean like another punch to the face.
"Why? He demanded.
"Because I think he needs to know you're not doing your best. You have such potential, Dean, you could be a straight A student if only you applied yourself, and I think…" but Dean wasn't listening anymore. The last thing he needed right now was for someone to tell his father he wasn't doing his very best. What the hell does she know anyway? Dean thought bitterly to himself as he got up and walked out of Mrs. Dwight's office before she even finished the sentence. Who cares about history and science and math anyway? He thought. The research books of the supernatural his father kept; he knew some of these by heart. They were what mattered, but he didn't expect someone like Mrs. Dwight to understand that. Dean caught a glimpse of the hall monitor from the corner of his eye and hastened his pace, quickly making his way out of the school. It didn't matter anyway. Clenching his jaw, he walked over to the small park on the far end of town. He still had three hours before he had to pick Sam up from school, that should leave him plenty of time to get back.
A couple of older kids broke off from their basketball game and made their way towards him.
"Hi, Winchester," one of them nodded at him. "What are you doing here?" Dean waited for him to get closer.
"I need to get what we talked about." He said. The older kid nodded.
"Sure thing. You got the money?" Dean bit his lip.
"I'll get you the money later." He promised, making the older kids smirk.
"Great. Then I'll get you your stuff later." One of them said as the other already turned back to the game. "Hi, you know the rules," the kid added at the look on Dean's face, "no money, no goods." Dean glowered at him, but said nothing. He started walking back to Sam's school, his entire body aching. He was exhausted from lack of sleep and everything he had been through in the last couple of days.
Dean got to Sam's school early and decided to wait inside, and not at the gate as usual. He smiled and waved at Sam as he got out of class. Sam rushed over to him.
"Hi, Dean, Morgan asked me to come over to his house. Can I go?" he asked.
"I don't know," Dean said, "you'll have to ask dad." The last thing Dean wanted was for Sam to get in trouble with their father.
"But he asked me to come now." Sam insisted.
"Then you should tell him you have to ask your dad first." Dean said authoritatively.
"You suck!" Sam glowered at him, and went to tell his friend his annoying brother told him he couldn't come. Dean said nothing, not even when Sam stuck out his tongue at him. He just wanted to go home and get this day over with. "Daddy!" Sam's surprised cry jerked Dean back from his daydream. John stood by his truck at the gate, smiling at his boys. Dean quickly caught hold of Sam's schoolbag, yanking him back as he rushed for his dad. "Ouch! Dean, what'd you do that for?" Sam demanded. It was an instinct. He had to protect Sammy, even if it was from their dad. Dean watched his father. He never came to pick them up from school, not in years. Why now?
"Come on, boys, get in the car." John said. Sam pushed Dean back, running over to his father and getting in the truck. Dean hesitated. "Come on, kiddo. Get in the car." John repeated. There didn't seem to be anger in his voice, but still… Dean hesitated a moment longer.
"Yes, sir." He said quickly as John opened his mouth to say something more, quickly getting in the car.
"Dad, Morgan invited me over to his house today, but Dean said I couldn't go. Can I, dad? Please?" Sam asked as John got in the car.
"We'll see, Sammy." John said and started the car. He noticed with shame the large ugly bruise on his older son's cheek and guilt nagged at him. He didn't remember hitting Dean that hard.
Dean fidgeted in his seat, not letting his back touch the seat, and kept his eyes firmly away from his father, looking out the window. He kept his mouth shut, bracing himself. He doubted his father only came to pick his younger son up from school. What if someone from school called him? Dean's heart raced, his eyes blindly watching the houses going by.
"So, how was school?" John asked, glancing over to his eldest son, but it was the younger that answered instead, and in great length. Dean kept quiet all the way back to the motel. He slowly got out of the car, heading for the motel room. "Dean." Dean froze. Swallowing, he looked back at his father. "You didn't go to school today?" John asked in a surprisingly calm voice.
"I did!" Dean said quickly, "I just left early so I won't be late to pick Sammy up." He said, his heart pounding as his father neared him. Dean winced, backing away as John touched his chin, moving his head to take a better look at the bruise. John sighed.
"Why do you insist to get in trouble, son?" he asked, "It's not like you." Dean said nothing, not returning his father's look. "Does it hurt?" John asked. Dean's eyes welled up, but he shook his head. "I need to know that I can trust you, Dean." John went on, "How am I supposed to trust you to take care of your brother, to protect him, if you keep lying to me? If you keep getting into trouble at school?" John demanded. Dean lowered his eyes. "That little stunt you pulled last night was unacceptable. Do you understand?" John's tone was firm, but not as angry as Dean had expected it to be.
"Yes, sir." Dean said in a small voice.
"You're grounded. No TV, either. You come home straight from school and you work out, do you understand?" Dean nodded lightly. "Now, go wash up. And do your homework. I think you're in enough trouble at school, don't you?"
