Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural in any way, shape, or form
Author's Note: I know, I know...I've neglected to put up the last part for some time now, leaving it on a cliff hanger - sorry, sorry. I've gotten really busy lately. Thanks so much, one last time, for all of the great reviews. I take all of the comments to heart and I've tried to work on a few of the things people mentioned last time...thank you again, everyone.
Warning: Language, violence
Later on, Sam didn't even remember the thought crossing his mind. In fact, he didn't even think that he'd thought about it. In fact, he hadn't quite realized why his knuckles were throbbing. In fact, he almost felt dizzy, and everything slipped in and out of focus for a moment. What the…?
It wasn't until he saw John grabbing at his face that he knew, he realized. He'd just punched his Dad in the nose. Holy shit…could this night possibly get any freakier?
Luckily, the blow gave Dean a moment to scramble up. Damn, his head hurt. He blinked for a moment – the whole parking lot seemed to be spinning. He crumpled to his knees again, bringing his head into his hands, trying to take a few deep breaths. He couldn't black out. Sam needed him.
He finally got up. John was still holding his nose. "Who taught you how to punch, boy?" he asked, wiping at the blood on his face. He was seeing stars.
Sam didn't answer. He looked over to Dean, who was slowly starting to get up. He hurried over closer to him, reaching out and trying to help him stand up, taking advantage of his father's temporary mental paralysis. "Are you okay?"
Dean looked up at Sam, and there it was – the little nick under his eye. The nick that screamed for revenge. He nodded slowly as he stood. "Yeah." he said. He moved over to his father, giving him a shove.
"What's wrong with you?" he yelled in the night, his words piercing through the darkness.
"What are you talking about?"
"You've done nothing but treat Sam like your own personal punching bag for the past thirteen years. He's done nothing but try to please you, nothing but try to make you happy and this is what you do?"
"I raised him! I kept food in the kitchen and clothes on his back." John shouted back.
"Get real!" Sam yelled, moving over. The three of them stood, in a triangle of hatred and anger.
"What?" John said, shaking his head slightly.
"Get real. You frolicked off to hunt and left Dean to take care of everything. Dean was the one who raised me."
"You ungrateful like twit!" John yelled, giving Dean a good punch in the stomach, hard enough to knock the wind out of him and divert his attention before slapping Sam across the face. "I did what I had to do, alright?"
Sam shook his head, his face still stinging. "You did what you felt like doing."
A kick. A punch. An attempted hit back. It was only a few seconds of fist fighting before John had Sam's arm twisted behind his body.
"What are you doing to do now, make me give you my lunch money?" Sam said, trying to laugh.
John punched him again, causing Sam to groan and his knees to buckle. Dean saw the kid's face contort in pain.
"No…no!" he called. He hurried up, trying to pull his father off Sam. He suddenly felt like he was nine again with tiny, ineffectual fists that were no good for fighting back. "Let Sammy go, Daddy!" he had screamed. "Stop it! Leave him alone!"
"Come on Dad, leave Sam alone!" he shouted as he desperately tried everything that he could think, but John's grip was too good on the boy. The man shoved Sam's arm upward causing Sam to scream, and Dean knew instantly what he'd done – he'd popped Sam's arm out of its socket. He'd had his own arm popped out a few times, and he knew the pain well.
Sam could barely breathe it hurt so badly. His chest heaved in an effort to get away. His arm…it hurt so badly. Damn it! He tried to wretch it away and he started to breathe quickly when he realized that he couldn't move it. Oh, God…
"I'll call the cops!" Dean cried, suddenly. Anything to get Dad off Sammy…anything. John turned his head towards Dean and stared at him for a while, as if considering slowly what he was doing.
Would Dean really call? After all, John thought, he'd worked his hardest to always present the police in a fearful way to the boys. The cops would only lead to social workers, and social workers would lead to questions, and questions meant foster care, and foster care meant the boys being separated. It was one big shitty chain reaction, he'd said. But as he looked at Dean who was standing over there…
He moved away.
As his Dad suddenly moved away from him, Sam fell to the ground, pain lancing up his arm. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit his tongue hard, as if it would somehow reduce his pain. The coppery taste of blood seeped into his mouth, and he felt himself gag.
Dean crouched down next to Sam. "Sam, I'm so sorry…" he whispered, pulling Sam close to him.
"Let's go." John suddenly said.
Dean looked up at his Dad. "Are you really that much of an effing moron?"
"I said let's go." John yelled in a way that seemed to silence the Earth.
"We aren't going anywhere!" Dean yelled angrily, his arms still wrapped around Sam.
"I didn't say anything about you going anywhere, Dean. After all, you're eighteen. But Sam…Sam's a minor, and I'm his guardian. And he has to come with me." John smiled a little bit. He watched emotion cross his oldest son's face plain as day – confusion, outrage, pain, and finally…submission.
"Give us a minute." he said. John raised an eyebrow in a way that said, Do you really think I'm that stupid? "We aren't going anywhere; you can stand right over there by the truck. Just give us a minute." Dean said, frustrated.
John considered for a second, and then stepped over to his truck. He threw the door open and got in, shoving the key into the ignition.
Bad guy - 1, other guys – zip
"Give me your arm." Dean said. Sam was staring at the ground, still breathing hard. "I'm sorry about this in advance, kid." Dean said as he took up the limp arm. Sam yelped as Dean manipulated his arm back into place.
"I picked that one up from an EMT." he explained, helping Sam to his feet. "You're going to need to ice that arm."
Sam nodded. "So, have fun on your road trip…"
"Send me a postcard or something from…wherever."
"Sam, what the hell are you babbling about?"
"Your cross country road trip. Take a picture or two for me." Sam said, with some bitterness in his voice. Jealously raged deep within the pit of his stomach.
"Hey, Sam…" Dean said, a look of pain crossing his eyes as he came down to eye level with his brother. "You think I'm going to take off on you like that, kid? After everything?"
"Well, you can."
"You know what? I'm coming back with you guys and the minute that you turn eighteen we're springing, got it? Cross country, playing nothing but Metallica."
A rush of gratitude swelled up in Sam's stomach, pushing out the jealousy and tumbling the bitter thoughts and feelings. He felt his voice tremble a little bit as he spoke. "Thank…thank you so much, Dean."
A horn blared, and the boys turned and saw John staring angrily at them from inside the truck.
"You're welcome, kid. See you at home." He started towards his car as he watched Sam start towards the truck. He slammed the door and revved the engine.
Eight words down, nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-two to go.