An End
( or maybe just a new beginning )
Sam hated prisons. He hated the stench they almost always possessed, a dirty earthy odor. He hated how the smell would penetrate his clothing and would forever smell afterwards no matter how many times he washed them. Perhaps that only occurred in the seedy local jails that Dean or John usually got dragged to, because the few times he had been in one, they had smelled like lemons from the chemicals they used to clean the cells.
Dean's current jail was fairly nice. The floors sparkled and the halls were quiet as he walked down the rows of prisoners to his brother's cell accompanied by a guard. It was deja vu for him. He remembered doing it as a child.
The hall seemed to go on forever. He counted the tiles as he walked upon them, afraid to look up and meet the gaze of the angry hooting men. He felt Dean squeeze his hand. " They can't get you," he told his brother and Sam nodded. Still, he walked faster.
"So what are kids like you doing here?" the guard asked them as he led through the labyrinth of isolated hallways.
Dean answered for both of them. " We're here to visit our father."
"By yourselves?" he looked at the eleven and seven-year old with curiosity and skepticism. " Where's your mother?"
"Dead."
"Oh. I'm sorry," The guard stopped participating in the friendly chatter after that. After a few more minutes of walking, the guard stopped at a door. He punched the code into the security panel and the door slid open.
"Tell me when you're ready to come out," he told the boys as they entered the room. The door shut behind them.
Their father was sitting on his cot, picking at his toenails. "Hello, Dean…Sam?" Their father's passive expression turned to anger. " Dean, I told you not to bring him."
Before Dean could speak, Sam hurled himself at his father, hugging him. " Don't blame Dean. I just wanted to see you. He tried to stop me, he really did, but…"
John chuckled, anger disappearing, as he hugged Sam back. " It's alright. I'm not mad." Sam pulled away, smiling, and he ran back to Dean who was still standing by the door. " How'd you both get here?" their father asked.
"The bus. The lawyer dealt with our clearance like you told us he would."
John nodded. "He's a good man."
"How are we paying for him?" Dean asked.
"Stop worrying, Dean. He's court-appointed. He's free."
Dean let out the breath he was holding in.
"Dad, why are you in jail?" Sam asked. " Are you going to be here forever?"
"No, Sammy. I'll be out of here in a few weeks once my lawyers finalize my plea deal."
Sam frowned. " I wouldn't be eating Lucky Charms every night?"
John chuckled, then turned to Dean, and said in a stern parenting voice, " You need to feed him better."
Dean didn't respond and turned to Sam. " We need to leave. The bus leaves in a half hour. It's going to take that long to get out of here."
"But…"
"Do what your brother says, Sam,"
Sam pouted for a second before giving his father a hug. " Bye."
"See you soon, tiger." He ruffled Sam's hair affectionately. " Take care of him," he told Dean.
"I will." Dean knocked on the door and the guard opened it for them. Sam followed Dean out of the door.
"Why is Dad in there?" Sam asked.
"He bought a fake passport so he could get to Egypt."
" Why would he do that?"
"A lead came up there."
"Oh."
The only difference between the two places was that Dean was in a correctional facility, not a state Penitentiary, and thus the setting for their conversation was different. Dean was sitting in the visitor's area, hands and feet cuffed. Conversations were going on around him between prisoners and their guests,
"Hey," Sam took a seat across the table from him. " How are you holding up?"
"I hate orange," Dean growled, referring to the color of his uniform.
Sam smirked. " Anything else that bothers you?"
"Showers. Finally get to take one and I have ugly fat men leering at me the entire time."
Sam did not laugh for Dean's sake. His brother looked miserable. " Katie and Jason, your lawyers," seeing Dean's confused look at the names, " have gotten you off most of your charges. No one understands why the doppelganger thing happened and the prosecution admitted that they would be making fools out of themselves trying to get you charged for the crimes. This means you don't have the charges for the assault of Rebecca and the killing of the SWAT officers. You've gotten off on the public servant impersonation because there is no evidence that you ever claimed you were a police officer except for Rebecca's statement which she has retracted, and her lawyers are clearing that up…"
"So she's taking the blame for me?" Dean interrupted.
