It's been a while, but I'm here with another chapter... Sorry it took so long, but school has been murder...honestly.

I hope you like this next chapter. Still working on writing and rewriting, so hopefully I'll get the next chapter out soon...

I don't own Supernatural, but after hearing it was going to be back on next week with a new eppie, I've been pretttttttty happy...

It was a week later when Sam had begun getting really worried. He had taken care of his job, thinking that maybe Dean would be back by the time he was done, but there was no such luck.

Staying away for one night was understandable. Two days, he would start to get worried. But staying away for a week? Sam was beginning to think that his brother really wasn't coming back. That thought in particular unnerved Sam. He didn't want to leave the small motel in Utah, because what if Dean did come back? Even if he did want to leave the motel, he couldn't really go anywhere without a car.

Sam picked up his cell phone. He had been holding back from calling Dean, because, frankly, he wasn't sure what to say. But now he had no choice. He dialed Dean's number and pressed the send button, and then sat on the end of his bed and waited with baited breath.

After quite a few rings, it went straight to Dean's voicemail. It didn't take too long for Sam to notice that the answering message was new.

Hey, you've reached Dean Winchester. I'm not around, so…leave a message after the beep. Oh, and if this is Sam, don't bother. And don't call back, man, I really mean it. Bleep!

Sam did the only thing he could do at this point—he called again.

Dean was ready to chuck his phone out the window after it began to ring for the fifth—or was it the sixth?—time. He was currently residing at a motel in Oregon, where he had read about a series of suspicious murders. Unfortunately enough, he had left the laptop with Sam, so any time he needed to do research, he had to hop to the nearest internet café, or a library.

But at the moment, the only demon he wanted to kill was that blasted phone. The front screen kept flashing Sammy, and the ring tone was driving him up the wall.

It's nice to know that Sam did exactly what I told him not to do, Dean thought as the phone rang again. He finally flipped open the phone and turned it off, the silence that followed welcomed.

What Dean didn't get was why didn't Sam try calling sooner? He had been gone for a week already, and if he knew Sam, his brother would have called the moment he stayed away for longer than twenty-four hours.

He groaned. All he had wanted to do was to keep his mind off Sam, but his mind just wasn't agreeing with him. Every time he thought of Sam, his older brother instincts tried to take over. He had this urge to go back to Utah and just be there to protect Sam. If anything ever happened to him, Dean knew he would never forgive himself.

Sam can protect himself. He's said that millions of times before, Dean tried to reassure himself. He doesn't…he doesn't 'need' me. He felt the pain underneath again. It was insane, it kept jumping him when he wasn't doing anything else to keep busy. When Sam wasn't around, it didn't jump him as often. Thoughts of his little brother kept his mind off it. Hunting kept his mind off it. Anything, as long as he was busy with something else. He couldn't stand still, because his mind would always come back to that little cabin, to that awful place where he had learned the truth.

"You know, you fight, and you fight for this family, but the truth is they don't need you! Not like you need them. Sam, he's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern than he's ever shown you…"

Those were the last words that John had spoken to him. And he could still remember it word by word. It may have been the demon using John's voice, but it was still the last thing that came from his father's mouth.

Stop thinking like that! Dean shouted to himself in his mind. Every time he thought, every time he relived the moments that had hurt him most, he felt as if he were going to explode with…with…'emotions'. Something he was not supposed to have. And he knew well enough that by now, all the stuff he had kept inside ever since he was four would cause one hell of an explosion. He had serious doubts that he would be able to keep his sanity if such an 'explosion' ever occurred.

He glared into thin air and grabbed the car keys off the nightstand. "Research," he grumbled to himself dismally, before he walked out of the room.

Two weeks later was when Sam couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't just sit around and hope Dean would answer his desperate calls. He knew he had no choice—he had to call in the big guns. He knew only one other person would be able to get through to Dean.

