Chapter Text
Everything’s fine, Dean repeated in his head for the fifth time. Dean was laying down on Bobby’s couch, watching another Jackie Chan movie, upon Bobby’s demand. Granted, it was his turn to pick a movie for them, but Dean had already seen this movie about five times. He wanted to rent the new Batman Begins movie, but he was going to have to wait another week. Dean was only picking at his popcorn tonight though. He had a bad feeling, but he wasn’t sure why he should. Sam had called him earlier in the week to tell him he got accepted to Stanford University. Fucking Stanford. The issue? John, their father, wasn’t a fan of the idea of Sam leaving the state. He had applied to Stanford in secret, which Dean told him multiple times was a terrible idea. John hated secrets, but the brothers had no choice but to keep them anyway. It was a safety issue, Dean always told himself. Going to California though? That was too damn big of a secret to keep. During their call, while Dean was cracking open a celebratory beer at 3pm, Sam admitted he already accepted his place at the university.
________________________________________________
“You did what?” Dean almost spit his first sip of the beer in his hand right back out.
“Dean, it’s Stanford. You know how hard that shit is to get into?”
“I know, I know. You didn’t tell Dad you even applied though.”
“So what? I’ll be out of there in a few months anyway.”
“He’s gonna kick your ass man.”
Dean loved his little brother, but sometimes he had no impulse control. Dean wasn’t much better, but Sam had a little more disregard for his own safety. Dean was the one who kept Sam safe, and over the past seven years of Dean no longer living with John and Sam, Sam hadn’t seemed to gain the same clarity Dean had. Sam was smart enough to get into Stanford fucking University, but too stupid to realize how stupid he was being right now. “You have to tell him soon. And get it over with.”
Sam sighed dramatically enough for the feedback through the old-ass landline at Bobby’s to crackle right in Dean’s ear, forcing him to pull it away. “I can just tell him closer to—”
“Sam,” Dean interrupted firmly. “You can’t hide this from him. The longer you hide it—”
“The worse he’s gonna be. I know, Dean. I’m not a damn kid anymore.”
“Then quit acting like one! You’re being so fucking stupid about this! Especially when I ain’t there to pull your ass out of the fire. You never fucking think about shit like this!” Dean couldn’t help but snap. He knew Sam was making a face and probably flinched at his volume on the other end of the line, but he didn’t care about that right now. He forced himself to take a deep breath anyway, trying to clear his head. “Sam—”
“I’ll tell him Friday,” Sam resigned. Obviously, he didn’t sound too happy about it, and Dean could hear a twinge of anxiety rising in his brother’s voice already. “I should get it over with, right?” he added, forcing a chuckle. Dean’s shoulders tensed. It was only Tuesday now. He didn’t think Sam was going to tell John that soon, but it was probably for the best.
“Maybe wait till Monday. You can just go to school after you tell him.”
Sam was silent, thinking over Dean’s suggestion. “I don’t wanna wait that long,” he concluded. “It’ll be a shit show either way.”
Dean felt his stomach drop, already running through worst case scenarios. “Just let me know when you did it, alright?” Dean, horribly anxious already about what could happen, hung up without thinking. Everything would be fine.
________________________________________________
Dean flinched at the sound of the phone ringing in the kitchen. No normal person called Bobby’s house after 9pm, which could only mean one thing: Sam told John about Stanford. He shot up from his seat, barely preventing his popcorn from spilling and alarming Bobby. He got up and followed Dean over to the kitchen. Both of them holding their breath, Dean picked up the phone. “Sam?”
“Dean I fucked up,” Sam said breathlessly over the phone. He could hear pounding in the background of the call. “I shouldn’t have checked th— I— I should h—”
“Slow down, Sammy.” Dean couldn’t even understand what his brother was blabbering. He just heard shouting and swearing that was growing louder by the second. “Where are you?” He was trying to stay as calm and collected as he could, but in his head, every worst case scenario flashed at once. He was already shaking from adrenaline and his legs were begging him to run to his car. He always made sure to get Sam’s new address when John moved him somewhere else, but Dean was having trouble recalling their most recent one. He turned to Bobby and just mouthed “address” to him. Bobby nodded and went to retrieve his address notebook.
“I— I’m I’m—” Sam gasped as the pounding sped up. “B— Basem—m—”
“I’m on my way. Just stay down, okay?”
“D—”
“I’ll be there soon,” he repeated reassuringly. Bobby handed him the Winchester’s new address right on cue.