"Yeah. She wouldn't get into any trouble."
"Good."
Sam sighed. " …Let's see. The tampering of government record charges were thrown out, seeing that you can't fake your own death certificate when you're already dead and they again can't explain the doppelganger. And that clears up all those charges."
"So when will I be out of here?"
"A few days. You'll be out on bail until your trial."
"What? I thought…"
Sam took a deep breath. " Dean, when they tried to arrest you, you punched and kicked six police officers. They are going to have to charge you for that."
"Oh. That."
"Why did you have to be so stupid, Dean?"
Dean took offense to that comment, it hitting on a deeper level then it intended. "When you walk out of a room and randomly people start surrounding you and look ready to attack you, you don't think too clearly. I tried to run. They followed. I started to dispatch them…."
"How did they even know where to find you? It's not like we're in Missouri."
"Remember that nurse I told you I hit on to get into Dad's room?" Sam vaguely remembered that part of the conversation. " She saw my picture on an back episode of American's Most Wanted the night before. Called me in."
Laughter burst out of Sam and he found he couldn't stop.
"What's so funny?" Dean asked, ever impatient.
Sam took a series of breaths, trying to quell his laughter. "Only you would have such bad luck," he explained.
"Yeah…" Dean gave a small pained smile. " How's Dad?"
"Being an asshole. He wouldn't talk to me. I think he knows that it was me who found him."
"He always did get prissy when things didn't go as planned," Dean commented.
Sam started laughing again.
"You're stressed out, aren't you?"
Sam nodded.
"How's work?"
Sam didn't get a chance to answer. A bell sounded and Sam noticed that everyone was standing up, saying their goodbyes.
"I'll see you in a few days," Sam told him.
Dean nodded. "See you then. Tell Layla I say hi."
"What makes you think Layla knows you're in jail?" Sam asked.
Dean shrugged. "People talk."
Sam had never heard truer words.
Dean never dreamt, neither asleep nor awake. It wasn't a conscious decision. He didn't will himself to just sleep in the abyss of darkness. Perhaps he did have dreams but he never remembered them when he woke up. It was the same deal when he was awake. Sam used to come running to him every few days with a new better idea about what he wanted to be when he grew up. Dean could not remember a time when he had a plan for his life. He never had any real goals or things he wanted to achieve before he died. He just wanted to live. He just wanted to do something great. He didn't care what. He wanted to feel like he had importance.
He remembered his father telling him right after he had gotten bailed out of jail for breaking & entering that jail offered a benefit that the real world could never give and that was time. It was a time to be introspective and think about your life. Dean was never the pensive type and he had laughed at his father when he was told that. He had been in his fair share of jails in the following years but never for as long as he was in for now. He began to understand what his father meant. With no one to chat with, he started holding conversations in his head about the events that had taken place over the years, all the conversations he had never had, and the things he had never done.
He thought a lot about his childhood, specifically the first year after their mother died. He remembered his father holing up in the local library and when they kicked him out, by the kitchen table, reading. They were all books on demons and spirits. He'd write upon yellow legal pads every little detail, going days and nights on end without sleep. That was how he lost his job as a mechanic, which to Dean, appeared not to bother him in the least. It gave him more time to study.
Dean remembered he was starting kindergarten. The first day, his father didn't come. He walked to school alone. He saw kids who looked like him standing around, hugging their mothers good-bye. The mothers cried, waving to their children who stood on the steps, poised to open the big door to their new world. Dean remembered not feeling sad but just lonely. He felt like he was different. He felt like he was the only one in the world; he was the only one who cared about him.
Dean knew that at five years old, he probably didn't feel exactly like that. He would not have the words to express that depth of an emotion. He probably didn't know what emotions were. But, as he ran through his life story, it stood out as a moment that vocalized what his life would later be like.
