Looking For Space

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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CHAPTER 13: Getting the Third Degree

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The Spirit also helpeth our infirmity; for we know not what we should pray for as we ought; But the Spirit himself maketh intercession for us.

~ Romans 8:26

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Coming to a stand, Dean began to doubt his own convictions when his Dad walked into the motel room and his eyes almost worriedly appraised him. Then eleven year old Sam lithely side stepped his Dad to enter the room and put an emotional tailspin on everything.

"No one told me you were hurt," Sam remarked, shooting a glare to his father for supposedly holding that info from him, even as he crossed the room to his brother. He reached out to inspect Dean's bruised jawline and the few scratches on Dean's cheek but Dean caught his wrist, intercepted his concerned intentions.

Dropping Sam's wrist with contempt, Dean took a step back from his brother, hoping Sam took the hint that he wasn't to be touched, that Sam had already done enough by making a big deal about a few black and blue marks and scratches on his face. "I'm not hurt," he disdainfully denied, like Sam was a child, was freaking out over nothing. But his eyes were on John, who was wearing an expression Dean couldn't place, but his Dad's interrogating tone when he spoke the next second, he was very familiar with.

"Yeah, and how did you get the bruises and scratches, Dean?"

Dean didn't look to Caleb. 'The jerk is probably over there gloating.' Unflinchingly holding his father's gaze, Dean answered, "Just some roughhousing in a swimming hole." Which wasn't a lie. There had been roughhousing and swimming and if this wasn't a hole he was crawling out of right now, then it was a crater. So he stood there, waiting for his Dad to cross examine him or Caleb to betray him.

"That right?" John drawled, eyes going from his son, who wasn't giving anything away, to Caleb, who was practically chomping at the bit to say something. His focus returned to his son as Dean answered.

Dean respectfully barked back , "Yes sir," but inside he cringed because he didn't lie to his father, ever. Kept things from him, yes, but out and out lie...no.

When John's eyes travel to Caleb in accusation, Dean knew that he had won round one, that his Dad believed him, not whatever Caleb said he'd been up to.

Caleb cursed silently and viciously. John was buying Dean's good son routine. And it so wasn't that Caleb wanted the kid to get into trouble but he couldn't brush this under the carpet, let Dean think what he'd been up to was fine, that the next time he was upset he could do it all over again, tempt fate ….seek death.

"Junior, outside," John commanded Caleb before he stalked out of the room, wholly expected to be obeyed by his protégé.

Caleb shot Dean a look and wanted to haul the kid out the door with him when Dean gave him a smug, 'told ya' smirk. Nearly ripping the door off its hinges, Reaves joined John in the parking lot, didn't get a chance to speak before John was reaming him out.

"That's his big rebellion against you?! A few bruises, going to a swimming hole with some juvenile delinquents," John cuttingly snapped. "I know Mac had you on a pretty short leash as a kid so maybe you don't get the concept of boys just being boys." John ran a hand through his hair, couldn't believe he had let Caleb's conversation about Dean 'needing him' make him lose two nights sleep and pack Sam up in the Impala and travel the states to reach his elder son. Had had this fantasy running through his head like Dean would be waiting for him to make an appearance, run to him when he entered the motel room. 'Like he did when he was a kid, when I worked at the garage and would come home all greasy and tired and then have this little boy, the joy of my life, fly into my arms, make me believe I was worthy to be loved.'

Caleb bit back an ill-advised comeback, knew that would give John an excuse to wholly discount everything he said, to dismiss Dean's recklessness as boyhood pranks. 'If he could see the visions I had about his son 'just being a boy', John would be having a very different conversation right now..but with Dean.' But a large part of Caleb doubted that, wondered if John wasn't exactly like Jason's Dad, blasé about his son taking risks, thought like Dean claimed he did, that all's well that ends well as long as Dean wasn't out of commission, could still hunt.

"John it wasn't roughhousing. It was…" But Caleb faltered there, hadn't thought about his own contribution to Dean's facial injuries. Wasn't ready to confess that because then John would be all about anger and it wasn't about that, Dean didn't need that from John, for his dad to defend him. Dean needed his dad to love him.

"A fight?" John wrongly guessed. "So. I know Dean can hold his own."

And that just pissed Caleb off, that John was dismissing the fact that someone had hit his son. Almost confessed it was him just to shock John, to get the dumbbehind to react, to show he would defend Dean against all comers…even him. But he stuck to his guns, said nothing about his shameful part in Dean's pain, wanted to focus on Dean, on what Dean needed his father to know, even if Dean didn't want John to know.

Because this scenario, it could happen again. The Winchester lives weren't rays of sunshine, rainbows and unicorns and Dean always managed to take the brunt of the bad times, took it on to spare his dad and brother having to bear the scars. So yeah, Dean feeling alone and betrayed, it would happen again. 'But next time I won't play a part in any of that,' Caleb silently vowed, would never again use Dean, betray him, hurt him. But even as he pledged that vow, Caleb knew Dean would see what he was about to do next as all of that. A betrayal meant to hurt him when it was solely meant to safeguard him, to ease the hurts Dean already had.

