It took a lot of threats, and ultimately a lot of money to get other hunters to finally point Sam and Dean in the direction of Nelson and Spencer.
Sam and Dean got into the car and slammed their door simultaneously, and Dean steamed as he started the car and took off like a demon out of hell down the blacktop.
"Why does everyone think this whole mess was OUR fault!" Dean finally asked heatedly as Sam gripped the side of the passenger's seat praying that his brother would lay off of the gas.
"Because it was our fault." Sam said strained. He didn't like to admit that the whole apocalypse thing was their fault, but it was, as much as the demons, the angels, Ruby, Cass and anything else that supernatural manipulated and forced their hands, ultimately the decisions the two of them made, on their own free will, forced the apocalypse.
Dean was silent for a minute. The car was pushed to go just a little bit faster and Dean, whose knuckles were white on the steering wheel, "It wasn't like we meant to." Dean finally said.
"That's for damn sure." Sam sighed as his mind weighed his part in the mess/
"Andrew shouldn't be paying for this." Dean added.
"Agreed. Did you understand what in the world they were talking about…you know about whether or not he was really an old man?"
Dean shrugged. "Guess they think that he's really dad."
"We know that." Dean smirked a little. "But I think the hunting community has seen us come back to life so many times now that they might be thinking that there is something supernatural keeping the family from dying, and they might thing that applies to dad as well."
"This is true." Sam bit his lower lip. "You think he's okay?"
"No." Dean said honestly. "I think they want him to admit to being Dad…and Spencer isn't exactly known for his subtle ways."
Andrew was hanging by his arms in the center of the cavernous space the two men had taken him to. His shoulders ached and he couldn't feel his fingers any longer. But at least they had stopped cutting him with the knives. At least they had ceased rubbing salt and ash and other materials into the wounds left by the knives, and he was glad that they had finally stopped taking out their frustrations on his face in punches and slaps.
"You are a tough son of a bitch John Winchester." Alan whispered.
"I'm not John." Andrew's voice broke.
"You keep telling us that and I still don't believe you."
"Why would I lie?" Andrew whispered, unable to get his voice any stronger.
"To protect those self-centered pricks that you call sons."
"I'm not lying." Andrew repeated before he passed out.
Sam and Dean found the place, pulled in and didn't wait for Bobby to come as back up. And Dean did exactly what he always wanted to do but Sam usually talked him out of, he just went in there guns blazing and half cocked.
When Dean saw Andrew strung up from the ceiling and unconscious, he let out a cry that heaven could hear and went after Alan Spencer and Carl Nelson. The battle was a bloody one, knives were pulled, guns went off, and punches were issued that broke bone, and dislocated jaws, and emptied mouths of teeth.
Bobby put a hand on Dean's back, stopping him from the pounding he was giving Alan. Alan breathed hard, opened his eyes as far as they would go, and said, "I knew you would come."
"You have our grandfather."
Alan let out a choked laugh that ended in a cough. "Whatever you want to believe Dean Winchester. It should be you in those cuffs, hanging from your arms. It should be you." He hissed.
"Yes." Dean answered shortly. "It should."
"Told not to come after the Winchesters directly…said you had too much power."
"Who told you we had ANY power?" Dean asked eyes virtually glowing with anger. "Told that you had Angels and Demons watching over you." Alan coughed again and spat blood out to the side.
At the mention of angels Dean's blood boiled and it took all he had not to raise his fist and punch the critically injured man in the face once more, just for emphasis. Castiel was the one who destroyed his brother's wall, left him just on the edge of sanity all of the time, and just the sheer mention of the winged dicks made Dean seek out an outlet for his violence.
"Nothing watches over us but each other. You tell that to the other hunters who are after us. And you remember, if you ever touch another hair on the head of anyone who I consider family again, I'll finish this job." Dean, breathing heavy from exertion, removed himself from the pummeled man, and staggered to his brother who had had the easier task of taking out Carl, and offered his brother a hand up. Sam took it, and the two of them went, together, to their grandfather who was on the floor, Bobby holding him upright, and knelt down next to them.
"Andrew?" Sam asked quietly. "Andrew?" Andrew's eyes opened a crack. "We're going to take you to the hospital." Sam said gently. "You just go back to sleep. It'll make the pain easier to manage. We've got you. You're safe."
They came to visit him at the hospital a week later, neither sure if they would be welcome, because after all it was their fault, no matter how inadvertently, that he was in the state he was in.
Dean poked his face into the room. "Andrew?" He asked and pushed the door open a little further.
"Sam. Dean. Come on in." He said and tried to sit up and get more comfortable."
"No, no, just stay where you are." Sam said and reached a hand out to stop the older man's movements.
"We only came by for a minute. Just wanted to see how you were doing." Dean said.
"I'm doing better. Doc says I should be out of here by Monday." Sam smiled as his still bruised face would allow.
"We're sorry about this." Sam said.
"What?" Andrew asked.
"We're sorry that you got caught up in our drama." Sam clarified.
"That's why we didn't want you anywhere near us or our lives." Dean said. "We weren't trying to be dicks. We just…wanted to protect you from stuff like this."
"This is our reality, not yours." Sam added.
Andrew paused a moment at the two contrite Winchesters. "I'm just as much to blame."
"Yeah." Dean started. Sam kicked him and Dean glared at his brother. Andrew kept the smile off of his face.
"We just came to say we were sorry." Sam finally said. "Glad you're better." Sam touched Dean's shoulder. "Come on Dean, time to go."
"When will I see you boys again?" I asked.
"Never." Dean said finally after a few moments silence. "We're making it look like you died to the hunting community. We can't risk this happening again."
"I don't get a say in what I do?"
"No. Sam said. "This is the end of the line. I'm glad I got to meet you." Sam said. "But we can't risk your life again. Pretend like we don't exist." Dean nodded, and without another word the boys were gone. Andrew, the stubborn old fool, found himself fighting tears…the last connection to his son, to his family, just walked out of the door.
"Is it done?" Bobby asked when they got to the lobby of the hospital. "It's done. Let's get out of here." Dean said briskly. He never turned his face to his brother or surrogate father. He wanted to get the hell out of there, to forget just how much Andrew looked like his father, sounded like his father. For all of his unwillingness to spend time with him, for all of his anger, and frustration he had towards the man, he was family, and this was the first time Dean had ever abandoned anyone in his family before, and he realized that it was just as hard as being abandoned. He got in the car and slammed the door.
Sam followed his brother. He fastened the indifferent facade to his face and tried to forget just how much he had wanted to get to know Andrew, to learn things about their father, things about his childhood about his teen years, things that only a father would know about his son. Walking away from Andrew meant walking away meant walking away from the last piece of his father and that left. And whatever others may think they knew about Sam Winchester, he didn't hate their father, he had been angry all of those years ago, and he missed his father, and leaving now made him feel as if whatever piece f John Winchester was left died. It was more painful than Sam could have imagined. He got in the car and slammed the door.
They took off, neither speaking, neither paying attention to each other. Both trying to lose themselves in the sound of tires eating up pavement and the blaring of the radio.