Topic: The Incident in Flagstaff

Dean Winchester

Date: 2011-07-04 13:02 EST
Roswell, New Mexico May, 2000...

"Where's Sam?"

I winced, dreading the question I knew was coming and the lecture I was going to have to endure when my father received an answer. "I...uh..." I faltered, licking my lips nervously. I usually had a smart answer for everything, but I wasn't so smart when it came to my Dad.

"Dean..." he repeated, staring me down, his expression one of brewing anger and worry. "You were supposed to keep an eye on your brother. Where is he?"

"I-I don't know. He..." I was licking my lips again, terrified of my father's reaction. If there was one person I didn't want to piss off, it was him. Monsters were one thing, Dad was another. I'd rather take on a dozen werewolves than fight with my Dad.

"What do you mean you don't know"!"

I felt myself unconsciously flinch at the anger in his voice, and I stammered. "Dad, I....I was here, I swear. I don't know where he went. I think....I think he went out the bathroom window."

"The bathroom window," he repeated, doubtfully. "Are you telling me he ran away?"

"I don't know. I guess so. It's not my fault! What do you want me to do' Watch him while he takes a leak?"

I saw his eyes narrow and I knew I was treading on thin ice, but it wasn't my fault. If Sam wanted to take off, all he had to do was wait for the right opportunity. I couldn't keep my eyes on him twenty-four to seven. I had to sleep sometime. I had to go out and get food. I had to shower. I had to trust he wouldn't do anything stupid, but apparently, he had. Either that or....well, the alternative was unthinkable.

"Don't you take that tone with me, boy," my father hissed through clenched teeth. He closed the distance between us, eyes still narrowed, and poked an accusing finger at my chest. "You know the drill. It was your job to watch him, Dean. If anything happens to Sam, I'm blaming you."

My face flushed with anger. Seventeen years of watching over Sam was starting to take its toll. "What the hell do you want from me, Dad" Do you want me to hold it for him' He's not a kid anymore. If he wants to take off, he's gonna find a way."

I think the fist that shot out and connected with my cheek surprised him as much as it did me. The punch was hard enough to knock me off my feet, and there was no hand offered afterwards to help me up, no apology, nothing but a hardened look of rage in the eyes of the man who was my father.

I felt the sting of tears prickling at my eyes, and that was the last thing I wanted him to see. I hadn't let him see me cry since I was six, and I wasn't about to break my good record now.

"Son of a bitch," I heard him mutter to himself, but whether he was angry at me for losing Sam or angry at himself for hitting me, I'll never know. I rubbed my cheek and watched him warily as I climbed to my feet. He wasn't going to get a second punch if I had anything to say about it.

"Dean..." he said as he took a step forward, but I waved him off and backed away toward the door. I wasn't going to wait around and take a chance at being John Winchester's punching bag again. He'd have to take his anger out on some other schmuck.

I grabbed my jacket, and my feet found the door. I heard him calling my name as I hurried away from the motel room. He might have even apologized, but I wasn't listening. I was too worried about Sam and in too much physical and emotional pain to think straight.

He didn't bother to follow, knowing that unlike Sam, I'd be back at some point, like a glutton for punishment. I was, after all, the loyal son.

Dean Winchester

Date: 2011-07-04 13:49 EST
"Got some I.D.?" the bartender asked when I ordered a beer. Hell, I'd been drinking beer since I was sixteen, but he didn't care about that. All he cared about was making sure he wasn't illegally serving alcohol to a minor.

I grumbled to myself and shoved one of the I.D.s Dad had given me across the countertop.

"Dean Van Zant?" he asked, arching a brow as he read the name on the driver's license. "You any relation to..."

"No," I cut him off, knowing where this line of questioning was going. I wished Dad would just once come up with something a little more original for our fake I.D.s than aging rock stars. "Can I just get a beer?"

"Sure, Dean, one beer coming right up."

