Chapter 14

Sam had been so torn when he saw his father exit the inn and walk through the flames, with Dean in his arms.

There was a part of him that wanted to rush forward and tear his brother away from the man who had brought them all to that one awful moment. Because no matter if John had meant to or not-he had set the train in motion. And that runaway locomotive that held all their futures had always been headed to the only destination it could reach. Disaster.

Dean was merely the first casualty.

The only one that mattered to Sam at the moment.

He'd lost most of his father long ago. Maybe he had never even known the man. Right now, he didn't care either way.

Dean had been the one person to do all the things for him that parents were suppose to do. Dean had put Sam first-loved him unconditionally. Sometimes, he loved Sam when Sam hadn’t deserved it. That’s what parents did. They loved the bad parts of you as much as the good ones So, in reality, Sam had lost his entire family in one fell swoop.

The young hunter recalled his and Dean’s conversation in Kansas-where his brother had recanted carrying a baby Sam from their burning house the night that their mother had been murdered.

Dean had saved him then.

But no one had saved Dean.

No god damn body had ever really saved Dean. Not their dad, and not Sam.

They had failed him.

Dean-who wanted nothing more than his family to be together. Dean-who would do anything for either of them. Including give his life.

And that failure was consuming Sam. He didn't want to face his father and he sure the hell couldn't face his dead brother.

And that drove him from the fire.

Sam had started off running, fleeing from the one thing he could not escape. But soon the adrenaline, anger, and grief couldn't sustain the weakened state of his body, and he was barely able to stay on his feet when he reached his destination.

He’d noticed it on their first night in town. It had actually made him smile, thinking of all the similar ones he’d spent time in with his brother. A normal piece in the freaky puzzle that was their childhood.

Leaning up against the chain-length fence and looking up at the structure, he could feel the tears prickling at the back of his eyes again as the memory washed over him.

“Come on, Sammy-how bad can it be?”

“YOU hate it,” the five year old countered. “You say so all the time.”

“I don’t actually hate it.” Okay, Dean should have learned to be careful with what he said after the whole F-word incident. “It’s just not my thing.”

“Then it won’t be my thing.”

At five Sam wanted to be just like his big brother. NO reason for deviation from perfection. Most of the time it was flattering-but not so much at that very moment. However, Dean hoped he could use it to his advantage.

“But I thought you wanted to do what I do during the day. I thought you weren’t a baby anymore.”

“I’m not a baby,” Sam defended, his arms defiantly crossing over his chest. “I’m five.”

“Yeah-well five year olds go to Kindergarten, Sammy.”

“But I want to go with you-I want to go to your grade.”

Dean could hear the hint of tears in his kid brother’s voice and he dropped to his knees in front of the smaller boy. “We can’t always stay together, Sam.”

Liquid brown eyes lifted to meet his gaze and blinked owlishly. “Can too-Daddy said we were suppose to stay together.”

“Well-Dad’s not here,” Dean said harsher then he meant to. He took a deep breath and then forced a slight grin to make up for his gruffness. “Besides, I don’t think they’ll let me back in Kindergarten-I won’t fit in the desks.”

“Then I’ll come to fourth grade. I know how to read.”

And Sam did. Dean had taught him.

“I can write my whole name-Samuel Johnathan Winchester-and say my ABC’s and count to 100. I can name all my colors and tie my shoe like the bunny runs.”

And he could-all because of Dean.

“I know you can, Sammy. You’re super smart. But do you know what nine times four is, or how about twelve times twelve. You have to know your multiplication facts if you’re in fourth grade.”

The little boy thought really hard. “I can use a calculator-just like you do.”

Dean sighed. The kid was too smart. “They don’t allow that.”

Sam frowned. “Then you shouldn’t be in fourth grade either.”

Oh boy. “I still have to go.”

“But I want to come with you.” Sam’s lip began to tremble and he started scuffing his shoe on the ground. Both sure signs that the waterworks display wasn’t far behind. “Please don’t leave me, Dean!”

As exciting as school had sounded, Sammy hadn’t actually thought about the fact that he’d have to do it alone. Without his big brother. He’d never been without his brother.

“Listen, kiddo,” Dean used his best grown up ten year old voice and took hold of his little brother’s shoulders, so he’d pay attention. “I’m not leaving you for good-just for a little while. Okay?”

Sam continued to look at the ground so he gave his brother a playful shake. “I want you to go have fun. You’ve still got lots of stuff to learn and they’ll be fun things to do. You’ll be so busy that after a while you won’t even notice I’m gone-and then before you know it, it’ll be time for you to leave. And I’ll be waiting for you.”

The little boy finally glanced towards the front of the building where other kids his age were gathered, talking and playing games. He felt his brother’s hands fall away from him and he quickly turned to face Dean once more. “Promise you’ll come back for me?”

“Cross my heart.” Dean pointed to the playground. “I’ll be waiting for you just on the other side.”

