(Special thanks to Lenail125 and Souless666 for the reviews. Ya'll seriously rock.

As a warning I have caught up to myself. I usually am maybe about two or three chapters ahead of my posts just to be on the safe side, and after a little of a writers block I have officially caught up. As I write this I am writing up Chapter 14 so I will hopefully be posting on time next week. My muse has returned though so I should be good.)

Chapter Thirteen

It was bright. Too bright, and every sound irritated him. The warble of a bird outside the window, the soft shift of his blankets every time he moved. And his neck, it burned. John brought a hand up and moved it slowly towards his neck, to have it hindered by a bandage, then long fingers that wrapped around his wrist.

"Hey, leave it alone."

John scowled and furrowed his brow. He had yet to open his eyes, but he knew that voice. Sam; his youngest. His baby. Memories spilled in like a massive flood and filled John with a heaviness. The son he'd condemned that night.

"Are you back with us?" A hand drew back the hair that had stuck to his forehead.

John wished he wasn't. He hadn't planned on driving home. Hell, he didn't remember driving home. Well that was alcohol for you. "Yeah." The single word got caught in his dry throat and started making him cough. John's eyes finally flicked open as he sat up and hunched over.

"Hey, hey. Drink something." Sam insisted as he swam into view. The fuzzy image of his son stuffed a cup with a straw under John's face. The straw was inserted into his mouth, and John let himself accept the help. John drank hungrily from the glass. Once it was drained he shifted and sat back against the headboard.

"How long?"

"You slept through the night, right now it's about three in the afternoon." Sam supplied helpfully. "Dean was here about an hour ago, but I kicked him out. He stayed the night with you and got no sleep."

Ah, Dean. His eldest had always been the reliable one. While Sam pissed and moaned about school, and he drank away his troubles, Dean always made sure the family got what they needed; everything from food to blankets. No matter how many times he wished he could never go back and fix his mistakes. He would always be the drunk dad, and Dean…Dean would be the one who everyone could lean on.

"Why?" Sam demanded softly.

John stumbled out of his thoughts. "Why what?"

Sam exhaled. "Why did you go on a drinking spree? I thought-"

The kid thought that his father had fought through the alcoholism. That he was winning against his dark desires for a stiff drink. Oh the kid was wrong. Every day was a battle. It didn't go away. After the confirmation of the deal Mary had made, he gave in. Some dark place in his head had simply said fuck it and he downed a beer, then the entire pack. Then another. "Got some bad information. Needed to cope."

"Did it help?" Sam sounded tense. Like a parent disappointed in his child.

"Gave me a headache." John pressed a hand to his temple. "A really bad headache."

Sam produced another glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol. John winced at the sound of the bottle being shaken, but gave his boy a tight smile in thanks when the tablets were pressed into his palm. He swallowed down the tablets and drank the rest of the water in the second glass. When he was finished Sam took the cup from his father.

The kid was so hurt and confused. John didn't like the fact that his bad habit, his addiction had caused the pain. Suddenly it felt like an explanation was required. "My dad. He was nice, but busy. He was never really home, and when he was his nose was pressed in a book. He always instilled a sense of strength in me. At the time men didn't cry. Men didn't have emotions. Men went to work and took care of their families. Women were the ones who cried and shared emotional stories."

Sam's brow furrowed. He was confused as to where this was going.

"Then he disappeared. Didn't even come back for his clothes or anything. I always imagined as a kid that he was a spy, and he left to go defend our country." John let out a humorless laugh. "Then when I got older I got mad at him. He probably hooked up with another woman, and decided that his family wasn't good enough for him. Left me to be man of the house, to look after my mother. My mom didn't have anyone left but me, so when I got married, and moved in with Mary, I essentially abandoned her too."

"I'm sure she understood." Sam said quietly.