"Yes, sir." Dean said, getting inside. John watched him as he went, and a thought occurred to him. He had meant to tell Dean he was sorry, that he never meant to hit him, that it was the wrong thing to do and that he loved him. But he didn't say any of that.
Dean sat on his bed, chewing on his pencil, his books open before him, but he wasn't really looking at them. He had a far away look in his eyes as he tried to imagine what life would have been like if his mother was there. He tried to imagine what it must feel like to go around school asking people to come to his birthday party, to get presents and have a cake and everything. He didn't really mind not getting presents. Sure, it would be nice, but he knew his dad couldn't afford it. There was just one thing he wanted anyway. He just wanted to have a normal, happy family.
"Dean?" Dean shook his head, returning to reality by Sam's voice.
"Hmm?"
"I need help with my homework." Sam said.
"Bring it over, let's see." Dean said, pushing his own schoolwork aside.
"Hi, Dean?" Sam asked halfway though an algebra problem.
"What?"
"What happened to your cheek?" Sam asked, looking quite intently at the purple bruise.
"We played dodge ball in gym class." Dean lied.
"Hi, Dean?" Sam asked again, not a moment later. Dean looked irritably at him. "Gregg said they had batting practice today. He said I could come."
"So? What do you want from me?" Dean asked. Sam looked at him with his puppy eyes.
"Will you take me?" he asked pleadingly, "I really want to go, and dad would never let me if you didn't come." He said.
"I can't, Sammy, I'm grounded." Dean said, suddenly very interested in Sam's algebra book.
"Oh, man! Why do you always have to get in trouble?" Sam accused. "I never get to do what I want!" he snapped, walking angrily out of the room. Dean kicked Sam's books off his bed and closed the door. He got in bed, pulling the covers up over his head. Even the light weight of the covers against his back was enough to make him grit his teeth. Dean buried his head in the pillow and started sobbing, not making a single sound. He had had plenty of practice.
"Hi, Dean!" Dean froze as Sam stormed into the room, quickly wiping his tears as Sam started tugging at his covers. "Guess what!" Sam cried excitedly, "Dad said I can go!"
"That's great, Sam." Dean said, pulling the covers back over his head. Sam pulled them back again.
"And you're coming with me!" he said, entirely proud of himself. "Dad said you're taking me." Dean sat up slowly, looking suspiciously at his little brother.
"He did?" Dean asked doubtfully. A thought crept in his head as Sam nodded enthusiastically. He got out of the bed, ignoring Sam's chatter, and put his shoes on. He used to play baseball a lot when he was younger, especially before mom died. Sam gave him a look that said he should be tying up his shoes faster. He was anxious to be with his friends.
"Uh, dad?" Dean hesitated, his eyes on the can of beer in his father's hand. "Sam said you told him it was okay if I took him to play baseball." Dean said, making sure. John gave him a slight nod. He, too, remembered his eldest son used to love this sport. He didn't remember Dean playing it in years, though. Maybe a little game would do the boy good, John thought. It would be better for him to take his energy out on a ball instead of other ways to get himself in trouble. And just maybe it would also do to help relieve the guilt he was feeling for hitting Dean.
"Make sure you come back before dark." John reminded him.
"Yes, sir." Dean said obediently.
"Hi, dad, can we get some money to buy snacks?" Sam asked, giving his dad the same puppy look he gave Dean just moments ago. "Everyone gets them." Sam pleaded and John sighed.
"All right." He said, "Get me my wallet." Dean was quick to go for the wallet before Sam even had the chance to move. This was his chance, finally. Glancing over his shoulder, he quickly slipped a twenty in his pocket before giving the wallet to his father. John frowned as he fished a five dollar bill out of his pocket and gave it to Sam. He could have sworn there was more money in his wallet… and then again, he did get that extra bottle of Jack Daniels the other night. He shrugged the thought away. "Don't forget," he caught his older son's look, "be back before dark."
"Yes, sir."
John looked nervously at his watch. It was getting dark outside, and his sons still hadn't come home. He decided to give them ten more minutes before he went looking for them. They had a lot of explaining to do. He had to go hunting for that creature, not drive around town, looking for his sons. He was more than irritated at his boys' irresponsibility. No more playing around, he decided, from now on, it would be just school and training. No TV, no friends. He thought. I don't have the time to deal with all those nonsense, he thought as he loaded his twelve-gauge. He jumped at the sound of the door opening, and sighed a little sigh of relief at the sight of his youngest boy. Sam seemed exhausted as he came in, closing the door behind him. John's heart skipped a beat.
"Where's your brother?" he demanded. Sam shrugged feebly, slumping over the couch.
"Don't know." He said, and John felt his fury rising.
"What do you mean, you don't know?" he demanded.
