Foreword: Okay okay, you guys got to me I decided to extend this. There's going to be two more chapters; this one and the next one (that I still needed to write). If you want more after that, just tell me.

Also, thank you all who commented and faved this! You have no idea how much it means to me. THANK YOU. Moving on.

WARNING: Massive angst.

Dean very nearly had a heart attack when he woke up and found John nowhere in sight. Oh god he really left Dean had screwed up and he left.

Dean saw Sam in the bathroom brushing his teeth, seeming unperturbed by their father's absence. Dean practically lunged at him, grabbing Sam by his shoulders and asking if he'd seen their dad.

Sam blinked owlishly at him and said with a mouth full of toothpaste, "Chuwl, you fweak."

He spat out foam into the sink and added more clearly, "He went to grab breakfast. Jeeze, what's got you worked up?"

Dean let out a long breath of air he didn't realize he was holding and started laughing, breathless and probably a little too excited to pass as normal. Dean didn't care, John was still here. Everything was alright.

Sam was staring at Dean like he was possessed and he slowly inched around Dean and out of the bathroom to get to his duffel.

"Okaaay…" Sam said slowly, still eyeing Dean like he was about to start giggling and weave flowers in his hair.

Dean kept grinning like an idiot and plopped down on his bed.

Sam shook his head and muttered, "You're such a weirdo."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean snorted.

"Jerk," Sam snapped back, rolling his eyes.

The door to their motel room rattled and Dean sprang up to open it for their father, first checking to make sure it was him before opening the door. John got upset if he just assumed it was him and opened the door too quickly.

John gave Dean a curt nod as he walked into the room, but gave Dean no other indication or acknowledgement. Dean felt a little uneasy about that, but he figured the bad air still lingered between them and it would take some time for it to be completely gone. And truly, despite the lack of acknowledgement Dean was relieved; if John was still angry he would have made it evident. Not obvious enough for Sam to see of course, but Dean had memorized the subtle shifts in his father's expressions to know what to do for him and how, and when to avoid him. Right now John just looked tired, more than just physically.

The teenager desperately wished he could bring up last night to him though, any part of it, to figure out why John had looked so upset even when Dean had given him what he wanted. But Dean's respect for his father outweighed all his questions and he kept his mouth shut. If John wanted to talk about it he would, it was not Dean's place to bring it up. So he would be patient.

John smiled slightly at Sam and ruffled his hair, making the twelve-year-old exclaim indignantly and dramatically try to straighten the long strands.

"You feeling okay, Sammy?" John asked, "Your arms hurt?"

Sam exhaled sharply, "Don't call me that. And I'm fine dad, they're just sore."

John gave him a disbelieving look and Sam sighed out a groan, "Really."

John nodded, "Good. Stop scratching."

Jean batted Sam's hands away from the bandages and he scowled, dropping his hands to his sides. Dean couldn't help the small smile on his lips. Things were normal again –as normal as they could get, but Dean was more than happy with that.

But John still wasn't looking Dean in the eye, was making an effort not to have to. Not for the rest of that morning or the entire day. Or the next day. A few times Dean was able to catch when he was looking, seeing that weird shadow of pain from that night, before John looked away and busied himself with cleaning guns or his knives.

They packed up and moved to the next town with barely a word between them other than commands. They finished up the next job with ease; the last before winter break ended and they both went back to school, and suddenly John said they were heading out again.

It had been weeks now. Dean's birthday passed without so much as a cursory recognition and a pat on the back. School had started up and Dean was cut out of hunts while John was on the road, but all of that was typical. What wasn't typical was that every time he called he talked to Sammy instead of him, and other than asking if he was taking take care of his baby brother and if he was keeping his grades up –sometimes both of these questions asked by Sam to relay the message-, John said nothing to him.

Dean was going nuts. What had he donewrong? It was so bad even Sam asked what he did to twist their dad's panties into a bunch. Dean was freaking out too much to laugh or yell at Sam for the comment.

