Author: Haydenisheaven2000 (Kayla)
Genre: Tragedy/Angst
Rating: Strong T but may go up in later chapters
Summary: AU; Dean's gone...what becomes of the Winchester family and how do they cope with not knowing why he's gone?
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural...just this fic.
A/N: Here is the next chapter...John finds out. It was hard for me to write but I tried to make it as emotional and easy to read as possible. lol. Flashback in italics

The room was pitch black as John pushed open the door and stepped quietly through their small "home." He tossed his bag wordlessly to a chair as he passed it. Then without a single thought he fell exhaustingly to the bed before reaching over and flicking on the dim bedside lamp.

The hunt had been long and hard. More than once he'd felt in over his head and found himself wishing that Dean had gone with him that morning. Eventually though he'd managed to kill the beast that had been murdering the townsfolk one by one. It had been a strenuous process and for once in his life all he wanted to do was relax. Repressing a sigh, he spared a glance to the bed his son had claimed.

The blankets were ruffled and unmade, but the bed itself was empty. He ignored the feeling of worry that had swept over him and assured himself that Dean had just gone to a bar. Bending over, he kicked off his worn boots and made his way to the tiny bathroom the room had come equipped with.

While showering he continued to tell himself that his son was fine...that everything was ok. Yet no matter how many times he said that nothing was wrong, the feeling of uneasiness didn't subside.

Ten minutes later he was clean and changed into fresh clothes. The older man opened the bathroom door as crisp steam poured from the room. He finally saw what he'd missed in that moment. He saw destruction, pain and failure in himself right before his eyes.

Dean lay face down on the wooden floor. Blood surrounded him in all directions and a pistol rested loosely in his hand. Shock overcame the man as he was thrown harshly to the ground. He tried to stand but his knees continued to buckle from under him.

"No," The man's gruff voice was nothing but a whisper now. Slowly he managed to crawl to the bloodied young man. He closed his eyes and blindly used his hands to flip Dean onto his back. His son's eyes were clenched together as if he didn't want to see another reminder of his life...just savor the touch of the gun and its power.

The small hole in his forehead had long since stopped bleeding and that alone told him that the death had occurred hours ago. Sobs began to consume him as he caught sight of Dean's lips curled in an angle of sorrow.

"No! C'mon, Ace, you can't leave me like this...c'mon Buddy." John's heart refused to accept this. Dean was a hero. He saved countless lives every day with his presence and skills. Heroes didn't buckle into pressure. They didn't give into the pain. "Dean, please."

The plea was heard by nothing but his own ears. Forcing his eyes shut he tried to will away the tears and convince himself that this was nothing but a dream. Yet every time he reopened his eyes the reality would hit him full force. His son was dead at his own hands.

He fumbled numbly with his jacket pocket and pulled out the small silver phone Dean had made him get nearly ten years ago.

"C'mon Dad. Please. What if something happens and you need us...or if we need you." The fifteen year old sounded more like ten as he begged his father.

"Dean." The warning tone...that always stopped the boy in his tracks. Apparently that wouldn't work this time.

"Dad...we can't lose you yet and I won't let you die if there's something we can do to stop it. Please, do it for me and Sammy."

John nodded numbly. He'd never been able to refuse a plea like that and the argument was a good one. "Tomorrow."

Dean gave him a wide smile. "Thanks Dad." The teenager turned on his heels and walked quickly from the room. John could faintly hear his conversation in the next room. "Guess what Sammy?"

He wiped away a few more tears before dialing three numbers and waiting for the words he knew were to come.

"911, what's your emergency?"

The woman on the other end of the phone listened intently as John tried to explain everything to her. There were gaps in the story from the details he didn't know and the hysteria he was experiencing. Once the woman had insured him that help was being dispatched, she hung up.

Without giving it a second thought he did something that he hadn't done in nearly 20 years. He gathered Dean's broken body into his arms and cried for the son he'd lost...for the son he'd never really appreciated. The tears continued to fall as his life fell apart around him.

He cried as the EMTs came and took the boy away. Tears fell in sheets as the sheriff drove him to the hospital though he already knew that Dean's fate had been sealed. John cried like he hadn't since Mary had been brutally murdered all those years ago. The salty tears were a mix of emotions...sadness for Dean. And hatred for himself...for letting things go this far.

Hours had passed since his son had been ripped from his grasp and the day wasn't quite over. Minutes from midnight he called and left a message for the one person that he needed to see. With new tears coming down he spoke.

"Sam...it's Dad," he prayed that the youngest boy could make out the words over the tears. "I...Dean...I'm coming to Stanford...there's something I need to talk to you about." He was about to close the phone when he thought of Dean's broken body sprawled out on the floor. "I love you, Son."

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