I'd love to hear the thoughts on this extra-long chapter. Also, just be prepared for tenses switching in the last sections of this chapter. I just feel like I should warn you before it happens, so keep that in mind the further you get in your reading.
-NINETEEN-
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
John let out a sigh at his youngest son's question. He glanced up from the couch, seeing Sam nearly vibrating with anger, while Dean stood motionless at his side. John glanced back down at his wedding ring, twirling it gently around his finger, then looked back up at his boys.
"We've got work to do."
Sam let out a laugh, shaking his head.
"Oh my—you're kidding me, right? Work? We have work to—You're damn right we do. On Dean. We need to bandage him up from that little field trip you sent him on. Did you have any clue what was out there, Dad? Did you expect him to come back looking like this?"
"Sam."
Sam glanced back at Dean, shaking his head again.
"This is bullshit, Dean, and you know it."
"Just take it easy."
Sam blew out his breath, and Dean reached over, laying his hand on Sam's shoulder, wincing when the move tweaked his ribs. John nodded at Dean.
"How bad is it, son?"
Dean shook his head.
"I'm fine, sir."
"'Sir'? Christ Almighty, Dean."
Sam sighed, pushing his hands through his hair. He shook his head as he turned to face his brother. Dean closed his eyes, then finally met Sam's hard glare. Sam smiled, then turned to their father.
"Well we both know he's not going to do it, so let me step up to the plate. Get out."
John sighed, and Sam felt the rage bubble up inside. John, again, was acting like Sam was still a child. But what else was new? Sam let a breath out through his teeth.
"I know we haven't seen each other for a while, but I'm sure you didn't lose your hearing in that short amount of time. Get the hell out."
"Last I checked, this wasn't your place. And, last I checked, I was still your father, so you watch your tone."
Sam let out a harsh laugh.
"Now you decide to be a dad?! Too little, too late, John."
Dean was certain that someone would be bleeding in, oh… about thirty seconds. When John stood to his feet, standing just two inches shorter than Sam, Dean stepped between them, ignoring the blast of pain that shot through his ribs as he laid a hand on both their chests.
"Easy. Take it down a notch."
Dean's voice was even, directed more at Sam than John. Sam blew out his breath, wrenching away from Dean's touch, and Dean shut his eyes as pain radiated through his body. Dean turned to face his father, letting a breath out through his teeth.
"What are you doing here, Dad?"
John sighed, giving Dean's battered face a once-over.
"Something happened last night."
John glanced over at Sam before turning his attention back to Dean.
"Do you remember the place in Blue Earth?"
Dean narrowed his eyes.
"Blue Earth? Minnesota? Wait, Pastor Jim's place?"
John nodded. Sam stepped closer.
"What happened?"
John sighed.
"It burned to the ground last night."
Dean's eyes went wide, and Sam stepped right up behind him.
"Is … Did Jim …"
Sam let his sentence trail off, too afraid to finish it. John smiled softly.
"He's okay. Little smoke inhalation, but he got out in time."
Sam and Dean breathed sighs of relief, then Dean faced his father again.
"What happened?"
John's smile held no warmth this time.
"They're saying it's an electrical fire. Faulty wiring."
A chill rolled down Dean's back, and he glanced over at Sam, seeing the look he was sure he himself was wearing. Dean swallowed.
"Dad, what are … What are you saying?"
John sighed.
"I don't think the fire was an accident."
Sam shook his head.
"So, what, some kids decided to get their jollies by lighting a church on fire?"
John shook his head.
"I also don't think it was kids."
Sam blew out his breath again, stepping closer to his father.
"Enough with this cryptic bullshit, all right?"
Dean stepped in front of Sam, putting his back to him as he faced their father. John blinked, then held out his hands.
"What do you want to know, Sam?"
"The truth, for once in my life. What the hell is going on?"
John sighed again, sinking back onto the couch. Dean stayed where he was, in front of Sam, blocking his path. Sam swallowed, staring at their dad, and finally, John spoke.
"When I joined the Marines, I didn't do it alone. There were four of us who dropped out of high school and enlisted. Jim was one, and he became a Chaplain. The others of us, one became a medic, one a grunt like me. They shipped us out together, and …"
John let out a sigh.
"You boys don't understand. You can't, unless you live it. War does things to you. It changes you, whether you want it to or not. Sometimes, you can work through it, and sometimes, it grabs hold of you and won't let go. Nick …"
John shook his head.
"Nick changed. The minute they laid the rifle in his hands, I think. Hell, we grew up together, and the man I served beside was nothing like the kid I used to play ball with."
John looked down at his hands, twirling his ring around again.
"Everyone gets a nickname, whether you want to or not. Jim was 'Preach,' 'Rev,' 'Padre.' I was 'Gunny,' as much for my position as for the Winchester rifle. They called Nick 'Lucifer.' They noticed he excelled in hand-to-hand, so they took special interest in him, taught him things, and he … He was lethal."
John shook his head.
"Jim saw him slipping, tried to pull him back. But it wasn't any use. He was gone. The Nick we knew, our friend… He was gone."