That day, he returned home, carrying all the papers he needed signed in his hand because John had forgotten to get him a backpack. He found Sam crying in his crib and his father nowhere to be found. Sam had pooped his diaper. Dean remembered it had an ungodly stench to it and it made him nauseated as he changed the diaper. It was the first time he had ever done it. He had never been taught, going on what he remembered his mother doing when Sam cried. He picked up the clean Sam and rocked him like his mother had taught him, trying to get him back to sleep.
When Sam had fallen in slumber, he went searching for his father to get his papers signed. He never found his father. He remembered going back in Sam's room and crying because he was worried. He was scared. He had never been alone at home before. Dean remembered sitting in Sam's nursery for hours, waiting to hear the door slam, telling him his father was home. But the house remained silent.
He felt abandoned but Dean remembered when Sam woke, he was gurgling, blowing little spit bubbles. It was the coolest thing little Dean had ever seen and it made him feel better. Dean believed it was at that moment that he was sold on the idea of being Sam's protector, making sure he never felt alone.
"Dean Winchester." His name was accompanied by a door screeching open and Dean stood up from the bed to face the guards. "You're free to go."
Dean looked at them surprised, having expected to hear the news later in the week, but didn't question it. " Thanks."
The guard nodded. " You can pick up your clothes at the front desk."
Dean smiled.
A slight problem arose when Dean finally finished signing all the paperwork that finalized him being sent home. He realized he had no ride back home, and Lansing was a good hour away. He used the phone at the receptionist desk to call his brother, but he got no answer meaning Sam was at work. Dad was otherwise incapacitated and it wasn't like Dean had any friends. So reluctantly, he called Layla.
It wasn't that he was embarrassed for her to see his this way. He had made an ass out of himself already in front of her with the attacking the reverend's wife, and he could only imagine what she thought he was doing. He was more ashamed that he couldn't have dealt with it on his own. It annoyed him that he had to call up someone to get him back home because he had no money and no one else to help him. He figured it came down to the fact he hated feeling helpless.
Layla pulled up by the curb exactly a hour after he called. She had a rusty blue 1994 Chevy Blazer. He hated it. He opened the passenger door. It didn't squeal. He hated the car even more.
"Are you mad that I called you?" he asked as she put the car in reverse, getting in the right position to do the U-turn to start them in the direction she had come from.
"Why would I be mad that you called me?"
Dean shrugged. " Most people would. I mean, I basically asked you to drop everything you were doing and spend the rest of your day driving up here to get me then drive back."
Layla spun the wheel to take the turn to put them on the highway. " You had no one else who could have."
"Still…thanks."
She looked away from the road to smile at him. " You're welcome."
"Prisons should be like airports. Every time you leave an airport, there's your car parked several hundred meters from the building, covered in snow or whatever shit nature decided to throw at it, but it's there. You can get in it and just leave."
Layla laughed. " True. But how would you get the car to the prison? No one goes to prison willingly."
Dean didn't know what to say. It was weirding him out how freely she was taking it that she just picked him up from prison. It freaked him out that she responded to his joke about it so carefree.
"You're okay with me being in prison?" Dean asked, wanting clarification.
"Not really. It makes me sort of uncomfortable, like a little scared to be around you," she looked at him. " Sorry."
It hurt but it was honest. He appreciated it. " I was there for a murder I didn't commit…"
"Sounds very Fugitive-esque," she interjected.
Dean smirked. " …Some guy who looked like me killed some people in Missouri. He was killed. They thought I was him, so he was named after me. Some lady saw me, thought I was him because same name, same appearance. I freaked out. Hit a few cops."
Layla nodded, quiet, as she contemplated what she was told." You seem to attract weird events," she commented.
"You have no idea."
"I think I do."
"Please tell." Dean leaned back against the seat, arms crossed, both ready to be amused and scared that she just might make the right conclusion.
"You are a wander. You wander into places where strange unexplainable things are happening. You fix them. You leave and wander off to the next story."
