Foreword: Okay, I lied. No sexy in this chapter. But ONLY because I finally am kicking myself in the ass and instead of making you wait for me to write the whole thing, I'm giving you the first part of chapter 3. It was getting really long anyway.

I'm soooo sorry it took me this long. School ate my brain. I'm soooo happy you guys have stuck with me though, I can't believe how many of you like this story. You don't know how giddy I get every time I get a message saying someone commented or favorited this. You're all amazing.

WARNINGS: angst, swearing, mentions of incest, general drama

The next day Dean had picked a fight at school. For the life of him he couldn't remember what it was about but what he did know was that the asshole got in a few good punches and ended up breaking Dean's nose. It healed a little crookedly and Dean ruefully thought that hopefully it made him look more masculine, made him look less like Mary. Maybe then his dad could stand to look at him without being reminded.

But as soon as that thought came Dean felt sick and guilty, because all he had left of his mother was a few sparse memories and that he looked so much like her. Maybe he didn't see it, but others did and the rare you have your mother's eyes or Mary used to have the same cocky grin, you know made Dean feel warm. Even if she was gone he could have those thoughts and memories. It was for John, too; maybe after the thing that took his mom away was gone John could look at Dean and when he saw Mary in his eyes, maybe he would smile instead of flinching away.

John hadn't returned that night to them and when Sammy got pissed and asked Dean what the hell he did, Dean couldn't bring himself to answer. Maybe it was something in his eyes but Sam's expression had immediately softened and he sat next to his brother. They said nothing, but Dean could feel the silent support and he didn't know whether to be grateful or hate himself for wanting it.

Sam knew better than to hug or try to console Dean, that would just make it worse, but he didn't bring it up again and that was enough. They continued on their daily routine as if nothing had happened, but when Dean came home that next day with a bloody nose Sam freaked and forced him to go to the hospital. Yeah, broken; Dean thought as much. Hopefully it would heal before John returned but he knew John was going to notice the crook, he always did when they fought. It was something Dean just had to brace himself for. That nervous sickness was eating at him now, but it was more a reflexive memory than anything else. At this point Dean just didn't know if he cared enough to wonder when John was coming back, if he came back at all.

Two weeks later John made it back to them relatively in one piece; some scraps and bumps but nothing serious. Instead of being ecstatic over his return, or maybe a little angry about leaving him in the dark again, Dean just numbly regarded him and didn't speak a word. He didn't know what to say now.

So Dean was dumbfounded when he felt the strong, familiar grasp of his father's hand on his shoulder and his gruff voice say, "Hey, son."

Dean looked up to meet his father's surprisingly welcome eyes, before quickly looking away and muttering a small, "Hello, sir."

John sighed softly, squeezing Dean's shoulder as he said, "Dean, we need-"

John trailed off and Dean grimaced, having a pretty good idea behind what stopped John; his nose still had a faint yellowed bruise, after all. He felt fingers hook under his chin and pull his head up, his father's piercing gaze scrutinizing his face. Dean couldn't look him in the eye, but flinched when John prodded his nose none too gently. It was still pretty tender.

"Dean. What happened?" John asked, the command to answer obvious in his question.

Dean didn't even bother sugar coating it, "I was in a fight, sir."

John scoffed and said, "Dean, I told you, you back down from fights. I don't care what they say, you can't draw attention-"

"I started it, sir," Dean mumbled. The silence in the room was stifling.

"You…" John paused, closing his eyes and shaking his head a little, almost like he wasn't sure Dean spoke English, "You what?"

Dean frowned and said nothing, just waiting for the inevitable.

"Dean, you know better than this!" John yelled, fury coloring his rough voice, "Did you think I wouldn't notice boy, it's as plain as day on your face!"

Dean flinched and grumbled back bitterly, "At least you're looking at my face."

It was a dumb come-back, really, but the tension and silence following that particular outburst was almost deadly. Dean chanced a quick glance upward to see his father's intense, completely unreadable eyes.

Sam, who had been in the bathroom getting ready for bed, poked his head out now, his brow furrowed in concern. Even he felt the tension in the air.

"Uhm-"

"Get ready for bed Sam," John interrupted him calmly, patiently, "Dean and I need to have a word outside."