Sam grinned, and quickly hugged the other boy. “I’ll miss you,” he whispered, holding on a little bit longer than he usually did. “I’ll miss you like forever has gone by.”

Dean laughed and pulled away, ruffling his kid brother’s too-long blond hair as he did. “I’ll miss you too, Sammy.”

The school bells rang out.

And Sam watched through the fence as the children made their way back into theNew Hope school building.

He blinked away the tears-as the bittersweet flashback from the past collided with the cold reality of the moment.

He was no longer five-no longer in the long shadow of his big brother. Sam was alone.

Dean would not be waiting for him on the playground-ready to ask about his day and deal with any demons in the forms of bullies or bad reports that Sam might have encountered in their time apart.

His brother would be waiting for him. Not when school was out. Not when recess was over. He’d be there-someday.

But someday was too long to wait. It seemed like an eternity and it wasn’t suppose to happen this way. Not yet. Sam wasn’t ready to let go. And Sam usually got what he wanted. Dean had always seen to that.

Sam waited until the last student had gone back in, and then made his way to one of the playground swings-where he sat down and buried his face in his hands.

“Please-God. Please make this stop.”

The little school house at New Hope looked like it could have been on a postcard. It’s white plank frame and sparkling windows decorated with various works of art by masterful, child hands spoke of small town ways, of well-attended PTA meetings, and of a community who probably didn’t even lock their doors at night. But John Winchester saw only one thing as he approached. He saw his son.

Not the six foot four, twenty two year old, now hunched over in the swing, but the sweet six year old who had been forgotten on the playground by the person who was never suppose to let him down.

Forgotten not by his big brother-but by his father, who hadn’t remembered that his oldest son had been home sick with the flu.

It had happened while John was researching a hunt. He had left Sam at the school for hours before Dean had called the library, worried when his father and Sam hadn‘t returned. Sammy hadn’t even moved from the spot where his older brother always met him. It was almost dark when he’d finally gotten to Hanover Elementary and Sammy was practically frozen.

He didn’t speak a word to his father the whole way back to their apartment, but his dark eyes had spoke volumes. Especially when the little boy had burst into tears as soon as he was in the same room with Dean, clinging to the older boy as if he’d been afraid that he’d never see him again-like it had been forever since they’d been together.

It was John’s first lesson in who Sam counted on. But it was not the first time he’d failed one of his boys, and Dean made sure it was the last time that he trusted his father to be what Sam needed. After that, the eleven year old seemed to pick up all the emotional slack. Maybe that’s what John had wanted him to do.

But that same lack of trust was still shining in Dean’s green eyes back at the inn and it had made John wonder if he would ever be able to reverse the damage he‘d done, or to make things right for either of his boys.

Watching the grown up Sam in the child‘s swing-he almost felt he‘d been given another chance. A chance to give Sam something that would make up for all the other bad stuff. This time he’d be there for Sam. Whether Sam wanted him to or not.

The oldest Winchester stopped in front of his son and wrapped his hands around one of the metal chains attached to the swing. “I saw this place on the way in. It made me think of you and your brother.”

When his youngest didn’t even bother to lift his head to look at him. John took a seat in the swing beside of him. “Sammy?”

“Go away.”

“We need to talk, son.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I think there is.”

“I don’t give a fuck about what you think.” Sam did lift his head this time. He stood and glared down at his father. “I haven’t for a long time.”

John sighed heavily, and stood also. “I know you don’t understand what happened back there, but...”

“Don’t understand?” Sam shook his head, his eyes filling again, as the anger that had been bullied by grief rushed back in like high tide. “I watched my brother die. What’s not to understand?”

“Sam-I would have done anything to keep that from happening. For both of you, but you don‘t know…”

“I don’t know what?” Sam threw his hands up. “That you had to finish whatever hunt you were on? Or maybe you had a really hot lead on the demon that killed Mom and Jess? Because I do know, Dad. You had to save someone or everyone else- but us? You threw Dean to the wolves, you son of a bitch, just like always, because you knew he could handle it-that he would handle it.”

John suddenly wished for that quiet, withdrawn six year old to appear and make his job a whole lot easier. “Sam-I didn’t know how this would turn out-I didn’t set it up-if that’s what you’re thinking.” God-had they really drifted so far apart. He was doing everything he could to keep his sons safe.

“So-you didn’t know about the spell when you sent us here-or the prophecy?”

When John hesitated, Sam pounced. “You did know and you counted on the fact that Dean would do whatever it would take to save me. You used his…”, Sam choked, “Damn you! You used his feelings for me against him.”

“I would never set up a scenario where your brother could or would be hurt-damn it!” John was just as angry as Sam now, his emotions overshadowing the reason he had sought out his son. It struck John as ironic that Dean wasn’t even with them, but he was once again being shoved to the background, so his father and Sam could hash out who had hurt who the most. With the realization came familiar guilt and he sighed, lowering his voice. “I love you and your brother. I’ve done everything to protect you from that damn thing that killed your mother.”

Sam shook his head, and snorted. “When what we needed was protection from you.”

