Hello everyone! I apologize for how long this chapter has taken, life has been a rollercoaster this last little while and has not offered much to me in the way of inspiration to pump out more chapters. I'm not sure if I am very satisfied with this but to be honest I just couldn't look at it any longer ;) I hope that any who have stuck with me this far will find some enjoyment in it. Thank you for your support, I hope that you will hang around for more. :)


"Don't fricken move doc."

He can see Smith flinch in surprise as he turns to face the brothers, the look of shock written on the man's face having the same quality as the proverbial deer caught in the headlights moments before the crushing and violent impact.

The way his body stops all movement, frozen to the spot with even his arm caught in mid-reach for something on his desk tells him the good doctor has been caught completely off guard. He hadn't taken into consideration the fact that Dean's hunter instincts are always at play, tuned in and tuned on, especially when he senses or perceives a threat in his midst, or in his brother's, despite how on the verge of collapse he may seem.

"Sure, I'll be the first to admit it, I'm just itching to kill something. So, I dare you John, twitch one little muscle, come on. Make. My. Day."

If you didn't know Dean Winchester, you would hear nothing but a tangible threat, currently punctuated by the deadly exclamation point he holds in his hand. You would hear a tone that is defiant and unwavering, a low rumble that has stopped ghost, demon, and human alike in their tracks if only for a moment, as the venom in his words filter through.

But he does know Dean, better than any other person possibly could, and so he has the advantage of being able to peel away the layers; to sift through the bravado and contempt, the hatred and intimidation woven within the inflection in his hard spoken words, to get to the meat; to the tender pieces underneath. To him, his brother's voice isn't strong and steady or sure, but rather mingled with fatigue, confusion and uncertainty.

That's what comes from years of studying your brother, of learning the signs and signals that to anyone else, including Doctor Smith, are too subtle to even register. Smith on the other hand, who still looks like a statue made of flesh; who hasn't so much as twitched since facing the barrel of his patient's gun, only knows of Dean Winchester. The doctor's doubt is etched in the features of his face, as the threat that lingers in the air starts to slither along the floorboards like a snake waiting for its prey to make its one fatal mistake, before it strikes out to inflict the killer blow.

He sighs as he rubs a weary hand down his face. Why do people always underestimate his brother? He didn't sugar coat anything in the details about Dean, he had laid it all out on the table and warned them; even pretty sure he used a phrase like 'powder keg just waiting for a light'. And right now it seems the unsuspecting doctor has just struck the damn match.

So, Dr. Smith, the subject of today's class is Dean Winchester, and your lesson has just begun.

Despite whatever is happening inside him, no matter what internal battle he is waging within his body and mind, Dean will never willingly show weakness, reverting to his patented defense modes of defiance and rage. He can see both of those begin to shine through, oozing and seeping out of the older hunter like trickles of water that have found that one small crack in the dam, keeping the torrent only barely contained. Unless this showdown is diffused quickly, it's only a matter of time before it breaks wide open and carnage is unleashed on whoever dares stand in its path.

He watches the doctor flick his gaze from Dean's steely features to the gun and back again before he taps his foot restlessly on the ground to gain the doctor's attention. Slowly and carefully those wide eyes break from the threat that stands before him to stare into his instead.

He meets Smith's eyes and nods curtly, an unspoken acknowledgment that he had taken care of this possible scenario long before the duo walked through his door. Another sigh escapes him as yet another indicator of Dean's lack of clarity hits him full force. His brother doesn't even realize that he holds nothing more than a useless ornament in his tenuous grasp.

With his newly acquired knowledge, the doctor's stance and demeanour change, the terror that had shone in his eyes fades to be replaced by a new surge of confidence, no longer kept back by the fear that any movement on his part would relieve his head from its body.

"Look Dean, I was just getting something off my desk. That's all." Smith's eyes keep locked on the older Winchester as his hand becomes reanimated and reaches for a folder on the surface, conscious of the fact that the barrel of the weapon follows his every move. He holds it up in the air like it's some kind of trophy, allowing each brother to see that it is indeed just a document. "See, just a file." A reserved chuckle makes its way through his pursed lips. "Nothing to warrant getting shot over, I assure you."

His brother's head tilts to the side, as if trying to process what it is that he's looking at and gauging whether this is some kind of trick.

"F..file?"

Dean takes one step forward, his arm drifting slightly downward as his entire body seems to waver, the rush of adrenaline that pulsed through his veins leaving the party in haste, draining him of whatever energy it had managed to instil within his frame.