It was nearly dead-on. Dean felt the panic rising in him. "And you know this from two events?" His voice was steady. It didn't reveal anything, he hoped. He didn't want to be found out. He didn't want to have to explain his life to another person and be rejected for it yet again.
"I know this was wrong of me. I'm ashamed of it, actually. But…" she pulled over on the side of the road, so she could face him. The sounds of car whizzing by them filled the silence as she just looked at him, nervously clenching and unclenching her hands. " …I researched you and your brother."
"…Why would you do that?" Dean asked quietly, finding the muscles in his throat to not be working efficiently.
"Shortly after you left town, I went to the doctor. The tumor was still there and it just hit me that I really was going to die. I knew it all along but I was still holding out hope because of Roy. I was so angry because I could have been healed. I could have lived the life I always dreamed about having. I could have had everything if you hadn't stopped them from healing me." As her story progressed, her lip began quivering and her eyes started getting watery. Dean tried to stop the wave of pity he felt at seeing someone who he believed to be so strong crumbling before him, but the pure misery written in her eyes brought him down with her.
"I know now that I was being stupid but I couldn't get over it. I started looking for someone similar to Roy. I clicked on some link that led me to a newspaper article talking about a magician who was claiming he could raise the dead. It wasn't what I was looking for but there was a picture. You were in the background, looking away,.." her voice shook as she spoke. " …So I googled your name. There were hundreds of hits on you, more if you count your brother and father. It was like for every unexplainable murder, you were there. I…I began to start to try to piece together why you were there that day."
"And why was I there?" Dean whispered.
"I needed to know why… I couldn't have my miracle." She let out a pained sob, tears running down her face, and Dean finally broke down and hugged her.
She was a silent crier, which he was glad for. She was also fairly graceful about it, giving him a sheepish smile when she was done, and grabbed a tissue out of the glove compartment to dab her eyes and fix her running eyeliner.
"It's okay. I don't mind you knowing," Dean told her. " I never thought of looking up my own name."
"Use a fake name."
"I do. I always get caught."
Layla chuckled and after a deep breath, pulled the car back onto the highway. "Learn to lie better."
"I'm a good liar," Dean said defensively.
She smiled at him. " You are. What you need to do is learn better is how to hide the truth."
"That makes no sense."
"When you lie or are just talking, you're unreadable," Layla told him. " But the minute you start telling the truth, you start really looking at the person you are talking to and they can see everything you really are."
"What am I, then?"
She looked away from the road. " Someone who desperately wants to be liked. Someone who is unable to see his worth. Someone who cares so much about everyone, loved ones and strangers."
Dean was at a loss of words. The rest of the ride was silent ashe reflected upon her words.
A buzzing noise went through his office and Sam stopping typing on the computer. He looked around his office, searching for the noise. A little red light was bleeping in the corner of the room. Sam minimized his screen and got out of his chair to investigate. Lettering was under the swirling light, and he read it: Panic Button.
No one had ever explained what it was to him but he had ideas. He walked to the window of his office and peered out of it, looking for the commotion. He found it coming towards him. Three men were walking behind one of his cashiers, a tiny mousy teenager whose normally huge petrified eyes looked like they were going to shatter and break because they were so big with fright.
He stepped away from his window and checked the door. It was locked. They couldn't get in immediately. He had time to formulate a plan. He suspected it was a robbery because the men were being taken to his office. It was shortly after seven and he had just gotten back from putting the majority of the money they had accumulated for the day in the safe. The robbers would not be able to find much money in the cashier's drawers and he, being manager, was the only one who knew the combination and had the additional key to open it.
He ran through his options. He didn't know the number for the police station off-hand or the extension he had to press on the phone to speed-dial them and he didn't have the time to find the number and call them himself. It would make sense for the panic button to be a direct line to the police station. Sam hoped it was. It would take a couple of minutes for the police to get there, being a few blocks down the road, but Sam realized that really didn't worry him. He knew he could probably handle the guys. He didn't grow up fighting and hunting demons to not be able to deal with some punks.
"Mr. Winchester, I need to talk to you," he could hear the girl from the other side of the door.