"John, Dean didn't get the scratches on his face or the bruises all down his back, or his sprained ankle from roughhousing…" Caleb quietly said, knew his words were having an impact when John stiffened at his recounting of Dean's unseen injuries.

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Inside the motel room, the brothers awkwardly shuffled around each other, Dean to the kitchen and Sam to the window.
His back to his brother, Sam asked, "What's wrong with your leg?"

"Nothing," Dean snapped, didn't need Sam pointing out more things to Dad. And it was just like Sam to not drop things he wanted dropped.

"You're limping," Sam stated, turning around and leaning against the window sill as he watched his big brother pour himself a glass of soda from the refrigerator.

"Am not," Dean petulantly denied, slamming the glass back onto the table. "And don't tell Dad any different."

Sam shrugged, dropped his eyes to his shoes. Sure, he had been mad at Dean for telling Dad he took off, for helping John find him, but now that the roles were being reversed, Dean being mad at him….it hurt. He ached to get Dean to like him again. "So was it cool, being Caleb's second in command on the hunt?"

"Second in command?" Dean snorted. "That what you think?!" chiding in his tone, though to be fair, he had foolishly thought the same thing when he joined Caleb's first big head honcho hunt. 'How naïve I was…almost as much as Sam was thinking he could get away from our Dad, from hunting.'

Not sure why or how he had made Dean even angrier, Sam tried another tactic. "'Least you got to hang out here by yourself." Had a new appreciation for getting to be on your own after his runaway exploit…and a new respect for his brother's bravery for being on his own so much, so being the one in charge of keeping them both safe when Dad was gone. Because, truth be told, he had been scared to death every night of his AWOL status, the runaway dog showing up had been a God send to stave off his fear.

But the look Dean leveled at him wasn't the grin he expected but the hard expression his older brother used on idiots and bullies. "Yeah, because being with family sucks, doesn't it, Sammy," Dean sneered, eyes glittering with contempt and hurt.

Shamed at having run away, if not from his father certainly from Dean, Sam retaliated hurt for hurt. "Well, being with you sucks."

Dean hid his pain behind a vicious smile. "Tell me how you really feel," he taunted with a drawl. But then Dean snapped his fingers like he had a eureka moment, "Oh, right, you already did. Ditched me and let Dad chew me out for losing you and then you said I sucked. So yeah, I think our Phil Donahue moment's over." Then he crossed the room, turned on the tv and flopped down on the bed, made it a point to ignore Sam's presence in the room.

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"Sprained ankle and a bruised back, you said he wasn't hurt," John reproached, punctuated his ire by pointing a not-so-benign finger at Caleb.

"I didn't know about those injuries when I called you," Caleb defended even as he chastised himself. 'I knew Dean was favoring his one leg, was scraped up, looked like he took a mud bath after the hand-bridge event, should have guessed he was hurt and wasn't telling me.'

"When you called me, I told you to fix your relationship with Dean, not let him get hurt brawling," John shot back.

"It's not just my relationship with Dean that is broken!" Caleb defensively parried.

That got John stepping threateningly into his personal space. "I've taken a bunch of meddling and lecturing from Jim and Mac since Sam's stunt but you're not going to tell me how to treat my kids. I'm their father…"

"So act like it!" Caleb growled, didn't flinch when John roughly grabbed him by his shirt front. "Dean's hurt by Sam's actions, by your blaming him for them, by my using him on the hunt. He thinks he doesn't have value, that we don't value him if we can't use him. Thinks that we'd all be hunky-dory if he suddenly wasn't around anymore."

"What in the world are you talking about?!" John scathingly retorted shoving Caleb away like his brand of crazy was contagious.

Having led the conversation to this apex, Caleb hated that he was having trouble saying what he knew needed said next. And it wasn't all about John's reaction. No, it was about how the declaration would hit Caleb, saying it aloud, admitting it, knowing how things had nearly ended, that they might get that bad down the road if John didn't know how his son felt, how his son dealt with those feelings. "He was …..was trying to hurt himself. Was doing reckless stunts that ended in injuries….almost ….."

"Hurt himself?" John mockingly parroted back, seemingly holding back a smirk. "Stunts? Kid, maybe I misjudged you. The next Knight shouldn't wet his pants over a protégé enjoying living on the edge."

Caleb gritted his teeth at John's smear on his Knight future, as if he gave a crap about that over Dean's well-being. Raising his ringless hand, he bit out, "Screw being the Knight and screw the Brotherhood. I'm talking about your son dying!"

John grabbed Caleb's wrist before the younger man could drop his hand, seared his gaze into Caleb's. "What are you talking about, dying?! And where's your ring?"

Caleb couldn't help goadingly fire back, "Wow, I'm finally getting your full attention. But is it my denouncing you as my mentor or the fact that your son…or should I say hunting partner almost opted out of being at your side that snagged your attention."

Flinging Caleb's wrist from his hold, John ordered, "Cut the crap right now. You tell me exactly what's going on."