Dean was starting to hate going on these "talks" outside. He almost, almost stayed still and defiant, or said no or asked why Sam couldn't be there to hear it. He didn't though; because Dean knew better, and Dean could never bring it in him to disobey his father.

Dean followed John outside, holding his gaze down when John reeled on him.

"Would you care to explain what the hell your problem is?" John snapped.

"No, sir," Dean said softly albeit a little bitingly.

John grimaced a little, and Dean could tell he wanted to snap. Dean kept silent and waited. John drew in a calming breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Well, I guess now's as good a time as any to talk."

"About what sir?" Dean said with a hint of sarcasm.

John grimaced, shifting from one foot to the other and stepping back from Dean a little bit. Dean frowned but didn't let the hurt show in his eyes that John was once again distancing himself. John hesitated a moment before speaking and Dean was already on edge when he finally opened his mouth.

"Dean, I've been thinking a lot the past few weeks. I've thought about this long and hard." John paused for a moment, and Dean followed the movement of his dad rubbing the back of his neck nervously, and then he started talking again, "I believe it's best if… I let you and Sam settle down."

Dean's eyes went wide for a moment, not expecting that at all. Really? Really? He could… he could hardly believe it. It was like a dream. A strange, unbelievable dream.

Dean couldn't gather his thoughts together fast enough to do more than stutter, "You mean like…a home?"

John chuckled, "I guess that's a word for it. You'll be with Bobby or Pastor Jim or somebody, I don't know, but you and Sam can finish up school right. You two'll have money for everything you need."

You and Sam. You and Sam. You two. That didn't sit well with Dean, not at all.

"And you're gonna be there with us, right?" Dean asked uneasily, "You'll come back from hunts and-"

"No, Dean," John interrupted, his voice soft and Dean felt his stomach give out and drop. " I'm going to go on, alone. I'll send money to you, check up on you when I can. But I think it's best for all of us if I start hunting alone."

No. No no no, he was lying. John would never, John couldn't actually leave them!

Dean hardly had the air in his lungs to stutter a response, "But, what about Sammy? I can't take care of him alone-"

"You've been doing well enough so far."

"He needs his dad!"

"He's got you."

Dean's lip quivered and he choked, "I need my dad!"

John smirked humorlessly, "I haven't really been much of one, son."

This was too much. It was too much and Dean couldn't take it anymore. After these weeks of confusion and hurt and what the fuck Dean wasn't letting John go that easily.

"You wanna know what my problem is?" Dean snapped, "You treat me like I'm the walking plague! Except of course, when you decide to randomly remember I'm your son, but that never lasts long! If I'm that much of a fucking pain to you, tell me! I just want the truth!"

John's eyes narrowed as he said, "Language Dean-"

"Dad!" Dean exclaimed, the anger fading now towards desperation, "I get it. You hate looking at me, it hurts, fine, but you can't ditch us! There's gotta be something I can do!"

"I already told you it isn't your fault boy. You can't change it."

"So-," Dean's throat tightened on the words, refusing to be spoken. He felt like a child saying it, but he had to get this straight, he had to know.

"So you're holding something I can't change over my head? I have to deal with you hating to see my face? Dad, how-…how is that fair?" Dean's voice cracked, and he exhaled sharply and grimaced, fighting back the tears that wanted to fall. God dammit, god dammit he was weak.

"Dean-" John started, his brow creased in surprise.

"No. No, just. Stop it. Please," Dean bit out, "I'm sorry I look like her Dad. I'm sorry it hurts to have to look at me."

His words came out more bitter than he wanted, because he wasn't sorry he looked like Mary; Dean loved that he had a little bit of his mom with him. It made it feel like she really existed.

Dean wasn't surprised when John grabbed him by his shirt, but if there was anger behind it dissipated quickly, because he hold loosened as soon as it came and John moved his hand to Dean's shoulder. He met his dad's eyes, surprised to find them troubled and morose.

"Dean, that-," John sighed and closed his eyes, shaking his head, "That's not it, that's not why I can't…"

Dean bit his lip and said, "Why then? I'll dye my hair, I'll… I don't know, bust my nose again, fuck up my face. Just stay."

John shot him an annoyed look, "Is that why you picked a fight, Dean?"