It was show time and he decided not to keep them waiting. He took a deep breath and opened the door.
The three men and the cashier rushed the room and Sam watched in wary interest as two of the men settled their guns on him and the cashier.
"Open the safe or we'll kill the girl," the one who had the gun on the girl spouted.
Sam wanted to laugh at the cliché language but he kept his face straight. He sized up the three men. They were bulkier then he was but he had a lot of height on them. They were trying to look tough with their tattoos on their biceps and eyebrow piercings'. Sam wasn't positive that they knew how to use their guns, but he figured it was best to believe they could. Instinct told him that even if they knew how to use them, they didn't have it in them to kill another human being. It wouldn't be easy because he was outnumbered but he'd had been in worse circumstances and came out unscathed.
He had to let it play out like they wanted it to. "Let the girl go and I'll take you to the safe."
The three guys looked at each other, having not been prepared for the robbery to go so easy. The shortest one, the only one without a gun trained on him, and whom Sam presumed to be the leader, spoke. " Take us to the safe and open it. We'll then release the girl."
It wasn't Sam's favorite idea but he nodded. " Fine. Excuse me." He slipped by the leader and opened his office door. He made sure to walk slow enough that the three men were just behind him. He entered the staff lounge where it was kept and halted by the door that opened up to it.
"This is it." He announced, turning around to face the gunmen.
"Open it," the leader ordered, his two henchmen thrusting the guns in the cashier's face.
Sam turned back around and got the key out of his pocket to unlock the door. He wondered when the police were going to show up. He wasn't sure how much time had passed but it had been more then ten minutes since the panic button going off. The police were only a few blocks away from the store. Pulling the door open, he stepped out of the way to let them see the shiny metallic safe.
"Let the girl go," he told them.
"No…open…"
The leader interrupted. " Let the girl go. He'll do what we say, won't you, Mr. Winchester," he fiddled with his gun at his hip, attempting to remind him of how much a threat he was. It made him more look like an inexperienced fool. Sam realized he was beginning to hate being called Mr. Winchester. The only people who ever called him that were the people who were pissed off with him.
Sam nodded, and the henchmen released their grip on the girl's arm. She stood there for a second, and then with a worried glance at a boss, dashed off. Sam turned back to the safe, kneeling beside it to put in the combination.
He could see because of the shoddy lighting in the break room, the robber's shadows. He could see how close they were to him and how their shadows wavered as they shifted impatiently for him to open the safe. Their guns blended in with their shadows so without looking at them, he couldn't tell if they were still pointed at him, but it didn't matter. They weren't going to be given a chance to take a shot at him. He put in the last number and opened the safe.
"Move out of the way," he heard the leader order and Sam stood up, moving out of their way. The three of them, at the sight of the brown zip-up pouch that contained the money, charged forward to grab it, forgetting about Sam. Their greed was their mistake and Sam moved behind them.
He made a point to accidentally brush up against one of the henchmen, and when the guy turned around to face him, Sam punched him right under his jaw, snapping up his head. Sam wasn't sure if he hit him hard enough to make him blackout but it would be enough to disorient him. The other two guys turned to face them, one reaching for the gun he had set on the ground to make a grab for the money, the leader going for the one at his hip.
He stomped on the henchman's hand, listening for the satisfying crunch of bones breaking, and with a quick sweep and push up with his own hand, he broke the guy's nose. The man screamed and Sam turned around, knowing the man wouldn't attack him, having lost any will to fight.
The leader had been quick enough to grab his gun and had it pointed it at him.
"Are you going to shoot me?" Sam asked.
The guy kept the gun pointed at him. Sam noticed his hands were shaking and that the gun's safety was on.
Sam stepped forward. " That would be a mistake if you did."
"Step back or I'll shoot!" the small man screamed.
That confirmed Sam's suspicion that the man had no clue how to use the gun. He put on his best evil Dean smirks and began walking towards him.
"I'm warning you…!"
