Dollar Store Saviors

John had returned to find his boys curled up together and asleep that night. He’d eaten his food in silence and slept in the other bed, wondering what to do to help Dean.

He didn’t have to bother. He never got near his firstborn with Sam around.

For the next week, everything seemed slightly surreal.

Sam had made them pack up and go somewhere new every day. He was struck by an odd paranoia and refused to be easy to find.

John watched as Dean valiantly attempted to support Sam in any way he could, even though it was apparent the man wasn’t in any shape to be moved that much.

Every day was the same. They woke up in a new hotel and John went to get food while Sam tended to Dean’s injuries he had sustained the night before in the throes of a nightmare.

When he came back, he’d set the food out and Sam would eat while John dressed the wounds Sam had received for his trouble when he tried to wake Dean up from the nightmares.

Dean, on the other hand, would sit and apologize to Sam the whole time and push the food around before throwing it out.

John would eat then, watching his boys. Dean just slept most of the time and Sam watched him like a hawk. He wasn’t letting anyone get near them, even John. It was only if Dean made a move toward John that Sam would let their father get close to them.

One or maybe two movies were watched throughout the afternoon and then they were on the road again.

The new hotel meant another shower for Dean and another applying of the damn ointment.

John had come to hate that ointment. When Sam took it out of the bag it meant John was being dismissed to get dinner. Of course by the time John returned, Dean was asleep, so he and Sam ate in silence.

But John kept to his word and didn’t say a thing about caring for Dean unless Sam began the conversation. He recognized Dean’s dependence on his younger brother and usually he’d be okay with it, but something was off.

John had gotten all the details out of Sam and knew that dealing with the name issue, the witnessing of the rape, and the rape exam was weighing heavily on Sam. Usually Dean would be the one to help him through it, but now it had fallen to John. Unfortunately John had always been a piss poor excuse for a comforter when it came to Sam.

The end of the monotony happened in a small town in North Dakota. John would never forget that day as long as he lived.

He had just returned with breakfast, having slipped out while the boys were still asleep.

The night before had been another rough one. The nightmare sent Dean into another panic attack, but he’d ended up dry heaving.

It had set Sam off.

”What…what is this? Dean?”

“Puke, college boy.”

“No, that’s not puke. Not real puke. There’s nothing fucking in it, Dean…”

Dean just shrugged. “I didn’t eat much today.”

“Bull…we got those burgers and fries and…you didn’t eat them, did you?

Dean just shrugged it off. “I’m tired. I just want to sleep.”

They had all tried to sleep, but John heard Sam get up and start pacing at one point. He could have gotten up and tried to talk to Sam, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it on as little sleep as he’d gotten. Promising to talk to him tomorrow was the best he could do.

And now here he was, ready to talk to Sam, but Sam was on the floor with a nasty head wound and Dean was nowhere to be found.

Before John could toss the food on the table and get to Sam, his youngest son was waking up.

“Sammy…Sammy are you okay? What the hell happened?”

Sam’s eyes widened in memory and he just shook his head slightly.

“What is it? Sammy…Sam! Answer me.”

“Shutup…” It was a whisper, but it was enough to confuse the hell out of John.

“What the hell, Sam?” He noticed then. There was a flicker of Sam’s eyes that darted more past him than to him and he slowly turned around.

Dean was behind the door and he had his hands wrapped around a gun and trained on them both. His eyes were glassy and John had a sinking feeling Dean had fallen further away from them as John had continued to use his son’s name. Blood dripped from his nose where he’d hurt himself trying to get away from another nightmare.

John spoke out the side of his mouth to Sam quietly. “What happened?”

“Morning wood.”

“Um…what does that have to do with-“

“I happened to be holding Dean and he woke up with my erection jabbing into him and I guess it…freaked him out.”

“You think?”

Dean started to tremble as he stared at two men lying in front of him. I did it. I got my gun. They can’t hurt me anymore.

He stared at the two men who raped him, not seeing who was really there.

“You both deserve to die. Especially you…Sammy…” He spit the name out as if it were a curse. “My brother…you made me say his name and now…now you’ve ruined us. You’ve ruined me!”

Sam sighed sadly. “Dad, you have to get the gun from him. I tried once and got a head wound for my trouble.”

“He’s pretty shaky…”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not right fucking here!”

John held up his hands. “Okay…okay Dean. We’re just trying to figure out how we can help you. That’s all.”

Dean snorted a laugh as he thought the bastards had helped him enough. “Do you understand? You ruined me…” The last word came out as barely a whisper and his hands shook badly.

Dean dropped one hand and used his arm to stem the flow coming from his nose. “I’m nothing now. I can’t be with my brother. I can’t say his name.”

John started to stand. “Okay, Dean, I want you to take a deep breath.”

“Don’t move!” Dean sobbed once and then shook his head to keep things straight. He had his gun. He had his rapists in front of him. All he had to do was pull the trigger.

John stopped and frowned as his leg muscles trembled with the strain of the position he was in. “You’re not a killer.”

Sam rolled his eyes at that. “Um…”

“Shutup. I’m trying, okay?”

“You can’t lie to him. That’s just stupid.”

“I don’t see you coming up with any ideas that would help.”

“At least I’m not telling him he’s nice and sweet. What’s next? You going to tell him he bakes brownies for church socials?”

“You know what? You can just knock it off now. I never said that. I just said he wasn’t a killer.”

“Yes, he is!” Sam stared at his father. “He’s a damn good killer, too!”

“But he kills for good reason.”

“He thinks he’s got a gun trained on the guys who hurt him. Sounds like a good reason to me.”

John opened his mouth to tell Sam off again, but then thought twice. “Oh. Yeah…good point.”

Dean had circled them while they had argued so he could sit on the bed and wonder what was going on with the two men in front of him. “You both…you both act like….” He used a hand to rub his eyes. “This can’t be right.” He blinked a few times as if trying to see straight.

Sam’s eyes lit up. “Dean? Hey…it’s alright. Just put the gun down. Dad and I aren’t going to hurt you.”

“Dad…” Dean looked at them again and then looked at the gun. “Dad…” He shook his head as his vision cleared and he saw John trying to stay between Sam and the gun. “Oh God…” He let the hand with the gun sink into his lap. “I thought…”

John sighed. “I know. It’s okay.” He held out a hand to Sam.

Dean tried to consider what he had done. “What if I don’t see in time next time this happens?”

Sam gripped John’s hand and let himself be pulled up, but nearly collapsed. John held Sam up and maneuvered him to a chair before sitting on one next to him and checking his head wound.

Sam couldn’t speak past the nausea, but John didn’t answer Dean, either, because he was too busy checking Sam.

Dean saw flashes of his brother’s body lying on the floor, his eyes staring at nothing while their father screamed over the tragedy of the situation.

Then he saw his father lying next to Sam, blood bubbling out of his mouth, reaching out to Dean, trying to forgive him.

Dean shook his head. He couldn’t handle being the person who killed his family. He’d wanted Sam to kill him that first night. He’d prayed death would claim him, but it had only skittered away with his soul and left him broken and empty.

The more he thought about it, the more sense it made. He was already dead. He just wasn’t complete anywhere on this plane of existence or the next.

He listened to his brother and father talk about whether Sam would need stitches or not and he watched his hands caress the gun. It was strong and solid and cold. Just like he had been. Now it was ruined.

He glanced up as his hands moved and he saw Sam’s eyes meet his. In that split second everything passed between them. Sorrow, fear, love, need, and farewells.

Sam gasped, shocked, but Dean could no longer hear anything past the sound of his inner voice urging him on.

Before John could react, Dean put the gun to his own head and pulled the trigger.


TBC…