John closed his eyes, then opened them.
"Nick went AWOL. No one knew where he went, none of us could find him. We searched, tore up the Vietnam riverside. And then, there … "
John shook his head, swallowing hard.
"We kept finding things in the river."
"Things? What kind of things?"
John swallowed again, bringing his eyes to Dean's.
"Body parts."
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, and John let out a ragged breath.
"We finally stumbled on this warehouse, and there he was. He'd been torturing these soldiers."
John shook his head.
"Even if they were considered our 'enemies,' those guys didn't deserve what Nick had done to them. It was an automatic court martial. He was dishonorably discharged, and sentenced to twenty years in Guantanamo. And he blamed us."
John shook his head again, pushing his hands over his face.
"He wouldn't listen to us. Wouldn't keep his damn mouth shut. He just kept on, digging himself into a deeper hole, and nothing we could do could help him. We had to go under an investigation, for the higher-ups to cover their asses if nothing else, and we were all cleared. But Nick still blamed us."
John let out a ragged breath.
"He promised us all that we'd pay. Two months later, we were discharged. We got to go home, and two months after that, I met your mother."
Sam shook his head.
"Wait a minute. So you think an old Marine buddy of yours lit Jim's church on fire?"
John met Sam's eyes, and Sam went on.
"Thirty years later, the guy's following through on his threat?"
"No, I think he followed through twenty years ago."
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, and Sam shook his head.
"I need some water."
He stood up, going to the kitchen, as much for the moment alone as for the water. Dean stared at the floor until a thought crossed his mind.
"Dad?"
John looked up.
"You said there was four of you. This Nick guy, Jim, you. Who was the other one?"
John smiled.
"They called him 'Angel.' He was extremely intelligent, on his way to be a doctor before we talked him into enlisting. He said he would still do it, once he got out, so Jim and I called him 'Doc.'. Losing Nick the way we did was hardest on him. He took it personally."
"So he was a medic?"
"Best damn one in the Corps."
John sighed.
"The second year we were there, Jim and I both got what they referred to as a 'mild case' of malaria. Mild my ass. I was out of my mind with fever, Jim the same. Doc never got it. He took care of us, because none of the other medics were brave enough to come close. And I swear, every time I saw him, there was this … I don't know, this white light around him. I told him I thought he really was an angel, and he just laughed."
John was smiling, and Dean couldn't help but smile, too.
"What happened to him?"
The smile slid from John's face. He brought his eyes to Dean's, then cleared his throat. Sam stepped back in the room, handing Dean a cup of water, setting a cup in front of their father.
"So what's the issue here? Do we need to get Jim?"
John sighed.
"No, Jim's determined to ride this one out. 'God's watching out for me, Johnny. He did back then, and He's doing it now.' That's what Jim told me when I talked to him."
"So what's the problem, then?"
John looked to Sam, then cleared his throat.
"I think it would do us some good to head out to Bobby's, regroup some, then maybe go up and see Jim."
Dean's mouth fell open, and Sam let out a laugh.
"You can't be … You're serious."
John nodded to Sam.
"I know you boys have a good setup here, but there's—there's more things you need to know."
Sam shook his head, his entire body trembling as he stood to his feet.
"No, there's … There's no way in hell."
"Sam."
"No. I'm in school, Dad. Law school. This is very important to me, and I can't just pack up and go. I don't want to go anywhere."
"I get that, Sammy. But we let you go for four years. It's time to—"
"Do not finish that sentence."
Dean got to his feet, hobbling after his brother, letting out a hiss when his ribs protested the movements.
"Sammy, come on."
"Don't you—No. Dean. He told me to go, and he left you. Now, he tells us a sob story and expects us to just drop everything and follow after him like—like, what? Lambs to the slaughter? I can't, Dean. I can't."
Dean laid his hands on his brother's shoulders.
"Sammy, hey. Calm down. I get it. I know, okay?"
Sam was trembling, shaking his head at Dean.
"Don't tell me that he's our dad. Don't tell me we have to go just because he's saying we need to go."
"I'm not. I'm not saying that, man. It's okay, Sam. Calm down."
"Dean—"
"We're not going anywhere, Sammy."
John stood to his feet.
"Now, wait just a minute."
"No, you wait a minute."
Dean turned to John, closing his eyes against the wave of dizziness that rolled through him. He shook his head, then met John's eyes.
"You're right. We do have lives here. I have a job and a place. Sammy's got a place and school and a girl. We can't just go, Dad. We've finally put down some roots. Shallow as they may be, they still count. And you can't just waltz in here and expect us to pull them up and follow you."
"Dean—"
"We're not. I'm sorry, Dad, but… Sam's right. You can't just expect us to run after you after what you did. You told him that if he was leaving, he shouldn't come back. You cut him out of our family for going to school, Dad. For trying to make a better life for himself. And then, you—you just left me. So, no. You can't just expect us to drop everything and run."