He took up his cell phone again and called his father, and waited while it rang. He was still in Utah, and the only way he could get around was by taxi. He needed some backup, and his father was the only other person he could call. And he knew that if it wasn't an emergency, John would have his neck, but Sam considered Dean missing to be an emergency.

Once the phone stopped ringing, all Sam got was John's voicemail—as usual.

"Dad, it's Sam. Something's come up. It's about Dean. I think…I mean, he left. He left…three weeks ago, and, Dad, I don't think he's coming back." Sam shook his head, feeling helpless. "Dad, if you get this, please do something. I'm really…really worried about him. The last place I saw him was here, in Utah. We're…um…I'm staying at a motel here." And he proceeded with directions to the motel. After that, he hung up and rested his forehead against the wall, a motion he had noticed that Dean did when he was upset—something he only did when he thought Sam wasn't around. Honestly, Sam didn't know what to do anymore. He felt lost.

A minute later, his phone rang, indicating that he had a new text message.

Surprised, Sam looked at the phone's screen and opened up the message.

Stay there. Call me if Dean isn't back by tomorrow night.

Sam shook his head again. Of course, only John would send him a message instead of calling him, which probably would've been easier. He found himself wondering what John was planning on doing. He didn't really care either way, as long as it brought his brother back to him.

Later that same night, Dean was about to go to sleep when he heard his phone ringing again. He had turned it back on earlier, realizing that he might actually miss an important call.

But when he flipped open his phone, he saw it was only a text message.

GO BACK TO UTAH AND PROTECT YOUR BROTHER.

Dean's eyes widened at the order, feeling the need to obey. It didn't surprise him that Sam had called their father, but he was surprised to find out that Sam was still in Utah after all this time. He couldn't still be hunting…

You drove off in Sam's only means of transportation, idiot, Dean thought to himself. Of course he's not still hunting.

He bit his tongue and closed his eyes. He hated the feeling that grew in the pit of his stomach when he was about to willingly disobey his father. Ever since the shtriga, Dean found out that disobeying orders was just a trap full of guilt.

He doesn't need me there to protect him, he typed back. His thumb hovered over the send button for a second, but he finally pressed it.

Dean then sat there for a long time, staring at the cell phone in his hand, waiting for the next message—the next order. But no matter how long he waited, nothing came. No response.

He tossed the phone on his pillow, no longer feeling tired.

He had done all he could do for the day. He had done some research Sammy-style, asked around, but hadn't figured out enough to actually hunt yet. But at that moment, Dean felt so useless, just sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor. He needed to do something. But he couldn't do anything constructive. The library was closed, and everyone was asleep.

Dean glanced to the clock. The library may be closed, but I know what isn't…

Smirking bitterly, he snatched up his car keys. No Sam here to hold me back from drinking how much I want this time, he thought to himself wryly.

A few hours later, Dean opened up the backdoor to the Impala and collapsed in the backseat. He slammed the door behind him and lay back, relaxing against the comfortably familiar feeling of the upholstery.

"Wow," he breathed to himself, blinking. "I haven't done that in a really long time."

When he first arrived at the small town bar, he had played some pool. Lost some money, won it back four times over. After he was financially satisfied, he began to drink. He didn't remember how much exactly. Just that it was a lot.

He sighed and rubbed the upholstery of the backseat. "Mm-hm, they cleaned you up real good. Looks just as nice as it did before I fucking bled ten gallons of blood on it." He smiled faintly and looked up to the ceiling. "Yep, they fixed you up real nice, girl." It was the last words he spoke before passing out.

Sam had to leave another message for John when Dean didn't return the next night. And the next afternoon, he was surprised when someone knocked at the door.

Dean! his hope spoke for him. John must've gotten through to his boneheaded brother… But when Sam opened up the door, he saw his father instead. The man hadn't changed on bit in the almost six months that Sam hadn't seen him, and the youngest Winchester could only stare in shock for a moment.

What, he couldn't come when Dean was dying, but he decides he can come when Dean leaves? Sam thought angrily to himself.