John was still mad at him, he had to be. He couldn't forgive Dean this time and shit, he probably did want to leave that night but stayed just for Sammy's sake. He probably concluded Dean would end up killing Sam, considering what a screw-up he was in his Dad's eyes.

Dean was a nervous wreck by the time John came back at the end of February from a hunt. They weren't moving out yet; John got a tip for a possible hunt south of them and he was heading out the day after tomorrow. He gave Sam a hug and Dean a pat on the back, which Dean stiffly took and all three of them could feel the tension in the air. Dean remained silent and Sam muttered something about needing to do homework, leaving the other two alone. Before Dean could think of opening his mouth, John was turning away again and going out the door. That was it.

Dean scrambled out the door after him and shouted, "You're leaving again?"

John stilled, surprised by his son's exclamation. He looked at Dean over his shoulder and replied sarcastically, "I'm suddenly not allowed to go out on my own, Dean? I didn't realize I needed permission."

Dean sputtered for a moment, then inhaled deeply to control himself. He needed to say this. Even with John's comment he still wasn't looking him in the eye.

"Dad, whatever I did, I'm sorry," Dean said unsteadily. He almost wanted to ask what it was he had done wrong, but having to ask was bad enough. Dean would just have to hope he guessed right. Once he got an idea, at least.

John sighed exasperatedly and was turning away again as he said, "You did nothing wrong, Dean, now go back insi-"

"I'm not stupid, Dad!" Dean yelled, and immediately regretted that outburst. Good god, he knew not to talk back, but Dean was so confused and frustrated, and now he was getting angry with John constantly disregarding him. He deserved at least that much, right? …Right?

John paused for a moment, but instead of yelling he unlocked the door to the driver's side and Dean started fumbling for words before John left and Dean never figured out what was wrong.

"Come on, Dad, you gotta be blind not to see you're avoiding me! Even Sammy sees it; I just want to fix what I did!" Dean exclaimed, quickly approaching his father before he could get in.

John still wouldn't look at him and growled, "Drop it, Dean. You can't fix it."

Dean bit his lip before it could tremble and replied, "I-I can try, sir. Give me a chance."

Anything to make you talk to me again.

Before John could respond Dean let his dignity go out the window –Dean's dignity didn't mean anything compared to obedience to John; that was what mattered not what he thought of himself- and dropped to his knees in front of his father just like he had all those weeks ago. Maybe this would work? It had worked that night, sort of. Maybe that was it; he had performed poorly and it hadn't been good enough for forgiveness. If Dean tried harder this time maybe John could let it go.

"I-, I can do this again, Dad," Dean whispered. Before Dean had a chance to do much more than nuzzle his face into John's crotch he was shoving Dean away, the teenager falling on his ass and skidding on the unforgiving asphalt. Dean hissed in pain and stared at his Dad with bewildered eyes.

"You think whoring yourself is a proper atonement? I didn't raise a faggot, boy!" John shouted in Dean's face, the words biting so hard Dean flinched back violently.

The heavy realization coiled in his stomach like a sickness. That was why he was mad.

"I…I thought you wanted it," Dean said softly.

It had been a test, and Dean failed miserably. Maybe John hadn't wanted it after all, just wanted to see if Dean would actually do it. Of course he would, John had to know that, it was an order. Dean remembered that look in his eyes though; John had liked it. Was it because Dean liked it too? Dean couldn't help that, it had felt good giving his father pleasure. But it had been wrong.

"Stand!" John barked and Dean scrambled to get on his feet, wincing when his raw hands scraped the asphalt again in his haste. John grabbed Dean by the front of his shirt and shook him once.

"Don't ever do that again, boy," John hissed, "Get inside, and help Sam with his homework."

Dean didn't know what to do. He couldn't fix this. He couldn't fix this. He had screwed up so badly John didn't even want to look at him anymore. Oh god, did John even see him as his son anymore?

Dean's throat was too tight and he felt too sick to respond. He nodded once and turned away from his father.

"Do I repulse you that much?" Dean thought bitterly, biting his lower lip and walking back towards the motel.

