I do not own Supernatural.
Dean knew it was a hunt before John got off the phone. Partly because no one ever called in the middle of the night to say howdy-do, and partly because John was already up and alert, throwing on the same pair of downright filthy jeans he wore for the last hunt.
Dean leaned against the door frame, clad in gray pajama bottoms, studying his father's swift, sullen movements without a word. He watched John snatch his journal off the night stand and pop a pen in his mouth only long enough to tug the cap off.
"Ready," he spoke into the phone, placing pen to paper.
Dean watched his father's head tilt to one side in confusion, a look that Dean didn't see very often.
"Devil's Gates in Clifton? You sure?"
John closed his eyes and wiped a hand over his face as the gruff voice on the phone got more audible. Dean could tell it was Bobby from where he stood.
"I ain't deaf, Singer," John grumbled into the phone, "Just give me the damn information."
John scribbled furiously for a moment, nodding his head as the facts were briefed to him.
"Yeah, give me three hours." John flipped the phone shut and stood up to see Dean for the first time.
"I can take it," Dean offered, before thinking twice. He knew the answer before the words were even out of his mouth. He saw John's frown and did his best not to take it as an insult. He turned eighteen two months ago and had been itching for a solo hunt for much longer, but his dad always had other ideas.
"I need you here, watching out for Sammy."
"Yes, sir," he tried to say with conviction, but even he could hear the disappointment in his voice.
Dean had arguments up the yin yang on why his dad should let him take this hunt, the selfishness to get his hands dirty being on the bottom of the list. His biggest concern was that John just got back from a hunt earlier that night and it was obvious he hadn't slept in a while. Unshaven and unkempt, he had stumbled in the front door, grumbled a gruff hello and hit the hay. That had been four hours ago, barely. Dean figured the odds were more than fifty percent that John's rig would end up in a tree before he got anywhere near Clifton.
But these valid points wouldn't mean a god damn thing to John Winchester and Dean knew it. No sense in trying to argue with a man as stubborn as an ass. It was futile, he should know, he'd listened to Sam try it often enough to no avail.
"If I say I need you here, then I need you here," John groused, reading his son's facial expressions like an open book. "It's important, Dean."
"Yes, sir," Dean spoke again, with more finality. "Hold down the fort, I got it."
I've always got it, Dean thought to himself, resisting the urge to flash his dad a mock salute. He knew it was important, taking care of Sammy was always important, but sometimes Dean had to wonder if Dad wouldn't let him go solo because John didn't want to be left alone with his brother for any lengthy period of time.
Not that Dean could really blame him, he's not sure he'd want to hang out with someone who was constantly at his throat, and since Sam hit puberty, he'd pretty much been at Dad's throat every waking moment of every day, when he wasn't busy making himself a bigger geek, that is.
John flashed his son one more look before reaching for his duffel and shrugging his jacket on. He shoved the journal into an inside pocket, and reached for the nine mil. under his pillow, all while continuing to brief his son.
"This may take a while, I don't know how long. If it's more than thirty days, abandon fort, pick a new location and sendPastor Jim the coordinates, don't call Bobby, he's with me."
"Yes, sir," Dean repeated once more, then added, "You think it's gonna be that long?"
John shook his head, "I don't know for sure, could be a week, could be more. If you don't hear from me in two, leave early, got it? Don't try to call, just pick up and take off. I'll be in contact as soon as I can."
Dean's brow furrowed as he responded this time. "Yes sir." This was as serious as it'd been in a good long while. It was the first time he'd been ordered to leave town without John and that bugged him, but he wouldn't let it show, not to his father and definitely not to Sam.
"Good man." John squeezed his shoulder, hard, on his out of the bedroom. Dean turned to follow, knowing that the older man had no intentions of waking up Sammy, but he didn't have to.
The thirteen year old met him at the front door, accusation dripping from his facial features. "You're leaving again?" Sam practically spat out. "You just got back."
"Stand down, soldier," John ordered, using his hand to rub his tired forehead.
Dean watched Sammy carefully, knowing the command would only make him angrier. Dad didn't seem to get that what worked on Dean would never work on Sam, well maybe dad did get it, but he didn't do too much to switch tactics lately.
"You just got back." Sam stood his ground, with as much stubbornness as he could muster. Perhaps his newly found four inches gave him more courage than he would normally have, or maybe he was sleepwalking, or maybe the kid had just gone mad. Whatever the excuse for his brother's temporary lapse of sanity, Dean stepped in to put a stop to it.
John beat him to the punch. "It's important Sam, I wouldn't go if it wasn't important."
"You always say that." Sam's voice was soft, obvious defeat in it as he stepped out of the doorway to let his father pass.
John reached out to rub his youngest son's hair, and much to Dean's surprise, Sam took the torment.
"Listen to your brother, I'll be back as soon as I can."
Sam nodded, "yes sir," just as the door slammed shut with John Winchester on the outside of it.
Both boys listened in silence at the sound of the truck start up and peel out of the driveway.
Once the low growl of the engine became undetectable, Dean turned to Sammy, eyeing his brother's sullen expression with concern and a bit of sympathy. As manly as he could, Dean reached an arm around Sam's shoulder and pulled him into a strong squeeze that almost knocked the younger boy off of his feet.
"Jerk," Sam huffed, allowing himself to tumble into Dean's side.
"Bitch," Dean answered back, on autopilot. Then after a pause, "Dad'll come back soon, Sammy, he always does."
Sam nodded slightly, his face expressing his doubt and Dean wondered if the uncertainty in his own voice was that obvious.
A/N: I have a plan for this, but I'm not sure if it works better as a one shot, let me know. :)
To those waiting for an update to Coping, I'm working on it, I've had a bad case of writer's block (excuses, excuses,) but look for an update soon.