"Gather up your stuff," John said gruffly, not bothering with a greeting. "We're going to find your brother."

Sam grabbed his already-packed duffel bag. "I'm all ready. I just have to check out."

John nodded in acknowledgement, somewhat vaguely. "I'll be waiting in the trunk. Hurry up." And he strode away without another word.

Sam did so, quickly checking out of the motel. When he finally climbed into the passenger seat of John's truck, he cast a confused glance at his father. "You came all the way here just to help me find Dean?"

"I couldn't just leave you stranded here when you could be hunting," John replied, not bothering to tell Sam how much he was worried about protecting him. "So you might as well hunt with me until we find your brother." He looked to his youngest. "He says…he said that you didn't need him there? Is that why he left? Because he didn't feel needed?"

"As far as I know," Sam replied quietly, bubbles of guilt popping in his mind.

John scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Was he high?"

Sam snorted in disgust. "You're joking, right?"

"It's just that the Dean I know would never do such a senseless and stupid thing!"

"Oh, you mean the Dean that follows your every frickin' order? That's who Dean is to you, right? I'm beginning to think that you and I have two very different views of Dean."

John was silent for a moment. "I have no doubt about that. Dean's job is to protect you. He'll do that whether I order him to or not. I'm sure you know that side of Dean just as well as I do."

Sam nodded. "Yeah…" He paused. "Where do you think he is?"

John grunted. "I don't know, Sam. I just get the feeling that he left—left the hunt, that is. He never did see the hunt for the demon the way you and I do."

"That's because Dean doesn't fight for revenge," Sam pointed out. "He fights to protect me—to protect us."

"Hmph… If Dean can hunt that well just for us, then I'd like to see him hunt for revenge."

"And I don't think Dean would just leave the hunt and try to live 'normally'," Sam remarked in a why would you even consider that? tone of voice. "He wouldn't do that, I know. I think he feels like he has an obligation to hunt. To protect people who can't do anything against spirits or demons or whatever."

John shrugged, not ready to throw away any theories. "You never know, Sam. I once thought that you had an obligation to the innocent people too. But you gave it up for college." Dean…" He trailed off with an annoyed huff. If that were the case—

"Are you angry with him?" Sam asked, looking wary.

"Like hell I am! Once we find him, I am going to sit him down and give him a long serious talk. Walking out on you like that, when anything could walk in and kill you!"

Sam didn't even bother hiding his surprise. "You're worried about me? Dean's the one who's missing! Dean's the one we can't find! Besides, Dad, I'm twenty-three years old! I'm not four, I can protect myself just fine!"

"That doesn't make what your brother did any more right. Just because you can protect yourself doesn't mean Dean can use that as an excuse for leaving for no good reason."

Sam let out a short breath in disbelief. "Yeah, and how do you think he felt when you ran off for no good reason?"

"You know what happened, Sam."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, we know now. But how do you think…how do you think he felt when you went missing? How do you think he felt when he realized that you had left him alone, for no reason he could see?"

"He wouldn't have been alone if you were there with him and not in college, Sam! But you know, if all you wanted to do was argue with me, you should have never called in the first place. Do you want to find your brother or not?"

"I do… But, Dad… Dean and I couldn't find you when you were missing. You were the one who found us. Dean's not going to let us find him unless he wants to, or if he makes a mistake."

"I know," John agreed knowingly. He had been the one who taught Dean almost everything he knew. "That's why we're going to keep out eye out for any of his mistakes while we're hunting."

Sam folded his arms across his chest angrily. "Oh, I get it. So we're just going to keep our eye out for Dean while we're hunting. We're not really looking for him."

John glared at him. His son loved to twist his words around… "Do you have any other plans?"

"…No…," Sam admitted, falling silent.

"I thought so. Okay, our next job—in Arizona." John began to ramble on about the next gig, with Sam only paying half attention. The only thought in his mind was how much he hoped Dean would be okay.