I mumbled my thanks as the bartender went about filling a mug and let my gaze wander around the room. After leaving the motel, I'd spent the rest of the day trying to track Sam down without any luck. I assume Dad had done the same, but we never crossed paths. I wasn't sure what time it was, but it was dark in the bar. I glanced at my watch and found it was almost ten. I'd been out looking longer than I thought. My hand found the mug and the first beer went down real easy. I got a refill and found a quiet corner table where I could be alone. I lifted the mug and pressed it against my cheek, which was still throbbing painfully from the encounter with my Dad's fist, and then I realized I was no longer alone.

"Evening, sugar. Mind if I join you?"

I looked up to find a pretty redhead smiling down at me and looking like she wanted to do more than just keep me company.

"Misery loves company," I grumbled and kicked out a chair, trying not to look too much like an eager beaver. I was only twenty-one at the time, but I felt like about forty.

She took a seat and leaned over the table to brush her pink-painted fingertips against my cheek, and I heard myself hiss. "What happened" You get in a fight?" she asked, looking concerned.

"Something like that," I replied, pulling her hand away and trying to decide if she was really concerned or if it was just a ploy.

"I hope the other guy looks worse than you."

I wasn't about to tell her that the other guy was my Dad, so I decided to change the subject. "I don't mind if you want to play nurse." I smirked around the beer mug, curious to see how far that line would get me.

I was rewarded with a smile that looked slightly predatory. I took a harder look at her and realized she had to be at least ten years older than me.

"You don't beat around the bush. I like that. What's your name?" she asked.

I took a sip of my beer, trying to look suave. "Dean." She wasn't getting a last name. No one got a last name. Ever.

She smiled again and offered a hand. "I'm Sal." I reached for her hand and gave it a polite squeeze, but she seemed reluctant to let go.

"Sal, short for..."

"Short for Sal," she replied, with that same easy smile. She wanted something from me, and I had a pretty good idea what it was. "You can just tell me to butt out if I'm being nosy, but you look like you just lost your best friend. Your girlfriend break up with you or something?"

I snorted into my mug of beer. The thought of having a girlfriend was ridiculously amusing. Like that would ever happen. I never stayed in one place long enough for it to happen. "No," I said flatly.

There was that teasing grin again, her pink lipstick-colored mouth curling in amusement. The color reminded me of cotton candy, and I wondered if her lips tasted as sweet. I got the feeling this was like a game of cat and mouse to her, and I was the mouse.

"Boyfriend?" she asked.

I laughed. The thought of that was even more ridiculous than of having a girlfriend. "No."

"Okay, so, no girlfriend, no boyfriend. Why so glum' Are you lonely?"

Her question took me completely off guard. No one had ever asked me that before. Not Dad, not Sam, not Bobby, no one. "No, I..." I faltered, unsure how to answer. Only one person had ever accused me of being lonely, and that had been years ago.

"It's okay, sugar. Everyone gets lonely sometimes. Even me." She gave my hand a little squeeze, as if to tell me I didn't have to be lonely, so long as she was around, and I knew the game was over. She'd won. I'd lost.

"How much?" I asked, somehow knowing Sal wasn't offering to keep me company for free.

She smiled again and brushed her fingers against the side of my face that wasn't swollen and bruised. "I'm off duty. For you, sugar, it's on the house."

I opened my mouth to accept her offer and then thought better of it, guilt and worry like a heavy weight against my chest. "I can't," I told her, pulling my hand away. "I'm sorry. I gotta go." I pushed away from the table and rose to my feet, leaving the second beer only half finished on the table. I'd been gone long enough. I couldn't avoid my father forever. It was time to face the music.

"I'll be here if you change your mind!" I heard her call as I pushed my way out of the bar and into the night air. I don't know what ever happened to Sal. I never saw her again.

Dean Winchester

Date: 2011-07-04 14:39 EST
When I got back to the motel room, the lights were still on. My father was asleep in a chair with the television on, playing some ridiculously stupid late night horror movie. At least, it was better than porn. A half-empty bottle of bourbon lay on the table, along with his cell phone and car keys.

