"Dean, Buddy," John said shaking Dean's leg. "Wake up, it's almost noon. Ya gotta at least get off the couch."
Dean moaned and opened his eyes; his head felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. He pushed himself up a little, but felt a wave of nausea unlike anything he'd ever felt before and puked in the pot next to the couch.
"I'm dying," he whined.
"No you're not," John said handing Dean a glass. "Drink this then go to your room. Can't spend the day on the sofa."
"What is this?" Dean asked eyeing the cup.
"Water," John sighed. "Drink up. I got shit to do, can't have you in the middle of the living room. Let's go."
"What's wrong with Dean?" Sam asked from the kitchen.
"Lots of things," Dean answered trying to get himself up but feeling motion sickness like he'd never felt in his life. "You sure I can't just stay right here and just wait for death?"
"You'll be fine," John sighed. "Come on, I'll help ya up, take ya into the other room."
John pulled Dean up off the couch and pointed him in the direction of the bedroom.
"When the room stops moving we're talking," John reminded him.
Dean gave him a halfhearted thumbs up as he crossed the threshold into his and Sam's room. He pulled his smelly shirt over his head, let his pants fall to the floor and collapsed into bed face first.
There was a knock on his door an hour or so later, 1:15 according to the alarm clock next to his bed.
"No," Dean whined. "Go away."
John stepped into the room and closed the door. "I sent your brother out to play street hockey with some kids down the road." Dean's heart started pounding in time with his head. This was where his dad was going to kill him, when he was sure Dean would recall every moment of it. John sat on Sam's bed. "How much of last night do you remember?"
"Most of it I think," Dean answered. "There's some fuzzy bits, but I think I know what happened."
"You remember our conversation?" John said seriously.
Dean nodded and started to pick at the blanket. "Yeah."
"You wanna talk about it?" John asked.
"Not really," Dean shrugged.
"You think like that a lot?" John pressed. "'Bout not wanting to be around?"
Dean shrugged.
"Dean," John stated. "Look at me." Dean rolled onto his side to face his father. "Talk to me. What's going on in there?"
"Nothing," Dean shook his head. "Absolutely nothing is going on in there. I didn't mean it, what I said last night. I was just being stupid. All that drinking didn't have control of myself."
"Doesn't fly," John replied. "It's truth serum, alcohol. Makes you say what you really feel. You really think you would have said any of what you said about your little girlfriend if you weren't trashed?"
"She's not my girlfriend," Dean mumbled.
"Dean," John pressed. "Answer the question."
"Probably not," Dean sighed.
"Right," John replied. "You can't just hold all that darkness in."
"Been doing just fine so far," Dean mumbled.
"Yeah," John sighed. "And last night you laid on my couch and told me you wanted to kill yourself. You're it's clearly working out for you."
"That's not what I said at all," Dean shouted back, pushing himself up so he was sitting.
"You said it would be better if you weren't around," John stated, trying to keep his voice even. He knew yelling at the boy wouldn't help the situation.
"Yeah, well," Dean shrugged. "It would be better for Sammy. He deserves it. He should have someone worth looking up to as a role model, someone smart who can help him with his homework. Who can, like, talk to him about the book he's readin' cuz he's so into it. I can't do that."
"You're not stupid, Dean," John said seriously.
"Tell that to the kids at school," Dean shifted awkwardly on the bed, pulling his legs up to his chest. "Or my teachers."
"I think that if we were in one place all the time," John said. "It would be easier for you, but we can't do that. You know that."
Dean rolled his eyes. How hard would it be for his dad to just drop them off at Bobby's and let them be? He'd probably see them the same amount anyway. John was good at just ditching both boys in some crappy motel for a week, what difference would it make if they were in South Dakota instead of the next town over. That was the one thing Dean wanted more than anything, stability, at least for Sam. He didn't really care about himself, he just knew Sam deserved better.
"You tell me everything would be better if it was different," Dean mumbled. "You tell me that if we lived in one spot I could do better. But nothing ever changes. So how I am I not supposed to think that if Mom was here and I was gone Sam would have the best life? How am I supposed to think that I'm anything if even you think that I'm not good enough?"
"You're plenty good enough," John replied.
"Sam would be better, happier, if I wasn't around," Dean shrugged. "He'd be so much happier."
"You know what losing you would do to your brother?" John asked. "That kid thinks the sun shines out your ass. You think about that next time you think you're not worth your weight."
"He'll find someone worth lookin' up to," Dean shrugged. "And if Mom was around, he'd probably have real friends and stuff."
"Listen to me," John said as he got up off Sam's bed and sat down next to Dean's feet. "It wouldn't matter if your mom was here or not. You're his big brother, you matter more to that kid than anyone else. You always will be."
"Yeah, but if Mom was here," Dean started.
"Look," John said sternly cutting him off. "This week is hard for all of us. It sucks, you miss your mom, I understand. But you don't get to check out early because you're sad. Everyone here misses your mom. I get it."