"That's all part of your M.O. isn't it? Mask all that nasty pain. Mask the truth."

The words boomed from nowhere, and Dean found himself trapped in a ring of fire. The fiery walls that surrounded him were closing in, and he knew that if he didn't escape soon, he'd be burned.

"You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is they don't need you. Not like you need them."

Dean closed his eyes against the harsh sound of his father saying such words. He knew that John was possessed—it was just that seeing those yellow eyes replacing his father's made it so much easier to believe that it was the demon saying that and not John himself.

"Sam, he's clearly John's favorite. Even when they fight, it's more concern that he's ever shown you."

Dean was really beginning to feel the heat of the fire now, and the smoke was making his eyes water like mad. He tried to get the demon's words out of his mind, tried to clear his mind so he could formulate a plan. How could he get out of this trap?

He knew he didn't have much time left, and it seemed that with every word the demon spoke, the closer the fire came. Even now it began to lick at his pants, and he quickly stepped back, only to receive more flames in the back.

"They don't need you!" The words made Dean cringe as the fire began to engulf his body, burning at his skin. "Not like you need them!"

"No!" Dean shouted, falling on his knees and covering his ears. "No, that's not true!"

"I can read your mind. You know it's true, just as I know. Just accept it."

"No," Dean murmured again, this time weak with renouncement. He knew the only one he was trying to convince this time was himself.

"They don't need you…," it whispered.

"No!" Dean yelled, those last four words the last he heard before the scorching flames consumed him.

Dean bolted up, sweat coating his body. He threw off his blankets, the heat unbearable. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and wiped it on the already-too-dirty bed sheets. He didn't notice it at first, but his breaking was shaky, and so were his hands.

"Get a hold of yourself, Dean," he hissed to himself. "It was just a—" He cut himself off. He wished he could say it was just a dream. But it wasn't. Those words really had been said—most of them anyway.

Dean groaned and pushed himself off the bed, the old springs creaking loudly. He ran a hand through his messy hair, irritated. I can't even get to sleep!

The last few nights it wasn't too bad. But now that nightmares were becoming a constant—well, a constant nightmare—Dean was beginning to wish for a simple dreamless sleep.

Stepping into the bathroom, Dean turned on the sink and splashed icy cold water on his face. He rubbed his eyes furiously, trying to rid the dream from his mind. It did no good.

He straightened and gazed into the mirror above the sink and winced.

Man, if Sam could see me now, he'd have a cow.

His complexion was pale, his moss green eyes lifeless and tired. Dark circles had only begun to creep up under his eyes, and to add to the mix, his hair looked like it had gone through a blender set on puree.

Overall, he felt like a million bucks—that had been flushed down the toilet, gone through the shredder, and had been burnt to a crisp.

Dean turned away from the pale man in the mirror, going back to his bed and shrugging to himself. I've been worse, I guess. But I've also definitely been better.

He sat on the end of his bed. It wasn't as easy as it had been before. He felt weighed down by his emotions, and with no one there with him… Hunting was the only thing he could do now. Everything else was just as meaningless to him as it had always been. It was going to be this way for the rest of his life. The hunt would never, never end. It was scary to think about—hunting for literally your whole life, and then when you die, you leave knowing that there's plenty more bad things out there that you couldn't get to, and probably end up going to hell to meet up with all your 'old pals' anyway.

Dean knew that hunting would probably take more of a toll on him now. He would have never admitted it to Sam, but he still felt a little…a little 'weak' from the accident. He was told that it would take a while to get over, but he didn't have time. He only had the rest of his life.

As always, he didn't have time for stupid things like 'weakness' or 'emotions'. He just had to get the job done. And that's exactly what he planned on doing.

Okay, note here. I really don't think that any of those Winchesters would ever go to hell on normal consequences--they're all too heavenly for that. (sighs) especially Dean...

please review, I live off them.

hopefully next chapter will be coming soon.