“Call me if you need anything and when you get him, alright?” the older man said in a firm way that was oddly comforting. Over the years, Bobby had been more of a father than John could ever be. He accepted Dean without question that stretched beyond mere curiosity. He took him in when John gave him the boot at 15 for being something he couldn’t help. He let Sam and Dean stay for weeks at a time when John decided to dump them aside to go on some insane bender. He was always there for the boys then, and he was there for them now.
Dean grabbed his keys and almost tripped as he ran out the front door. He peeled out of the driveway and swerved, dodging three separate cars. He ignored the barrage of angry horns from pissed off drivers. He couldn’t think about anything but his brother. He didn’t even bother putting on the radio or any music. His thoughts were loud enough to keep him occupied for the drive. He barely noticed the needle on his speedometer pushing past the limit his car showed. He didn’t know the needle would just keep going. His speed as he dodged other cars on the highway added to his anxiety. What if he crashed before he got to Sam? Or he got stopped by a cop? No. He didn’t have the time to worry about that.
Before Dean knew it, he had slammed on his breaks, pulling into a driveway he only recognized by address. He could hear shouting from inside as he threw his car into park, not bothering to turn it off. He was just going in to get his brother and leaving. The swearing was more clear now as Dean slammed his shoulder into the front door for the third time. He had already searched for a spare key, but found nothing. Finally, he tumbled forward into the house, following the door he had just broken one of the hinges of.
“Who the fuck—” the all too familiar voice began to shout. Then, silence. A looming figure backed away from what Dean had to assume was the basement door and stared at Dean like he had seen a ghost. One who only looks vaguely familiar, but one who should be long gone. “Deanna…” the voice said quietly. It was more of a question than a statement. He expected to hear his old name again tonight, but it didn’t make it any less painful. He couldn’t fight back though. Not yet. With the pale light from a nearby street lamp, Dean spotted something silver and shiny in the man’s hand. A gun.
“Where’s Sam?” he asked lightly. He meant business, but he didn’t want to come off too strong just yet. Maybe stunning the man into silence would help de-escalate the situation. Unfortunately, it did not. As the man advanced toward Dean, Dean copied him. “Dad. Where’s Sam?” Dean was more firm as he stood only an arm’s length away from his father.
“You’re not my kid.” Dad narrowed his eyes at Dean, sending him flying back to seven years ago when he found out Dean was a boy instead of the girl he was born as. He knew John was just trying to get under his skin, but Dean wasn’t going to let him.
“I don’t give a shit who I am to you. Give me my brother and I’ll be outta your way for good.” Bargaining probably wasn’t going to work, but Dean was desperate. He wanted nothing more than to see his brother safely back to South Dakota with him.
Of course not, he thought as he flinched, the sound of a bullet striking the wall behind him. A warning shot. John was more than an expert with firearms— even drunk off his ass like he clearly was in the moment— and the gun in his hand was his favorite. If he really wanted to shoot Dean, he would. “Get the hell off my property, you worthless bitch.” John’s voice was unsettlingly steady. Dean could smell the whiskey that stained the old raggedy carpet and the cigarettes that probably got put out on his brother more than a few times. While the stench was nauseating, it was agonizingly comforting. It felt like home. Nothing had changed. The Winchester family would always be made up of broken, violent drunks with nothing but anger to keep them going. Sam had a chance though. Dean and John were long past the point of saving, especially John. Right now was Sam’s last chance, and Dean was going to be the one to save him. He would never be as good or redeemable as his little brother, but he could do one good thing, right?
Dean put his hands up, a gesture of peace and partial resignation. He sure as hell wasn’t leaving without his brother though. “Sammy?” he called out towards the door that didn’t have a handle anymore.
