HEY! I'm back by request with another chappy. (Thank you to KatieMalfoy19 for inspiration!!!!) Okay, this is allllllll Johnny-boy, he'll be remembering the rest of the morning after he let Dean out. I hope you guys will like this as a follow up, and i do have one question for you (it'll be after the story)

I don't own Supernatural, but it'd be fun if I did...

(PS - I ran the first chapter of this into gizoogle (gizoogle. com that is) and it was kick-ass HILARIOUS! you've gotta check it out)

Okay, let's go.

"Don't cry!"

"D-D-Daddy… I'm s-s-s-sorry… I'm s-sorry!"

"Stay here until you're ready to stop being such a baby,"

"Daddy! Please let me out! Daddy, please help me! …DADDY!"

Gasping loudly, John Winchester shot up in his bed. His eyes darted around the dark motel room, but instinct allowed him to calm down a little. He rubbed the back of his neck, stifling a tired yawn. He swung his legs over the edge of his bed, no longer wanting to sleep.

His shoulders tensed as he remembered the dream. It hadn't just been his imagination—that had happened, so long ago. He hadn't had that dream in a while now.

"Dean…," he sighed to himself, once again feeling the crushing guilt for the wrong he had done all those years ago. Each time he dreamt of the moment he had thrown his son into the closet, his mind forced him to relive the whole morning after. He would fight it, but knew by now it was inevitable.

(1983)

John began to wake up, slowly, first realizing his pounding headache. That was right, he had gone to the bar the last night…

Shouldn't've had so much alcohol…, he chided himself, his thoughts oddly sounding like his mother.

He blinked his tired eyes and also realized that he had fallen asleep on the ratty couch.

Ignoring his headache, he idly wondered if Dean was up yet…

Dean! John's eyes widened, the memories from the last night flooding back in a rush. He hastily jumped from the couch and nearly ran down the hall, to the closet.

No, no, no, no! he thought to himself frantically. I didn't!

He fumbled with the lock to the door, finally managing to get it open after he dealt with his trembling hands. He swung the door open, praying he wouldn't find his eldest locked within.

As the light streamed into the unbelievably dark closet, John saw Dean, lying on the floor. Looking at Dean's little face, John noticed that he had been crying. This was wrong—this was all his fault.

Once Dean saw that he was there, he jumped up, staring at John in fear.

"Dean," John began, rubbing his forehead, trying to find the right words to say. How did I do this? What can I say to him to make him understand that I didn't mean it? "Son, I'm—"

Dean didn't let him finished. The four-year-old bolted off, sped past John and down the hall towards Sammy's room.

I'm sorry, John finished for himself. God, I'm so sorry. He swallowed hard, holding himself back when the sudden urge to slam his fist into the wall consumed him. Instead, he slowly trudged into the kitchen, grabbing a box of cereal and two bowls. Maybe Dean would forget about what happened…

He'll never forget… I've scarred him for life, John berated himself. What would Mary think if she knew what I've done?

He looked to the ceiling, sadly, eyes full of guilt. "I'm so sorry, Mary… I didn't mean to hurt our boy…"

He stood gazing at the ceiling for a few more minutes, almost expecting an answer from the heavens. When no words came, he dropped his head. He poured cereal into the two bowls in front of him, and after grabbing the milk from the fridge, he added that to the bowl as well.

"Dean!" he called, his voice sounding odd because his throat was threatening to close up on him. "Dean, it's time for breakfast!"

After a moment, John could see Dean slowly peeking around the corner and into the kitchen. The little boy eyed the bowl of Lucky Charms warily, but didn't budge. Maybe he suspected a trap?

John forced a small smile, trying to reassure his son. "Come on, sport, eat up."

Dean took a few steps forward, hesitantly. He didn't say a word as he climbed into a seat and grasped the spoon in front of him.

John nodded approvingly and took the seat across from Dean. He would be able to feed Sam a little later, anyway. He picked up his spoon as well and began to eat his cereal. A few bites later, he noticed how Dean let his spoon hover over the cereal, not yet touching it in the past few minutes, fear flashing in those little green eyes.

