Thank you so much Shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod for beta'ing and Ncsupnatfan and VegasGranny for pre-reading.

Welcome to Story Three. I am particularly excited about this one, and I am looking forward to hearing what you think of what I do.

Chapter One

The bar Dean had found was called The Snake Pit. It was dingy, grimy, and they played more Dolly Parton records than any jukebox should reasonably hold. He thought it was okay though. He didn't need plush surroundings tonight, and the music wasn't making an impression on him either. He was too consumed with what had happened.

He was well on his way to drunk, and there was a row of empty shot glasses in front of him where he'd lined up his tequila and slammed them one by one.

He wasn't usually a drinker. He'd done his share of partying in high school, bottles of liquor stolen from parents' drinks cabinets and brought to parties, but he'd never really developed a taste for it. After he'd joined the life full time, he'd stuck mostly to beer, wanting to show his mom and Bobby that he was taking the need to be alert seriously so that they wouldn't doubt his suitability to be a hunter. Even when they'd relaxed their scrutiny, having seen that he was born to do it, he'd not indulged in much more than beer. It was habit by then.

He was drinking tonight though, a man on a mission to be drunk, as he didn't want his brain to be able to work anymore.

The attractive blonde bartender came to him and reached for his empty glasses. Dean held up his hand and said, "Leave them. I'm keeping count."

"Going for the record?" she asked with an amused smile.

"Something like that," Dean grunted.

"Then let me help you out." She took a bottle from the shelf behind her and poured him a shot of tequila. "Drink up."

Dean knocked it back and gasped. "Thanks."

He rooted in his pocket for his wallet and dropped some bills down onto the sticky bar to cover his bill.

"On the house," she said. "I get off at midnight."

Dean pushed the money towards her and said, "I plan to be unconscious by then."

She smiled and picked up the money. "Okay, big guy."

Dean was pleased he hadn't offended her. He would usually be interested in a no-strings night with a pretty woman, but he wasn't in the mood tonight.

His usual conquests were managed so that Mary didn't see them coming and going and could therefore ignore the fact they happened. She was pretty open-minded and accepted that Dean was a young man that wanted a good time as well as to save lives, but he never rubbed her face in it. It was a question of respect for his mother.

"Why are you on a mission for unconsciousness tonight anyway?" she asked.

Dean took a draw on the beer he'd been sipping between shots and said, "That is a very long story."

"Girl trouble?"

Dean chuckled. "I wish. That would be easier. You can break up when girl trouble starts. You can't do that with family. No matter what family does, you're stuck with them."

"You don't have to be," she said. "You can walk away."

Dean shook his head. "Not with my family you can't."

"Would you really want to? Seems to me that someone that can mess you up as much as they have means you really care about them."

"I do," Dean sighed. "More than you can imagine."

That was true. He loved his mother. She, Sam, and Bobby were the people he loved more than anyone else in the world. He trusted them with his life. That was the problem. Trust. Mary had betrayed that.

From as far back as Dean could remember, Mary had instilled honesty into him and Sam. Dean had told the usual lies as a kid—no, I didn't eat all the cookies; no, I didn't break the vase—but they had been innocent kid things that had been left behind before he was in fourth grade.

Mary had never shown that she was angry when she caught them in a lie. It had always been her disappointment that was hard to bear. Dean and Sam had understood how that felt when their lives had changed with the revelation that there was a whole world out there that they were unaware of, the world Mary and Uncle Bobby were a vital part of. Dean had thought that last lie revealed—the one told out of a need to protect not deceive—that the lies had ended for good.

After that Dean had told her everything. He'd never needed to sneak out to go to a party the way his friends did. If Mary or Bobby said it was okay, if they thought he was sensible enough and old enough to go, he had been able to go. His friends had been jealous of his freedom, but Dean had always understood it better than them. If he was old enough to risk his life to hunt with them on the rare occasions he was allowed, he was old enough to party with his friends. They trusted him not to experiment with anything stronger than alcohol and to take care of himself if trouble started.

He had been honest, but she had been lying to him the whole time.

He understood her not telling them when they were kids, but when they were older, when they'd started hunting, they would have been ready to know. They would have understood.

In the last two months, she'd have even more reason to tell them, even more opportunities.

When Bobby was talking about how important it was for them to be honest with each other if the demon was coming, when they'd made Sam tell them about Jessica's death and his dreams, it would have been the right time. Sam had been a wreck but he'd told them. She had no excuse. She had even promised them she wasn't hiding anything else when Sam had been worried she thought he was a freak.

She had known all along that the demon was coming for Sam, she'd known it for years, but she had pretended to be as shocked as the rest of them. Perhaps if they'd known, they could have done something about it, protected Sam better, saved Jessica.

They had been unaware though. He and Sam only had the vaguest knowledge of demons, and that was because Sam was bold enough to sneak one of the books on demonology out of the chest when Mary and Bobby had been on a hunt. He'd told Dean what he'd read about holy water before guilt made him put it back. But that was all they'd known. Perhaps if they'd had devil's traps laid down, salt lines, Jessica would have had a chance.

