Sorry for the cliffhanger, guys. I know I left you hanging, but hopefully this quickish update helps make up for it. Enjoy:)

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A Little More Tequila, A Little Less Demon Hunting

– – Chapter Five – –

Trust

"No…no…Dad, stop. Stop, please. Dad, stop."

Dean awoke abruptly to the sound of Sam pleading. He shot up in bed and turned toward Sam quickly, praying that his father wasn't really in the room with Sam. He let out a sigh of relief when his father was nowhere to be seen, but his whole body tensed when he saw Sam tossing and turning in his bed, the blankets twisted around his lanky frame, a light sheen of sweat covering his face.

"Dad, stop, please. You're killing him! Dean! DEAN!"

Dean shot out of bed when his brother yelled his name, and he was at Sam's side in a heartbeat. He fell on his knees next to Sam's bed and put his hands on his shoulders, shaking him gently and calling his name. He shook him harder when he didn't respond, simply tossing harder and yelling his name louder.

"DEAN! NO!"

"Sammy! SAMMY! Wake up, Sammy. Come on, dude, it's okay. Wake up!"

Suddenly, Sam shot up in bed, and Dean got up off the floor and sat on the edge of the bed, holding Sam's shoulders gently as Sam gasped and panted, a faraway look in his eyes.

"Sam, it's okay. It was just a nightmare. It's okay."

He gently stroked his shoulders like he always did, waiting for Sam to calm down and realize that he was awake now and the nightmare was over.

But Sam didn't calm down.

He turned his head to Dean quickly, breathing more rapidly. "We have to get out of here. Now."

Dean looked at Sam in surprise, speechless.

"What…" he finally choked out. "What are you talking about?"

"We have to leave. Now. Dad's coming home, Dean, and he's mad. He's really mad. He's been drinking, and he's upset, and he's coming home, and he's…." Sam paused as he started to hyperventilate.

"Sam, it's okay. It was just a dream."

"No!" Dean was taken aback when Sam yelled. "No, it wasn't a dream, Dean. It was…it was different. So real. More real than those dreams with Mom. It's going to happen. Dad's coming home…and he's…he's going to kill you."

Dean's heart skipped a beat as Sam's eyes welled up and he continued talking quietly. "He's gonna hit you. And then he's gonna…he's gonna hurt you…choke you…and he's not gonna stop, Dean. He's not gonna stop."

Sam started sobbing, his breathing heavy. Dean pulled him into a tight hug.

There was no way this could be real. No way.

"Sammy, it's gonna be okay. It's just a dream, man."

Sam pulled his head off of Dean's chest, pushing him away. Dean was taken aback at his brother's behavior.

"It's not a dream, Dean! It's gonna happen. I don't know how to explain it to you. I just know. It was so real. I could see everything. I could…I could smell the alcohol on Dad. I could hear…I could hear you screaming …me screaming…I could feel it. You weren't…you were…you were dead. Dean…."

Dean held back the tears he felt at the pleading in his little brother's voice.

"Dean, please. I can't explain it. We have to go. You just have to trust me. Please."

Dean had never seen Sam look so lost, so broken…so afraid. Dean wasn't entirely sure he believed him. If this was true…if Sam had had some kind of…vision…what did that mean about Mom?

"Dean…."

But Dean knew he couldn't say no.

"Okay, Sammy. We'll go. Get dressed and get some clothes together. We're leaving in five minutes."

Sam didn't need to be told twice. He jumped out of bed, putting on the clothes he had taken off mere hours ago. Dean went over to the closet and pulled out a few bags, tossing them on the floor, and proceeded to get dressed. The two of them ran around the room as fast as they could, gathering anything they could see that they might need. Dean reached onto the top shelf of the closet and pulled down a jar, taking out all the money he found inside and shoving it into his pocket. He pulled out his wallet and checked to make sure that his ATM card was in there. Dad didn't know that he had a bank account. He had saved up a fair amount of money in there that should help them find a place to live. Dean still had almost 9 months left before he turned 18 and he could legally rent an apartment. He'd have to find someone who would be willing to deal with a 17 year old and his brother or they'd be out on the street. Dean didn't like the thought of the two of them out on the street. At this point, though, they couldn't stay. He couldn't stand to see his brother upset like this, and he'd give anything to make that fear and dread leave his brother's eyes and life for good.

Dean turned around when he had the money stashed away.

"Sam, are you ready?"

Sam was frozen in the middle of the room, a shirt clenched tightly in his hands, his eyes open wide. Dean heard the door to their room close quietly, and the blood froze in his veins when he looked up and saw his father standing in front of the door. Dean could tell right away that his father had never been more pissed off or more drunk in his life. His anger and drunkenness permeated the room in sickening waves, and Dean's heart leapt to his throat. Could Sam have been right?