Sam kept moving. The guy didn't shoot. He still didn't when Sam reached him, the gun barrel digging into his chest.
"You have no fucking clue how to use that thing, do you?" Sam hissed.
The man didn't answer. He tried to run. Sam grabbed him by his shirt collar to drag him closer. He was getting around to kicking him when he heard the door bursting open and he saw out of the corner of his eye, the State police filing in.
He let go of the guy and left the room, letting the police deal with the mess.
Sam got home at around 10:30 P.M. after giving his statement and closing up the supermarket for the night because he thought it was only fair seeing that most of the employees were slightly traumatized. He didn't expect to find a car already in their garage nor a scattered row of candles lighting the house. He dumped his briefcase on the kitchen table, a good distance from where the melted carton of box of ice cream was sitting, and followed the path of the candles out to the living room.
Dean was sitting on the couch, illuminated by a flickering candle, partly covered by a blanket. There was a large amorphous shape at his side and only with closer inspection, did Sam realize that it was Layla, wrapped up in the blanket, sleeping.
"Hey," Dean greeted.
"Hey," Sam flopped down into the air chair. It was heaven and he put up the footstool so he could stretch out and relax. " What are you doing here?"
"They let me out early and someone wasn't around to give me a ride home," Dean gave him a sleepy half-lidded glare.
"I didn't know… We got robbed today."
"Sweet. Did you make them pay for messing up your day?"
"Yeah. Broke a few of their bones. No blood though," Sam said quietly.
Dean looked at him carefully. " You feel bad about doing it?"
"I do. They didn't deserve it."
"Sam…did they come in there with their guns?"
"Yeah."
"Did they scare your staff members," Dean continued.
Sam nodded.
"Did they threaten to harm them?"
"They did."
"Then, you were just being a responsible boss, keeping your employees safe. Stop feeling sorry for them. They're scum. They deserved it."
Sam knew Dean was right but unlike Dean, he had more issues with rationalizing violence. He changed the subject. "What's Layla doing here?"
"She gave me a ride back. I bought ice cream and invited her in as a thank you."
"And now she's fast asleep," Sam was confused. " When did you get back?"
"Around six."
"And what exactly have you been doing for four hours without a TV and light?"
" Curious about my sex life, Sammy?"
That wasn't something he wanted to know and he heard Dean laugh quietly. " Nothing happened, Sam, so wipe that disgusted expression off your face. We just talked. She fell asleep. I have been dozing in and out for the past hour or so."
"Were you that boring?"
"She's on new medication. While she's adjusting to it, she gets really sleepy."
Sam watched as Layla shifted, burrowing her head further in Dean's side. He watched Dean smile and pull the blanket to cover her back up. It was too sickingly sweet. He was jealous.
"I'm going to go to bed," Sam announced, climbing out of the chair.
"Wait." Sam turned to face Dean. " This is an odd question but do I go around trying to get everyone to like me?"
It was an odd question and Sam had no clue why his brother was asking it. " You're a fuckin suck-up and a push-over. Does that answer it?"
Dean nodded.
"Are you going to be here all night?" Sam asked.
"Until she wakes up. Anyway, it's cooler out here then in my room."
"Not with her draped over you,"
"I'll manage," Dean flashed him a smile and leaned back his head. Sam blew out the candles as he made his way to his bedroom.
Several days passed between Dean getting home from jail and the return of their father to the house. John wasn't completely healed but by Dean's estimates, the insurance wasn't going to cover any more of the bills besides that of medication, and the boys needed every bit of money they could keep. Dean was the one who ended up being responsible for his father's care because he had the time and experience to deal with any complications. Dean didn't really mind. Their father was always sleeping when Dean checked on him. He was still unable to eat and so all his nutrients were being transferred through the IV, meaning Dean never had a reason to wake him up. Dean was somewhat relieved. Sam had told him about the conversation he had had with John regarding John's desire to die and Dean didn't want to be put in the position that John was proposing for him. He didn't want to choose between Sam's will and his father's.