"Yeah. She didn't condemn me for it but I could tell every time we went to go visit, she wanted us to be there more. Fill her home with a little life. Especially once Dean had been born. She loved getting visits. Then she got sick, and I put her in a home. And I got busy at work, and- I thought I had time. Only I didn't. She died. She died, alone in some nursing home. Not even the damn nurses knew she was dead until she was stiff and cold. I should have- I should have at least gone to visit her more." John put a hand through his hair. "I shouldn't have assumed she was okay."

Sam remained quiet. This was rare. John never shared anything.

"I went to a bar that night. I had a few drinks before. Something to loosen you up; get a party going, but never the concentration I had that night. Your mother, was furious at me. When I woke up I tried telling her that I had a headache, and she told me I deserved it. I couldn't stop though. I kept thinking about my mother, how she died alone. Then my father swam back up. Why did he leave me? What was I good for? God Sam, it was like every insecurity from my childhood came back in one vicious swoop. And your mother wanted to talk things through. Discuss my feelings but-"

"Men don't have emotions. Men don't cry." Sam finished.

"Right." John nodded his head and regretted it. "It took a lot of will and time, but I stopped. Mostly for you. Mary told me she was pregnant, and that I needed to snap out of whatever depression I was in for Dean and our little girl." John looked over at Sam when he turned his head in confusion. "She was so sure you were a girl at first. Maybe that's why you unconsciously want your hair so long."

A smile tugged at Sam's lips.

"So I stopped. But when your mother died-"

"It started again." Sam finished for him again.

"Yeah. It's not easy. Something stressful happens and I want to take a drink of anything. Alcohol is so convenient in the fact that you forget everything. Your mind and body relax, and whatever stress you had, just goes away. Except I forgot that it hurts the people around me. When I was drinking regularly I was focused on the demon, on finding him so you stayed safe. The alcohol was the only escape for me, but I forgot I had you two. I forgot that you boys were strong and would have been there for me, just as I should have been there for you." John leaned his head back on the headboard his eyes scanning the popcorned ceiling. "When I got the information a few days ago, I just wanted to forget. I wanted to remember the way my life was as something so nice and innocent. Instead I brought myself and my boys back to the trouble we had years ago."

Sam rubbed at the back of his head. "We were just- surprised. You were doing so good, and you show up stone cold drunk. Then you scratched up your neck something awful." When John brought his hand up to the bandage Sam stopped him again. "Don't touch it. It's cleaned and bandaged. We figured you did it because there was blood and skin under your nails. Unless you remember a fight."

"When you went to defend her from her father, he snapped your neck."

John shuddered as the demon's words came back to him. "I probably did it to myself."

"Why?" Sam asked softly.

"It's a long story, and I don't want to repeat it. When I can get all of you together I'll tell you."

His stubborn boy looked like he wanted to protest but he bit his lip and nodded. "Okay. You uh- need any more water?"

John shifted on the bed again and shook his head. "Maybe a little later. I just want some quiet. Let my headache go down."

"Okay." Sam stood up. He went to the door, and opened it. He didn't leave instantly though his boy kept his back to him. "Thank you, for telling me. You should do that more often. You don't have to be so damn stoic. Men don't have to keep it in. It isn't weakness to let someone know something is bothering you, especially family. Dean, and I- even Bobby- we care about you."

Sam finally turned to look at his father; his eyes were suspiciously damp. "That's why I get mad. I want to know that I'm someone you can go to if you need help. When you keep turning towards alcohol though it's like, I'm- we're obsolete."

John wasn't sure what to say, and he was saved the trouble when his son exited and closed the door behind him. That damn kid and his puppy dog eyes had pierced his heart. "Kids worse than Mary." John muttered to himself as he snuggled into the soft pillows.

xxxOOOxxx

It took the fifth cup of coffee, water to last one man two weeks, a few more Tylenol, and a cold shower. Finally, John was able to stand the sunlight and function like a human being. John blamed his heart to heart on his vulnerable state when he was still nastily hungover. He was now back to his ridged self not breathing a word about the irritated looks he was being given from his family. As much as he wanted to tell them off he did show up very drunk. He couldn't blame them for anything.

