Hey everyone, guess who has risen from the Dead. I cannot even begin to apologize for the neglect this story has gotten over the years. Unfortunately sometimes life truly does get in the way. I expect by now, none of my wonderful followers were ever going to see another update of this story; and I'm sorry that until now I have done nothing to disprove that fairly accurate theory. Anyways, I finally got my muse back...I apologize now for how rough the writing might be, it is literally the first time I have written creatively in a few years. Anyways, I hope you can enjoy this unexpected update and have patience with me to maybe see this baby through to the end.

Dean fell back into the mattress bringing his hands up to cover his face. He prayed for the strength to keep his own temper in check, angered by the horrible night that seemed never ending. He knew that they both had to tread lightly, and he prayed for the strength to listen to the lecture he knew John was about to throw his way. In truth all he wanted was to curl up in ball and forget he existed for a couple precious hours. Instead he sighed and rolled back up into a sitting position.

"Okay, let's talk." He muttered, trying unsuccessfully to smooth his features into an unreadable mask. He knew he failed too, he could sense that his eyes reveled quite plainly his tired anger just simmering under the surface.

John took a calming breath before he stood from the couch and walked over to the bed opposite Dean. "Listen I know you are upset with me…"

"Gee, you think?" Dean snapped. His basic instincts to avoid angering his father with back talk over turned by his hurt at his father's abandonment

"Hey!" John fired back, raising his hands in a shrug of surrender. Even that looked threatening. "…I know it's hard to understand why these things happen—"

"I understand perfectly, we fucked up…I fucked up. That was our fault tonight Dad! Our sloppy footwork; our inability to act quickly…" Dean interjected, furiously throwing himself from the bed and pacing as far away from his father as he could.

There was a moment of tense silence as John registered Dean's words. He spoke carefully, "Dean, you're right we did fuck up. We made mistakes tonight…It just means we have to do better next time."

Dean stopped in mid pace whirling around to confront his father front on. "Do you even have a heart? A girl died tonight. Died! A little girl, with a family and a future; and all you can say is we need to do better next time?!" He started pacing again more furious than before. Panic was beginning to grip at his throat. It honestly was his fault more than anyone else's that she was dead. He was the one who dragged his feet in the research to figure out what they were facing; he was the one who choked when it really counted. Everything about this case highlighted the burning failure Dean had been trying to run from for years. With the death of this girl, Dean lost any hope of ever finding redemption from the mistakes he made in his childhood when one of the same things almost got Sammy. Maybe Sam was right. For a moment his heart stopped and a pang of loss gripped him. Sammy. Sam. Maybe it was better that he had followed his brother's wishes and left well enough alone. Dean was a magnet for danger and tonight proved he still wasn't capable of protecting those who needed it.

"Dean, calm down" John's voice snapped Dean back into consciousness; he didn't even realize he had begun to hyperventilate.

Exhausted Dean sank into the couch, clutching his hair with his hands. "I can't..."

"You have no choice. You need to compartmentalize this Dean. It's in the past, it can't be changed. If you don't try and move on the guilt will eat you up and spit you out." John said softly, trying to calm his son.

"I see her eyes Dad. They keep staring at me, accusing me of just standing there." Dean sobbed, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes hoping to dislodge the image. "She was so young. She had a future in front of her, and my inaction robbed her of that."

John moved to sit next to his son, placing a comforting hand on his back. Dean tensed feeling his father's hand brush over years of scarred over welts. "You have to try and let it go. There is nothing you can do now. What's happened happened."

"How can you be so calm about this? Doesn't it bother you?" Dean asked desperately.

"Of course it bothers me. I'm not a heartless bastard. But I have also learned to accept that you can't change the past, and holding onto every wound that's been inflicted will only slow you down and prevent you from preforming better in the future." John said, stroking his back gently.

"Is that what you did with Mom? Just accepted that it's in the past and nothing can change that?" Dean snapped.

John tensed, "…Dean you know that's completely different."

"Why, because you knew her? Why should her death be treated any differently than any other person we fail to save?"

"Because it is different." John snapped pulling his hand away from Dean and moving to stand by the window, he too was now fighting back the feeling of loss. After a tense moment of gaining his composure he turned back around. "Look, you don't have to be heartless when it comes to the people we can't save. That compassion you feel, that's your mother in you, and I'd never ask you to kill that part. But you need to understand that you can't hold onto that guilt; all that weight will kill you. We are in a dangerous business Dean; and all those emotions weighing you down, they make you slow, and slow can make you dead."

"So what am I supposed to do? Just take a quick moment of silence and forget that it was a person who just died?" Dean said dejectedly.

"That's exactly what you do." John said, "You acknowledge that you messed up, you learn from your mistake and you move on."

"I don't know if I can do that." Dean said simply.

"You can and you have to," John insisted. "You have no choice, not if you want to survive."

The silence began to drag on as Dean tried to force himself from the pity he was wallowing in. John stared at his son, pained seeing how fragile Dean appeared in this moment. His empathy was a weakness that would be his downfall if he didn't learn to control it. He was the spitting image of Mary, ruled by his emotions, and as much as he loved seeing her in their children it also made the sting of her loss fresh. John sighed and turned away, suddenly tired from the burden he bore.

"Dean," he said gently, "Sometimes there is nothing you can do, sometimes people aren't meant to be saved…Sometimes…Sometimes these things just…happen."

John was surprised by the violent laugh that tore from Deans lips. Dean snapped his head up, eyes wild and dark. "Don't you dare tell me these things just happen! It's our job to make sure things like this don't happen…not to anymore families! We failed today, and you are too much of a cold bastard to let that truth sink in and accept responsibility."

John took a step back, surprised by the violent outburst Dean just displayed. "Dean, that isn't fair."

"No, Dad, what isn't fair is our inability to protect people. What is the point about knowing about what's really in the dark, if we can't even save everyone from that evil?!" Dean stood and approached his Dad, eyes wild with pain and anguish. "What's the point of anything, if our own family can't even survive this storm? Haven't we lost enough? Haven't we earned the right to feel guilt over the mistakes we've made?"

"Dean…you can't protect everyone. That is selling your soul to a lost cause; a cause that will beat you down and break you. The sooner you accept that, the better." John said forcefully trying to sooth Dean, but he'd have none of it. There was a dangerous shift in the atmosphere with the words that Dean had flung at John, bringing up their divided family put even more strain on already overly tensed emotions.

"No! It's only a lost cause because you refuse to try and fix things with the only people who really matter. And I stupidly keep sacrificing everything that matters to me to compensate for your unwillingness to protect and stand by your family. I have done everything you have ever asked of me, unquestioning, and for what?! For me to lose my brother, the only thing I have ever cared about; all for the sake of your stupid pride." Dean shouted. "We failed Dad. You failed. Our family is beyond saving, and that is largely on you. We can't protect our own and I will be damned if I can't save other families from becoming as screwed to hell as ours is!"

Before John even realized he had moved, his fist had connected with Dean's right eye. A look of horror crossed both their faces as the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed in the sudden silence. Dean staggered back, the sudden violence knocking him finally out of his hysterics. John stared at the offending appendage as if it had sprouted a grotesque demonic face, rage boiling up inside at his lack of control. Maybe Dean was more right than he cared to admit.

"Dean," John said staggering over to where his son had wilted onto the couch clutching his face; he reached out to touch the spot that was already starting to bruise. "I am so sorry. I didn't mean to…I…here let me get you some ice before it starts swelling."

Thankful for a distraction from his actions John dutifully jumped of the couch and raced over to the motel fridge pulling out a handful of ice and wrapping it in a bathroom towel. He returned to Dean on the couch and gently placed the ice to his face. Dean shied away for only a second before taking the ice from his father and thanking him with a half-smile. Silence passed between them again.

"I am so sorry Dean," John tried apologizing again, guilt clearly written on his concerned face. "I didn't mean to do that, I didn't even realize I had intended to strike you until after I had. Sometime I can't control it….I'm…"

"I know you are," Dean interrupted him. "Honestly it's not that bad." John winced realizing that Dean had indeed endured worse at his hands in the past. "…man today has absolutely sucked…"

"Yeah it has," John sighed. He stood again and walked out of Dean's swelling vision. Dean heard his father rummaging for something and was rewarded with a cold beer being pressed into his free hand upon his return. "Here."

Dean thanked him before taking a sip of the beverage he really did need to steady his frayed nerves. "I'm sorry for what I said. It's just been…a long, shitty day."

"You don't need to apologize, Dean. Today has not been easy to deal with, and you have a right to be upset." He ran his hands through his hair trying to find the right words. Neither of them were very good at what Dean called "chick flick" moments. "It's not that I don't want you to feel loss Dean, your feelings are what make you human and that's a quality that you need to keep doing what we do. But, I fear that it will destroy you if you can't learn how to control those feelings and learn to move past the things that can't be changed. I have done many things I am not proud of, the least of which included giving you so many responsibilities and forcing you to grow up too fast. I can't blame you for your over protective nature, when I was the one who made you that way by being absent in you and Sammy's life. I wish I could go back and fix things, but I can't, I've accepted that it can't be changed…"

Dean sighed and looked over at his father, all anger and hurt gone. "You did what you had to Dad. I know that."

"I'm not asking for your forgiveness Dean. I'm asking for you to understand what I have done…and what I need to do." John stood, a new resolve in his stance. "All your life I have been asking you to protect this family, and it's my turn to protect you now."

"I don't understand, Dad. What are you saying?" Dean questioned.

John looked Dean in the eyes. "I've made a lot of mistakes, but splitting this family up is not one of them. I'm dangerous Dean. Tonight has proven that to me. I can't control myself and I've done enough damage, to you and Sam over the years."

John moved away from Dean and made his way over to the kitchen table piled high with all their research. He dug around on the table before he found what he was looking for. He returned to Dean holding out a manila folder. Dean took it hesitantly.

"What's this?" He asked, glancing down at the folder. Sterling, Colorado was written on the front of the folder.

"A case." John replied simply. "Bobby called it in yesterday. I promised we'd go check it out as soon as we wrapped things up here."

"Were headed for Sterling?" Dean asked.

"No." Dean looked confused at John's reply. "You are; first thing in the morning."

"Wait," Dean stammered. "You're sending me on a solo hunt?"

"I think you can handle it." John said patting Dean on the shoulder.

"I…Wow…But, why now? You've never let us hunt alone before." Dean stated confused, the manila folder feeling heavy in hands.

John was quietly contemplative for a moment before he replied, "I think it would be best for us to work our own cases for a while. It's the only way I know how to protect you from…"

"Are you really sure about this?" Dean questioned.

"I am confident you can handle a couple solo hunts just fine. Besides it's not like we won't see each other ever again. I expect you to check in with me every couple days with a report of how things are going, and once you complete a hunt you will meet back up with me for your next assignment." John stated simply, command evident in his voice. "I just think this will be good for us. I need time to work some things out and I think it would do you some good to get out on your own some too."

"Wow, Dad." Dean replied in awe. "I don't know what to say. Thank you for the opportunity. I won't let you down."

John smiled at his son's enthusiastic devotion and pride at his confidence in him. "I know you won't Deano. Now you have a long drive ahead of you, and I for one am tired of this shitty day. I think we should both turn in for the night."

As Dean lay in bed that night he contemplated all the twists his life had taken. He felt his heart swell with pride every time he thought of the immense responsibility John had just placed on him; however, he couldn't ignore the small pit in his stomach telling him that things were changing forever. He wasn't quite sure what kind of change they were taking, but he hoped to God for once that change would be in the Winchester's favor. Dean sighed, content with the burdens he bore so dutifully, and drifted off into a thankfully dreamless sleep.

Well hopefully my writing wasn't too painful. Hope you enjoyed it. More to come I promise!