Hello all. I have returned. This is a stand-alone piece (though can be read in companion with an earlier piece of mine "Mirror")
Please read and review!
He would die for them. He would suffer for all of eternity. He would give up everything and anything.
But sometimes, he wished they would notice.
They stood at opposite ends of the room, angry eyes flashing between them both, as though the world was coming to an end if they lost.
"Don't argue back!" John thundered, appalled by his son's behavior. Sam scoffed, looking incredulously at his father, his drill sergeant.
"What are you going to do dad? Ground you twenty-two year old son?!"
"I don't think your being reasonable Sam!" John replied, "And I will ground you if I need to!"
"Oh go ahead and try, Dean and I don't need you all the time now!"
Dean tried to bury further into the cushions…why did his name get dragged into this all the time? Why did he have to be the leverage?
"Dean doesn't approve of your reckless behavior either!" John rebutted.
Once again Dean wished the world might open up and swallow him. They brought his opinion in before they asked him what it was. No one asked him, no one cared that much, as long as he stood by them.
No one said that his real thoughts mattered, no, just his approval, or the impression of it, his name was brandished like a sword too many times these days.
"Don't tell him what he thinks!" Sam yelled.
"I'm not, I'm telling you!"
Dean stared at the ground, caught in the middle of the violent staring competition. His eyes darkened. Ever since the demon had left, ever since they had killed it, it had been fight after fight. Sam wanted to go back to college but John thought it was too reckless so soon, the underworld might be after them for a bit after the vanquish.
"I don't need telling! I think I would know what my own brother wants!"
"Says he who missed four years of Dean's own life!"
"Says he who left him without a word!"
Dean sighed; he didn't want it to come to this. He was sick of the yelling, he was sick of the screaming. He was sick of them not knowing he was here.
"Shut up." It was so quiet, it was deadly cold.
Two sets of eyes flicked to the other person in the room.
"Just stop it." Dean stood up looking intently at both of them. "I'm not something you can use to win an argument! I am here…and I'd appreciate you not telling each other my opinions before I get a chance to tell you!"
"No, just stop!" His cheeks tinged red with anger and shock at the words coming from his mouth. "Please, just stop…"
A desperate gaze and a desperate face gave one last plea before Dean vaulted the couch and left the room.
The door flew open as Dean hurtled out of the motel…
He needed out, he needed…he wanted them to see him as he was…a real person. A REAL person, not just a supporting argument.
The splattering rain on his head calmed his anger, only a little. The gentle water trickling over his flustered skin.
Tears mixed with rain, and for once, Dean. The great hunter, cried. He hadn't cried like this since Sammy had left, and before that since his was a baby. He hadn't even cried when his mother had passed away.
He had always thought that if he was good, mummy would come back. Daddy had always said "don't cry" so he didn't, he refused to break that rule because then there was no way mummy would ever come back.
But when Sam left, he had realized it wouldn't make a difference.
He moved slowly along the street, hunched over. Almost wishing the world would swallow him whole.
He'd have to go back sooner or later. Later was sounding mighty fine at the moment.
He took a shuddering breath and sighed, eyes raised to the heavens in an almost desperate plea.
Dean wished for all the things he had lost when he was growing up. He wished his father and brother got along.
He looked around him; he was standing alone in a huge park. The rain had driven people indoors.
He stumbled to a park bench, letting his body slump against the half painted, saturated wood. His shaking hands ran across his face. Did they think so little of him?
Was he worth nothing?
A happy collection of shrill tones butted into his thoughts. He turned his wet face to his jacket pocket, whipping his mobile out with one hand, pushing himself off the chair with the other.
"Hello?" He said, he couldn't get the depressing tone to vanish, but he didn't care.
"Dean?" John Winchester's voice barked down the line at him. "What the hell was that?"
Disappointment. Dean heard it ring through his father's barking voice.
Dean didn't reply, and as he predicted, there was a shout from the other end of the line, Sammy yelling at his father again.
"Don't shout at him dad! He's obviously upset! He wants some time alone! He doesn't want to talk to you!" Sam's voice berated his father for a moment.
Dean growled. "Don't you dare…" Dean's voice snapped from depressed to angry. "Don't you dare tell him what I want! You don't know, you never knew!"
He didn't realize he was shouting, but he couldn't stop.
"You, it's always what you want! You got to go to college! Don't you think I had dreams? Did it ever occur to you that I wanted something!? DID IT?"
There was silence on the other end of the line, a beep; someone had turned on the speaker phone.
"What – what do you want Dean?" They asked it together.
"You asked me that in Chicago Sam, before Meg lured us in." Dean said, reaching the cover of a tree. "I asked for a family." I asked for you and Dad and Mum. I asked for one thing.
"Dean…I…" Sammy's voice.