Shock glued Sam to the floor where he was standing. John was staring at Dean like he'd never seen him before. Dean swallowed back the nausea that was tickling the edges of his mind, squaring his jaw as he met his father's eyes.
"You need to go."
"Dean."
Dean shook his head, walking past Sam to the door. He turned the knob, holding the door open.
"There's a couple motels down the street. If you're still around, maybe we can talk tomorrow."
Dean stared at the ground as he held the door open. Sam just blinked, and finally, John nodded his head. He walked out the door without a look behind him, and as soon as his boots hit the first step, Dean shut the door. Sam let out a breath as his brother deflated against the door. He took a step forward, and Dean held up a shaky hand. Sam ignored him, stepping behind Dean and helping him into his bedroom, into the bathroom. He sat Dean on the closed toilet seat and, after seeing the way his brother's entire body was shaking, began removing the layers.
"I can't believe he just left."
Sam smiled as he hung their dad's old jacket on the back of the bathroom door. He went to work unbuttoning the sleeves of the flannel shirt Dean wore.
"I know. I expected him to put up more of a fight. I think he was just so shocked at the way you stood up to him."
"Sam, don't."
Sam sighed as he got the flannel off his brother's shoulders, hanging it up beside the jacket. He sighed as he stared at the black t-shirt Dean wore.
"You're going to have to help me with this one, Dean. And it—it's going to suck."
Dean looked down, a look of surprise crossing his face. But he nodded, gritting his teeth as they both worked to get the shirt off. It was a process, and they went painstakingly slow, but when Sam finally dropped the shirt beside the bathtub, Dean was bent over, clutching his ribs as he did his best to breathe, sweat pouring down his back.
"Shit."
Dean looked up at Sam, saw the worry in Sam's eyes. Sam tried to school his expression into something resembling nonchalance, but the angry black and purple bruises that were even now still spreading over his brother's skin really bothered him.
"Dean—"
"It doesn't even hurt."
Dean tried to smile, but another wave of pain shot through his chest. Sam sighed, kneeling down to lay gentle fingers to a particularly nasty-looking bruise.
"That's a piece of a rib, Dean."
"Can't even feel it."
"You're so full of shit."
Sam stood up, pushing his hands through his hair.
"We ought to fill this tub up with vinegar and just let you soak."
"Like hell."
"It worked when you were thirteen."
"Yeah, and I still can't eat pickles. I'll live without the vinegar dousing, thank you."
Sam shook his head, opening a drawer and finding it full of Ace bandages.
"Dean?"
"Yeah."
"You do this often?"
Dean lifted his head, seeing his brother bent over an open drawer.
"Nah. That's my collection. Got the very first one I ever needed buried in the back there."
Sam shook his head.
"You're the weirdest guy I've ever met."
"Damnedest thing, I was just about to say the same about you."
Dean laughed when Sam flipped him off, clutching his ribs as his laughter faded into a groan. Sam sighed, grabbing a couple of the bandages and laying them on the counter.
"Try and relax."
"Oh, sure. Let me just go ahead and do that."
"Shut up, Dean."
The next day was overcast and gloomy, fitting for the Winchester brothers when they realized that their father was gone. Dean tried not to let it get to him, but the guilt from their talk weighed on him. He'd never spoken to his father the way he had during that last talk. Sam had always been the one to rebel, to speak to John without a care as to how it may sound. Dean was always his Dad's "little man," the soldier trying to match up to his father's ideal, no matter how unrealistic and out of reach that may have been. He called, leaving messages on John's cell phone that went unanswered.
"Would you go home already?"
Melinda looked up from her desk, smiling when she saw Gabe standing in her doorway.
"Hello to you too, Boss."
"Don't call me that. I hate that."
Melinda let out a quiet laugh as Gabe walked in, dragging his feet, and collapsed into one of the chairs in front of her desk.
"Can I help you with something, Oh Great One?"
Gabe rolled his eyes.
"Maybe. Why are you still here?"
"Because, the art department wanted an affirmative for the cover lettering on Ava Wilson's book last week. I've been putting it off, and just remembered about it when I got a snipe-y letter from Dave."
"Snipe-y?"
"It's a word."
"Do you want me to fire Dave?"
Melinda let out a laugh.
"Our best art guy? No. I'd rather you didn't. It would be easier for me to just go ahead and choose, and I'm thinking this would look good."
She turned around the piece of paper she was looking at, giving Gabe a look at the letters.
"Very nice. Will Fabio be on the cover?"
"Stop it. This is a classy book."
"Boring."
Melinda laughed as she leaned across the desk to swat Gabriel on the arm.
"Stop."
"Why don't you stop? We could go to that new coffee place? The one on Seventh?"
"It's ten-thirty, Gabe."
"They stay open late."
Melinda rolled her eyes.
"The last thing I need at ten-thirty at night is coffee."
"Like I'd go for the coffee. They have this cheesecake that is to die for."
Melinda shook her head.
"Why don't you call Chuck to go with you?"
"Because he's in a mood, and when he's in a mood, all he's good for is writing."
Melinda's eyes lit up.