Sam was spending most of the week at work, leaving before Dean woke up, and coming home past midnight some nights. They were doing some serious public relations to make the customers feel safe after witnessing the failed robbery, and Sam had to be there to witness it besides doing his usual manger duties. Sam looked like hell the few times Dean had seen him in passing, but he figured they were getting a lot of money out of the deal. It was just too bad it was off Sam's exhaustion.
Dean pulled the pants out of the suds, and he squeezed, ringing out the water. When he felt the pants were dry enough, he hung them over the railing of the stairs to their backyard, and then dumped the suds, finally finished with the washing of the clothes. It wasn't that they didn't have the money to go to the Laundromat – at most, it'd cost them a few quarters and gas money – but it was too far of a walk and Sam brought the Impala to work everyday since it looked a bit fancier and closer to what a manager should be driving then the junk, fixed-up cars that filled the rest of the garage. Plus Dean had no intention of looking like a house-wife, carrying her basket of laundry around town.
He went back to the house, and immediately heard the bell ringing. He ran to his father's room.
"What's wrong?" Dean asked.
John had propped himself up with pillows. Dean couldn't imagine how much that was hurting him, moving, muscles stretched. "Nothing. I wanted to see how fast you'd come running if I rang."
"Sorry. I was outside."
"Two minutes. When I ring, I expect you to be right here. What if I really was in trouble? Hmm…"
"I'm sorry. I'll be quicker next time," Dean apologized again.
"Better be."
"Are you hungry? I can make you something to eat." Dean offered.
"No."
That was good because Dean didn't think he was healed enough to not be in pain when he ate. " Then what do you want?"
"I want to die."
It was a direct stare he gave Dean, so full of hope. Dean flinched. " I can't do that."
"You told me once that you would do whatever I said. Where's that spirit now?" their father spat out, angry. He began coughing and Dean watched, almost in as much agony as his father was, as his stomach heaved, aggravating his injuries.
"I promised I'd do anything for you within reason," Dean clarified.
"Is your own father wanting to die not a good reason?"
"Dad. You're not yourself. Go back to sleep." Dean needed him to be quiet. Every word his father spoke induced more and more guilt in him.
"I won't."
A stalemate was reached and Dean willed himself to leave the room. His limbs wouldn't move. " Give me a good reason why I should," he found himself saying.
"I'm tired, Dean. I'm tired of being in so much pain."
It was nearly a plea. He had never heard anything like it from his father and he felt himself caving. He closed his eyes, sighing, trying to steel himself. He knew his father was referring to emotional pain, not physical, but he saw the perfect solution, the way to get his father to be quiet and also appease him somewhat. His father wanted to escape reality. Dean could do that.
"I can give up better painkillers," Dean offered.
Dean wasn't sure he actually wanted his father to take him up on his offer but he did, nodding his head slightly. Dean walked over to his father and slipped out the IV that was dripping in the painkillers. He replaced the IV with one that would drip a stronger dosage.
His father didn't thank him and Dean took the silence as an opportunity to leave. He was feeling drained and his stomach was in knots. Dean walked into the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of Frosted Mini-Wheats. As he nibbled on them, reading the newspaper, he couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was happening. He set down his bowl and walked back down the hall to his father's room.
His father's skin looked odd, like someone had punched him weeks ago, and the bruises were in the last pale stage of blue before disappearing. He didn't look healthy and Dean pressed a hand to his father's forehead. It was cold and clammy. Dean tried to calm down and not panic, placing his hand lightly on his father's heart. He could feel the beats vibrating through his hand, though very slow, and his chest expanding and collapsing as he breathed.
"Overdose," Dean diagnosed to himself and he ripped out the IV. On a second thought, he put back in the IV of the weakest painkiller he had on hand to guarantee his father wouldn't be in too much pain when he woke up, and he ran to his bedroom to get his cell phone. He rushed back to his father's room to keep an eye on him, and dialed Sam's number.
To his surprise, Sam didn't have his phone off like he always did when he was at work. " Hello."