"Dean, I know what you wanted, but…what does this have to do…?"
Dean couldn't help but let the laugh slip through his lips. A merciless laugh, bitter with sorrow.
"You asked me what I wanted. I told you I wanted a family. You told me it was never going to happen."
"It's possible." Sammy mused over the line.
"That's what I said Sammy, and you know what you said?"
"What did he say?" John's voice this time.
"He doesn't want it to be. He doesn't want us to be a family."
"I don't." Sam answered without thinking.
"Oh, and here I thought you asked for my opinion." Dean replied, repeating the same words that had run through his head months and months ago when he'd been in Chicago. This time he said them, but the difference was there was anger there rather than sorrow.
"I told you what I wanted, the first time I ever opened up to man, and you…you slammed the door in my face." Dean sunk down to the ground, leaning against a tree trunk.
"I'm…" Sammy started to apologise.
"What?" Sam questioned.
"Don't, we've already chick-flicked ourselves enough." Dean scowled as the cheery words left his lips, that's right Dean, bury it. Ignore it. It'll go away.
"Dean…son…" John was lost for words for a moment. "Dean I want you to come home, we can talk this out."
"Dad." Sam's voice broke into the conversation. "I don't think we're ready for that; let Dean come home when he wants to."
Dean closed his eyes, he couldn't believe it, they were going to argue again!
"Sam!" John growled.
"Don't argue with me!"
"Why the hell not?"
Dean slumped closer to the ground, stared at his phone for a moment before snapping the cover shut.
Why did they have to fight all the time?
He wondered if the rain would ever stop. But the solemn clouds above continued in their constant downpour.
Dean wrapped his shirt closer to him; he should have brought a warmer jacket, one that wasn't so light, something to keep him warm.
Why couldn't the world grant him one favour, why could he not enjoy a family?
His phone rang again, he sighed, flipping it open but not answering, knowing his father was going to start ordering him home any moment.
A grunt of affirmative was good enough for John Winchester.
"You are to come home right now mister." It was an order, not a sympathetic apology. John Winchester couldn't even spare his son a small consoling gesture.
"There's a werewolf on the prowl, a contact of mine said it was heading over to the park earlier today."
Dean was silent, suddenly watching the every move of the trees around him.
"He had to skip town." A sigh. "Please Dean, son, I need you here…don't get yourself hurt."
His father waited a moment, but when Dean made no move to reply he hung up.
Dean sighed and pushed the phone back to his pocket, eyes wide; suddenly aware he had no gun, nothing to defend himself with.
He was in a park, the only park in town if he remembered correctly, which he knew he did.
How could he be so damn stupid?
He ran his fingers through his hair. This was why John had always warned against emotions, had always yelled at Dean for not thinking.
This was why he should have never let his guard down.
The werewolf prowled through the trees. Dean could see its eyes flashing menacingly in the direction of the hunter.
Dean slowly reached for his phone. He hit the speed dial. Someone answered first ring.
He could almost see the way Sam frowned at his voice. He heard the sadness in it too.
"Dean? What's wrong?"
Another voice yelled over the line.
"SAM! You give that phone to me, I need to talk to you brother!" Sounds of a struggle, more yelling.
Dean hopelessly gazed back at the werewolf, where there's one there'll be more.
"I just found our wolf." Dean whispered into the phone.
No one answered him. He dropped the phone not bothering to hang up and slowly tried to figure a way out of this.
He could run, but it was probable that they were circling him. He could try to wrestle them all, but he'd get bitted, shredded or eaten.
He could climb the tree and pray for his family to come, not likely to happen.
Well that left another option, stand he and pretend he didn't exist. Yeah Dean, He scolded himself, oh, that's really clever.
He could hear John's voice barking into the phone now. He swore under his breath, they had been to busy fighting to know he was in danger.
Alone I can hear
Dean watched the wolf come closer; it was out in daylight…that was weird. In fact, that wasn't possible…
Sure, they didn't necessarily need a full moon, but they only changed at night…which meant this wasn't a werewolf.
"What the hell are you?" He hissed.
He got no answer in return. He turned around; two more were behind him, and one to each side.
He knew instinctively that this was all there was.
He thought of his mother again, wondering if she was watching over him, praying she could help, knowing she couldn't.
Dean searched for something to defend himself with, a small knife Swiss army knife in his pocket, a sharp stick on the floor, and the confidence nothing could attack from behind if he stayed in front of the tree.
He could still hear the phone.
"Dean, you can talk to me." Sam was half yelling.
"Dean, pick up the damn phone now!"
"Dad, he doesn't need you yelling at-."
"Don't tell me-."
He was going to die, he decided. Pulling out the knife he waited.
The one-shot got a bit long, so I've split it into two pieces. If you would like me to finish writing and update the second half please REVIEW and let me know.
Keep Smilin' :)