"I don't know." Sam insisted. "He took me to the park, and we started playing. Dean didn't want to play with us." Sam said. "And when the game was over, I went to the bleachers, where he was supposed to be waiting, but he wasn't there." Sam explained. "I waited for him, but it was getting dark, so I came home by myself." He finished.
John clenched his jaw. That was inexcusable. Leaving his brother like that? Dean was in so much trouble. I should never have let him go, John thought.
"Go wash up." He told Sam, who pushed himself up from the couch and walked slowly to the bathroom, leaving muddy footprints as he went. Dean had better be bleeding out there, or he would never get to see the outside of the motel room again, John thought angrily.
"Where do you think your brother went?" he asked Sam as he got out of the bathroom. Sam shrugged again. "Well, do you think he might have gone to one of his friends?" John inquired. Sam snorted.
"No way." He said, "Dean doesn't have any friends." John frowned. That couldn't be right.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"Yes, sir." Sam answered, and John's frown deepened.
"Well, where could he have gone to?" he demanded, worry creeping into both his voice and his heart.
"I dunno." Sam said, "He never goes anywhere without me." That was true, John thought, Dean never left Sammy out of sight before.
"Go brush your teeth, Sammy, and then go to bed. I'm going out to look for your brother. Lock the door behind me and don't let anyone in. Do you understand?" Sam nodded.
"Yes, sir." He said. "Is Dean in trouble?" he asked, but John didn't answer. He took his twelve-gauge and a .45, noticing his nine millimeter was missing, and left the motel room to look for his son.
He tried the park first, and then the arcade, the school and even the library. Fear was clutching at his chest. I should have kept a closer eye on him, especially after the school called. John thought. Dean had been getting to no end of trouble lately, especially since John started to go on farther jobs, leaving his sons on their own for longer periods of time. This has to end here. John thought to himself, I have to teach that boy responsibility. John's fingers were drumming nervously on the wheel, his eyes searching the road for his older boy. It was late. John just hoped it wasn't too late.
He heaved a great sigh of relief as he spotted his son, and pulled the car over by the park on the far side of town. He got out of his truck, anger replacing the fear he felt just seconds ago.
"Dean Winchester!" John bellowed. Dean flinched. He was watching the other, older kids play basketball. They had asked him to join them, but he was in no shape to play. The older kids gave him dirty looks and distanced themselves from him. Dean cursed. "Front and center, right now!" John shouted. Reluctantly, Dean obeyed. "What the hell where you thinking, leaving your brother like that?" John demanded, and then noticed Dean had taken a couple of steps back. John noticed the fear in his son's eyes. His guilt was catching up with him. But he will deal with it later. First, he had other things to attend to.
"Get in the car, Dean!" John ordered. "Don't make me repeat myself!" he snapped when Dean didn't move. Ever so slowly, Dean headed for his father's truck. John followed him, scowling. "What do you have to say for yourself?" John demanded angrily as he started the car. Dean looked out the window, saying nothing. "I asked you a question, boy!" John raised his voice, glancing at his son sitting in the seat beside him, as far away as the seat allowed. He noticed that Dean didn't lean against the seat. John glanced at his son a few more times, still waiting for the explanation his son never offered. "That's it!" John said, pulling the car over and stepping out. Dean watched, wide-eyed, as his father circled the truck and flung the passenger door open. He flinched. "Out of the car!" John said. "Now, Dean!" he yelled when his son didn't obey quickly enough. Dean looked at the anger on his father's face and bit his lip, slowly, reluctantly, getting out of the car. "You mind telling me what you were doing in that park when I specifically told you and your brother not to come anywhere near it?" John demanded. Dean's eyes were set firmly on the ground. He clenched his jaw, but offered no reply. "I don't get you, Dean. Do you enjoy getting in trouble?" John demanded. Dean still said nothing. "This is your last chance, boy. What were you doing there? Why did you leave your brother?" John was growing impatient.
"I had something to do…" Dean stuttered in a small voice.
"You what?" John raged. "What was so important you had to leave your brother alone? What was so important you came to that park, even though I specifically ordered you not to?" John screamed, but Dean still didn't answer. And then a sudden thought struck John. There was a reason he ordered his sons away from that park. "Empty your pockets." John demanded. At that, Dean's look shot up at his father. He shook his head ever so slightly. "Empty these pockets, or I will do it for you!" John shouted, "Now, Dean!"
With a quivering hand, Dean reached inside his pocket and took out a tiny plastic bag. John slapped him so hard he dropped the bag, and nearly fell.
"Drugs?" John screamed, livid. "You're doing drugs?" Dean wiped the blood from his cut lip with the back of his hand. John shook his head. "What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded furiously, "How stupid are you?" Dean kept his eyes on the ground, a lump of tears stuck in his throat.
