Thanks for reading...

Chapter Twenty Six

Dean stood slack-jawed, staring at his most prized possession – his baby. The sight of four slashed tires, graffiti painted over every inch of the vehicle, and shattered windows and headlights, sobered him instantly. Maybe if he hadn't gotten drunk and passed out cold after his conversation with Sam, he might have heard Chaser and his friends vandalizing his car long before the sound of shattering glass and Sam pounding on his bedroom door dragged him out of his sleep.

He should have known Chaser wouldn't let their confrontation go without retaliating in some way. He should have stayed alert and focused on his current problem instead of dwelling on something that couldn't be changed. Sam made him out to be a hero, that was the last thing he wanted to hear, and it was the thing that drove him to drink way more than he should. Now on top of having to come up with five thousand dollars to pay back Chaser, he had to somehow find the money to repair the damage to his car.

He could hear their laughter echoing somewhere off in the distance, the sound of it fueling his tightly leashed rage. Sam silently flanked his side, gun in hand, narrowed eyes darting back and forth searching the shadowy recesses for any unseen dangers. This wasn't his fight. He was supposed to feel safe at the cottage, but Dean had ruined any chance of that for him, and now any thought of leaving before Chaser came looking for his money was no longer an option.

"Go back inside, Sam," he ordered in a hoarse whisper, never taking his eyes off the Impala. Even if it was his most prized possession, it was still just a car and nowhere close to as important as protecting his little brother. He'd brought these people into their lives, carelessly putting Sam's life in danger, and he needed to put a stop to it now. "I said, go inside," he repeated when Sam remained rooted to his spot.

"We could try to wash off the paint." Tucking his gun behind his back in the waistband of his jeans, he started toward the garage. "I'll get a bucket of soap and water, and get some –"

"What part of go inside are you too stupid to understand?" Dean snapped, instantly regretting it as Sam's shoulders slumped. It wasn't his fault. He was just trying to help, but for some unknown reason that made it all the worse. His little brother – the person he was supposed to protect, was hurting in ways Dean's couldn't even begin to imagine, and yet there he stood wanting nothing more than to help Dean out of the mess he'd created. "Why does everything always have to be so damn hard, Sammy?" He didn't expect an answer, didn't believe there was an answer as to why the universe had decided to screw them over time and time again. Even when they did everything right, not to say they always followed the letter of the law, but on those occasions when they were on the right side of things, Fate still intervened to kick their asses, dragging them down and under where it felt they belonged. "All I wanted to do was take care of you, and now we're on this freakin' roller coaster ride going faster and faster, up and down and up and down." He lifted a hand and lowered it, repeating it over and over again. "And I can see the track ahead is broken, splintered beyond repair…there's no way off, Sam – no way off. We're gonna crash and burn in Hell…that's the only way this will end for us. That's our ending, little brother, and when it's all said and done, not one damn person will care that we're gone."

"You're drunk, Dean," Sam whispered brokenly, hazel eyes bright with the knowledge that Dean spoke the truth even if he refused to voice his agreement with him.

"Maybe I am, but that doesn't make it any less true." Waving a hand at the damage to his car, he laughed bitterly. "Ya think Dad doesn't know he's settin' us up to be brutally killed some day? Maybe not today or even next week, but it will happen eventually. So what does it freakin' matter if it's some damn monster that tears me apart or if Chaser guns me down in the streets?"

Staring down at his open palms, Sam chewed at his lower lip. "The life Dad's chosen for himself doesn't have to be our lives." His hands balled into tight fists. "We could walk away from hunting. We could live normal lives – lives where we don't have to run away if someone hurts us…we shouldn't have had to hightail it out of town when Driscoll –" His voice caught in his throat, and he swallowed hard, tears shimmering in his eyes. "None of this should've happened to us, and it wouldn't have happened if Dad was ever home. I wouldn't have felt so desperate to fit in if we weren't moving around all the time, and you wouldn't have…." his voice trailed off, and he rubbed at his watery eyes. "We're Winchesters, and Winchesters don't get to wallow in their problems."

"You're right." Dean nodded curtly, a grim smile tugging at his lips. "We bury them."

XxXxXxX

Dean slipped through the shadows, ducking behind trees and crouching under the cover of low shrubs, always keeping sight on his prey. It wasn't hard to find Chaser and his rowdy gang of friends, not when they were stoned off their asses and hooting and hollering as if it was the middle of the day instead of well after midnight. He'd been trailing them for a while, silently watching them vandalize homes and other cars for fun.

His father had taught him and Sam well, had turned them into lethally, silent predators, and that was something Chaser hadn't counted on when he chose to start a war with him. He also didn't understand that Winchesters thrived on pain, gritting their teeth through every blow, never quitting, never backing down. He couldn't have known they were trained how to use guns, knives and other weapons, and when all else failed, they'd use their fists to beat the hell out of their enemies.

Know your enemy, that's what his father had taught him before he was even old enough to hold a gun. Do your research, make sure you have all the facts before you attack so you're not blindsided. He hadn't done that with Driscoll, hadn't thought he needed to, and he'd almost ended up another victim due to his own carelessness. Chaser was different. He'd been studying him from the first night they'd met. He knew Chaser concealed a switchblade in the right front pocket of his jean jacket, and hid two more in the heavy black boots he always wore. Not that he ever used them, relying on his cronies to scare potential threats away. Although there was talk of how he'd put some kid in the hospital, and how he'd spent time in juvenile hall for it, he still left Roca or Primo to do his fighting for him.

Chaser had been wrong about him from the start. He'd seen Dean as a follower, as someone he could manipulate and toy with, and Dean had been too lost and broken at the time to correct him of that notion. Tonight he'd learned how wrong he'd been.

Dean waited, biding his time until they returned to the park, slipping inside the locked grounds undetected. Narrowing his eyes, he scanned the darkened trees edging the park, searching until he spied the slightest of movement within the shadowed recesses, then he settled in to wait some more. Another lesson he'd learned from his father. Never rush in without thinking it through – make a plan and stick to it, that's what his father would have said if he was there. Of course he would have been referring to werewolves, vengeful spirits, or other supernatural creatures, but the same could be applied to any enemy they encountered.

Rooster broke off from the pack, stumbling toward the woods to relieve himself. Hidden from view behind a large shrub, Dean peered through the tangled branches, and slowly counted off the minutes until he heard Chaser call out to Rooster. When Rooster failed to respond, not once but twice, Chaser sent Roca to check on him.

"He probably passed out cold," Chaser said, his voice carrying in the empty park. "Find him, and drag his ass back here."

Roca sprinted into the woods, and again Dean counted off the minutes, a slow smile spreading across his face when neither Roca nor Rooster returned. Nice work, Sammy. He could have gone it alone, could've brought them down one by one by himself much in the same way as Sam was doing. Instead he came up with what he mentally referred to as 'Winchester therapy'. Driscoll had taken something from Sam, making him feel weak and small; Dean wanted to give that back to him. He wanted him to see himself as strong and capable – he wanted Sam to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was no one else he would rather fight alongside than him. Maybe it wasn't the right way to deal with the pain eating him up inside, but it was the Winchester way, and if Dean wasn't mistaken, he could have sworn Sam stood a little bit taller when he stepped out of the shadows to face Chaser, Primo and Bones.

Three against two, much better odds than they normally faced and with their eyes on Sam and the wooded area behind him, Dean stalked up behind them with predatory stealth.

"Where's yer brother, Sammy?" Chaser shouted, tilting his head to the side to look beyond Sam and into the woods.

The glint of steel in Chaser's right hand caught Dean's eye as he silently crept up behind him, and lifting up a booted foot, he kicked the back of Chaser's knees. Knees buckling, Chaser dropped to the ground, the knife flying out of his hand. "I'm right here, you sonuvabitch!" he growled, and that was all Sam needed to hear to spring into action.

It didn't matter that Chaser got in a few good shots or that Dean's eye would be swollen shut and black and blue. Nor did it matter that Sam had to stitch up the deep, jagged cut on his upper arm from when Chaser momentarily retrieved his switchblade. In truth it didn't even matter if they won or got their asses handed to them, although Dean was thankful they did win. No, what truly mattered to Dean was the moment he saw a true and genuine smile from his little brother as he tended to Dean's injuries.

"I was starting to –" Sam's voice trailed off abruptly, and his lips dipped into a frown as he poked the needled through Dean's skin and tied off the stitch. "Never mind."

"Out with it, Sammy," Dean uttered through clenched teeth.

Sam's tongue darted out to trace along his split lower lip. "It's nothing. Forget I said anything."

"Say what you were gonna say."

He hesitated a few seconds longer then sighed. "I know it may sound stupid, but I was beginning to think there wouldn't be any more normal moments in our lives."

"I wouldn't necessarily call this normal."

"You know what I mean." Poking the needle through Dean's flesh again, Sam drew the skin together and tied off the stitch. "Maybe this isn't other people's definition of normal, but it is normal for us, and I haven't been truly living my life since the day Driscoll assaulted me. I've been hiding out and living in fear, and I hated myself for it. I want my life back, Dean. Maybe it is crappy at times, but it belongs to me, and I want it back."

"Then take it back, Sammy. Do whatever you have to do, fight as hard as you need to fight, and take it back. Whatever it takes, I'll be with you every step of the way."

Author's note - I was going to write a whole fight scene between the boys and Chaser's crew, but then it came to me that it wouldn't matter to Dean. The fight wasn't what was important to him, and with the thought of Sam being the most important thing to him, it just felt right not to go into a lot of detail. thanks again for reading. Let me know what you think as i live for reviews...bambers:)