tw: suicide mention, depression, abuse mention

word count: 1,784

 The call to consciousness started with the sound of the door opening and closing. As he drifted into it and became freshly aware of burning lacerations on his arm and the last memory of helplessly crying while Caleb held onto him... meaning he'd fallen asleep on the older man again, Dean fought it hard. He just wanted a few more hours of peaceful oblivion. Was that really so much to ask?

But then, he became aware of voices through the wall. No words he could make out... at least not when he was half asleep... but voices. Angry voices.

His dad was here.

He sat up because it was an easier position to swallow down the nausea which immediately rose in his stomach, raking a hand over his face and through his hair and praying to whoever might be listening to just put him out of his misery.

Apparently, no one was.

He finally opened his eyes for good, and was greeted by the sight of his little brother, leaning against the wall by the door, clear annoyance in his eyes as they stared blankly at the ceiling.

He swallowed hard and gathered whatever he had left of his composure from the floor, clearing his throat and staring just past the teen.

"Hey, Sammy."

The boy glanced his way uncomfortably. "Hey."

Silence stretched between them. He still couldn't make out what was being said in the other room.

Sam's voice, sounding desperate and freaked, broke it without warning.

"Look, Dean, I'm sorry!"

The words were even more surprising than the voice had been. His gaze snapped to meet the boy's, timid and uncertain.

"I wasn't trying... trying to get you in trouble with Dad," he continued. "I just... I'm just sick of him, and this stupid punishment, and this stupid life, okay? But I didn't... I didn't mean to hurt you."

Dean shifted, eyes dropping away once more. "Sammy, it's... it's fine." The words hurt coming out of his mouth. "I know you didn't mean to."

"But... but Dean, it's not..." He stopped, seeming to have to rethink what he was about to say. "Jus... just don't..." Once again, he stopped, and this time, ended with a heavy sigh. "I'm just sorry." It clearly wasn't what he wanted to say. Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know what he wanted to say.

"Like I said," the older brother said quietly. "'s fine. Forget about it."

The look on Sam's face said that wasn't going to happen anytime soon. His brown eyes suggested they knew something he wasn't sharing. The thought made Dean even more sick than he already felt.

Once again, uncomfortable silence settled between them. Dean felt the need to control the conversation before it went a direction he didn't like.

"How pissed is he?"

The younger boy scoffed a little. "What do you think?"

Dean swallowed another wave of sickness, and Sam flinched a little.

"I mean... I'm sure Caleb'll talk him down. It'll be fine, Dean."

Dean didn't like the placating tone of the kid's voice, but he didn't comment on it, just nodding a little. "Yeah. Course it will."

Sam chewed on his lip for several seconds, gaze on the floor, before slowly walking over and sitting down a few feet away from his older brother.

Dean looked at him carefully, trying to read the expression in those brown eyes.

"Are you?"

The question came out quiet and timid, and for a moment, Dean thought he may have imagined it. But the expectant upward look coming from the boy told him he hadn't.

He took a deep breath, forcibly pulling himself the rest of the way out of whatever pathetic mode he'd been in and into the one where he was the big brother, where Sam needed him to be strong.

He offered up a smile he hoped looked more convincing than it felt.

"Course, Sammy. I'm always fine."

The kid's frown just deepened. "But..." A heavy sigh. "Dean, just because you guys won't tell me anything doesn't mean I'm stupid. Caleb's really worried. About you."

Dean forced a little laugh. "Kiddo, Damien's a total girl when it comes to me. You should know that by now. He's a regular mother hen."

"Yeah, I guess so." He sounded less than satisfied, but offered up the tinge of a smirk. "Not as big of one as you are with me, though."

This rueful smile was weak, but it was real. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah," Sam scoffed. "Sure you don't." A pause. "Jerk."

Dean shoved a hand through the boy's shaggy hair. "Little bi..."

The word trailed off as footsteps approached down the hall. The brothers exchanged an apprehensive look.

But it didn't sound like John.

Sure enough, they were greeted by a light tap on the other side of the door. Their father definitely would not have knocked. A second later, it was pushed open to confirm it... an exhausted-looking Caleb stepped inside and closed it behind him.

The tiredness on his face only increased when he met the two apprehensive, expectant gazes of the Winchester boys.

"You're kinda lucky he's like that, Runt," the psychic sighed after a long pause. "Or else you might actually be my least favorite right now."