But Mary had told them nothing about demons at all. Dean hadn't been face-to-face with one knowingly until they went to The Roadhouse that night. Now Dean saw that scene in a different light, too.

Mary had gagged that demon when she started talking, wanting to stop it spilling her secrets to them. Was that why she'd kept him away from demons for all his hunting life? Was it about protecting herself not him?

She had lied to him then, too. He had asked if she knew what the demon was talking about when it called her 'chosen', and she'd told him she didn't know what it had meant. Lies upon lies.

And Sam… He thought there was something in him now because of the demon. Was there or was it Clark messing with him?

Dean thought Clark was less likely to screw with Sam than he was Dean himself, but he would probably still do it if he thought it would be fun. He was an asshole. Dean knew that better than anyone.

Was there really something in Sam's blood that made him different? Was he somehow changed because Mary let the demon into their home? And did Mary know about that, too? Was her reaction when Sam had told them another lie?

Dean had questions for her. Had she ever tried to find out why the demon wanted to come into their home in the first place? She'd had twenty-two years to try to find an answer. Had she? Or had she forgotten about it as she saved other people's families instead?

More, the ten years between her deal and the demon coming were the years she was supposed to have turned her back on hunting? Had that meant she'd turned her back on the deal, too?

He had to know. He didn't want to see her, he wanted to actually speak to her even less, but he had to find out. If he was ever going to work through his feelings about this, to help Sam, he needed to know. Sam needed to know even more.

Sam!

Suddenly, Dean was gripped with a sense of doom. He had left Sam as he'd wanted him to, given him his space, but had that been right? Was Sam lying there now, thinking over everything he'd heard, needing to talk as he always had before? Or worse, was he still shut down and feeling nothing at all, needing nothing?

Dean slid off his stool, weaving his way through the people queuing at the bar and waiting for the pool table to be free, and walked outside. The cool air hit him and he shivered. He'd left his coat in Mary's room. The chill also made his head swim as if he'd drunk far more than what he actually had. He had to take a few lung-freezing deep breaths, gripping the wall, before he felt he could walk on.

He rushed down the street, skirting a couple that were walking hand in hand, and turned a corner to the street the motel was on. The closer he got, the more tense he became and the clearer his head seemed. It was this way on a hunt, too. When the moment came to fight or protect, he changed, became focused and ready. He felt that now. He was going to take care of his brother the way he needed, even if they didn't agree on what that need was.

He reached their room and took the key from his back pocket, grateful that he hadn't left it in his coat as the last thing he wanted was to have to see his mother again. He opened the door and went into the dim room. The drapes were closed and the lights switched off, but Dean's eyes adjusted and he looked around, realizing what was wrong at once. The room was silent and Sam's bed was empty.

He switched on the light, now knowing he wasn't going to wake his brother, and went to the bathroom. The door was ajar, and he called Sam's name as he knocked and then slowly pushed it open.

"Sorry, man, just want to make sure you're okay."

The door opened and the room was revealed to be empty.

Dean wondered if Sam had gone to see Mary. That was the kind of thing he would have done once—forgiven and forgotten. Dean wasn't that good of a man. He needed to go there now, though, and make sure Sam was okay.

He walked back to the door and then stopped as he realized what else was wrong with the scene, apart from the fact Sam wasn't there; the room seemed too empty. The hoodie that had been hanging on the back of a chair was gone and Sam's laptop wasn't on the table. He quickly turned and went back into the bathroom, cursing as he saw that Sam's wash kit was missing. He checked under Sam's bed and saw his duffel was gone, too.

He'd left.

Dean yanked open the door and strode to Mary's room, banging on the door with his fist. It was opened, and Mary's wet eyes and downturned lips morphed into relief as she said, "Dean! Thank you. We need to…" She trailed off as she looked at him. "Are you okay?"

"Where's Sam?" he growled, anger and worry prominent in his mind.

She frowned. "I thought he was with you."

Dean cursed. "No. I left him in our room to give him space, but I just checked and he's gone."

"Gone where?"

"I don't know, but he's taken all his stuff with him."

Mary clapped a hand to her mouth and her eyes widened.

Dean turned away and she caught his arm. He rounded on her and growled, "You did this! You've driven him away."

She didn't speak, but she nodded and her eyes filled with tears.

Dean pulled his phone from his pocket and hit the speed dial assigned to Sam. It rang, and Dean tapped his hand impatiently on the wall as he waited for it to be answered. It went through the voicemail and Sam's dull voice—recorded just after the fire—asked him to leave a message.

"Sammy, call me," Dean said. "I need to know you're okay."

"Maybe he's with Clark," Mary said quietly.

Dean spun on his heel and jogged around the motel to the back where Clark's room was. He found the right door and slapped a hand on it, calling, "Open up, Clark!"

There was a harsh laugh inside and then the door swung open and Clark was revealed, a cigarette hanging from his mouth and an open bottle of whiskey in his right hand.