"What did you just say?" John said lowly, and Dean stopped dead in his tracks. Dean's eyes slowly widened and he paled. Oh shit. Had he said that out loud?

"Sir, I-" Dean started, his throat closing in embarrassment. God dammit, what a whiny bitch thing to say, John was going to lay into him now.

"Answer me, boy!" John snapped and Dean nearly jumped. He was close to running now. He was literally too mortified to answer, so all he could do was turned to face John again. He could see the anger burning in his dad's eyes as he approached him quickly. Dean clenched his hands into fists to stop them from shaking too noticeably.

Dean braced himself for more yelling, or to be struck because he knew that was out of line and his dad was obviously angry enough to do it.

John was fuming and he raised his hand, Dean holding his ground. He didn't flinch, knew better than that, but was unable to look John in the eye. After two seconds too long Dean hesitantly looked up, surprised the hand was still raised. John was clenching his jaw hard, and slowly his hand relaxed into a loose fist and dropped to his side. He closed his eyes and let out a long, exasperated exhale and his expression softened slightly. Okay, Dean was really confused now.

John's hand moved to Dean's shoulder, the teenager following the movement and staring bewilderedly when he clasped the appendage, his hand heavy but strong and reassuring. What the hell?

Dean gathered the courage to look up fully and was surprised when he met John's brown eyes staring back into his.

"You've done nothing wrong, son," John said slowly, his voice steady and firm even if his eyes were sad.

Dean struggled with himself, desperately wanting to believe him but not being able to ignore the six weeks John refused to talk to him.

"Then why won't you look at me?" Dean bit out, and damn, he knew he sounded pathetic. His voice was small and his eyes burned from tears he managed to swallow down, and he had to keep gritting his teeth and holding his breath to keep himself in control.

John gave Dean a weak smile and Dean could see just how dim and tired his father's eyes looked.

"I'm looking now, aren't I?" John replied.

"Daaad…" Dean groaned, closing his eyes and resting his head against the motel wall. Screw all of this. He was seriously hoping the ground would swallow him up and this would just stop.

He heard John sigh and say, "Dean…" and his tone of voice made Dean open his eyes again.

John was staring into his eyes almost deploringly but whether it was directed at Dean or himself, he didn't know. He assumed it was directed at him and he lowered his head a little, holding his father's gaze unsteadily and biting at his bottom lip.

John's eyes shifted from his eyes to his mouth again, and John sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. Dean immediately stopped that.

"You have to understand," John started softly, "I'm not…I'm not perfect, Dean. There are things I can't control; things I can't handle. It's not your fault that I'm…"

John swallowed hard and his hand dropped from Dean's shoulder. He suddenly felt very cold and Dean wrapped his arms around himself self-consciously. Dean tried to decipher John's words; why would John think that of himself, he was the greatest man Dean knew. What could John even mean by that? He can't handle what? Dean racked his brain for answers, and then he remembered John's words from that night. They had been half-formed thoughts, but he remembered them and Dean wasn't stupid.

"Is it because I look like Mom?" Dean said softly, so quiet he almost thought John wouldn't hear him.

Dean didn't flinch from the sharp impact of John's hand cracking against his cheek, forcing his head to the side. He felt strong hands fist the front of his shirt and he cringed when he was slammed up against the wall, his feet nearly leaving the ground.

"You shut your mouth, boy," John snarled and shook Dean harshly, making him flinch. Fire was burning in John's eyes again and Dean for the first time he felt a sense of fear that John was mad enough to beat him.

The fists tightened on his shirt and Dean braced himself, but it never came. John dropped him and Dean's knees buckled under him. He barely managed to stay upright, and neither said a word when John got into the impala and left him behind.

Dean slid listlessly down the wall and drew his legs up to his chest, hiding his face in his knees and spending the next hour trying not to cry.

A/n: I'm sorry Dean, why do I make you miserable I hate it. No sexy times in this chapter sorry; I promise there will be in the next one. Feedback would be much appreciated.