Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, or the characters, and chances are that I never will.

Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter! And I just want to say that I'm really sorry this took so long, my computer died, I started a new job, and I've had a lot of assignments to do for my tafe course. I'm studying childcare, would you believe it?

I get the feeling that there's going to be a mixed reaction to the ending off this chapter, but try to see it for the opportunities it presents. Please!

Enjoy!

Needless to say Dean accepted the medications without pause, anything to let him forget, just for awhile, but without the therapy Dr Ross informed Dean that he wouldn't prescribe him anything, so reluctantly Dean agreed to meet with the doctor in two days, to 'catch up' as Dr Ross had described it.

Half an hour later, Dean was finished with Dr Ross, and after another couple of hours John signed him out to go home, or back to the motel as the case was, and he then drove Dean back to the motel. On the ride home, John attempted to start up a conversation, and each and every time he tried, Dean replied with a mere grunt, a shrug of the shoulders, and a variety of other non-communicative responses. And once they reached the motel things didn't change much, with the help of the newly prescribed sedatives Dean was asleep within minutes, leaving John to his own devices.

John was barely keeping it together, between Sam's death, Dean's long running illness, and now Dean's devastation and mental collapse, it was almost too much for the eldest Winchester to handle. He grabbed a beer from the bar fridge, and slipped out of the motel room, and eventually he ended up sitting with his head in his hands at the top of the motel's stairs, thoughts rushing through his head.

How could I let this happen?!

He's in so much pain.

How am I supposed to help him?

It should be me, not some shrink he's talking to.

I've already lost one son, please god don't let me lose Dean too.

Overwhelmed by the pain, John grabbed the empty beer bottle that was sitting beside him, and he hurled it across the parking lot. He was so frustrated, frustrated over feeling so useless to Dean, over the way his life was going. He'd always thought, right from the moment he'd met Mary that they'd always be together, that they'd have a family together, but now all that was crumbling down around him. And there sat John Winchester, hunter, father, and widower, crying brokenly on the steps of the motel, praying for it all to stop, for it to stop hurting, just even for a while.

Eventually John went inside, and he was relieved to find Dean still resting peacefully, he sat down beside his son, but as he sat down, he was compelled to place his fingers to Dean's neck, feeling for a pulse, just to be sure, his memories of the last time dean had been so still, when he was in a coma, would always haunt him.

John stayed there all night, by his son's side, just watching him, making sure he was alright.

He stayed there until well into the next morning, when Dean finally awoke from his medicated slumber. John had been dozing on his own bed when he noticed Dean starting to wake.

John quickly sat up and then made his way to Dean's side, greeting him as his eyes drifted open. "Hey kiddo. How're you feeling?"

There was a long pause before Dean mumbled. "Crap. Lemme alone." Before rolling away from his father, and closing his eyes trying to fall back asleep.

"No can do, Deano." John said regretfully. "You've got to get up and take your meds. Come on."

Sighing, knowing that his father was right, the last thing he wanted was to damage the heart inside him, Sam's heart, Dean pulled himself out of bed, and groggily followed his father into the kitchenette to take his morning cocktail of pills.

The next morning John and Dean made their way back to the hospital, Dean was still in his sleepwear, an old band shirt and a pair of track pants, because John had given up convincing him to get dressed. Within a few minutes of arriving, Dean was sitting opposite Dr Ross on the office's couches.

"So how have you been feeling, Dean? Are you sleeping any better?"

Dean still had dark bags under his eyes, but he had been sleeping better, now he only had to remember what had happened half the time. "Better I guess. I still keep waking up in the night though, nightmares." It wasn't true, but Dean was tired, and he knew what to say to talk the psychiatrist into giving him more meds, then he'd be able to just forget. He needed to forget.

It worked. "Okay, well I can increase your dosage, see if that helps. Can you tell me about the nightmares?"

Dean still had more than enough nightmares to tell the doctor about, though he did need to sensor it a bit. "We were out hunting deer, and there's a fence, Sam gets caught on one side and I'm on the other side, I can't get back to him." This is crap. "Then there's a noise, a gunshot, and Sam is falling to the ground. He dies there and I couldn't reach him. And there's another one, and in that one, I'm the one who beat Sam, I killed him with my bare hands."

Dr Ross was silent for a moment before he replied, considering what his patient had just told him, he didn't need his training to know that that was what it would ultimately come down to, Dean felt as though he had killed his brother, even though that couldn't be further from the truth.

Dean continued to go see Dr Ross every few days for the next couple of weeks, and then every week, then every two weeks, then he started missing appointments, all this time he kept taking the medications, well beyond the prescribed dosage a large proportion of the time, every time his memories of Sam became too much for him, which was very near constantly. He only saw Dr Ross now when he needed more meds, he'd tell him what he knew he needed to hear to write another script.

And John, well John he started drinking more and more, he could see his son slipping into a severe drug addiction, and consumed by the pain of everything that had happened, he couldn't cope.

They broke off all contact with everyone and then they went their separate ways, John took off, and Dean who had moved onto something stronger, namely methamphetamine, he had sold everything his father had left behind, everything except the Impala which was his only form of shelter as he moved from town to town, without fail, finding a dealer who could get him the only thing he cared about anymore.

TBC...

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And as always, suggestions and CONSTRUCTIVE criticism are welcome, feel free to put them in a review or PM.