Dean didn't know what to do, so he stood still and stared at his father, waiting to see what would happen. They were on the tenth floor of an apartment building. The only way out was through their door, and the father was currently blocking it.

Finally, their father broke the silence.

"What the hell do you boys think you're doing?"

His father knew. It was obvious. A pair of duffel bags lay on the floor, wide open and full of clothes, and Dean's pockets were bulging with the money he had stuffed in them.

Dean was at a loss.

"I…we…."

"It looks to me like you're plannin' to run away. Is that it, Dean? You plannin' to leave me? Don't think I'm treatin' you right?"

Dean thought fast, trying to come up with a plan. Maybe if he drew his father away from the door, he could get Sam to go. Dean walked slowly away from the closet and into the center of the room, stepping in front of his father and getting as close to him as possible.

Finally, he found his voice. "What do you think, Dad?" he asked, a sneer in his voice.

It had been awhile since he had talked back to his father, and it did the trick.

"Don't test me, boy," his father said, taking a step toward him, and Dean took a step back toward the closet, away from the center of the room where Sam stood, and away from the door.

"So, you and your brother were plannin' on runnin' off, huh?" he asked, taking another step toward Dean and causing Dean to take one back as well.

"What did you expect, Dad?" Dean asked. "You expect us to stick around forever? Just so you can have someone to blame…someone to hate…other than yourself?"

It had been a long time since his father had actually been able to lift Dean off the ground. Dean was still shorter than his father, but he had bulked up a bit in his teen years.

He must have touched a nerve.

Before Dean could react, his father had picked him up by his throat and slammed him up against the closet, knocking the breath out of his body as Sam cried, "No!"

His feet dangling inches above the ground, struggling in his father's grip and gasping for air, Dean tried to tell Sam to leave him, to get out of the house, but all that he could get out was a choked gasp. His father moved his face close to Dean's, and he could practically taste the alcohol on his father's breath.

"I'm gonna make you wish you'd never been born you little son of a bitch."

Dean couldn't breath. His vision was starting to blur. He clawed at his father's hands, trying to get them off of his neck, but to no avail.

He stopped kicking.

The room faded to black.

He never saw the blow coming.

Suddenly, he felt the pressure on his neck disappear, and gravity pulled him toward the ground where he fell to his knees, clutching at his throat and gasping for air. He blinked a few times, and his vision finally came back, just in time for him to watch his father pick his brother up off the ground and throw him harshly at the door. He noticed a baseball bat lying on the ground, and it made him smile inside to remember when he had bought that.

He'd never really intended to teach Sam how to play baseball with it.

Dean crawled across the floor, trying to reach the weapon, but his legs gave out, his oxygen deprived brain refusing to cooperate with him. He reached out with his arm, and he nearly cried out when his father got to it first, picking it up off the ground from where it lay, mere inches out of Dean's grasp.

Dean shot a quick glance at Sam, and Dean's heart nearly leapt out of his throat when he saw his brother sitting, unmoving, in the corner behind the door. Dean turned his gaze to his father, and he stared up at him, noticing a small welt forming on the side of his head from where Sam had undoubtedly hit him. Dean gasped for air and tried to stand up, but his father got to him first, swinging the bat with all his might at Dean's chest. Dean doubled over from the impact, and he screamed when he felt one of his ribs crack.

He lay on the floor, clutching his broken and bleeding chest and panting for air.

Sam still wasn't moving.

Dean stared up at his father.

This was it.

Dean was going to die.

And when he died, there would be no on left to protect Sam.

It was that one fleeting thought that drove him into motion.

Using strength he didn't even know he had, he pushed himself off the ground and launched himself at his father's legs, tackling him to the ground. His father landed with a loud thump, and Dean tried to ignore the pain in his chest as he fought with his father for the bat.

Unfortunately, his father was still too strong, and Dean was too weak.

His father grabbed him by his shirt collar and slammed him into the ground, straddling his hips and putting his hands once more around Dean's neck.

Dean struggled.

He kicked. He clawed at his father's hands, his arms, his face.

And then he stopped. The room faded to black again, and Dean knew he was dying.

Knew he was dead.

Knew Sam was alone in the world.

Tears sprang to Dean's eyes, and he tried to move again, tried to fight him off. But he was so tired. So very, very tired.

The last thing Dean heard before his world faded to black was his baby brother calling out his name.

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"Dean…Dean! Come on, Dean, wake up. Don't do this to me. Dean!"