Dean sensed that John was watching him though. He met his father's eyes for a fraction of a second before ripping them away and shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

"Dean, I'm—" John cut himself off this time. He couldn't get the words out… Why couldn't he just apologize? But his throat wouldn't cooperate with him, and his voice wouldn't make a sound. His throat felt so tight, he thought he would probably have trouble swallowing even a grain of rice.

There was silence once again, the only sound being the clinking of spoons against the bowls. As the minutes stretched past them, John found it harder and harder to get those three little words out.

I'm sorry. I—am—sorry, John told himself, as if he would forget these words if he attempted to utter them.

But just as John's mouth opened to try again, the silence was broken with a long cry from down the hall.

John's mouth snapped shut and he stood. "Your brother's hungry," he said, ruffling Dean's hair, as if that would make everything better. As John walked down the hall, he took one glance over his shoulder, trying to see if Dean accepted or even understood his unsaid apology.

His eldest dropped his spoon on the table and blinked hard, shaking slightly.

John turned, wanting to go back and embrace his son, to whisper the apology in his ear and tell him that it would never, never happen again. But before he got the chance, Sam began to cry louder, his wail reminding John that Sam was hungry. John stole one more look at Dean, but turned his back to get Sammy.

(2006)

John rubbed his stinging eyes. I should've just told him I was sorry. I should have just said that it would be okay and that I loved him… Why didn't I? Why couldn't I?!

John had never been able to apologize to Dean. His son had been different—he had seemed so different for so long after that. Had he really gone back to normal, or had John just gotten used to the change? He honestly didn't know anymore. He didn't have much memory of the boy Dean used to be—he had been a man for so long now, long before he was even in his teens.

John grabbed his cell phone from the nightstand and flipped it open. He thumbed down his short contact list until Dean was highlighted. He could fix this whole thing right now—he could stop the nightmares, he could rid himself of the guilt. All he had to do was call Dean and apologize. Apologize for what had happened, and for not apologizing sooner.

Before pressing the send button, he hesitated.

Dean was four years old when that happened, he thought to himself slowly. Would he even remember what happened? After a moment of thinking, John shook his head. No, he wouldn't be able to remember something from so long ago…

That's just like saying he doesn't remember the night his mother was killed, a voice in his head protested. And even though Dean seemed to hide it, John had this nagging feeling that his son remembered something about Mary's death.

John bit his lip. He has to remember…

"He'll remember," John muttered to himself. And with those words, he pressed the send button, perhaps a little harder than necessary. He waited while it rang once, twice, three times.

"This is Dean Winchester. Can't get to the phone right now. Leave a message."

John hung up, not even bothering with a message. It wouldn't be the same… He sighed, setting the phone aside and laying back in his bed.

It'll sound better if I say it in person anyway, he thought, though he knew he was just making another excuse. He knew he wouldn't be able to do it then, either. If Dean really didn't remember anything about what had happened, then why should John go dragging up a memory that Dean didn't know existed? And speaking about it with his son would just bring up awkwardness and hurt, not to mention a probably shocked Sam if he were around to hear it.

He could imagine Dean's reaction. His son would turn away and pretend it didn't hurt. He would make a joke about it to try to ease the tension. He'd tell John not to worry about it, that it was a long time ago and he didn't care. But it would all be a lie.

Dean knew John better than anyone, but it was a two-way street.

John closed his eyes. I'm sorry for not apologizing, Mary, he thought to the heavens. I'm sorry I can't do it just yet. If Dean remembers, he probably already knows I'm sorry, right? Yes, he knows I'm sorry. He knows me better than that. He knows I'm sorry for what I've done, and he knows I'd die for him at the drop of a dime.

I won't hurt Dean like that again, he promised Mary. I'll protect him and Sammy until the day that I die.

Now, kids, before you say anything, lemme tell yah somethin'. I do have an idea for a next chapter, if y'all's interested. (okay, too much gizoogle for me... Now i'm always gonna call Sammy Sizzam...) If you want me to write yet another part, PLEASE review and let me know... because i do have that idea...hmm...it would tie it together, i think...

Okay, talk to you later

-Kaisa