"Oh well, why didn't you say so?"
She flipped the lamp off on her desk, reaching into a drawer and pulling out her purse. Gabe rolled his eyes, but held out his arm for her, and when she rounded the corner of her desk, she took it. An hour later, they were leaving the coffee shop, both full of cheesecake.
"I hate you."
"Right now, I hate me, too."
Melinda giggled, but it trailed off into a groan. She and Gabe slowly walked the two blocks to their apartment building, with Melinda leaning into him nearly the whole way. They rode up the elevator silently, and Gabe insisted on getting off with her on the sixteenth floor, instead of letting her go and riding up to the twentieth floor for his place.
"You want to come in, make sure the Boogeyman isn't here?"
"Ha, ha. You make fun, but when the Boogeyman really is here and you're all alone, you'll wish I had been this overprotective."
Melinda smiled, sliding her key into the lock and opening the door.
"I don't know what I'd do without you, Gabe."
He smiled, leaning over to tap her nose.
"You'll never have to find out. Sweet dreams, Mel."
"Same to you, boss."
Gabe groaned, and Melinda laughed as she shut the door behind her, automatically flipping the lock. She undressed, slipping into an old Metallica t-shirt of Dean's and a pair of sweatpants, putting her hair in a messy bun on top of her head. She scrubbed her face clean of make-up, taking out her contacts and putting her glasses on when she realized how tired her eyes were. She bundled herself in the big fluffy robe her mom had bought her and walked into the kitchen, stopping in her tracks when she heard the knock at the door.
Her heart fell into her stomach as she felt her breathing speed up. She stared at the door, trying to calculate how fast she could get to and down the fire escape when she heard the deep, tired voice on the other side of her door.
"Mel. Baby, it's me. I'm sorry it's so late. Please don't be scared."
She hurried to the door, flipping the locks and pulling it open.
"Dean? What are you—"
He stepped into the apartment, shutting the door behind him, taking her in his arms. She gasped, then wrapped her arms around him. She missed the grimace that crossed his face at what the moves cost his banged-up ribs, but he wouldn't let her go.
"Dean."
He just held on, breathing in deeply the smell of her shampoo and the moisturizer she'd slathered on her face.
"Honey, you're scaring me."
He let out a breath that was hitched with pain.
"Dean? Are you okay?"
He shook his head, letting out another shaky breath as he stepped back, keeping his hands on her.
"Honey, what … Oh my God."
She stepped closer, lifting a hand, barely letting her fingertips touch his bruised skin. She cupped his face between her hands as her worried eyes studied his face.
"What the hell happened to you?"
Dean sighed.
"It's a long story."
"Dean."
"I'm okay, Mel."
He reached out, cupping her cheek in his hand. Her eyes drifted closed, then blinked open again.
"What's going on with you, Winchester?"
Dean sighed, wincing as he went to take his jacket off. Melinda stepped up, helping him take it off, hanging it on the hook near the front door. Dean double-checked that the door was locked, then groaned as he motioned towards her living room. She followed him in there, watching as he groaned again as he sat down. She sat beside him, curling her legs up underneath her, draping the robe over her toes. Dean let out a sigh, then sat up.
"I, uh … Mel, I lied to you."
She blinked twice, and Dean slowly ran his hands back and forth over each other.
"This summer, Sammy and I … We found Dad."
"You told me you didn't find him."
"I know. And I'm sorry."
Melinda shook her head, and Dean spoke again.
"Last night… Dad was in my apartment. He said all this stuff and just expected Sam and me to drop everything and go, and we—we couldn't. We have lives, you know? We're not kids anymore."
Dean shook his head as he looked down at his hands.
"I've never spoken to him the way I did last night. Sam was proud of me for standing up for the first time, but I … And then he was gone."
Dean shrugged his shoulders.
"I guess I should be used to the bastard taking off by now. He's been doing it since I was four. No, before then, if we're being honest."
Dean pushed his hand through his hair, wincing as it pulled at his ribs. He shook his head, refusing to meet her eyes, and Melinda sighed.
"You know how much I hate being lied to."
"I know. We just … We thought it would be better for you and Jess if we didn't tell you. Since it didn't do a damn bit of good anyway. He just took off again."
Dean let out a breath, then looked into Melinda's eyes again.
"I never meant to hurt you. Never. I was trying to protect you."
"From what?"
"I don't even know."
Dean let out a quiet laugh.
"I don't know if I thought it was just easier if we didn't tell you, or if I was trying to protect you or myself or Sammy or what. I'm so fucked up, Mel. You just—"
"Shut up. Right now, don't even go there."
Dean looked up, into soft blue eyes.
"I hate that you lied to me. Hate it. But Dean … I'm just as fucked up as you are."
"You're kidding me. Mel, you're perfect."
She shook her head.
"I'm so not."
His eyes closed as she reached over, brushing her fingers through his hair.
"I get it. In some twisted way, I understand."