Sam didn't respond to the terribly forced smile that came with the statement, but he also didn't get annoyed. "What did he say?"

"You guys are going to Jim's." A pause. "My exile hasn't been extended. But it hasn't been shortened, either."

Despite every effort to keep up appearances, Dean felt his head and shoulders drop in utter defeat and found himself fighting back a rush of tears.

Pathetic. This was pathetic.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Caleb blinking hard, swallowing in the same fashion. He locked eyes with Sam and jerked his head meaningfully towards the door behind him. This time, the teenager did let out a huff of frustration, but he knew better than to argue with Reaves at the moment, and pouted his way out of the room.

When the door had closed behind him, Caleb slowly made his way across the room and sank down in the place he'd left empty. The two of them sat in silence for a long moment, then another.

"I have some more bad news."

Dean's eyes jerked up to his friend's, panic rising in his chest at the utter regret in the older man's tone.

"I screwed up," he admitted softly. "I was trying to get a point through your little brother's thick skull, and I went out on a limb."

Between the strange way the kid had been acting and what Caleb had already said, Dean knew where this was going, and he hated it.

"I told him..." A hesitation. "More than you wanted me to. Not a fraction of the whole story, but... the basics were there. Made him swear not to tell you he knew, not to tell your dad."

He'd barely had time to process the first terrible blow, and now he felt another one coming.

The frustrated regret on Caleb's face had only increased. "Apparently promises aren't too sacred to the Runt."

"You mean...?" Dean asked quietly, silently begging for it not to be true.

"I mean your dad knows, Deuce." His tone couldn't have been heavier. "Again, not much. But..." He sullenly pointed to his own chin with two fingers like they were a handgun, then spread both hands in an utterly helpless gesture.

The information took several seconds to really sink in, but as it did, it drained away every ounce of strength in Dean's body and he sagged forward, barely catching his head in his hands.

He'd never wanted death more.

"I should've known Sam couldn't keep his mouth shut," Caleb managed. "I know you probably hate me right now, and that's okay. But I really am sorry, Kiddo."

Dean just shook his head a little as tears began to slip down his face. "It's not your fault I'm a freak."

"Hey." Caleb reached out to grip the back of his head, gently turning it to look at him. "Don't. Don't do that. I've said it once and I'll say it a hundred times, Man. You are nothing but an amazing freaking person who's in a lot of freaking pain. And I am not gonna let him hurt you."

It was pathetic. He wasn't a little girl, and this was absolutely pathetic.

He heard footsteps in the hall once more. These were heavier, carrying with them the undeniable aura of frustration. He shuttered backwards even as he straightened up and desperately tried to stop crying.

Caleb got to his feet again, stepping definitively between Dean and the door.

This could not be happening.

The door opened and John appeared in its frame, but he didn't even look at Dean. "Get your bag. We're leaving."

Caleb crossed his arms over his chest. "You have two cars and he is not in the headspace to drive. I'm coming."

"He's fine," John snapped. "I'll be behind him the whole time."

"No." Dean flinched at the utter defiance in his friend's tone. "This is the first sleep he's gotten in at least a day. He's not gonna last an eleven hour drive."

"And what are you gonna do when you're stranded in Kentucky, huh?"

"Take a freaking plane, what do you think?"

John let out a scoff of obvious annoyance at his pupil's tone, but after a long moment of silence, rolled his eyes. "Fine. Wouldn't want him driving into a wall or something."

It was a pointed shot at the revelation he'd just been given, and Dean's head dropped all the lower to his chest, the weight of the shame almost more than he could stomach.

"I want you both in the car in two minutes."

He slammed the door behind him. Caleb's fists balled at his sides before slowly relaxing as the strength dropped out of his own shoulders.

"You think we could lose him if we climbed out the window?"

"Not with your dad on his side."

"My dad's not too pleased with him at the moment either, Deuce."

"He'd still find us."

And Sam's still here.

He didn't say the second part out loud, but he knew Caleb heard it anyway.

"Yeah." A heavy sigh. "I know."

There was a long moment of silence before Dean finally looked up timidly. "You don't have to come."

Caleb let out a humorless laugh. "You'll have to throw me out of the car if you want to lose me so soon, Kiddo."

"Oh." The boy swallowed hard. "Then thanks."

An utterly fake smile. "Yeah. Anytime."

I believe 9 is my final answer but you've heard that before. Thank you all so much for reading. Please keep the feedback coming it truly keeps me alive lol. Love you lots.

- Line