He approaches to stand by Dean's side and bears witness to a litany of emotions as they flutter through the green of his eyes. Dean's brow crinkles and he drifts his gaze to his weapon wielding hand, the stab of insecurity at his actions furrowing into the lines of his face. He readjusts the grip on his gun as his hand starts to shake and the weapon suddenly appears to weigh a tonne in his grasp.

He reaches out to place a light touch on his shoulder and speaks slow and soft towards the side of his brother's face. "Dean, you can put the gun down, you don't need it. I know right now this may seem hard for you to believe, but Dr. Smith is here to help."

There is indecision, mistrust and accusations swirling around in the eyes that turn briefly to meet his own, before they focus once again on the doctor who has now moved closer to the brothers, file in hand.

Smith clears his throat, opens up the folder and scans the page before lifting his gaze to lock onto Dean's.

"Dean Winchester. Date of birth January 24th, 1979. Born in Lawrence, Kansas..."

Dean screws his eyes shut and jams the heel of his left hand in his face, a grunt and gust of air launching from his throat.

"… the first child of John and Mary Winchester…"

He watches in curiosity as his brother's body seems to relax, his head lifting to stare at the doctor with a weird sense of calm; the actions doing nothing to ease the rising trepidation he feels inch along his spine. It's like Dean has been caught in a riveting episode of 'This Is Your Life', and he can't seem to turn away from the spectacle.

He takes advantage and opportunity of the moment to gently loosen and extract Dean's grip on the gun and lower his arm to his side, surprised when his brother offers no reaction or resistance, at all. His brother is glued to the doctor's face and to the file in his hands, seeming to be patiently waiting to hear the next chapter of the story; of his story.

"…both deceased…"

It's like he's been hit by a bolt of lightning, the shudder that rips through Dean's frame as those two words break the confines of Smith's mouth and slam into him effectively snapping him out of his trance and reigniting the storm forever brewing beneath the surface. He doesn't even notice when it happens; only a slight breeze flutters across his skin as Dean reclaims the gun and surges forward, a growl thundering past his lips and the barrel focused on the invisible bulls eye that seems to be painted right onto the doctor's forehead.

"SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH! So help me, you say one more word and you're dead. And trust me doc, that ain't no threat. That is a damn promise!"

He walks closer into the confrontation zone and feels slightly impressed that Smith is holding his own against the distressed hunter on the verge of ripping him a new one. Dean's agitation is apparent now, his body quaking where he stands, the rage taking over every fibre of his being.

"Dean, come on bro, take it easy. Just…"

He stops as Dean presses the metal into the doctor's face, the idea that he is out of control enough to contemplate killing a human icing the blood in his veins. His brother doesn't turn but he can hear the darkness and disappointment in his voice.

"Shut up Sam. What the hell is wrong with you? Don't you care that this ass has information on me? An entire freakin' file? How about the fact he knows about mom? Doesn't that seem messed up to you?"

A chill runs through him again, the obvious omission of their dad in that statement reminding him of how unstable Dean must be; knowing that anyone who ever said anything derogatory or what Dean perceived to be untrue about John Winchester was lucky to get out alive.

Dean doesn't wait for an answer from him but focuses intently back to Smith. "Have you been keeping tabs on me John? My life? Huh, well I guess that figures, you do strike me as the weasly type."

"Sam cares Dean. So do I. We want to help you. It's time to stop fighting, to stop running and face what's happened, before it destroys you. You need to let go of the guilt you carry for all those who have been taken from you..."

"I... SAID... SHUT YOU HOLE!"

The doctor takes a breath and stares right into the furious eyes of Dean, now only an inch away from his own.

"…starting with your father."

The echo of the initial sound makes all three of them flinch. It takes him and the man who is the current focus of Dean's anger one more click to realize where the noise is emanating from. The gun held firmly in the hunter's hand is being fired; Dean's finger presses down over and over against the trigger, each time reverberating a hollow pop into the doctor's head.

He can't help but think that his brother would have killed him, in cold blood, without so much as a hesitation. He is rooted to the spot, sure that the magnitude of what he just witnessed slowly working itself into the expression on his face.

When the clicking finally stops and Dean stands motionless, the eerie quiet that descends upon the trio is broken only by the intermittent sound of rushed breathing.

When his brother starts to move again, he watches in fascination at the way in which he calmly unloads the gun and checks the clip before snapping it back into place and bringing it to point to the floor, shaking his head slowly as he does. The thud of the weapon as it hits the ground ripples through the walls of the office and the way Dean's back tenses and how he rolls his head tells him everything up to now has been the warm up act.

The last straw has just been broken, and he and the doctor are about to get a front row seat to what happens when Dean really starts to lose his cool.


TBC... Thanks for stopping by!