Dean shook his head, letting out a long sigh. He opened his eyes, looking into Melinda's. She had her head on his outstretched arm, still running her fingers just above his ear. They just looked at each other for a minute, until a small smile crossed Melinda's face.
"I'm pretty mad at you."
Her voice was no more than a murmur, and Dean smiled, speaking just as low.
"Really?"
She nodded.
"Mad enough that we could probably have really hot, dirty, angry sex."
Dean's eyebrows raised, and Melinda let out a laugh. Dean laid a hand against his chest.
"I don't know how good I'll be."
"That's never stopped us before."
Dean's eyes went wide at her statement, and she just laughed. She got to her feet, holding out her hands for him, and he took them, grunting as he stood up.
And later, when she was curled around him, hand resting gently on his battered chest, Dean let out a sigh, and whispered into her hair.
"I love you, Mel."
He never noticed the silent blue eyes that stared into the darkness.
Two weeks later, Sam walked into the bar to find it empty. Ash was leaning over the bar, watching a tiny television that he'd set up. Sam glanced around, finally seeing Dean in one of the booths, a laptop set up in front of him, notebooks spread around him. Sam narrowed his eyes as he stepped up, and Dean looked up to him, giving him a nod.
"Right. … See, that's where we're running into difficulty. We can't find a last name. … First name Nick, possibly Nicholas. … He would have dropped out of high school and joined the military. … Yes, we're almost positive Marine Corps. … Birthdate either 1950 or 1951. … Yes, any information will do. … Thank you."
Dean hung up the phone, running a hand over his face. Sam stood there, finally clearing his throat.
"Wanna tell me what the hell you're doing?"
"Oh, take off the Holier-Than-Thou cape, Sam. I'm following up on a lead."
"A lead? Dean, you're a bartender. Not a cop or a Fed."
"Listen—"
"No, you listen."
Dean set his pen aside, and Sam sighed as he slid into the booth.
"We've got to let this go."
"That's not going to happen. And if you'd stop fighting it so damn hard, you'd be able to see that."
"I do see it, Dean. I just don't want to."
Sam put his face in his hands, sighing as he pushed his hands through his hair. He stared at Dean, who was staring right back, and Dean's face finally broke into a smile.
"You need a haircut."
"Oh, shut up."
Sam reached for a notebook, flipping back to the first page.
"Seriously. You expect to be a lawyer with pretty, pretty princess hair like that?"
"I swear to God, Dean."
Dean just laughed, rubbing at the still sore spot just beneath his breastbone. Sam didn't say anything, and when Dean met his eyes again, Sam looked back to his notebook, absently beginning to chew on his thumbnail.
"Jess let you back in her bed yet?"
Sam shot him a bitchface over the top of the notebook and Dean smiled around a cough.
"As a matter of fact, yes. And the next time you want to confess your sins, save us all the trouble and just go to a priest. At least a priest wouldn't have a big mouth and blab to their sister."
Dean laughed, and Sam shook his head.
"I just don't get how you tell Mel that we've lied to her for months, and you get 'angry' sex, yet I get banished to the most uncomfortable couch in the history of couches."
"Because I was a good boy and laid everything out on the table myself, instead of letting my girlfriend find everything out secondhand from her sister. Also, not my fault you're a giant and fit on no piece of furniture."
Sam rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as he scribbled a note in his book. He yawned widely, shaking his head and blinking as he continued to read.
The ringing of the phone startled Dean awake, and he sat up, realizing he'd spent the night in the booth, bent over the table. And oh my GOD, was that a bad idea. Every single muscle in his body was protesting as he groaned, shaking his head as he reached for his phone.
"He—hello?"
Did he also swallow gravel last night? God, his whole body hurt.
"I'm sorry. What was that? … Oh. Yes, yes sir. … No, that's all right. … Oh, did you?"
Sam blinked his eyes open at the sound of his brother's sleep-rough voice. And his back locked up as he tried to sit up, making him hiss out a breath. Dean grabbed a notebook, scribbling into it as he continued to talk, and Sam did his best to get his back to loosen up. Ash whistled as he walked up to the booth.
"Never a good idea to sleep in the booth."
"This coming from the guy who sleeps on the damn pool table."
Ash shook his head.
"The table is pleasant. This is punishment."
"Shut up, Ash."
Ash snorted as he walked away, walking behind the bar. He glanced over at Dean's snap of his fingers and Ash sighed.
"Coffee, bossman. I'm going to make coffee."
Dean shot him a thumbs-up, then went back to writing. Sam somehow made it to his feet, letting out a groan that seemed to come up from his toes. He bent over, gasping at how sore he felt. Dean hung up the phone, cursing under his breath as he tried to stretch out his arms.
"Fuck me, this was a bad idea."
"Whose idea was it? Goddamn."
Dean shook his head, sliding out of the booth. Sam shook his head, pushing a hand through his hair as he yawned.
"Who was that? And what the hell time is it?"
"You have a watch, you idiot."
Sam looked down at his wrist and groaned.
"Who calls at six-o-fucking-clock?"
"Someone from the Central time zone."