Though John was finally open to the truth, Caleb knew he had gone about it the wrong way. That John being angry so wasn't a great way to tell him about Dean seemingly not caring if he got himself killed, about the tram incident that almost gave Dean his wish, about Caleb's part in Dean's bruises. So he hedged his tale with a little psychological gambit. "You and I both know what it's like to have our faith in our families tainted. Well, Dean's feeling some of that since Sam ran away, because for him, Sam left him….as surely as you feel your dad left you."

That comparison had John paling. "Sam ran away from hunting…wanted to get out from under my control. It didn't have anything to do with Dean."

"That's not what you accused Dean of," Caleb quietly countered, knew the pain he was kicking up but couldn't stop, wouldn't stop. John's pain he could endure…Dean's…not at all. "When you found out Sam left, you lit into Dean, demanded what he had done, what he had said to his brother to make him run away."

Shamed at his panicked actions, John stammered, "I…I was trying to figure out Sam's motives…I didn't…it wasn't about Dean."

Not with condemnation but with sorrow Caleb replied, "And that's part of the problem. Dean doesn't think anything good is about him. Thinks all the wrong, all the bad is his fault. And none of us had a problem pushing our frustration onto him. Sam's pissed at Dean because he helped you find him, you're pissed at Dean because you think he failed you because Sam ran away on his watch, I was pissed at Dean for making me feel guilty for having a successful hunt just because I used him for bait. And he takes it, Dean always takes it…until he can't. Until he breaks."

John's eyes grew wide with grim realization of all that had been heaped on Dean's shoulders, on his eldest son's so vulnerable heart. Then Caleb's earlier words were hitting him, stabbing him, right in his own heart: 'He was …..was trying to hurt himself. Was doing reckless stunts that ended in injuries.' 'I'm talking about your son dying!'

Suddenly John was pierced with the fierce need to see his son, to make sure Dean was alright. He was turning back for the room when he caught sight of Mac's car pulling into the motel's parking lot. "You call for backup again or does your Dad just sense a psychic opening to lecture me when my emotional dams are crumbling."

"From personal experience, I'm going with B," Caleb mumbled, wasn't exactly looking forward to his Dad's presence because John's emotional walls weren't the only ones in ruin. Didn't want to give his Dad an unwelcome look into his pain, his fear. Knew Mac would try to take it on himself and that wasn't what he wanted…what he deserved. It didn't equate with Caleb that that was exactly how he reacted to Dean's pain, wanted to take it away from his friend, would gladly bear it so Dean wouldn't have to.

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Dean held back a sigh as John, Caleb and Mac came into the motel room. Didn't like the way he was the center of their attention. Like he was some drug addict they needed to stage an intervention for. Coming off the bed, he stood up straight, his chin jutting out, daring them to try their best. Regardless of what Caleb thought, he didn't break that easily, wasn't going to let them drag him into some emotional scene when all this was over nothing. Caleb had been a little freaked out about the tram close call, that was it.

Sensing that lines were being drawn even if he didn't know why, Sam chose his side without hesitation. He defiantly stood at Dean's shoulder and readied himself to defend his big brother against whatever accusations the adults in the room were about to make against Dean. He gave Dean an encouraging smirk when his brother looked down at him in surprise, didn't feel that great when Dean took a step forward to meet his firing squad instead of enduring his company.

John opened his mouth but a knock at the door at their backs forestalled his first words. He caught the flicker of relief in his eldest son's eyes before he swung around, ripped the door open, set to dismiss whoever dared to intrude on their family drama. Wasn't expecting another hunter to be darkening their doorway, namely James Lositros and his son.

"Lositros," he gruffly greeted, liked the other hunter well enough but being gregarious wasn't in John Winchester's repertoire.

"Hey, I'm glad you're here, John. It's best we talk in person," were Lositros' unexpected opening lines delivered, not with the carefree attitude that had pissed Caleb off so badly, but with true distress. "Can I come in?"

Sighing in frustration at the new drama he sensed about to unfold, John stepped back from the doorway, was his version of an invitation for Lositros. Even as James Lositros stepped into the room, his son remained outside, called through the open doorway, "Dean," and jerked his head to the right, indicating Dean should join him outside.

Without asking permission, Dean readily skirted around his disbanded firing squad, slipped out of the motel room and pulled the door shut. "Dude, your timing is awesome. What's your dad here about? Another hunt?" because Dean hadn't missed that Lositros had a bag slung over his shoulder that probably contained his cache of weapons.

"I wish," Jason exhaled, felt his cheeks pink with embarrassment before he confessed. "You know my two friends that lent you the motorcycle? Well, they were videotaping your stunt. My Dad's about to show your dad your Evel Knievel moment."

Dean's blood ran cold because countering Caleb's verbal description about his antics was one thing, getting his Dad to not be pissed at seeing his exploits in living color was quite another thing. After all, seeing was believing. Made him tack onto his Dad's favorite motto of 'We do what we do and we shut up about it' a very sage addition of 'and we don't let someone video tape it either.'

'Ah, crap. The stuff is officially going to hit the fan now,' Dean realized, wondered if he'd be in the dog house with Sam or if his screw up would liberate Sam and he'd get to roam the dog house all by his lonesome.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

And for those in the US, have a Happy Thanksgiving!

Cheryl W.