Dean gasped, sitting up and crying out in pain at the motion. His brother's hands were on his shoulders in an instant.

"Dean, it's okay. Calm down. It's okay."

Dean panted, clutching his chest that was on fire.

"What…what happened, Sammy?" Dean asked when he regained the power to speak. Dean glanced around the room, and that was when he saw his father, sprawled face down on the carpet, a large, bleeding bruise on the back of his head.

"Dad…what happened to him?"

"I…I hit him," Sam admitted. "He was killing you, Dean. I saw it before, and I knew it was happening, and I…I couldn't let it happen," Sam said, dropping his head to gaze at the floor.

"It's okay, Sammy. It's okay."

Sam sighed, letting go of his brother's shoulders to gaze at their father's body.

"Is he…." Dean couldn't ask the question, but Sam knew what he wanted to know.

"He's not dead. He's just unconscious. He's got a steady pulse and everything. He's been out for five minutes. Since you…." This time, Sam couldn't finish his sentence, but Dean knew what he meant.

"I'm all right, Sam. Thanks to you."

Sam looked back at him and smiled a watery smile.

"You're welcome," he said.

Dean rubbed his brother's mop of hair playfully, like he did when they were younger. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

"I'm okay," Sam said, his gaze moving back to their father.

"Sammy, we've gotta get out of here," Dean said, attempting to stand up. Sam was right there to grab his arms when his legs gave way beneath him.

"I know," Sam replied. "Sit here."

Sam led him to the closest bed, and Dean sat down, trying to catch his breath as Sam gathered their things off of the floor, stuffing them into the duffel bags.

Dean stared at his father, unconscious on the floor of the bedroom.

Should they just leave him here? What would happen if they did? Would police come? Would they ask questions? Dean didn't want the police involved in this. His father had succeeded in driving an irrational fear of police into his head with his constant threats that if they ever found out about what went on in their house there would be hell to pay.

As Sam started stuffing more clothes into their bags, Dean noticed the bat on the floor, and he realized that it would be too easy. One good hit, one well-planned hit, and their father would be gone from their lives forever. Dean reached down and picked up the bat, feeling the weight of it in his hands.

Then he heard Sam call his name.

"Dean?"

Dean turned to his little brother and stood up off the bed, bat in his hands.

He had to do this. He had to do whatever it took to protect them. His father had never liked them…never loved them…never treated them like his children. He deserved to be punished for it.

"Dean, no."

Dean turned his gaze back toward their father.

"I have to do it, Sammy. We'll never be safe if I don't."

"No. You don't have to do anything, Dean. We can leave. We can go far away and never look back. Remember the plan, Dean?"

"The plan."

"Yeah, the plan. Remember? You always used to tell me, whenever things were really bad, that we would get away some day, that we would just leave and never look back. We don't have to kill him. We can go far away. To another country if we have to."

"But he'll always be out there, Sam."

"I know," Sam said, and Dean turned when he felt his brother standing at his side. Even at thirteen, his brother was quickly catching up to his height. Dean tensed when Sam put his hand on his arm. "But Dean…he's not worth it. If you kill him…you're no better than he is."

Dean felt a tear fall down his cheek. His brother was right. But what would it mean for them? Dean knew, felt in his heart, that if they left, their father would never stop looking for them. They would never really be safe.

Sam would never really be safe.

And that's what Dean had wanted all along, wasn't it? For his brother to be safe?

"I have to, Sam. For us. For you. So you can be safe. So you can sleep at night knowing that there's nobody out there who wants to find you and hurt you. So you can know that there are only people that love you. I'd do anything for you."

"Then let him live, Dean. I don't want you to do that to yourself. I know you don't like him, but I know you'd feel guilty if you killed him. I know you'd feel like you were just like him. And I don't want you to do that to yourself, Dean. Not for anything. Certainly not for me. Don't do it. We'll leave, we'll go far away, and we'll never look back. Just don't do it, Dean….For me."

Dean felt his eyes well up with tears.

The bat dropped from his hands, landing with a loud thunk on the hardwood floor.

Dean was never really good at denying his brother what he wanted.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah," Dean said, pushing back his tears. "You're right. Let's just get out of here, okay?"

Sam squeezed his arm before letting go. He went back toward their bags, zipped them up, and slung them over his shoulder before heading back to Dean and putting his free arm under his brother's arms.

"Let's get the hell out of here."

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That night, Sam helped Dean out of the house and into the street. Sam wanted to bring Dean to the hospital. His breathing was shallow and he could tell that something was wrong in his chest from the way he kept clutching at it. But Dean refused, and he told Sam where to take them.