"You're supposed to be taking care of your brother! You're supposed to protect him! How the hell can you protect him when you're so high you can't even tell he's in danger!" John demanded angrily, and then grabbed Dean by his collar, pulling him closer. "You're not doing drugs, and that's an order!" John yelled. "Do I make myself clear?" he demanded when he got no response from his son. "I am talking to you, young man!" Dean bit his lower lip to stop it from trembling. John pushed him back. "Hell, I guess that's my fault for thinking a thirteen year old boy could ever be…"
"Fourteen." Dean corrected in a faint voice.
"What?" John hissed, annoyed at the interruption.
"I'm fourteen." Dean said, his eyes kept firmly on the ground, making their way to the little plastic bag. John faltered. His mind raced. What date was it? Dear lord, it was the 25th. He had completely forgotten. They never really celebrated much on holidays, but John had tried his best to really be there for his kids on their birthdays. This year, he didn't even wish his son a happy birthday. He didn't take his boys out to dinner or did anything to show them how much he truly loved them. Thank God his Mary wasn't there to see what has become of him. But then John noticed what Dean was looking at. He gritted his teeth, picking up the little plastic bag and ripping it open, spreading the white powder on the ground and stepping on it.
"NO!" Dean cried desperately, pleadingly. John's heart constricted at his son's desperation to get his hands on the drugs. He couldn't understand it, couldn't understand how it ever got to this. Dean was certainly smarter than that.
"What do you need the drugs for, anyway?" John demanded, "You think that's what makes you cool? That that's what'll make you popular?" Dean's reply was nearly inaudible, but it broke John's heart nonetheless.
"They take the pain away…" Dean whispered, trying his best to keep his tears back. John let out a long breath, letting go of the anger along with the air in his lungs. He kneeled before his son. Dean wouldn't look at him. John reached his hand to stroke his son's cheek, but Dean flinched, sucking in his breath, and backed away. John looked remorsefully at his eldest son. His boy had been standing on a ledge, screaming for help at the top of his lungs, and instead of helping him, John had hit him. Twice now.
"Dean…" John said in a small voice, and pulled his son into his arms, holding him close. But Dean screamed in pain, jerking back, breathing hard. "What's wrong?" John asked. Dean took another step back "Get over here, Dean." John said authoritatively. Dean didn't budge. John reached out his hand and caught his son's, pulling him near. Dean gritted his teeth as his father lifted up his shirt. John sucked in his breath at the gruesome sight of his son's back. Two sets of gashes, some deep enough to require stitching.
"Dean, how did this happen?" John asked, trying to catch his son's eyes, and Dean could not longer hold the tears back.
"I tried!" he said, "I thought that I could just kill it, and then you wouldn't have to." Dean cried, "If I could just kill it, you could rest and get better, and not worry about it being out there…" John's eyes widened.
"You went hunting?" he gasped, "On your own?" the thought was inconceivable. His son was only thirteen! Fourteen, he corrected himself. His son was fourteen now. John pulled Dean to him again, hugging him tightly, this time careful not to hurt his son's badly injured back. "You should have told me." John said somberly.
"I tried!" Dean sobbed, "It was too fast… I really thought…" Dean shook his head, "I injured it, I tried to get you to help me, but you wouldn't even listen!" Dean accused. John frowned, wrinkling his brow. When did Dean even mention anything remotely close to hunting on his own? And then his thoughts went back to the other night, when Dean had snuck out. The guilt was overwhelming.
John held his son closer, embracing him, trying to ease his son's pain, trying to protect him, to show him that he loved him. But even as he did so, he noticed Dean didn't return the gesture. He didn't hug his father back. John's eyes welled up.
"Dean, I'm sorry." He said in a broken voice. "I'm so sorry, son." He whispered in his son's ear. He couldn't remember the last time he had hugged his older boy. He couldn't remember seeing Dean cry in years. John kissed the top of Dean's head and got to his feet. "Come on, son. Let's go home to your brother." He said, opening the car door for Dean. "I'll see what I can do about those cuts when we get back. What do you say?" but Dean didn't say a thing. He wiped his tears away, building a wall of silence around him. John had seen that wall before, he just never realized what it was for. Not until now.
So many things ran through John's mind on their silent ride back to the motel. Guilt was definitely the strongest emotion, but somewhere, in the back of his mind, there was also pride. His son had faced the creature on his own, and though he got himself injured, he wounded the creature. John glanced at Dean sitting silently by his side, staring out the window. I should give the kid a little break, John thought, promising himself he would take his sons out to dinner the next day, probably even let Dean skip school for a couple of days until he felt better. And then they would go hunting for the creature together. His son has proven himself a worthy hunter in John's mind.
"Dad?" John looked back at his son as he stepped out of the car. "Don't tell Sammy." Dean asked. "He doesn't need to know. He's just a kid."