I glanced over at the two double beds, but my heart sank to find them both empty. No Sam. I tried to tell myself that he was okay, that he'd be back by morning, that he just needed some time to himself. Maybe he had a girl somewhere he was seeing that we didn't know anything about. Or maybe he was doing something for school. Sam was all about school. Something I could have cared less about. You didn't need a high school education to hunt monsters. All you needed was a little courage and a lot of luck, or so I thought at the time.

Despite trying to be logical about it, my mind kept circling back to Fort Douglas and that damned shtriga. It was a close call, and it had happened on my watch. I knew Dad had never forgiven me for it, and the truth was, I'd never forgiven myself. We'd gotten lucky that day, but after that, I'd promised myself I'd never let anything bad happen to Sam again. I'd kept that promise until now.

I dropped my jacket on the bed and wandered over toward where my father was sleeping on the chair. Out of curiosity, I reached for the bottle of bourbon, lifting it for a small taste. He never let me near the stuff, telling me he didn't want any son of his becoming an alcoholic like him. The stuff reminded me of turpentine and burned like fire on its way down. I winced at the taste of it and wondered why anyone would actually enjoy drinking it, other than the fact that it always seemed to knock him out.

I returned the bottle to its resting place on the table and glanced at the T.V. set. Some girl was screaming and running from a werewolf, and I had to laugh a little at the ridiculousness of it all. It was never like that in real life. Never as easy as it was in the movies. I flicked the T.V. off, snagged a blanket from one of the empty beds, and drew it over my Dad while he slept. I thought I heard him mutter Sam's name in his sleep, but I wasn't quite sure. It was almost always Mom or Sam he called for in his sleep. Never me.

I tucked the blanket up under his chin, hesitating a moment while I watched him sleep, wanting to offer him some hope, even if I was feeling hopeless. I leaned close enough to smell the bourbon coming off him with each breath and whispered low, "Don't worry, Dad. We'll find him. I promise." He made no reply, not even batting an eye, and I knew he hadn't heard me.

I kicked off my boots and lay back on the bed, tucking my arms behind my head and staring up at the ceiling, wondering where my brother was and if he was safe. I thought about praying, but what good would that do' It had never seemed to help us before. If there was a God out there somewhere, he sure as hell didn't care about us.

I closed my eyes finally, hot tears sliding down my face. How many times had I cried myself to sleep in the dark, without anyone knowing? I brushed the tears from my face finally and turned over onto my side, punching the pillow more out of frustration than anything else. "Damn you, Sam," I muttered to myself. "You better be alive because when I find you, I'm gonna kill you myself."

After a while, I finally drifted off, too weary to stay awake any longer.

Dean Winchester

Date: 2011-07-04 15:08 EST
San Antonio, Texas About ten days later...

Days passed. We searched Roswell high and low, but there was no sign of Sam anywhere. It was as if he'd disappeared off the face of the Earth. We finally gave up and moved on to the next town, but without any clue as to which direction he'd gone in, it was like searching for a needle in a haystack.

We drove in awkward silence most of the time. Sometimes Dad would put the radio on, but he wouldn't listen to music. He'd change channels, listening to the news, hoping for some clue to Sam's whereabouts, even if it was only bad news. He'd call Bobby every few hours to see if he'd heard from Sam, but there was never any news. Bobby asked about me once, I think, and my Dad just barked back an answer telling him I wasn't the one he was worried about right now.

He wouldn't speak to me, unless he had to, still blaming me for Sam's disappearance. Nothing more was ever said about the punch. No apology, no nothing, as if it had never happened, though the bruise on the side of my face was proof enough that it hadn't been a figment of my imagination. I hoped it faded before we found Sam, if we found Sam, or there'd be more questions.

Every day was like torture, and I was starting to realize what people meant when they said it felt like Groundhog Day, living the same nightmare over and over again. We awoke in silence, we ate in silence, we drove in silence. Not a word from either of us, unless it needed to be said. I was starting to wish he'd just haul off and slug me again. The silence was deafening and far more painful than his anger. It was the longest two weeks of my life.