"No," Dean shook his head. "You don't get it. How long did you know her? Like your whole life? You lived in the same town forever? I barely remember her, and my whole life is has been about avenging her. All I hear about is how great she was and how what we're doing out there, hunting things and saving people is for her. And then I go out with you and I always fuck it up and you yell at me and I'm letting everyone down and it would be so much easier for everyone if I wasn't there. You'd have Mom and you'd live in Kanas and everything would be awesome and Sam would be happy instead of mopey and annoying all the time."
"Wanna know what I have to say about that?" John replied. Dean shrugged. "I'd be exactly where I am right now if it had been you that I lost that night."
"No," Dean shook his head. "You'd be happy. You could have other kids, better kids."
"When you were two or three, before Sam," John said staring off toward the window across the room. "Your mom was out having a ladies day at the mall or something with her friends, just taking a break or whatever. She warned me that I had to watch you constantly but I figured you'd be fine. You decided it would be fun to slide down the stairs on your pillow. I guess cuz I took you sledding not too long before and to you it looked the same. I was relaxing in the living room and you called out 'Daddy watch me' so I turned around from watchin' TV, and you came flying down those stairs and went head first into a bookshelf. Cut the side of your face wide open. There was blood everywhere. I didn't think someone that small could hold so much blood. I scooped you up, wrapped my shirt around your head. You were screaming, just screaming. I somehow got you into the car and while we were driving to the hospital you feel asleep or passed out from blood loss or something, either way you stopped makin' noise and I thought I lost you."
"Why are you telling me this?" Dean demanded.
"Because I thought you were dead," John said. "And until you've got a kid of your own, you don't know what that feels like. It's the worse feeling I've ever felt. Worse than anything, Dean."
"Worse than Mom?" Dean said softly.
"Dean," John took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You and your brother are the most important, best things that have ever happened to me. I'm sorry you don't got your mom around, and I'm sorry that you struggle with your school work, but you thinkin' you're not worth nothing, that you don't matter, than you're not important, it's just not true. I can't bring your mom back. Nothin' you think or want is gonna do that. But if it had been you who died that night, I'd be right here, looking for the thing that took away my boy."
Dean shifted again, trying to make himself smaller.
"You're worth something," John said, placing his hand on Dean's knee. "I get that you don't think so, but you're just a kid. If you don't feel like sticking around for you, stick around for your brother. If you walk away and leave me with that kid to try to explain why you didn't, couldn't, stick it out and be around for him, I'll never forgive you. Being a teenager sucks, but someday it ends."
"But what if it doesn't?"
"You got anyone you can talk to?" John asked. "Just talk, I know talking to your old man about your feelings isn't something you wanna do. You got someone who'll listen to you? Your girlfriend?"
"She's not my girlfriend," Dean corrected. "And I don't think she'd be interested in listening to my problems."
"Your Uncle Bobby?" John pressed. "A teacher, a friend at school, Pastor Jim, anyone?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah, I can find someone to talk to."
"Good," John nodded. He started to push himself up but stopped and looked over at Dean. "One more thing."
Dean looked up through his lashes.
"This girl, Jane?" John questioned. "Your not girlfriend."
Dean nodded. "Yeah, Janie."
"You like her?"
"Please don't do this again," Dean pleaded. "I remember it all from the first time, I don't need a refresher. And I really feel like crap."
"Well whose fault is that?" John shook his head. "This girl's older than you?"
Dean nodded.
"Listen," John continued. "I don't want you doin' nothin' you ain't ready to do. Don't rush it. You can do whatever you want, but don't rush it. Don't think you gotta do things because everyone else is doing it, like your little stunt last night. And if you decide that you wanna take a step with this girl…"
"I know Dad," Dean laid down and pressed his feet against his dad trying to kick him off the bed. "I remember: wear a condom, don't make her do nothing' she doesn't wanna do. If I push myself on her you'll kill me. I remember. Now leave me alone."
John stood up and looked down at Dean who'd wrapped his comforter over his head. "You want something to eat?"
"No," Dean whined.
"You'll feel better," John said. "Some toast? You get something in your system you'll get some strength back, be able to do something with the day. You got a buncha chores to get done."
Dean moaned and flipped the covers back over her head. "Fine."
"Just so we're all clear here," John said seriously. "You're grounded for a good two weeks, taking the bus home from school, working around this house, chores, extra running, training. Don't do anything like that again. Cuz next time you might not have friends with the state of mind to call your dad and get you home and you could get yourself killed, die of alcohol poisoning, wake up covered in your own puke not knowing where you are. High school's full of parties like that, you're gonna go, that's part of life, but be more careful. I'll pop you in some toast."
"Okay," Dean nodded.
He sighed and started to push himself back up. Part of him knew that his dad knew what he was talking about, but a bigger part knew his dad could never understand. Dean had so much to live up to. He had to fill his dad's shoes; become a hunter, a good hunter. He had to be a parent to his brother because his dad was barely around, had to make sure Sam turned out better than he did. He wasn't doing a very job at either. The two friends he'd managed to make probably didn't want anything to do with him after last night, probably realized he was just an idiot freshman. His dad could never understand. No one could.
He pulled himself out of bed and found a part of discarded sweatpants and made his way slowly to the kitchen where a plate of dry toast was waiting for him.