Chapter 7: In the Dark

The snapping of the heels from the dress shoes worn upon the three Winchesters' feet echoed angrily against the walls of the hall leading to the outdoor patio of the country club. Dean strode ahead of Sam and John, knowing his temper wasn't going to last long. He lead them at a quick pace, ready to see all the cards, not just the ones Sam and John wanted him to see.

Wrenching open what were probably very expensive, hand-crafted french doors with handles that shone with a bright chrome polish, Dean strode out the doors. The patio, momentarily empty, had a spectacular view over the golf course. The fairways rolled and curved smoothly along the hills of the coast, a glimpse of the Pacific seen in close proximity. The course as a whole looked as if it was brand new; not a chunk was taken too deeply from an iron shot, and the greens were without the divots from a ball gouging its surface. Tropically colored flowers on vines that looked from the most gorgeous of jungles wrapped around the trees and bushes, spreading along the wooden structure of the pergola. The patio floor consisted of large, marbled tiles of rich grays and deep blues. They were precisely organized on the floor, and not a blemish could be seen on the marbled tiles positioned in the thick and dry cement. A wide array of wrought iron tables and chairs were spread out on the patio for their patrons to sip their expensive sangria and to munch on their pate and caviar.

Dean could feel his blood boil waiting for them to catch up. All he really wanted to do was pick up one of the chairs and hit the ground again, and again, and again, until his anger would finally diminish.

Caught in thought, he heard the french doors shut as Sam and John stepped out onto the patio. With green eyes blazing, Dean turned to them. Before he had a chance to speak, John had already began with a frown pasted on his face.

"This is the last of places to be throwing a tantrum, Dean. Have a bit of respect for your brother and his fiancee, this isn't just some bar you can crawl in and punch the nearest beer-bellied hillbilly that gives you the evil eye." John rattled off, as if he were scolding a fourteen year old for peeping at the neighbor's daughter.

Dean could feel his temples throbbing with the pressure of blood coursing thickly through his veins. His hands itched so badly to crunch his knuckles into the face of somebody, anybody. Especially his father.

"Because this is the last of places that I've seen or even talked to you in years!" Dean snapped, the throbbing in his head intensifying with his anger, "I've looked for you from San Francisco to Portland fucking Maine!" He roared. "I've asked every guy at every roadhouse if they've seen you, or talked to you, and I don't get jack shit from anyone! And I show up here, and all of a sudden you act like you raised a couple of nice boys inside some picket white fence. Wait, no, that ain't right either," Dean said with a chuckle that didn't hold a hint of hilarity, "because you sure as hell didn't raise us. We grew up in a car, or in the shittiest, dankest, cheapest motel you could find, and left us while you went out on a hunt. Maybe you even left a little money for food, but that sure as shit wasn't the first thing on your mind. You maybe taught us how to gamble, or to not get a girl knocked up 'cause we sure can't stay in one spot, but you didn't raise us, especially not to be nice."

Slowly a dark red had begun to spread through John's face with each of Dean's words.

With his eyes still trained on John, Dean continued. "But what I really find hilarious, is the kid that you kicked out, invited you to all his wedding shit," Dean said, glancing between both of the dark haired men, the fire in his eyes somehow darkening, "and that nobody thought that, you know, I might want to see my dad, or come to my kid brothers' wedding. You guys know, the one I raised. So, somebody better flip the fucking switch on and get me out of the dark, or I'll flip the fuck out at the swanky little country club."

Scrubbing his hands over his face angrily, John gave out a sigh.

"The thing is Dean, you've never been on your own. You always had Sammy with you since you watched out for him, and when he was gone, you were there in every last footstep I had taken. You never found something you were good at." John began. Dean could feel the blow to his gut, but wasn't going to give the satisfaction that his dad still held such influence over his confidence. "So after I killed that bastard demon, I figured I needed to cut the strings loose. Let you go hunt solo, try and make something of yourself."

"Then why couldn't you have answered the God damn phone and told me to get the fuck out of the way? I sure would have listened, damn it, when have I not listened to every last word that came outta your mouth?" With each word the throbbing intensified. "I just wanted to know if you were dead, alive, MIA, anything would have worked for me. And not one person could tell me where you were, what your last hunt had been. Nothing."

As those last words left his mouth, Dean felt something give way in his head. It was something he had never thought or even dreamed John might do, but anything was possible.

"You're not hunting anymore, are you?" Dean said quietly, gauging both John and Sam's reactions. The muscles running along John's jawline tightened, and Sam stared down at his feet.

"And lemme guess one more thing; you settled down 'round Sammy, fixed things up?" Dean said, still keeping his eyes on both of them. All John could reply with was a curt nod.

For the first time in years, Dean could feel the burning of tears behind his eyes. He had hunted all these years, because that was what had been expected of him. Because that was what he was supposed to care about. It was the "family business" after all. He shook his head with a cruel smile. Everyone had always been right. He had a pretty face, but where were his brains? The boy couldn't even high school, what use was he anyway? His head still throbbed viciously, as if his brain was trying to bust out of his head.

Biting the inside of his mouth, he looked back up at them, ready to finish this. "Before I get out of here, let's make this clear since I'm obviously a couple screws too short to understand where I'm not wanted," Dean choked out, though it was heard stronger to Sam and John. He then met John's gaze and held it with ironclad strength, "And I swear to God, that you better take care of yourself, and you better not shoot things straight to hell with Sam again, or else you'll just have to deal with me again. So let's make it easier on ourselves and not have that happen, am I right?" Dean cracked, even though not a single one of them found it funny.

He could tell Sam looked like he had a million and one things to say, but he didn't think he could take a scolding from his baby brother after the way the day had turned. John looked like he was trying to chew and swallow a handful of nails.

With a lump in his throat, Dean forced out a sigh, "So that's it, right? All the cards on the table? I'm outta the dark?"

John yet again scrubbed his face with his hands, going up to pull at his dark hair, now laced with hints of grey. Sam's face was twisted up like he hadn't shit in a week, and he began to pick at the cuff of his sleeve. They were both signs of irritation and stress, and also as close as someone like John Winchester ever came to being nervous. His forehead creasing in confusion, and eyebrows furrowing together, Dean continued to look between his family.

It was John who finally cleared his throat, and with a shake of his head said, "Not all the cards are on the table, Dean. I know I should've told you this already, but it never seems like the right time."

When John didn't continue, Dean looked at him with confusion. "What'd you do, slip one past the goalie?" he joked.

Silence.

Dean felt his face drain, the color fading but the throbbing in his head once again intensify. "You've gotta be kidding me, right?" Dean egged his father on, trying to get some semblance of a correct answer.

"If you come back in, you'll get to meet him," Sam interrupted, having been silent, "his, uh, his name is Adam."

A/N:

I know a couple of you probably wanna toss a couple of punches my way for taking so long, which is understandable. I have been all over the place, and just got back in the swing of things after a much needed vacation to the Caribbean. Surprise, surprise, Adam is here, and yes sir, John & Sam have themselves in a bit of a tough spot. Anybody got any ideas about what's coming next, etc? Let me know what you think about this chapter and any of the others, I love hearing feedback from y'all. Hope everyone is having a lovely April, and happy very belated Easter! Send me any questions or recommendations if you have any!

All my love,

Indigo