The stinging slap was a shock, but the pain was welcome. Sam wanted to hurt. He wanted to feel anything, besides the cold numbness that had set in since losing Dean.

But it was John who looked the most surprised.

In all their fights, in all their clashes, the man had never laid a hand on Sam. Never.

He’d hit Dean once, and spanked him on numerous occasions, but Sam could never recall one time when his father had ever hit him or physically punished him.

Sam suspected that it had something to do with his brother, and that once again drove home the point of just what Sam had lost.

Dean was his protection-from a lot of things.

“I’m sorry,” John sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to do that.” He’d come to help, not do more damage.

“Just leave me alone. You’ve done it for almost three years. Just walk away-and don’t look back this time.”

“I came here to tell you something, damn it, and I’m not leaving until I do.”

“There is nothing that you have to say that I want to hear. As far as I’m concerned, you’re as dead to me as my brother is.”

“You’re brother isn’t dead!”

The words struck like an anvil dropped from above.

Sam blinked several times and then glared at the man in front of him-wondering if the father he’d loved so much as a little boy could be so cruel as to lie about something so terrible. “What?”

“Dean’s alive.”

“Are you crazy?” Maybe the unthinkable had finally happened and John Winchester had slipped over that invisible edge that he seemed to walk on so carefully. Perhaps, Sam would lock him somewhere far away-just like Reese Mathers had been locked away. Then Sam would be free of him.

“I used the protection charm you gave your brother to do a binding spell, and Geronimo did the rest. The original spell had no strength after Dellacrois and the Inn was destroyed. I just had to keep your brother bound to us long enough for that to happen.”

Ironic as it was, the crazy explanation his father was spouting would have seemed insane to any normal person, but it didn’t seem farfetched to Sam. To Sam-it made perfect, beautiful sense in all its Winchester glory.

“Dean’s alive?” Sam didn’t care how it had happened, he only hoped that he wasn’t passed out somewhere and that this wasn’t just a wishful dream. “He’s okay?”

John nodded. “I‘d never lie to you about that, Sammy. He’s at the hospital in Bowie.”

Sam raked a hand over his face, reeling from the idea that it could all be true.

His father must have recognized the look, and in the risk of sounding completely lame and proving Dean’s theory of him secretly wanting to be Obi-wan-the old guy, not the young version-John laid a hand on his son’s arm and said, “Search your feelings, you’ll know it’s true.”

Sam felt hysterical laughter threatening to bubble it’s way to the surface as he imagined Dean rolling his eyes at him and his father. He could almost hear him muttering, in his scoffing Han Solo way …“Yeah. Go ahead, Luke. Use the force. ”

But Sam did as his father said, and in a mere second, he found what he was looking for.

How he’d missed it before he wasn’t sure-but he guessed that the anger and grief had probably held it at bay. Or at least blocked him from sensing it. The link-or whatever connection that held him to his brother-was back.

“You saved him.” Sam almost felt bad for the things he’d said earlier, but then he remembered that his brother had actually died-and that no matter what John said-he’d allowed it to happen.

His father sighed and shook his head. “No-you did, Sam. You two saved each other.”

Sam swallowed hard and silently sent a quick thank you to whoever watched over wayward hunters and their sons, before giving his dad a brief, forgiving smile. “Then let’s go get him.”

When John didn’t return the smile and he instead hesitated, Sam felt the old familiar pull of hurt tug at him. “You’re not coming.” It wasn’t a question, Sam already knew the answer. He felt it pulsing off his father in waves.

“It’s still not safe for me to be with you. I have a lead I need to follow.”

“Dean’s in the hospital!” Sam growled, not able to understand the man standing in front of him. How could one person be so oblivious. “He needs you.” We need you and we just got you back.

“No-he needs you.” John sighed. “And you need him.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe we need our father.”

“I’m sorry, kiddo. I can’t stay.” And he was sorry-more than he could ever say.

“Can’t or won’t?”

When John started to open his mouth, Sam rushed to hold up a hand to stop him. “Don’t answer that. That way I don’t have to lie to Dean.” He shook his head, anger making his usual warm, golden eyes dark and colorless as obsidian. “He deserves better than the truth.”

John nodded, accepting his son’s anger as the costly price of what he was seeking. “Tell him I love him-and I’ll be in touch.”

Sam shook his head in disgust. “Just text him the next coordinates, Dad. After all, nothing says you care like another fucking job.”

John watched him turn and go, his arms aching to reach out and stop his son. It had been so long since they’d seen each other, and he hadn’t even gotten a chance to say he was sorry.

He wanted nothing more than to hold on to his boy, both his boys, but every turn in their twisted lives seemed to take him farther away from them, instead of closer to that goal. John glanced up at the sunny sky and sighed, berating himself for the useless self pity. After all, nobody was to blame but himself. Everyone knew it was damn near impossible to grab onto anything when your hands were clenched into fists.

Onto Chapter 15

Back to Chapter 13

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