At the table in the kitchen he cleared his throat and looked over at his boys. "I wanted to confirm whether or not she had made a deal. Grabbed a few demons and questioned them. The second one finally told me that she had made a deal. The third one confirmed it."

Dean's face fell. Sam blanched. Bobby kept a straight face as he studied John's expression, but John was determined not to show anything.

"Why?" Dean demanded softly. "She was a hunter, that should go against every instinct."

"Because I had died." John braced himself against the shocked and pained glances. "The evening Mary's parents died the demon, wearing her father, went after us as well. He-" John raised a hand to his neck. "He killed me, and your mother made a deal to save my life."

Sam shut his eyes and the sorrow filled voice of his father echoed in his head. "It's my fault Sammy. 'M sorry." The way he clutched at his neck Sam couldn't help but think that his father's neck had been choked or twisted. No wonder his dad had gone on a drinking spree after finding out. "Is that why you tried turning your neck into bloody ribbons?"

"I guess so." John had the sense to look sheepish. "I don't really remember."

Dean for a minute lost concern on his father's wound. The idea that his mother had made a deal cycled around violently in his head. "She made a deal? She sold her soul? Then how was she still in our home?"

John met his eldest's eyes. "She didn't sell her soul. All he asked was for permission to show up at her home." The room got quiet. "I guess she figured she got a good deal from him, or maybe she was emotional. I know I wasn't in a good place when she died, so I can only imagine how it felt when I had."

Dean could only imagine clutching someone he loved as their body went cold. Some powerful being shows up and offers to bring them back, only condition is that they can come in for a visit later on down the road; come in for some tea and crumpets. He would probably make that deal. His head turned towards his little brother. For Sam he would make any deal, even with his soul.

"Was it said what he would do?" Bobby asked.

"No." John remembered just how much he a tortured the third demon to get more details. "I could only get them to reveal what happened during the exchange of the deal. And none of them said what the demon planned to do. I did however, get the biblical name of the demon."

Three pairs of eyes swiveled quickly towards him.

"Azazel."

Bobby exhaled. "Yellow eyes- Azazel. Of course."

Dean was confused. "Why of course? Who is Azazel?"

"The scapegoat." Sam said his tone thoughtful. "Goats have yellow eyes." When Dean threw Sam an irritated look Sam sighed and scratched at his cheek traveling his hand to the back of his head. "He's known in a few religions. Judaism, Christianity, and Islam; if you have God, singular God, then you have Azazel somewhere in your holy book. They mostly agree that he corrupted humanity. He was an angel that brought them the art of making weapons. In anger he was cast down from heaven. He was a scapegoat for God's anger. I always figured he was a thing of legend though…"

"We fight things of legend quite often." Bobby shrugged. "Besides, it could be a demon going by the name Azazel, or the Azazel."

"I tried confirming." John nodded. "They were afraid. They disclosed the information about the deal, but when I asked about Azazel they didn't say a word about him. Only reason I figured it out was because the demon started to say his name. I inferred who he was from there. Then for that matter it's gone silent. I checked in with Ash and his magic computer and he's not picking anything up. I guess after I got that information the bastard has retracted every black eyed son of a bitch. Whoever he is he is some hot stuff down there in hell."

Sam stood up, and paced toward the door. He leaned his forearm against it and balanced his weight to one foot as he stared out into the lot his mind swirling in thought. "Okay so we have Coronel Mustard in the library. But we don't know with what…and why for that matter."

"Coronel Mustard? Library? What are you talking about?" John scowled.

"It's Clue…the board game…" Sam watched his father's face twist more in confusion. Sam wondered in the time he'd been man of the house with his mother and Sam's mother, then bent on revenge, if he'd ever played an actual board game. "It's a murder mystery board game, you try to find out who the murder is, what they used to kill him, and what room he was killed in."