We were in San Antonio when we finally got the call from Bobby that gave us some reason to hope. I was brushing my teeth when the call came in and paused a moment to listen to the conversation.

"Yeah," I heard my father answer the phone, quieting a moment to listen to what Bobby had to say on the other end. "What the hell's he doing in Flagstaff?" he asked, and my heart leaped into my throat. "Yeah....Yeah, we can be there by morning. I know long it takes to get there, Bobby." There was another brief pause. "Dean can drive while I sleep, all right' Let me know if you hear anything else."

I finished brushing my teeth and spit the toothpaste in the sink, just as my Dad stuck his head in the doorway. "Hurry up and get dressed. We're heading to Arizona."

It was the first thing he'd said to me in days, and for the first time since Sam's disappearance, I was finally starting to feel a glimmer of hope.

Dean Winchester

Date: 2011-07-04 15:52 EST
Flagstaff, Arizona Two weeks later...

The Winchester family reunion was less than touching, at least for me. Sam had apparently been staying in a cabin outside of Flagstaff, living on pizza and Funions and Mr. Pibb, while Dad and I were going nuts with worry trying to find him. The only reason we'd tracked him down was because he'd run out of cash and was making purchases with one of Dad's fraudulent credit cards made out to a Sam Lincoln, of all names. Sam had always admired Lincoln, and like him, wanted to be a lawyer. It was admirable, but stupid. I told him the only thing we were ever going to be was hunters, but he never listened.

It took a couple of days of backtracking and asking questions, but we finally managed to track him down. In the end, he came to us. He must have relented finally and called Bobby, and Bobby told him which broken down motel we were staying in. It was one of those anxious moments when you weren't sure whether there was going to be fireworks or not, but when it came down to it, my father was less than stern.

"Where the hell have you been, boy?" he asked, when Sam stepped into the room.

Sam looked sheepish, as always, like a lost puppy who'd finally found his way home. "Sorry, Dad. I just....needed some time alone."

For a moment, Dad looked like he was going to hit him, and like always, I stepped forward to get between them. If he was going to take out his anger on anyone, it was going to be me. But then, his expression changed, softening, and I almost thought I saw tears in my father's eyes. He closed the distance between himself and Sam and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him into his embrace. "Don't ever do that again, Sammy. I was worried sick."

I felt something break inside me as I watched them, father and son, embracing, reuniting, feeling like an outsider among my own family. Sam returned the hug, closing his eyes, savoring the moment. Hugs from John Winchester were rare and when offered, they were something to be treasured. I watched them quietly as they clung to each other, like two lost sheep, feeling like I was their shepherd. They needed me, but at that moment, it was as if I was invisible.

I knew it was just the calm before the storm. The argument would erupt soon enough, the harsh words, the accusations, the explanations, the awkward silence. It was only a matter of time, and I didn't want to be there to witness it. Not again. I quietly opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind me, not looking back. Dad wouldn't come looking for me, like he had Sam. He wouldn't drink himself to sleep over me. He wouldn't worry where I was or what I was doing.

I was the good son, the loyal son, the one who never questioned orders, the one who never ran away. Dad had been worried sick about Sam, but what about me" Hadn't I been worried, too' Did he even care about me? I bore the bruises, while Sam got the hugs. It was the way things had been all my life. I knew my place. I knew it was up to me to hold things together, but at that moment, all I wanted was to be a million miles away.

Dean Winchester

Date: 2011-07-04 16:16 EST
"You selfish son of a bitch!" I spat at my brother. "Do you have any idea how worried we've been" You couldn't even call and let us know you were okay' Would it have been so hard to call, Sammy, huh?"

Sam looked at me with those sad puppy-dog eyes that made me want to take back all my harsh words and ruffle his hair and pull him close for a hug. But he wasn't thirteen years old anymore. He was seventeen, and he was quickly becoming a man.

