"Stand Back Up"

I'm going to go a little "Karate Kid" with this chapter, but not as cheesy. I hope you like it! Dean's rehab is almost complete!

Bobby lived about 15 miles from town. Dean wished he had realized this fact before he walked about five miles. He had forgotten how much land there actually was between his friend's property and the neighboring homes. It was getting dark, and he was tired, hungry, and on top of all that, it had started to pour buckets. He could feel his body weakening as he took each step. As he reached an intersection, he could walk no more, and Dean collapsed on the dirt road, exhausted.

The feeling of fire on his face awoke Dean with a start. The chirping of birds outside told him it was morning. He found himself in a quaint cabin, lying on a pile of blankets in front of a roaring fire. His clothes lay on the floor next to him, no doubt drying from the drenching rain. Suddenly he heard someone stirring in the next room, and quickly reached for his pants. As he put them on, a middle-aged man came out of the bedroom, running his hand through his scruffy beard.

"Good morning," he said cheerily.

"Who are you? Where am I?" Dean questioned. The man turned to his kitchen counter and poured two cups of coffee, handing one to Dean, who took it thankfully.

"My name is Jacob. You were sleeping at the end of my driveway last night. I thought you'd be more comfortable in here."
"Thanks," Dean said immediately, not wanting to sound rude. "I'm Dean."
"Well, Dean, are you hungry?"

"Yeah, actually. I don't want to impose…"

"It's no trouble. Sit, please."

Jacob fixed them scrambled eggs, toast and bacon. Dean thanked him and ate heartily.

"So Dean, what brings you to my driveway?" Jacob asked as the two of them ate.
"I was trying to get to town. I guess walking there wasn't such a good idea, was it?"

"Not really. What possessed you to walk 15 miles into town?"
Dean shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth. He wasn't about to tell a stranger his problems. Who was he to ask him about his problems?

"Don't worry about it."

Jacob set his coffee down.

"Son, I found you unconscious on my driveway, and I brought you into my home. I don't tolerate disrespect, and I don't appreciate your ungrateful attitude. You're lucky I didn't leave your ass out in the rain!"

Dean nodded understandingly. "Point taken."

When they finished eating, Dean volunteered to do the dishes. When he finished wiping the last plate, Jacob came back into the living area holding a couple of rifles.
"Know how to shoot?"
Dean smiled as he folded the dishtowel and set it on the counter.
"That's an understatement."

"I'm going skeet shooting. Want to join me?"

"Sure, why not?"

Dean followed his new friend around the back of the cabin. Jacob had a launch set up half an acre from his house, in an open field. To the right of the launcher, about 400 feet ahead, was a target. Dean wondered if his new acquaintance shot skeet for fun, or if there was some other reason he had this practice range set up in his backyard.

"So Jacob, what do you do for a living?"

"You're wondering why I have all of this stuff set up on my property, right?"
Dean smiled.
"Yeah, sorry."
"It's fine. I'm a shooting instructor. I have ten students a week that come up here for lessons. For the others, I ride into town and back. It's not great money, but I live just fine."

"I hear that."

Jacob tossed Dean a gun, and he caught it expertly. He set up the launcher to shoot every twenty seconds, so they could take turns.

"What do you do, Dean? I mean besides walking twenty miles into town?" The launcher fired, and Jacob expertly shot his target.

"It's complicated. I'd rather not say." The next one came out, and Dean aimed and fired. He was dismayed when the clay disc kept flying, untouched.

"I thought you said you could shoot." Jacob chuckled.
"I never miss," Dean said, looking down at the rifle in his hands.

"Try again."

The launcher fired, and Dean shot at the disc three times, missing every time.

"You a little tense, boy?"

"No, no I'm fine."

Jacob crossed his arms.
"Kid, I've been shooting a gun since I was nine years old. You can't lie to me. I can tell in your shooting that something's bothering you."

Dean lowered his rifle in defeat. Jacob was right.

"Everything's been so jacked up with me lately…with my Dad being gone, and all the stuff with my brother. I can't handle it anymore."

Jacob reached out and took the rifle from Dean's hands.
"How about some target shooting?" he asked. "You can even use your own gun."
Quickly Dean checked his pockets. He was relieved to find his .45 tucked into the inside pocket of his coat.
"How the hell did you know I carry a gun?"

"When I brought you inside last night, I found it when I checked you for ID."
It hit Dean right then that his driver's license said Robert Hagar on it.
"About my driver's license—"

"Don't worry about it. None of my business."
"So target shooting?"

Jacob nodded and directed Dean over to the target range.
"You want to get out some rage, son, this is the way to do it. Pretend that target is someone – or something you really want dead, and you'll shoot a bulls eye every time."

Dean smiled. He slid a fresh clip into his gun and aimed at the target, 200 feet in front of him.

"I've given everything I've ever had to this family!" he shouted suddenly, burning off a few rounds into the target. They were close in proximity, but not very accurate. "What have I ever gotten back? I gave up a normal life for this, and you repay me by laying this information on me about Sam, and then you go and die? What the hell kind of father are you!" Dean burned off ten more rounds into the target, bulls-eyeing them every time. "I don't deserve this!" He shot the rest of the clip into the target, and when he was done, he shakily dropped his gun into the grass and turned to Jacob. "I don't deserve this."

"It sounds like your brother needs you, and your father knew that. Maybe your Dad told you whatever he did because he wanted you to protect your brother."

"I've been protecting my brother since I was 11 years old! I've always watched out for that kid. It's not any different than it was then!"

"Then what's your problem? If it isn't any different, why are you here, shooting holes in my target with a .45, yelling at me? Go back to your family and make things right."

Jacob was right. It was time to go back to Bobby's house and make things right. He had to protect Sam as long as he could, before his bill came due. If he was going to hell in a year, he was going to protect Sammy for as long as he could, and prepare him for a world without his older brother.

"Thank you, for everything. I think it's time for me to go back home."
"Anytime, kid. How about I give you a ride? Beats walkin' five miles."
"Sure," Dean said, smiling for the first time in a while. He picked up his gun, and followed Jacob toward his pickup truck.