“Shut the fuck up, tranny!” John fired again, a lot closer to one of Dean’s knees. He was definitely aiming to injure this time, but Dean managed to dodge the bullet in time. He was on the ground now, his father standing over him. He grabbed Dean by the shirt collar and started shaking him. Dean aimlessly flailed and grabbed and pushed back, but to no avail. John threw him down again and kicked him hard in the ribs repeatedly. When Dean had rolled away just enough to dodge, he kicked his father in the side of the knee, bringing him down with Dean. John picked him up again and took a swing at Dean’s face, striking him in the mouth. Dean’s teeth scraped against his lip, drawing an immediate gush of blood that he could already taste. He barely had time to wipe any up before John grabbed him again by the shirt. Dean kept his fists curled as he swung with little aim other than the general area of John’s face. John was switching between his free hand and his occupied hand to strike back at Dean. The gun was pushing and bumping against Dean every other shove, so he decided to grab for that instead of trying to hit back. If he could pull it away—
Bang. Dean felt the recoil of the gun push him off his father, followed by a splatter of warm, thick liquid that stained his cheeks. Blood, and it wasn’t his. He only somewhat registered the sound of bone cracking from the velocity of the bullet. John was lying on the floor, blood gushing from a wound planted deep in his chest. No no no no no no no. He crawled across the floor and did his best to put pressure on the wound, but the blood seeped through his fingers almost immediately. This can’t be happening. This can’t—
“D— Dean?” a small voice asked to the right. A beaten version of his brother stood off to the side, quivering in pain and fear as he held himself up on the wall. “He’s dead…isn’t he…” There really was no question about it. John’s chest refused to rise and fall with breath and Dean could feel the lack of heartbeat next to the bullet lodged in his body. “Dean?”
“We have to get rid of him,” Dean responded. All his fear and regret would have to lay dormant for now. Sam seemed to be the same.
“There’s shovels in the garage,” he said, beginning to limp over to another door that was mostly intact. “Towels are upstairs in the closet and trash bags are under the sink,” Sam said coldly. Dean nodded, and retrieved both.
“N— not here,” Dean said as Sam started to head towards the backyard, two shovels in hand. Dean stood over the body, hands bloody and towels soaking up what they could over the wound. He spent about ten minutes digging the bullet out of the body. He hadn’t had time to scrub the blood out from underneath his nails.
Sam looked at him and walked back over to where Dean was beginning to duct tape the trash bags around the body. The brothers did their best to wash the blood off before Dean sent Sam to load the shovels in the car. They swapped places as Dean readjusted his car in the driveway, backing as close to the door as possible. He couldn’t be more thankful for the cover of night and the failing of the faulty lamp across the street.
Next thing Dean knew, he and Sam were off to the side of some country road so neglected, Dean was shocked it was even drivable. He didn’t know where they were, nor how they might get back. They would find it though, somehow. They would make it out of this. They had to make it out of this.
Dean flinched at a sound he couldn’t place. He looked around frantically in the dark, praying it wasn’t more than an animal, and terrified it could be a person.
“Sorry,” Sam murmured, gesturing to his shovel and rubbing his hand to soothe himself. “Blisters. Can we take a break?”
Dean glared at his brother, shovel in one hand and his arm wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Seriously? We have our dead—”
“I know, Dean. You don’t— don’t say it.” Sam was visibly trembling now. He leaned against a tree and flinched in pain. Dean wanted to have even a shred of sympathy for his brother, but he couldn’t feel anything at the moment. If he would let himself feel anything, they would get caught.
“Then come on. We don’t have time for this. I’ll patch you up later, alright?” Dean glared at his brother until he picked up his shovel again.
Once the hole was deep enough for Sam to need help climbing out, they did their best to carry the dead weight of trash bags from Dean’s car. Sam suggested throwing a blanket over to cover the shape better, but after everything, John deserved no such dignity. As much as Dean regretted his actions, especially since it was an accident, John would have ended up dead eventually. Dean had had enough of being the one on the wrong side of the gun and it was only a matter of time until it went off.
“Should we bury the shovels too?” Sam asked, his voice growing more fragile by the minute. Dean shook his head.
“We’ll take care of them at Bobby’s.”
Sam’s expression grew sour. “Are we gonna tell him?”
Dean bit his lip as he helped his brother roll the bags into the hole. “It was an accident. He’ll understand,” Dean lied confidently. He wasn’t sure he could be forgiven for what he did tonight, but he wouldn’t let it fall on Sam. If they did get caught, Dean would be the one to take the fall, no hesitation.
“Should we say something?” Sam asked, innocent as a kid.
Dean glared at the crumpled figure in the hole beneath his feet. He remembered everything John had ever done to him and his brother, and knew there was so much more that Dean never saw happen to Sam. He could only think of one thing. “Good riddance, you son of a bitch.” He spat on the body and turned away to get to burying it.
The brothers worked for another hour or so in complete silence, refilling the hole then ripping out some small saplings, leaves, and branches to lay over the overturned dirt. When the light of the rising sun began to poke through the tree tops, the brothers decided the pile of loose foliage was good enough of a cover. They got the hell out of the woods and started heading back towards Bobby’s, leaving Kansas behind for good.