The Pay-Off For Having Faith

15

John had just flipped on the coffee pot when he heard someone enter the kitchen. He turned and found his oldest son standing across the room.

"Morning, De-" he began; he was cut off as Dean demanded suddenly,

"Where is he?"

John raised his brows, watched as Dean stalked in his direction, and asked, "Who? Sam?"

"Where's Sammy, John?" anger laced the young man's voice, etched his features: John stumbled back against the counter as Dean stepped into his space suddenly and shoved him, "You can't take him from me again!"

"Dean, calm down!" He straightened, fought back his own anger, as his son moved in again. Dean was tall and, while he had the potential to be built, was still slim and lacked the muscle mass he might one day possess. John had a few inches on him, still, and at least 20 pounds; he used it to his advantage, bracing himself as Dean shoved at his chest again.

"You give me my Sammy!"

"Sam's fine, Dean! He's with Bobby!" When the agitated young man came at him again, he sidestepped and caught hold of his arm, shoving Dean forward and pinning him against the counter. He used a hand, placed in the center of Dean's back, to shove his chest down against the counter-top; he didn't want to restrain him but he wasn't about to let Dean attack him, either. "Just calm the hell down!"

"Let go of me, you bastard!" Dean struggled against his hold but John caught one of his arms and pulled it behind his back to hold him more firmly in place, "Won't let you take him away from me again!"

"Dean, listen to me," there was a plea in his voice as he tried to reason with his oldest, "Sam is with Bobby. He'll be back soon. No one took him from you."

"You did," the sob that escaped Dean's throat, the pain in his voice, drew John up short, "My whole fucking life, you kept him from me. Don't you take him away again. Don't you dare."

John glanced over his shoulder as he heard the door open in the utility room, which led out to the attached garage, and voices carried to him. Moments later, Sam and Bobby entered the kitchen. They froze upon seeing him, pinning Dean against the counter; John shot Bobby a helpless look, and Bobby moved toward him.

"Dad? Dean?"

Dean stopped struggling, went completely still, as he heard Sam's voice. "Sammy?" the name was a plea from Dean's lips, hurt and fear tracing it, and John released him and stepped back. Dean straightened, turned to face them, – John cursed silently as he saw the tears slipping down Dean's face - eyes finding Sam immediately.

"Dean," Sam moved toward his brother, and Dean met him halfway. John watched as the older boy grabbed the younger, pulled him in close and buried his face against his neck. "Sammy," the word was a sob against Sam's skin, "Sammy Sammy Sammy."

"What'sa matter? Dean, what is it?" Sam hugged his distraught brother tight, crooned softly near his ear, "I'm right here. I'm right here, Dean. I've got you."

John tore his eyes from his sons to look at Bobby as the other man asked quietly, "You okay, John?" He shook his head, rubbed a hand over his face, before motioning to the two boys standing in the center of the kitchen, hugging one another. "How can I be?" he asked finally, tears in his own eyes, as he glanced back at them. Bobby laid a hand on his shoulder, gave it a gentle squeeze, and John sighed and shook his head.

"I knew this wouldn't be easy but – damn, Bobby, most of the time I don't know what to do, where Dean's concerned. He won't take his meds for me, he'll only take them for Sam. He won't talk to me. He can't stand the sight of me and that's my own fault, but he can't stand to have Sam out of his sight, either. What am I supposed to do about that?"