Sam groaned again as he twisted, and Dean grimaced when he heard the pops of his brother's spine. Sam shook his head.
"Who was it?"
Sam let out a breath at Dean's blank stare.
"On the phone, dumbass."
Dean shook his head.
"Coffee. I need coffee to function."
"Order up."
Dean and Sam looked over to Ash, who held two cups out. The Winchesters each gratefully took a cup, letting out identical moans of pleasure at the hot, bitter liquid.
"Nectar of the gods, I swear."
Dean downed his cup in a ridiculously short amount of time, looking up to see Ash with a second cup. Dean shook his head as he exchanged his empty for the full one.
"You deserve a raise."
"You damn right."
Dean took a deep swallow, then let out a sigh. He picked up his notebook, squinting as he began to read what he'd just written down. Sam stood beside the table, refusing to get back into the booth.
"So who was that calling?"
Dean let out a sigh.
"Sergeant Doherty, with the Normal Police Department."
"The Normal Police Department? What the hell is that?"
Dean sighed again.
"From Normal, Illinois."
"There's a town called Normal in Illinois?"
"There's a town called Chunky in Mississippi, so why the hell not?"
Sam narrowed his eyes and shook his head.
"Why are you calling anyone in Normal, Illinois?"
"Because… That's where Dad grew up."
Sam stopped at that, pulling a barstool up behind him and sitting down. Dean nodded, going on the unmentioned urge from Sam for him to keep talking.
"I decided I'd call, see if anything turned up on this Nick character Dad mentioned. Apparently, Nicholas Stark was Normal's golden boy."
"Stark?"
"Just like Tony."
Sam rolled his eyes.
"Leave the comics behind and stay in the now, Dean."
Dean grumbled for a second, then tapped on his notebook.
"Sarge is faxing over some stuff for us."
"Ask, and ye shall receive."
Sam and Dean glanced over to see Ash carrying papers towards them. He handed them to Dean, who nodded towards Sam.
"Why don't you break out your laptop, College Boy? See if you can find anything?"
Sam rolled his eyes, but nodded as he stood up from the stool, groaning as he slowly made his way to his backpack, spreading his laptop out on a nearby table. An hour later, Sam leaned back in his chair.
"Seriously, the people in this town almost worshipped the kid. Top of his class in elementary school, best baseball player the town had seen ever. Constantly doing good deeds, church every Sunday."
"There's got to be a 'but' in there somewhere, Sammy. Angelic children don't just turn into cold-blooded murderers."
"And that's where Nick's home life comes in."
Sam sat up in his chair, tapping on his laptop.
"Apparently, Nick had an older brother, Michael. Mike got drafted right after Nick—and Dad, I guess—started their junior year. He was killed in action, and soon after, Nick enlisted."
Dean sat back in his chair.
"So maybe Nick went off the deep end when he lost his brother? Maybe what he did was some twisted sense of revenge?"
"Honestly, I think he may have gone insane."
Sam tapped on his computer some more.
"It seems like Michael was all he had. Their mom died when they were little, father seems to be distant, absentee at best."
Dean swallowed. This story was hitting just a little too close to home. Sam went on, oblivious to Dean's reaction.
"No mention of Nick once the boys come home. They have a picture of Dad and Jim and some other guy, but the trail goes cold there. Makes sense that they'd take off once they got back. Dad to Lawrence to meet Mom. Jim to Seminary."
Sam shook his head.
"The article cuts off before I can read about the other guy."
Dean let out a sigh.
"I guess I'll call Dad. Leave him another message."
Sam walked into his apartment, yawning widely as he shut the door behind him, slipping his shoes off. He walked to the kitchen, and Jess turned from the refrigerator, walking over and wrapping her arms around his neck.
"Where were you? You didn't come home last night."
Sam smiled as he looped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. He took in a deep breath of her pineapple shampoo, then sighed.
"I went to see Dean, and we got caught up. We slept in a booth in the back of the bar."
"Oh, god, Sam."
He nodded, laughing quietly.
"Yeah. My whole damn body hurts."
Jess pulled back from him, giving him a smile.
"I might can help you with that."
She took his hand, gently tugging him back to the bedroom, helping him undress, making him lay facedown on the bed.
"Uh, honey? This is kind of weird."
"Trust me, Sam."
"You know I do."
Sam smiled when he felt Jess' weight settle on his lower back, then let out a groan as her hands began kneading his shoulders.
"Oh, Christ Almighty. Oh, Jess."
She let out a laugh, making him groan again as she hit a knot.
"Try and relax, baby. Let me do this for you."
"What's in it for you?"
"Nothing. You're actually helping me study. I have to learn all of the muscles, from the rotator cuff up here…"
She let her hands drift down from his shoulder as she spoke.
"All the way to the gluteus maximus."
Sam let out a groan, and Jess smiled as she went back to kneading.
Dean stretched as he climbed out of bed, beyond grateful that he'd found somewhere other than a bar booth to sleep. He let out a yawn, scratching at his chest as he opened his bedroom door.
"Shit!"
