Chapter Text
It was the 23rd of January when Dean’s world was changed irrevocably.
The clock on his wall ticked, ticked, ticked and Dean narrowed his eyes at it, trying to remember what mom had taught him about the big hand and the little hand. He wasn’t very good with time, yet, but he did know that it was late—and not just because of the dark outside.
Dad would come home tonight, Dean was sure of it. Tomorrow was Dean’s birthday, so dad had to come home. Dad had been gone for days, now, since the last time he and mom had yelled each other. Mom was unhappy. Dean hated it when mom was unhappy.
Noise down in the kitchen caught his attention. Dean sat up excitedly, shoving his blankets off of him. He nearly fell from the bed in his excitement. He slid out the door, trying to slip down the stairs sneakily. He bet he could surprise dad! He put his hand over his mouth and tried not to giggle. He stuck his head around the corner.
He frowned. It wasn’t his dad.
“Mom?”
Mom was tugging a backpack up and onto her back. His mom looked over at him as he said the words. A look Dean had never seen before crossed her face.
“Go to bed, Dean.”
“What are you doing?” There were two suitcases by the door. Were they going on vacation? Tomorrow was his birthday, maybe this was a surprise? Everything had been strange since the fire after Halloween. Maybe now things were going to be normal, again.
“Dean, I need you to go to bed.” His mom’s voice was sharper than he was used to.
His tummy tugged and twisted. He needed to stay with mom. Except mom had told him to go to bed. He nodded uncertainly, shifting a little. An unhappy whine caught his attention. Just behind one of the suitcases was Sammy’s carrier. “Why is Sammy out of bed?”
“Dean! Go to bed!”
Dean flinched. His mom didn’t yell. Why was she yelling?
“Mom?” His voice came out sounding small. He wrapped his arms around him, trying to keep away the ugly feeling crawling over him.
His mom turned away from him. “Dean.” She paused. Outside a car honked its horn. His mom sighed and picked up Sammy’s carrier, resting it on her elbow so she could grab the two suitcases, too.
“Mom?” Something was wrong. So very, very wrong. His mom didn’t respond. The only sound was the opening of the door. “Mom!?”
“Your dad will be home tomorrow,” his mom told him, not quite looking at him. “Be a a good boy, Dean.
“Mom!!!”
The door shut behind his mom. Dean stood there, confusion and fear making him want to throw up the spaghetti mom had made for dinner. What was going on? He ran to the door and opened it in time to see his mom climb into a white car.
“Mom!”
She didn’t come back. Didn’t even look at him. Instead, she just closed the car door. Then… then she was gone.
Dean was alone.
His breath came out funny and choked. The wind rustled, blowing hard and cold against him. “Mom?” he asked, hoping somehow she’d hear and come back.
He swallowed hard. Dad would be here tomorrow. Mom would come back.
Frozen toes made him finally close the door. He shivered, wrapping his arms around him to try to warm himself. But the cold feeling in his chest wouldn’t leave.
Dad would be home tomorrow. Mom would come back.
Mom would come back.
Maybe this was a nightmare.
He ran back up the stairs, throwing the door to his parents’ bedroom open. This was a nightmare. They’d be right there.
The bed was empty. Another choked noise escaped him.
He crawled into the bed, settling in the middle, right between where his parents were supposed to be. He curled up. Back and forth, he rocked himself. “Wake up,” he whispered. “Please, I want to wake up.” This was a nightmare.
Dean would wake up. His mom would be there. She’d give him a hug. She’d tell him that angels were watching out for him. She’d promise that she’d never leave.
The sun peeked through the windows, but Dean couldn’t move. What had he done? Why had his mom left? Why wasn’t his dad here? Why had his mom taken Sammy and left him?
Tears poured down his cheeks and his throat choked up. Why wouldn’t he wake up!?
By the time his dad showed up three days later, Dean had wet the bed, he was hungry, he was tired. And all the painful questions had curled into a ball in his throat and he couldn’t force any words around it.
He watched as his dad fell apart. Felt little pieces shatter in his own chest.
Sometimes dad was upset, yelling that it wasn’t fair for Mary to leave him just because he hadn’t been ready to hunt, yet. Other times the anger took over a sharp look in his eyes. Those days were when Dean found himself in an empty field with a gun in his hand, while his dad set up bottles.
His dad muttered things, then. Things Dean didn’t understand. Dean only understood one thing. Once both Dean and his dad were good enough, mom would come back.
Dean did everything he could to hit the bottles, because his dad wasn’t right anymore, always angry and sacred and not his dad. Dean missed his mom and Sammy, if he just got good enough… then they’d come back.
Every night, he dreamed of his mom climbing into a car and driving away. In some dreams he cried and begged. But most nights… most nights he sat there, mouth open but no words coming out. If he could just say something, he knew she’d come back. But the words got stuck in his chest and throat and his mom left without knowing he was there, waiting for her to turn around and come back.
Then… then there were the days when his dad was drunk. Dean hated those days. His dad would sit on the couch, switching between staring emptily into space and glaring at Dean, dark, ugly look in his eyes as he blamed Dean for his mom leaving. After all, if his mom was trying to leave his dad, then she would have taken Dean with her. Which meant his mom had left his dad because of Dean.
It was Dean’s fault. He was the reason his mom had left.
Those nights, Dean’s dreams were awful, awful, awful. The look on his mom’s face as she left made his stomach curl painfully.
Then… then his dad sold the house they had been staying in. He put Dean in the Impala and drove.
He left Dean in a motel. For three days, Dean wondered if his dad was following his mom. If Dean was alone.
His dad came back. His shirt was ripped and he was bleeding. He stared down at Dean and told him they were going to find the monster that started the fire. They were going to be hunters. Then, maybe then, his mom would come back.
Six months after his mom had left, when his dad had drunk himself into unconsciousness on the couch, Dean crawled into the bathtub and cried. He cried because he missed his mom. He cried because he missed Sammy. He cried because his dad had told him about the monsters crawling around in the dark. He cried because he was so, so scared. He cried because he no longer believed his mom; there were no angels watching over him and now there was no mom watching over him either. He cried because he wanted to be loved again.
Dean cried until his chest hurt and his eyes ached and there were no tears.
The next morning, he crawled out of the bathtub and pulled his dad off the couch and threw away the empty beer bottles.
And he didn’t cry again for the next twenty years.