They arrived at Michael's house at four in the morning. Dean wasn't sure what his friend would do when he found them. They had been on harsh terms, and Dean was sorry for the words he had exchanged with him.

But thankfully, when Michael arrived at the door to find them standing there, he didn't say a word to him. He ushered them inside and went to work bandaging Dean's chest.

The next morning, Dean awoke from his place on Michael's bed, which he had given up to him despite Dean's protests, and found Sam sitting in a chair watching him intently. Michael arrived a few minutes later with a mug of cocoa in his hand. Dean had apologized to him for what had happened. He told him why he had pushed him away, why he hadn't wanted to talk to him. Michael had understood. He said that he had been the victim of occasional beatings when he was a child and he had noticed the symptoms in Dean and had just wanted to help him. They made up quickly, and Michael was kind enough to offer them a place to stay with him until Dean felt up to moving on with his life.

The next night, Dean woke up with a high fever, his body covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and his groans of pain awoke Sam, who was asleep next to him on the floor. Sam got Michael, and the two of them took Dean, who was too tired and weak to refuse, to a hospital.

The infection had been caused by the cracked rib, and after a few restless nights for Dean and those who watched over him, the fever went down and the infection healed. Dean's ribs were bandaged, and soon Dean was released and Michael took him back to his place, where Dean spent the next few weeks healing up and reading some of Michael's car manuals and magazines and Sam spent his time reading some books that Michael got him from the library.

Eventually, Dean healed, and he worried about where they were going to live. It was early July, and Dean still had half a year before he'd be old enough to legally rent an apartment. Michael told him that he would gladly let the two of them stay with him until Dean could find a place to live, and Dean was glad for the offer, but he felt guilty about taking advantage of Michael. Michael assured him that it was fine with him, but when Dean continued to argue, eventually they struck a truce in which Dean would be the unofficial "maid" in exchange for room and board, as Michael was "shit at housework." Sam laughed at the idea of Dean being a maid, and Dean had to admit the idea was a bit funny. But nobody ever made him wear an apron (though Sam tried a few times), and Dean was already used to cleaning house and cooking meals anyway. It felt good to repay Michael for his kindness.

Then one day, Michael came home early, and their worst fears were realized. John had been at the garage that day, asking around for them. Dean had no idea how his father had found out, but he didn't spend a lot of time dwelling on it. Sam and Dean packed up their meager possessions, and Dean grudgingly took what Michael offered them, which included an assortment of food and other necessities. When Michael handed him a wad of cash, Dean refused to take it, saying that Michael had given them more than enough already. But Michael insisted, saying that they needed it more than he did, and when he reminded him that Sam needed the money, too, Dean put aside his pride and took it from him.

The last thing he offered them before they left the house was an address. A place in New York City – an apartment building run by a good buddy of his. He promised them that when they got there, his buddy would be able to get them a cheap place to rent even though Dean was underage. Dean's eyes watered when he told them this, and Michael just smiled and pulled him into a tight hug.

"You guys just be sure to take care of yourselves, okay? And call me once in awhile. Let me know how you are?"

Dean promised him that they would. Then Sam gave Michael a quick hug and thanked him.

Hours later, when they found themselves on a train headed for New York, as Sam slept peacefully on the seat next to him, Dean prayed that Michael would live a long and happy life, marry himself a wonderful woman, have lots of fat grandchildren, and own the best car in the world (Dean had fallen in love with a '67 Chevy Impala he had worked on one day in the garage). Michael was the first real glimpse Dean had ever had of the goodness that existed in the world, outside of his brother, and he would always be thankful for that.

Dean didn't know what lay ahead of them in New York.

Sam's "vision" had come true. Whatever Sam had dreamed that night had happened. He hadn't had any weird dreams since that night, but Dean felt, somehow, that it would not be the last.

But try as he might, Dean could still not accept what had happened to his mother. Dean had had a glimpse of the evil that existed in the people of the world. The thought that there could be more evil out there, an even more dangerous evil, made him sick and afraid and sad. He just couldn't believe, refused to believe, that such an evil could ever exist.

Dean heard a loud snore next to him, and he turned toward his brother, a small smile on his face at the peaceful look he found there.

Dean leaned his head back against the seat and sighed.

He refused to believe in that kind of evil. Refused to accept it. There was so much evil in the world already.

But as Dean looked back toward his brother, he smiled at the thought that there was also a bit of goodness and love to be had as well.

Dean fell into the first restful sleep he had had since he was four years old. He dreamt of his mother and his father and his little tiny brother as they had been before the accident.

And when he awoke a few hours later to find Sam still fast asleep next to him, Dean felt really and truly loved.

TBC...