A/N the 1st: I hate my internet provider. With a passion. I could pretend that the North Koreans targeted these bozos, but hell, who am I kidding. This is the way they conduct business normally!

A/N the 2nd: Well guys, I know I said this is the last chapter of Patricide. It isn't. There will be at least two more and an epilogue.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.

Chapter 6 – horseshoes and hand grenades

Now, where d'ya think you're goin', kiddo?

Not Dad. Not…I 'm staggering like I'm drunk. Crappy motor skills with none of the friggin' fun, but at least I'm moving. Away from Dad.

We're messed up like this 'cause of him, and you're gonna walk away without ganking his sorry ass?

"You're not me. You're not…" I'm whispering like some damn crazy bag lady. I turn around and look behind me and nearly lose my balance. Trunk's still up. Dad hasn't noticed anything. Not yet, anyway.

Dude, you just hurt my feelings. Real bad. I think I'm gonna cry.

Can't listen. Won't listen.

That voice inside my head laughs. Ah, just kidding, dumb ass. You're going in the wrong direction, aren't ya? Thinking about ending it all, huh? Stupid.

Shut up. Get the fuck outta my head…

No can do, wavy gravy. Come on, you're driving. You can do it. You walk right up to Dad, and he won't suspect a thing. Gun's in his back waistband. You pull it. You use it. That'll be one less pompous prick in the world.

"…I can't do that…I won't…" I'm cold all of a sudden. My teeth chatter and my ribs hurt. I hug myself as I stumble forward.

Can't? Why not? He's gonna blame us for what happened tonight anyway. You know that, don't' ya? Dad's not gonna cut us a break. We're never good enough. Sammy might be gone, but he's still Dad's favorite, remember?"

My head feels funny and I can't pick my feet up high enough. Dad slams the Impala's trunk shut behind me, and the noise makes me jump like a damn girl.

"Dean?"

I shake my head. "Don't call me that." Fuck. I sound like I'm crying. I can hear Dad's footsteps behind me.

"Son?"

"G- get…get the fuck away from me…'m not safe to be around…."

Dad's fingers grip my right arm, and that's it, busted ribs or no, I wanna hurt him. I turn on him like I'm gonna kick his ass. Fat chance of that; halfway through the move I know it's too much for me. My head feels light all of a sudden. The world turns around me like a tilt-a-whirl ride, and all the colors around me smear into grey, then black.

When I wake up I'm sitting on the ground, and Dad's kneeling right next to me. His hand is on my back, and he's got something in his hand, pointed at my face. All I see is something small and round.

I sit there blinking like a dummy, and I finally get it. It's a fucking plastic bottle filled with water.

Too bad it's not my gun.

I don't have my knife on me. I want to put my hands around his throat and squeeze the fucking life out of him, but I think about my gun. I could shoot him in the legs first, drop him to the ground, and then take my time with him. Got enough bullets in the clip…

"Water. You're dehydrated," Dad rumbles. "Just take a little, kiddo."

Water? My clothes and hair are still wet from that pool in the rec center. Haven't I had enough fucking water tonight?

I open my mouth a little, and Dad tilts the bottle just enough so that I get a few drops on my tongue. It's lukewarm, tastes like shit going down. My throat feels like it's closing up. I'm pissed off and sad all the same time. Dad pulls the bottle back when I start coughing.

He's playing Daddy now. Concerned fucking father, something I needed all along and never have gotten like I deserved.

That look in his eyes is all soft and warm and concerned for me and it's so wrong---

so fucking fake, he doesn't care about me ---

I feel like yelling. He needs to get away from me.

It's not safe…I'm not safe…

"You don't…have to pretend." My throat's raw, sore. Even the air feels heavy going down when I take a deep breath..

"Pretend what, Dean?"

"That…that you give a shit about me. That the stuff I said…the stuff I did doesn't matter."

I see that bloody hole in his shoulder, the bruises on his face and neck.

I fucking did that. Me.

My muscles feel like Jello all over, but I can move my arms now. Getting the gun'll be so easy…

"The only reason you want me around --"

Shut up...

"…is 'cause I'm an extra set of hands."

…shut up….shut the fuck up, you hear me?

"Dean, it's okay. It's all right now." And that's when I realize that I must've said something out loud.

Dad shakes his head. His face changes, just a little, and I can see it in his eyes. That's when it hits me. Dad's not gonna leave me.

He's not gonna leave me. Unless I make him leave.

He looks larger than life. Nothing can take him down. That's the way I feel about him, the way I always see him. I tried to be like him. I did. My Dad's a hero.

I'm not. I'm shabby and broken and worthless.

Dad didn't need any help when they fucked over him. Doesn't matter anymore what those bastards in the rec center did to me. I can't hurt my family. I can't.

I want to hurt them. Why not? What the hell have they ever done for me?

I stare at the blood and bruises on Dad's face and I wish I'd bashed his fucking head in.

I gotta…

'm gonna use my knife on Sam, real slow and easy, make him whimper and bawl like a bitch for every time he thought he was better than me.

… stop this…

I could hide stuff before. Bury it deep inside, pretend none of this mattered, and that I didn't give a shit. Not anymore. Don't wanna hide. Maybe if I show Dad what's inside me, he'll pull my Colt out of his waistband and do me a favor.

I start laughing, and I know I sound like fucking looney toons.

"Dean?"

I'm smiling when I say it. "I'm gonna kill you."

"What?"

"You deaf and stupid now, is that it? I'm gonna kill you."

Feeling's coming back in my arms and legs. Won't be long now.

Dad and Sam can make it without me. They're stronger than I am. They're better off without me.

I keep my arms limp, my hands down on the ground.

This is our chance. We're close enough. That voice inside my head sounds pissed. What the hell are you waiting for?

Close counts only in horseshoes and hand grenades, you sonofabitch.

Dad, please, please ---

"Kill me."

The voices in my head start screaming.

"What?"

"Kill me. Kill me ---"

"Dean, look at me—"

"…no…"

"Stay with me, Dean. Look at me---"

"You gotta kill me. If you don't…I'll kill you. And then I'll go after Sam."

"Dean, I want you to focus on me, you hear me?" It's Dad's command voice, and it pisses me off even more.

"Haven't you even listened to a fucking word I've said? Are you that damn stupid?"

He's not leaving me, he's not…

"Tried…tried to get away…and I can't even do that right…" It's so fucking funny, and I can't move, I won't, I don't know what else to do. He never listens to me. Sam doesn't even. What the hell do I have to do to get some damn body to listen to what I'm saying?

"I want you to keep looking at me, Dean. Focus on me, and nothing else.…"

I can't. I'm not strong enough.

The voices inside my head stop.

So this is the way you wanna play this, huh? Okay. Fine. We'll play.

None of this is right, can't be, but I feel hands all over my body, yanking me down underneath my skin. Everything pulls away from me, Dad, the night sky all around me, everything.

It's light where I am now.

Son of a bitch. This isn't what I expected at all.

Sun overhead gets blotted out as they lean over me, and I can see their faces.

My face. Over and over again.

I've seen crazy before. Hell, I know crazy, and I'm looking right at it. My kind of crazy, over and over again. Eyes too bright, too cheerful. I walled 'em up, all of 'em up. Been too long in the dark.

I'm kicking and hitting and punching with everything I got, and it's not enough. One giggles as he punches me in the face. I see every fucking constellation there is, all white and exploding behind my eyes, but I'm not going down easy.

"Get off me, you lousy sonsofbitches, get the hell off me ---"

They jam their fingers into my ears, nose and mouth. I'm snapping an snarling like a friggin' rabid dog, and all they do is laugh. My voice, my voice.

They've been waiting for this all my life, and now it's their turn.

Another me clamps his hands down over my mouth, pinches my nose shut as the others swarm over me, push me down on the ground, and my lungs start burning from lack of air. I nail the one holding onto my left leg three times in the face with my boot. He doesn't let go, just gives me this bloody grin and digs his fingernails into my thigh. More of them pile on top of me, and I'm not surprised that there are so many of the bastards. I built a lot of walls over the years.

I get slammed down into the ground hard again, in the middle of a thick cloud of dust.

I can't move. They're piled on top of me, and it's getting hard to breathe.

"Been waitin' for you, kiddo," one says. He's calm, doesn't giggle and laugh like the other ones do.

He's the one that's been talking to me all along, all my life.

You could fuck her, Dean. Never mind that she's just a kid. Who'd care? Who'd know?

Take your gun out, doubletap this geek in the head, and take the money in the damn wallet. Tell Dad he was dead by the time you got here.

He's every dark thought I ever had, everything I thought about doing and never did.

He taps me between the eyes with his fingers and smirks when I snap at his fingers with my teeth. "You never call, you never write. And those accomodations you stuck us with? Not exactly top of the line, you know?" he shakes his head and the others laugh even though nothing's damn funny.

"Me and the boys were maybe thinkin' that you didn't like us anymore. That's okay, though. We forgive you, 'cause that's the kinda guys we are. We wanna show you around. Give you the grand tour. Some of the folks you couldn't save are here too, and I know they wanna have a word with you."

I am so screwed.

TBC Wednesday