Dean grimaced, not really knowing how to answer that. John groaned softly and shook his head.

"I don't want you to do any of that," John said softly, "I'll stay."

"But you're going to continue hating seeing me," Dean mumbled.

John groaned exasperatedly and said, "I don't hate looking at you, boy. It's not something you can understand."

"Try me."

Dean met John's surprised eyes head on. This needed resolved now; he didn't even care if it ended up in punches. After all of this bullshit Dean deserved at least one straight answer.

John turned to face him fully, exhaling sharply through his nose.

"Fine," John said, bringing his hand to hold Dean's chin in his fingers, "You wanna know why I can't look at you? You're right, it's because you look like…her. Shit son, you're a spitting image, not just in your looks, it's the way you act and you…it's you, too…"

Dean felt John's fingers travel over his jaw as he spoke, and then his thumb was brushing his full lips. Dean's eyes widened marginally for a moment he was still. This…what? Dean had no idea what to think; John hadn't said much, but he was watching him like he had that night but only it was stronger, and laced with more nervousness and pain and…and Dean needed to know for sure. Dean tentatively let his mouth fall open, the tip of his tongue flicking questioningly over the pad of his father's thumb. It lingered there for one moment too long before John jerked back as if he had been burned.

"Dad?" Dean said softly.

"Dean, I-" John stopped himself and scowled, turning away from him.

"Dad, wait-"

John was walking quickly to the car and Dean panicked again. This was what it was all about? That night, and the fucking yelling, and-...This was- god Dean was an idiot. It was so obvious, now.

Before John could get in the car Dean exclaimed, "Dad, it's okay!"

And really, it wasn't, this was as far away from okay as they could get but where Dean should be feeling disgusted and relieved John was distancing himself as much as possible, all Dean felt was a weird sympathy and fear that John would actually abandon them over something he didn't seem able to control. John leaving them behind was forefront in his mind; it meant the family split apart, it meant Dean hadn't done his job, it meant he had failed. Again. He just couldn't let that happen, not over something like this. This Dean could help. This Dean could fix.

John stopped and turned to face Dean, but kept his eyes on his keys.

"Okay? Okay? Tell me what part of that is okay, Dean."

Dean didn't have an answer, not one John would like, at least. If it meant John would stay, and that Dean could do something that wasn't a total disaster, then…well maybe this wasn't so bad. Dean didn't feel regret or disgusted by what he had done that night. He had liked it, really; he liked giving something to his father. He… wanted to do it again.

Dean swallowed thickly and approached John, standing near him but a respectable distance away.

"Please Dad? I don't want you to leave."

"I have to, Dean," John said sharply, but his voice was pained.

Dean shook his head, and made a bold move to reach up and gently touch John's arm, "No you don't."

His father looked at his hand, almost uncomprehending, and darted his gaze to Dean, "Boy, you don't…you have no idea what I'm talking-"

"Yes I do. I'm not dumb, and I-…" the words caught, and Dean quickly cleared his throat, "I'm okay with it. It's okay."

Dean felt John's hands fist his shirt and Dean was pressed bodily into the impala by his father's strong grip. John let go but kept him pinned with a hand on his chest, glaring at him.

"You sure about that Dean? Because I feel like wanting to fuck my own-"

John couldn't even finish the sentence but Dean felt his heart start to pound a little faster. He could feel it in his throat, his ears, his stomach. It was laid out in the open now, no assumed words or guesses or…god, it was really true. Dean wasn't sure how he felt, but his mind apparently didn't need to keep up for this one because with slightly trembling fingers Dean reached a hand up and cupped John's cheek, stroking his thumb over slight stubble on his skin.

"It's okay," Dean said thickly one more time, trying to calm John down even though his own heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest. But he understood now. He could handle this; he knew he could fix this. His throat suddenly felt like it was made of cotton and he swallowed hard to try to take away the awful dryness. Dean bit his lip and tried to will up the courage to do more than touch his dad's jaw, before John thought he was having doubts. He just…needed to do it.

Shit, what in the world was he doing?

A/n: I'm so cruel to these guys. I know my promises are like, equivalent to a politician's but I'll try to get the next chapter written soon, I swear. Comments are ALWAYS loved and appreciated and snuggled with. Criticism is appreciated, too.