John wrinkled his nose. It all sounded very silly. "Wouldn't the room have his blood in it?"

"Point is-" Sam rolled his eyes, and ignored Bobby and Dean's humored looks. "We know who and where. Azazel in the house. We don't know why he did it, and how he did it. What does he need me to do? Why does he favor me?"

"How do you know he favors you?" Dean brought up an eyebrow.

Sam shut his mouth and turned back outside.

"Sam!" Dean's paternal voice came out. "Your hiding something, and I want to know what."

Sam tightened his jaw. "Before I stopped having my dreams- nightmares- that's what he would say."

"Who would say?" John demanded. "What nightmares."

That was right. His father hadn't been there for the nightmares. He knew nothing about the demon getting in his head. "I uh, had visits from the demon. He would come to me in my dreams and talk to me."

"No. Sam's understating it." Dean growled. He looked over at his father a scowl tightening his lips. "Kid would wake up screaming repeatedly. Finally, we found out he's being tortured in his sleep. The demon kills one of us in his dreams. He threatens one of us to make Sam do some job. He didn't however mention that the guy was playing favorites."

"And you didn't tell anyone? How long had this been going on?" John matched Dean's growling tone.

"Okay, look. I didn't want to tell anyone, because he didn't want me to tell anyone. There was a block that anytime I felt like mentioning it I wouldn't. I didn't realize until- well I realized it okay. And I've been drinking that bitter tea every night so he doesn't find a way back in." Sam saw Buddy coming back around from his walk. The dog perked up and rushed towards the door. "And I didn't think it mattered. The whole playing favorites thing. He probably used that line on everyone."

Dean's face darkened more. "Doesn't matter? What else did he say that doesn't matter?"

Sam stepped away from the door so Buddy had room to get in. His mind thought back to the dreams. The horrific deaths he'd witnessed.

"They will all live, if you do your job. If you don't I will have to force my hand."

"Do your job."

The blood flowing from his arm in small rivers.

"You have the blood to do it."

Sam shuddered as he remembered the demon's hands on him. On his arms. On his legs as he was knocked down and dragged away. On his face. In his even traveling up his chest.

"You are the vessel to do it. Before you force me to choose a champion, make the smart choice and just do the job."

The demon's breath in his face, it smelled and tasted of death and toothpaste. "After all you are my favorite. You have everything going for you."

"God, Dean. I don't know." Irritation wrinkled his face as he despised the demon for putting him through that, and his family for making him remember everything. "He said a lot of things. Demons do that. Demons fill your head with doubt and painful memories."

"For instance." Dean prodded none to patiently.

Sam turned around radiating anger. "I don't want to think about it Dean. Every time I think about it, I think about you being dead. You know how many times he killed you? All of you? How he killed you? Each time I was restrained. Chained, held, or forced back with his mind tricks. And you just screamed, again and again. God, and his breath, his hands." Sam shut his eyes and didn't open them until Buddy whined and pushed up on his back legs in attempt to reach his boy's face.

"Sam, I don't want you to be in pain thinking about it but-"

"Yeah you need to know." Sam snapped at his brother, but ran a hand through Buddy's soft fur. He bent at the knees and started to give his dog a good rub down. Buddy thumped his tail and Sam felt a sense of calm go through him with the simple motion. "I get it. He- told me that you would live if I did my job. That if I didn't he would force me to. God it was like a chant. Do your job, do your job. Like he's my damn supervisor and it's a fucking nine to five." Sam took in a shaky breath. He didn't look at his family. He couldn't stand to see their faces. "He said I had the right blood. I was the right vessel. I was his favorite and if I just did the job he didn't have to choose a champion."

Dean broke the silence once Sam had stopped. "Right blood? Right vessel?"

"I dunno Dean. I am type O, they're the universal donors. Maybe he's telling me to hit up a Red Cross and offer a pint." Sam's attempt at humor was lost among his family. "Whatever. It's all a bunch more questions that don't help with anything. That's how this works right. We get an answer and twelve more questions to go with it."