Dean stumbled backwards, catching himself on the doorjamb, standing up straight and walking into the living room.
"Don't do that!"
John looked up from his spot on the couch, letting out a sigh. Dean let out a breath, then walked forward.
"What are you doing here?"
"Trying to save your life."
Dean's eyebrows raised.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
John sighed again.
"Charles Doherty was killed last night. Car bomb."
"Who the hell is Charles Doherty?"
"The Sergeant for the Normal Police Department."
Dean's eyes went wide as John stood to his feet.
"I didn't tell you boys that story for you to go snooping around."
"What did you expect us to do, Dad? Just take your word for it? There were so many holes in your story."
"Did you ever think that I left those holes there for a reason? I've spent your whole lives trying to keep you boys safe. Now. Go pack your stuff. We've got to go."
"Dad."
John shook his head.
"This is the only way, Dean."
"This is why we've kept moving? This is why you dragged me and Sammy around creation? Because your old buddy wants to kill us?"
"Dean, we don't have time for this."
"Make time!
Dean stood his ground, and when John realized he wasn't going to back down, he sighed.
"Son… He told us all that he'd make us pay. He's made his way to Doc and Jim, and I know I'm next. Which means you and your brother are in danger. Now Dean, please. Talk Sammy into going. He listens to you."
"I can't just talk Sam into this. He's in school, Dad. Law school. Jess is here. He's happy. I can't ask him to give that up."
"So you'll stand back and watch as your brother dies?"
"Whoa!"
Dean shook his head.
"Do not go there."
"That's what will happen if we don't go."
"Why can't we stay? Why can't we stand up and fight? Isn't that what you've drilled into our heads for the past twenty-three years? Why do we have to be cowards and run away?"
John let out a shaky breath.
"I can't take the chance. Not like … Not with you boys."
John shook his head, and Dean pushed his hands through his hair.
"Sammy won't leave. I know it. It's a worthless fight, Dad."
"It's worth a try, Dean."
Dean shook his head.
"This is too much, Dad. You're—you're asking too much here."
"Dean, I—"
"No. I don't … I don't care. But Dad, you … You can't just come and drop a bombshell like that on us and then leave again and expect everything to just be fine. We're not ten and six anymore, believing every word that comes out of your mouth like it's the Gospel."
John closed his eyes as Dean's phone started to ring. Dean sighed, shaking his head as he walked over, flipping his phone open.
"Hello?"
"Hey, you."
Dean couldn't help the smile that crossed his face.
"Hey, you."
"Look, I don't have much time, but I wanted to thank you."
"Me? What did I do?"
Melinda's soft laugh echoed in his ear.
"Like you don't know."
Dean shook his head, and he could almost see her rolling her eyes at him.
"The roses. Red though they may be, I absolutely love them. Abby's so jealous. Even Gabe's jealous, I think."
"Roses?"
Melinda let out an exasperated breath then.
"The card says 'To my angel.' Not signed, so unless I've got a secret admirer…"
"Mel—"
"Shoot. I've got to go. Gabe's such a slavedriver. I'll talk to you later."
As the line went dead, Dean pulled it away to look down at it. John ran a hand along his beard, then pointed towards the phone.
"Friend of yours?"
Dean lifted his eyes to his father's and John straightened.
"Son, what is it?"
Dean swallowed.
"The other guy."
"What guy?"
Dean shook his head.
"You, Pastor Jim, Nick, and the other guy."
"Doc?"
"No, he … The other soldiers. What did they call him?"
"What, Angel?"
Dean's blood felt like ice sliding through his veins.
"There's no way."
"What?"
"There's just no … It's impossible."
"Dean, what the hell are you talking about?"
Dean covered his mouth with a hand, shaking his head as he turned to face his father.
"Did you keep in touch with the other guy? Doc or Angel or whoever?"
John nodded, absently twisting his ring around his finger again.
"Where is he?"
John sighed.
"He, uh … He ended up in San Francisco. Married a nice girl. Your mom and I actually went to the wedding. Jim and I were his groomsmen. Had a couple kids."
"Dad, come on. This is important."
"What do you want me to tell you, Dean?"
"The guy. Where is he now?"
John sighed, and it seemed to weigh him down.
"He's dead."
"How?"
"What?"
"How did he die?"
John closed his eyes, then met Dean's stare. When he realized that Dean wasn't messing around, John straightened his shoulders.
"Do you want to company line or do you want to know what I think?"
"Both."
John nodded.
"Home invasion. Robbery gone wrong."
"And your opinion?"
"What I know, you mean? Nick exacted his revenge."
Dean shook his head, swallowing hard.
"Details, Dad. I need details."
"Damn it, Dean. Bastards broke into his house and shot him. Killed his kids and his wife right in front of him before they killed him, too."
"Fuck."
Dean collapsed onto the couch, holding his head in his hands. John stepped closer to him.
"Son, what?"
Dean swallowed, breathing hard.
"They forgot one."
"What?"
"Your friend. You said they killed his kids, but they didn't. Not all of them."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Dean lifted his gaze to John's.