"Sam. It's me, Dean. Dad's…"
"Dean. I can't talk now. Whatever is going on with Dad, I am sure you can deal with it. Okay. Bye…" Sam hung up and Dean stared at his phone in disbelief.
Sam really did want to chat with Dean and find out what was going on with his Dad. He knew Dean wouldn't have called if it wasn't serious. But it wasn't the time to talk and he set his cell phone back in his pocket and stared down Mr. Weiz, the company lawyer.
"You can not fire me," Sam told him.
"We can. Mr. Mirabano is taking over ownership of your store tomorrow. He's requested that he puts his own managing staff in to oversee this company."
"Since when did you start representing him and not the company?"
"Since he bought it two days ago," He said it with such malicious glee that made Sam want to strangle him.
"And shouldn't when someone buys a company or the branch of a store, the person in charge of that store have to sign something and made aware of it?"
"Oh, but as your lawyer, I represent you. You didn't need to sign."
Sam was seething. He took a deep breath to get his temper out of control. " Alright, then. Why is he keeping all my staff and not me on duty?"
"Mr. Mirabano really wasn't too happy with your handling of the robbers. He thought you were a little too harsh with them."
"They were threatening to kill one of my employees!" Sam yelled.
Mr. Weiz pushed up his glasses, which weren't falling down. " He feels you should have waited for the police."
"The police didn't show up until twenty minutes after the panic button went off!"
"Well, you can't expect them to react immediately."
Sam felt like he was having a conversation with the most moronic person in the world. " They are two blocks away. This is not some metropolis with a ton of crime."
"But…"
Sam interrupted him. " And they didn't even show up. The state police were the ones who came."
"What can I say, the police here are useless, " the lawyer shrugged.
Sam wondered if the guy realized he had contradicted himself. " Which is more reason for me to take them out on my own."
Mr. Weiz sighed loudly, exaggerating it to show his annoyance. " I am going to have to ask you, Mr. Winchester to vacate this property."
"What? Why?"
"Because Mr. Mirabano doesn't want you here anymore, causing a commotion for his customers."
"Mr. Mirabano isn't even here," Sam hissed.
"You're on private property. He has…"
"Private property by which the public is allowed on…" Sam corrected.
"Get out or I'll call the police."
Sam lost his cool and just began laughing, shaking his head. " You said it yourself that they wouldn't come," he told the lawyer. But he didn't take any chances and he stepped through the sliding door. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell to dial Dean's phone number.
Dean and Sam took alternating shifts, sitting by their father's bedside, as the painkillers worked their way out of his system and left him in an easy sleep. It was on Sam's third shift, close to noon, when their father opened his eyes. Sam sprung up out of his chair and wiped down his father's sweat-drenched forehead.
"Mary?" he whispered.
"No, Dad. It's me, Sam."
"Oh…" He inhaled. " It was just a dream, wasn't it?"
"Yeah, it was," Sam told him. His father looked disappointed. " Was it a good dream?"
"Mary and I were having a picnic in the park. You boys were playing tag. She was spreading mayonnaise on a piece of bread and just eating it like that and suddenly she stopped, dropping the knife into the jar. She looked at me and told me that I had to stop. I asked her what I had to stop, and suddenly Dean was running over, carrying you. You…uh… scraped your knee and she told me to go get the bandages out of the car. I told her I didn't know where they were and she smiled, said that only I could find them, only I could fix the wound, and then, I woke up."
"That's…odd,"
"I know. But…" he paused. " Can you do me a favor? Write it all down."
"Sure, Dad. Any reason?"
" I feel like it means something and…" he yawned. " don't want to forget it when I go…" he trailed off. Sam looked over at him to find him sleeping.
"Sleep well, " Sam whispered, walking out to the kitchen to go get a legal pad to jot it all down.
End Chapter 4: The Artist in the Ambulance
Now I lay here owing my life to a stranger
And I realize that empty words are not enough
I'm left here with the question of just
What have I to show except the promises I never kept?
I lie here shaking on this bed, under the weight of my regrets