He drew on the cigarette and then said, "Well, Mary, you really screwed up this time."

Dean looked past him but Clark was blocking the door.

"Have you seen Sam?" Mary asked.

"Yes," he said smugly.

Dean pushed into his space, breathing in the smell of state cigarettes and whiskey, and called, "Sammy?" as he tried to see into the room.

"Shout a little louder and he might hear you in Montana," Clark said.

Mary gasped. "Montana!"

Clark rolled his eyes. "Joke. He can't teleport, no matter what else he's capable of. I don't know where he is now. I just dropped him off at the bus station."

Dean leaned back, away from the smell, and said, "Where's he going?"

Clark shrugged and took a draw on his bottle, gasped, and said, "How would I know? It's not like I bought him a ticket, and he didn't tell me."

"You let him leave!" Dean said, his voice rising with his anger.

Clark scowled. "Mind your tone, boy. I didn't let him do anything. I just gave him a ride when he asked. Don't blame me because you chose to get loaded instead of talking to him." He sniffed the air and said, "Tequila?"

"He said he wanted to be alone," Dean said, feeling defensive though neither Clark or Mary had a right to judge him.

"He did, just more alone than he told you. Your mother is the one that screwed him up. And then you left him. Are you really surprised he didn't want to stay?"

Dean's anger built. "Don't blame me for this."

Clark rolled his eyes and drew on his cigarette. "Fine," he said, blowing a cloud of smoke into Dean's face. "I won't blame you. I'll let Sammy do that himself."

Dean's frayed temper snapped and he shoved Clark's shoulders. His cigarette dropped from his hand to the dirty carpet and the bottle in his hand swung. Clark stamped on the cigarette to extinguish it and he shoved a hand forward. Though it didn't make contact with Dean, he felt a wave of force shoving him back to knock into Mary's shoulder.

"I'll give you that one," Clark said. "But if you try to touch me again, I promise you'll regret it. Save your anger for the one that really deserves it." He looked pointedly at Mary who ducked her head. "All I did was give Sam what he needed. He wanted to get away, so I helped him."

"Did he say anything?" Mary asked.

Clark laughed harshly. "He said plenty, and I could feel what a mess he was in. He told me what you did, Mary." He shook his head, looking amused. "What the hell were you thinking telling him that?"

"You told me to!" Mary said incredulously.

"I didn't know it was something that twisted," Clark said, no sign of defensiveness in him. He was stating a fact. "What you did to that kid…" He shook his head. "How was I to know someone as vanilla as you would do that to your own son?"

Mary winced and Dean turned away. He was angry at Clark for helping Sam leave, furious with his mother, but his instincts were taking over, helping him to reach a place in which he could work the problem.

"We need to call Bobby," he said. "Sam might be going home."

"I really doubt it," Clark said with a chuckle.

"Or he might call him," Dean went on, ignoring the smug man behind him.

Mary took out her phone and dialled with trembling fingers. Dean plucked it out of her hand and put it on speaker.

"Mary? What's going on? It's late," Bobby said as he answered.

"Have you spoken to Sam?" she asked.

"No. Why?"

Mary looked at Dean, her expression imploring though Dean didn't know what she wanted.

"Sam's taken off," Dean said. "Something happened and he's upset. We're hoping he's coming to you."

"Because you're dumb as a box of rocks," Clark muttered.

"I'll call him," Bobby said.

"He's not answering, Bobby," Mary said quietly.

"He might answer me. Hold on." There was the sound of a number being dialled on one of Bobby's older model wall phones that he kept for his various personas and then a wait before he said, "No answer. I'll keep trying."

"Thank you, Bobby," Mary said. "We'll call when we find him."

Clark snorted and Dean sighed. She said it as if she really believed it was going to happen. He had his doubts. Sam was smart enough to avoid them if he wanted to. He just had to hope Sam changed his mind and decided to be found.

Bobby said gruff goodbyes and ended the call. Mary took the phone back and tucked it into her pocket.

"I'm going to the bus station," Dean said. "He might still be there."

"I'll go," Mary said. "You can't drive. You're drunk."

"And you're a liar," Dean spat. "Which of us do you think Sam wants to see right now?"

Mary's expression hardened. "I know you're angry, you have a right to be, but that doesn't mean I'm letting you drive yourself into a tree trying to drive like this. You are my son and so is Sam. I am going to the station. You can come if you want."

Dean glowered at her but he knew she was right. He was in no state to drive, and maybe they could find Sam between them. There would be two of them looking.

"Fine," he said. "Let's go."

"Good luck," Clark said, lifting his bottle to them in a salute.

Dean ignored him and walked away. Clark was an asshole, but he already knew that. Mary was a liar, and he knew that now. Sam was missing, upset and headed he didn't know where, so Dean was going to concentrate on that. He would find his brother and give him what he needed.

If he still wanted to get away, Dean would go with him.

So… Dean is angry. I struggled to write him like this as I'd spent two stories showing how close they all were. It felt wrong to me, but Dean was determined to be angry, so I went ahead with his lead.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx