-1I hope that everyone has been having a wonderful holiday!!! I took a few days off of writing as you can tell, to many people coming in and out of my house for me to find my concentration LOL. Anyway thank you so much for your last reviews I am glad this story seems to be going over so well, and I hope that you enjoy this next chapter just the same, I think you will be happy with the outcome, and I apologize for dashing your hopes in chapter 9.

Bar Fights & Bullets

Chapter 10

The ride home was deafeningly silent as the three men sat each one wrapped in there own thoughts not so much as a sound breaking through the still air. The pain and the heartbreak evident in each face, each set of eyes, each trembling chin as they drove toward the apartment.

Dean looked into the rearview mirror from where he sat in the passengers seat and his frown deepened his own pain, his own anger falling deeper into the pit of his stomach as he took note of the emotions written across his baby brothers face. Sam had aged no less then 10 years in the past few months, there were wrinkles permanently pressed into his forehead, and a constant tone of worry in his voice. Dean knew that this was his doing that he had taken his once fun loving and semi-spontaneous bother and turned him into a care giver, a father figure… The role that before now Dean had always played.

Sam could feel the look of concern boring into his soul through the rearview mirror and glanced up only momentarily before shifting his entire body in the seat and forcing himself to look out the back window, watching the cars go by one after another. He mindlessly counted them trying to avoid and ignore the thoughts that were now scolding his brain.

This was his fault, everything about this whole situation was his doing, if he had just stuck to his ground that night at the pool hall and hadn't hustled those two bastards, or if he hadn't run his mouth, or if he hadn't let Dean take that second bullet, the one with his name on it…. There were a million and one ifs dancing inside of him, all centered around the same basic concept…. That this was his fault…. Everything was his own doing in one way or another…

The youngest Winchester could feel the walls he had built so high inside himself crumbling and was more then a little thankful when the van pulled into the apartments, he needed out, he needed away, he couldn't do this, he couldn't look at his brother another second, couldn't look at the pain he had caused him…..

And his father, Sam didn't think he would ever be able to look at him again, he knew to well about the disappointment that his father held for him, he knew that he was to blame, and there was no way he was ever going to live this one down….

Hopping out of the back of the van Sam made the mistake of briefly making eye contact with his brother, only for a second there eyes met and locked, it was like each man was seeing his own reflection, identical pain, identical anger, and identical sadness tearing into them.

Sam forced his eyes away and took quick heavy strides into the apartment leaving John to help Dean out of the car and into his chair.

John nodded to himself after seeing the glance shared between the two boys, his heart was shattered and resting in the souls of his feet, there was so much pain where happiness used to be found. Even though their lives were far from normal and far from perfect there was a time when they were happy. Even with the demons they fought and the hell they faced on a daily basis, they were happy, they would smile and joke, they were a real and loving family….

But, now as he looked at his son's before him, as he saw how divided the Winchesters had fallen the pain was nearly unbearable and John knew something had to be done, there had to be a way to mend his family and the souls of his sons….

Getting Dean from the car John had begun pushing him toward the house when Sam re-emerged through the front door without a word and stepped past them.

"Sam…." Dean cleared his throat shifting his head a little as his brother's form moved past him, never once turning around to face him. "SAM!" He tried again.

"Let him go…" John whispered. "He needs to deal with this…."

Dean locked his jaw and watched as Sam's back grew further and further into the distance down the street, he hated this, he hated it so much it left a bitter and gaggingly painful taste in the back of his throat. He was ruining his baby brother, he was destroying him from the inside out without even trying to do so.

- Sam heard his name being called as he walked past his father and brother, he heard the pleading tone it carried, but he needed to gat away, he needed to leave, to run, to hide and to deal…. All things that he couldn't do in the presence of his family.

He didn't know where he was going, he didn't know anything at this moment except that anywhere but here was a good place to start. His muscles tensed a little as he heard his brother call his name again this time louder and with more anger then before, but he couldn't turn around, he couldn't face him.

His strides became bigger and faster the closer to the edge of the parking lot he became as he found more and more air able to enter into his lungs, with each step he took, with each inch he put behind him, and between Dean and him he found himself more and more at ease.

The further away he was from him, from them, the less harm he could cause……

As he rounded the corner of he street and knew he was no longer in his brother or his fathers line of vision, as he realized that finally… He was alone the walls that had began to crumble back in the van were shattered in an instant and the flood gates to his emotions opened.

His world spun in a dizzying haze as his body leaned back heavily against the brick wall of a rundown liquor store, his knees threatening to give way as he bent himself in half feeling tears, masses of hot and fresh tears pouring like a Kentucky rainstorm from his eyes….

He did not wipe at them, he did not wish them away, he let them come, he let them devour him, he let himself go… And as much as it hurt it felt good, it felt good to feel so much pain, to know that he was still alive, to punish himself for the hurt he had caused.

Slowly he felt gravity pull him toward the ground and he allowed his tired and weak body to collapse until he was curled in a ball there against the cold stone brick wall on the street corner. He could hear strangled sobs and struggling breaths filling his ears and piercing his soul… it was nearly a minute before he realized they were his own….

- "You hungry?" John asked clearing his throat from the kitchen leaning over the small counter top, Dean had resumed his vigil in front of the television staring mindlessly at it every few seconds breaking eye contact to glance toward the door in hopes that his brother would return safe and sound both physically and mentally.

John waited for a response for thirty seconds before sighing and shaking his head, he had spent every moment since they arrived home in the kitchen, fixing this or that, washing the counters, scrubbing the floors, cleaning the stove, doing anything and everything to keep his mind off his son who was sulking only feet away from him.

Putting the dishtowel down now he cleared his throat and stepped around the counter before making his way into the front room and taking a seat on the sofa caddy corner to where Dean's chair was parked the volume on the tv a hushed whisper as he looked at him.

Dean felt his father's eyes staring in his direction and let them stare for a minute or two before finally growling low enough in his throat so that it went unheard and shifting his attention to his father. "What?"

"Talk to me." John pleaded more then demanded as he lowered his body deeper into the sofa's cushions and for a split second he found himself wishing the fabric would just open up and swallow him whole.

"Nothing to talk about." Dean stated blankly before turning back to the re-run of Sanford and Son playing before him.

"Oh no you don't." John scolded and reached over on to the small coffee table snatching up the remote and flipping the TV off.

"Hey!" Dean tried to sound overly annoyed, "I was watching that."

"No you weren't. you were pretending to so that you can pretend that whatever thoughts are in your head right now aren't really there, and you can pretend that everything is fine."

"What is it with you two and that word…." Dean's eyes were iced over with a sense of anger as he looked toward his father and his voice spat out almost venomously. "No one is pretending anything. Pretend has no place in the equation of my life alright…. There is no way to pretend when you can't feel yourself pissing, when you can't even get yourself out of bed in the morning, or shower on your own, there is no fucking pretend…. " He turned his attention to the carpet unable to handle the pain suddenly sprouting into his fathers gaze, "There is only false hope, and failure…."

John thought about all the things he could say, he thought about all the encouraging words he had heard in his lifetime, but none of them seemed fitting for this…. "You haven't failed son…." He whispered unable to come up with anything more clever or reassuring.

"Oh but I have dad, I've failed bigger then I ever thought possible… And I just don't know if I can handle it anymore…." He let his voice drop lower, "I've failed Sammy and you and myself… I should be stronger then this, I should be able to fight and win…."

"This isn't the kind of fight you win or lose son…" John whispered reaching over and placing a hand on Dean's forearm, "This is the kind of fight you keep fighting until you win."

"I'm so tired dad…"

"I know you are…"

"And Sam, I see everyday what this is doing to him, what I've done to him, and I just-"

"I'm not going to lie to you, this is hard on your brother, this is very hard on him, but it's not your fault okay? It's deeper then that, we just have to help him pull through it the same as he and I are helping you…"

"I never wanted this for him… I wish he would of just left me in that hospital to rot."

"He would never do that……"

"I know…."

"Maybe we should try to get some rest…."

Dean shook his head looking down at his watch, "Not until Sam gets home…. He's been gone for nearly 6 hours…. Should we go look for him?"

"He might not come home tonight Dean…."John whispered. "He needs some time to himself."

"But- He didn't take the car…."

"Plenty of hotels around here on foot…"

Dean shook his head again, Sam wouldn't do that, he wouldn't leave for a whole night without a word…. He wouldn't just take off and not say where he was going, he would be back, and he would be back soon, he just needed some air… to take a walk…. To think and to breathe, yeah he just needed to walk, a long walk still but a walk…. "He'll be here…" Dean rolled his neck from side to side and then did the same with his jaw. "But if your tired go on and go to be bed… it's been a long day."

"How will you get to bed if he doesn't come home?" John asked rationally

"He will… And if he doesn't, I'll manage, I'm not a child."

"Dean-"

"Go to bed Dad, I could use the alone time alright? Use my room tonight I'll take the couch…."

"Dean… No…"

"I'm not going to argue with you about this."

"I just-"

"I'll be fine dad, now go."

"If you say so…." John rose to his feet realizing his hand was still resting on his son's forearm he gave it a small squeeze before retreating into the hallway. "Good night son."

Dean listened to the soft click of the bedroom door shutting and exhaled loudly a breath he didn't even realize he was holding in so deep, Reaching forward he picked up the remote and increased the volume on the television attempting to let the voice of Fred Sanford drowned out the thoughts in his head.

But it was no use, the louder the volume of the tv got the louder his thoughts seemed to scream at him, and Dean wished that he too could take off, could run away and never look back, he wished that he could leave this damn contraption that was holding him hostage, leave this damn imbecile that he had become behind and just start over new. But that was a fools wish, he had been dealt the cruel hand of fate and he had no choice but to sit and face it like the shell of a person he had become.

He let his mind drift to a long way from here, and relish in the thoughts of normalcy that might have been had today gone as he had hoped and not as he had feared like it did. If only he could stand up and walk out of this damn chair, if only he could make this all go away…. If only things were different.

And at that moment there alone in his sorrows Dean realized that Sam had been right…. His father had been right, and he had been a fool… He hadn't faced this yet, he had been mentally running from this whole situation…He had been playing pretend… Spending so much time away from the situation, spending so many hours wishing himself out of this chair that he hadn't been facing reality, he hadn't been fighting this fight… He'd simply been waiting for it to disappear.

And this made him angrier then ever, how could he have been so stupid? So selfish, so naive?

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud thud against the front door followed very abruptly by the sound of rattling keys, and the low mumbled cursing of a very familiar voice. Leaning down he took his brake off and made his way toward the front door before unlocking it and pushing it open.

The sight before him causing his heart to constrict in pain.

Sam was sluggishly leaning against the door frame fighting against his uncooperative coordination with the keys in his hand. Even with the door frame holding him up his body swayed and the strong stench of liquor filled Dean's senses in an instant as it poured from his brother's lips his blood shot and half opened eyes looking up only slightly.

"Dean-o!" He slurred heavily even in his obviously drunken state it was a painful smile that found it's way to his lips. "I seems to have miss placed my house key…" He hiccupped lowly and Dean eyed the bottle clutched in his brothers free hand.

"I see." Dean whispered reaching forward and griping the bottle taking it without much resistance and placing it in his lap before reaching forward and forcing his brother away from the doorframe having to use an immense amount of strength to keep Sam from toppling over on top of him and knocking them both over. "Let's get you inside…." His words were strained.

"Sorry…." Sam mumbled wavering and attempting to reach for the bottle in Dean's lap.

"I bet…" Dean grunted and slapped Sam's hand, "You've had enough of that… Now I need your help here man try to sober up enough to get inside here will you…."

"I'm sobbber." Sam chide, "I dun't drink remember?"

"Yes I remember, but you obviously neglected to, you smell like a liquor cabinet man."

"Sorry…." Sam repeated. "Jus neededa get away…."

"Well you succeeded little brother, your farther away then I've ever seen you before." Dean had finally managed to get Sam into the living room and toward the sofa using one hand to keep him upright with nearly no help at all and the other hand to steer his chair, he dumped the younger man on to the sofa and off of his unsteady legs.

"You're a good brother Dean…." Sam mumbled leaning his head back against the soft and welcoming fabric of the couch and letting it lull there for a minute before speaking again, "Always take good care of me."

Dean rolled his eyes and cleared his throat pulling his brother's leg up into his lap and taking his shoe off before doing the same to his other foot, "Whatever you say Sammy…"

"We needa get you to bed…" Sam protested mildly and sat up a little smirking as the room began to dance before his eyes, "Pretty colors…" He grumbled,

"Your not moving from this sofa." Dean's voice was firm as he placed a hand on Sam's chest.

"You need help." Sam's head cocked to the side a little and he blinked a few times waiting for his brother's face to stop moving so much there were three…. Four… two… four Dean's staring disapprovingly at him,

"I'll handle it." The older brother took the blanket from the arm of the couch and placed it over the inebriated man

"No…Can't…." Sam tried as best he could to put on a serious face so many thoughts mixing with the alcohol in his head, "You can't walk…." He stated as though it were some brand new realization that smacked him upside his head, "You need my help…. You can't walk, and I'm sorry."

Dean frowned, "No I can't… but I'll manage…."

"I'm sorry…"

"You keep saying that," Dean tried to keep the annoyance from his voice, "But you don't have anything to be sorry for Sammy."

"Do too!" Sam pointed an unsteady finger in Dean's direction. "This."

"Sam." Dean sighed running a hand over his chin, "Get some sleep alright."

"Lissen to me!!!!" Sam growled forcing his body forward as Dean began to move away from him and placing a hand on his wheel to stop him.

"Your drunk." Dean retorted no longer hiding the anger in his words.

"Numb." Sam corrected, "Well wanted to be numb… didn't work."

Dean closed his eyes for a minute and then opened them again, his brother was always the emotional one, always the one who was sharing and caring and he was drunk, the few times he managed to get that way, it was no different… it was simply more so,… There were no walls and no barriers everything just flew from him like a flock of eagles. "Sleep Sammy…." He begged.

"My bullet." Sam's voice increased in volume his slurred speech coming out a little clearer then it had been his glassed over eyes filling with anguish and pain once more over shadowing the drunkenness subsiding there. "My bullet you bastard!"

Dean swallowed and leaned down a little prying his brother's fingers from his wheel where they were still placed, "Good night Sam!" He felt his heart beginning to pound, beginning to break all over again,

"MINE!"

"Sammy."

"You always do it….Always have to save me, AND now look what I did that was my bullet, hell it was my fault and do you know what that makes this…..? Do you? You stupid shit?"

"Don't." Dean pleaded finding his hands shaking and unable to break the hold his brother had on his chair as he kept his eyes on the carpet unable to look up unable to see the pain that had eaten his brother and left him nothing more then a mess. "Don't you say it."

"Is my fault." Sam finished his thought as though he hadn't heard a word Dean had pleaded to him, his tone strong and matter of fact like.

"It's not."

"I did this…. I did it, and I wanna take it back but I can't and it hurts….."

"Sam, that's enough." Dean forced his eyes up, sickness rising inside of him as he met his brother's eyes only to see more tears flowing down his cheeks now, "This is not your fault…."

"IT IS! I DID IT!!!!" Dean's eyes shot toward the hall, toward the room where his father was sleeping as he put a finger to his lips, "Sam shhhhh, your going to wake dad, and then this is only going to get worse…."

"So?! I deserve it, I see in his eyes, he knows I did this too…."

"Stop saying that." Dean's jaw clenched and he immediately brought his attention back to his brother, "This is no ones fault aside from this redneck bastards who shot me alright, and you need to get that through your thick ass skull…"

"But-"

"No." Dean scolded, "No more buts no more tears, no more blame alright???? Sam you didn't fing do this ti me and I won't let you blame yourself anymore, what happened happened and we both need to move on, we need to deal and we need to cope, and we need to fight, now if you say that this is your fault one more time I'm gonna knock you into next Tuesday you understand?"

Sam didn't respond as he stared blankly at his brother, Dean wasn't even sure he was comprehending most of this conversation, and he wondered how much of it he was going to remember tomorrow when he was suffering from a hang over of epic proportions.

"I-I'm sorry."

Dean's fists balled in his lap and he popped his neck, "Stop saying that,"

"Dean-" Sam shut his eyes and Dean listened as his breathing labored slightly, a sign that he was only moments from blissful unconsciousness.

"Hmm?"

"It should have been me…. " He swallowed hard, and it was a second before he finished his thoughts trying to piece them back together through his drunken hazed mind, "No matter…. What you say…. It was my bullet, and it should have been me…."

Dean thought about knocking the shit out of his little brother his fists only squeezing tighter now as he looked at him lax and listless against the sofa, he wanted to pound his face in, to beat some sense into him and make him understand…. But yet he didn't move, he didn't so much as blink, he just sat there and watched as Sam's chest began to rise and fall with a rhythmic tone telling his brother that he was fast asleep and his mind was for once at rest.

A few tears fell silently from Dean's eyes now as he sat there next to his brother's sleeping form and watched over him helplessly.

- John lay surrounded by the darkness in his son's bed listening to the sounds of fading voices in the living room, anger was laying just below the surface of his entire body as his jaw clenched and unclenched, he was not use to being this helpless, this damn useless when it came to any aspect of his life… And he refused to believe that he was going to be this time around either.

Rising to his feet he grabbed his cell phone from his pants pocket and sat back on the bed dialing a number and putting the phone to his ear…

"Hello?" Came a tired greeting after the second ring.

"Caleb? It's John…. I need a favor."