"This is all just so-" Dean stood up and slammed the chair back under the table. "I wish he would stop fucking with you, Sam."

"Yeah well me too." Sam snapped angry at no one and everyone; angry at the situation. He ran a hand through his hair. Suddenly with the day's events it was just too much. "I gotta- I need to-" Sam clenched and unclenched his fists. "I can't-"

"Go." Dean said shortly, but not unkindly. "I'll come find you if you're out too long."

Not bothering to change his cloths out Sam stalked angrily towards the door it's hinges swinging it shut behind him. Buddy followed through the dog door.

Dean listened to his brother jog off and when he was sure Sam was out of earshot, Dean let out a loud curse. The chair he slammed the table he aggressively kicked at snapped the back rest in half sending the seat and legs skittering to one side. "What the fuck!?"

Bobby stood up appalled at his son's actions but understanding at the same time. "Dean. Stop."

"No! I'm tired of this. I'm tired of him screwing with, Sam. With us." Dean clenched his fists and paced in a slight circle. "I need to do something, but I can't. There isn't anything we can do about it until we know more and we don't get information. Sam's right we find out one answer and we get more questions!"

"Think it's easy for any of us?" Bobby snarled. "I see Sam's face every time he has to take a drink of that nasty ass tea. I see the kids face every time he finds out more about the deal, his mother, hell- everything. I see your face, and your suffering as well. We are all suffering. Maybe the demon hasn't done something personally to me, but messing with the kid, and messing with you makes this personal. I want to find the bastard about as badly as you do, but pissing and moaning aint doing it boy."

Dean tightened his jaw. "I am not pissing and moaning. I'm just- I'm just mad. I want the jerk dead. I want his fucking head on a stake sitting in the front lawn." Dean slammed his hand into the wall and ignored the sharp sting that followed. "I want his head in the lawn so that anything that comes near my family knows just what I'll do to it, if it screws with them."

John studied his eldest with a masked expression. He hadn't seen Dean so emotional. Angry yes, but this transcended angry.

"Sam doesn't need us to be angry." Bobby growled. "You think I don't get angry about this shit. Well I do, but I don't show it to him. He doesn't need to feel any guiltier about things. He knows that I'm steaming on the inside…that I don't sleep because I stare at the ceiling seething…and the kid will blame himself…again."

Dean glanced at the ceiling. "That's why I'm not doing this in front of him." His hands shook. "I can't- I'm trying to be strong, but- but there's only so much I can handle." Dean ran his red and angry palm through his hair. "Jesus I need a-" He stopped and looked over at his dad. He balked at his father's hurt expression. He needed a beer, but needing that. Would that make him into something he didn't want to be later. If he relied on this to help him through things now, how would he learn how to cope later without it. "I need to go upstairs and check on something."

John turned away as Dean headed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He felt Bobby's hand settle on his shoulder.

"He didn't mean to hurt you." Bobby supplied helpfully. His face open; showing that if John needed to talk he could.

"I know." John scowled. "Damn if he isn't right though. Kid shouldn't rely on the stuff to get through this crap. He needs to find an outlet, or he'll- he'll end up like me. A pathetic drunk."

Bobby gave John a sympathetic look but knew that nothing he could say would make him feel better. His boys he knew like the back of his hand. He could get their spirits up easy, John. Well he was an entirely different story. Figuring he couldn't help the situation any with words, he started the coffee maker. "Need another cup."

"God please." John groaned and palmed his eyes.

(Hey you guys liked it? Then leave a review. They are always appreciated. Or if you've noticed something that doesn't add up then don't be afraid to tell me. One of my biggest pet peeves is that I don't catch every mistake that comes through and when I read through after posting there's a spelling error or some punctuation error. It's irritating. :/ Seriously I just reread through it and caught myself spelling Coronel with "Coronal." uggghhhhh.)