"Your friend. He had two sons and a daughter. The sons were killed. Murdered. But the daughter hid in her closet, and they didn't get her."
John's eyes went wide.
"How do you know that?"
"Because she's my girlfriend, Dad. Jess' sister. Jess' adopted sister."
John sank into the chair across from Dean. He shook his head.
"No. No, there … She disappeared. No one knew where she was."
"Well, she got flowers at work today. And they were addressed to an 'Angel.'"
"Oh, God."
John was shaking now, as he covered his mouth with his hands.
"No, we worked so hard to protect her."
"Goddamn it, Dad. You knew? You knew about her, and you just—"
"Jim and I watched out for her, and when she was adopted, we wiped the files of her. It was like she never existed."
"Dad!"
"I didn't know who adopted her, Dean! I didn't know. When she was out of the system, we made sure she was completely out."
Dean shook his head.
"Why didn't you get her, Dad? How could you just leave her there?"
"By the time I got to California, she was in the system. I couldn't just take her. Jim took a job at a church in San Fran and he watched over her. I think he set her up with the family, and when they wanted to adopt her, Jim called me. He had a friend in the police department that helped make it a closed adoption and sealed the files. Burned the goddamn files."
Dean rubbed his hand over his eyes.
"We've got to go. We have to go to San Francisco and get her."
"Dean—"
"I'm not leaving her alone with that psycho bastard out there!"
"Calm down!"
Dean was shaking, and John laid both hands on his shoulders.
"We'll go. But get your brother. We need him in on this, son."
"What about Jess? Once we tell him all of this, he's not going to just leave her behind."
"I know. Bobby's on his way. He'll watch Jess for a while."
Dean shook his head.
"This is bad, Dad. This is a bad idea, bad plan, just …"
"We can discuss it on the road."
Dean's hand shakes as he lifts it to knock on Sam's door. When he doesn't get an answer, he turns the knob. When the door opens, his stomach sinks.
"Sa—Sammy?"
No answer. Dean steps into the destroyed room, letting out a groan when a hard punch lands in his stomach. He comes up swinging, and the pained grunts from the masked man in front of him just seem to egg him on. Suddenly, a pair of arms wraps around him from behind, and Dean tries to fight, until the man in front of him gets his second wind. Dean feels the punches and kicks in his abdomen, feels still-healing ribs snapping as he goes to his knees. His arms are released, and Dean catches himself on them, coughing up blood onto the floor. He looks over, gasping through the coughs.
"Sammy. Sam!"
But Sam doesn't move. Dean groans as another kick lands in his stomach, and he collapses on the floor. He hears something, followed by a loud groan from his father.
Then everything goes black.
Sam blinks as he comes to. His head feels like it's underwater, but he manages to open his eyes. Well, an eye. The other is throbbing and quickly swelling shut. He glances around, eyes widening when he sees his brother.
"Dean. Dean?"
Sam sits up, groaning as his head throbs, then crawls over to his brother. He presses his fingers to Dean's neck, thanking a God he's still not sure exists when he feels the faint flutter of Dean's heartbeat. He glances towards the kitchen, crawling there when he sees the puddle of bright red blood under his father's leg. John groans and Sam nearly weeps.
"Dad!"
"Sammy. Where's your … where's your brother?"
"In here. We've got to get to a hospital."
John nods, managing to sit up. Sam helps him to his feet, and John grits his teeth as Sam helps him limp out to the Impala. Sam finds Dean conscious, letting out a quiet laugh as he slips his arm around his brother. Dean groans, and Sam winces.
"How bad is it, Dean?"
Dean lets out a pained laugh.
"You should see the other guy."
Sam laughs, and Dean leans away from him to spit, and Sam's heart drops when he sees the bright red blood.
"Come on, Dean. You gotta help me."
Dean nods, and they slowly make their way up, Dean stumbling, and Sam finally helps him into the backseat of the Impala. Sam climbs in the driver's side, gunning the engine. Dean lets out a groan, and Sam glances into the rearview, then at his father.
"Anyone have any clue what the fuck just happened?"
John shakes his head, letting out a groan. Sam looks to him, then back to the road.
"Dad, you know something."
"We need to get to the hospital, Sam."
"Oh my god. What the hell is this, Dad?!"
"Sammy…"
Sam glances in the rearview again, as Dean clutches his stomach and groans. Sam shakes his head, taking a left onto a dark road.
"Hang on, Dean."
"Dad?"
John turns, groaning, and looks at Dean.
"I'm all right, son. Just hang on, okay?"
Dean nods, as John sits back, closing his eyes. Sam looks over to John, who sighs.
"This is my fault. It's all my fault."
"Dad, don't—"
Sam sentence is cut off by the screech of tires, the shattering of glass, the crunch of metal. Smoke pours from the engine of the Impala. The horn blares from where Sam's head is pressed against it. John's arm hangs out of the passenger's side, where the window once was. And in the backseat, the puddle of blood grows as the gash on Dean's head continues to drip.