"Look, Dean..." he started, spreading his arms wide. "I'm sorry. I just....I needed some time away. I needed to think."

"Think about what?" I continued, not relenting. "Did you even for a moment stop to think about me" About what Dad would do when he found out you were gone?"

"Was he mad?" he asked, sheepishly.

"Mad?" I echoed. "It's Dad! What do you think" I'm sick of taking the blame for you, Sam. I'm sick of always being the one who has to take the heat. I've been taking the heat since I was ten. It gets a little old after a while."

"Dean, I didn't think..."

"You're damned right you didn't think. Going out a bathroom window" Really' How'd you even manage that?" I looked him over. He'd sprouted over the last four years and even towered over me now. "It's amazing you didn't get stuck. Now, that..." I waggled a finger at him, chuckling dryly. "That would have been pretty damned funny."

"Dean..." he started again, presumably trying to explain. "I needed to think about some things. About school. About what I want to do with my life."

My face must have betrayed my feelings. It felt as if he'd just slapped my face. "Your life" What do you think you can just walk away from this and live a normal life" You've gotta be kidding me."

"I'm applying for college, Dean. I don't want to spend the rest of my life hunting. I don't want to become Dad."

"Oh, that's nice, Sammy. Real nice. Have you told him that yet?"

"Not exactly. I mean, he knows I want to be a lawyer, but..."

"But what? You don't home school to become a lawyer, Sam."

"He's not gonna like it."

"You think?"

"Look, Dean....I know you got the shit end of the stick on this, but....don't you ever wish you had....you know, a normal life?"

"A normal life," I repeated. "Christ, if I had a dime for every time I wished that, I'd be rich."

"Then, why don't you, Dean' This is Dad's fight, not yours. Not ours. He's dragged us around on this wild goose chase all our lives and where has it gotten us" Nowhere. We're no closer to finding out who killed Mom today than we were when we started."

My heart sank as I listened to him, torn by the desire to have what he called a normal life and the desire to find out who'd killed Mom and why. I sighed and dropped into a chair, shoving a hand through my hair, trying to find the right words to explain how I was feeling. "I can't, Sam. Don't you think I want to' I want a normal life as much as you, but that choice was taken from me the night of the fire. Dad can't do this alone. He needs me, and I promised a long time ago that I wouldn't let him down."

"Dean," Sam started, crouching down beside me. "You made a promise, but I didn't. I never even knew Mom. I wish I did, but I didn't."

I smiled a little at the memory of our mother and felt that old familiar ache in my heart. She was gone forever and nothing was ever going to bring her back. "You'd have loved her, Sam. She was special."

"I'm sure I would have, Dean, but I can't spend the rest of my life grieving someone I never even knew."

I knew then that I'd lost him, that I was going to have to let him go. I'd known it long ago. That sooner or later my little Sammy was going to grow up and make a life of his own. I'd always thought we'd be together forever. Us against the world. The two of us. We'd be invincible. No one would ever be able to come between us, ever. Not monsters, not demons, not angels, no one. I realized then how naive I had been. A boy's dream. That's all it was. Nothing more.

I nodded my head and sighed. "Okay, Sam. If one of us is gonna have a normal life, it should be you. You deserve it." I forced a smile for his sake. "I think you just won your first case. You're gonna make an awesome lawyer."

Sam returned my smile, and even though my heart was aching, I knew I was doing the right thing in letting him go. I knew it was what he wanted. I knew it would make him happy.

"Just promise me one thing," I added. "Never leave again without telling me first."

"I promise, Dean," he said, finally giving me a hug.

But everyone knows promises are only made to be broken.

A year and a half later, Sam broke his promise when he left for Stanford. There was no goodbye, no note, no anything. He left in the middle of the night, and by the time Dad and I awoke in the morning, he was long gone. Except for a brief text message telling me where he was, we didn't speak again for nearly four years, not until Dad went missing and I went to Stanford to ask Sam for help. It probably wouldn't have made any difference, but if I'd known then what I know now, I might have just left him alone.