Sam Winchester opened his eyes. His heart rate was only slightly elevated and his breathing was fairly even so he knew it hadn't been one of his terrifying nightmares that had awakened him but something else entirely. Something he'd been taught to recognize and to appreciate...danger.
Instinctively he knew someone, or something, was in the house with him even before he heard the sound of creaking floorboards and caught a glimpse of a passing shadow. He quietly slipped from the bed and made his way through the dark into the living room and grabbed the Louisville slugger that rested in the corner.
Sam moved closer and watched as the shadowy figure bent over his desk seemingly searching for something in the dark. He raised the bat but before he could swing the figure spun around, squatted down and, with a sweeping motion of one leg, kicked Sam's feet out from under him.
One second he'd been ready to knock someone's head out of the ballpark and the next he was flat on his back, a booted foot to his throat and the cold steel barrel of a well-oiled shotgun resting against his chest directly over his heart. Sam tried to dislodge the boot and felt the pressure on his neck increase. He strained to see in the dark but couldn't recognize his assailant. He could, however, hear him when he finally spoke up.
"Whoa, easy, tiger," the all too familiar voice said.
It was a rich voice, deep and hinting of laughter and Sam felt his insides clench as fear, anger and deep-seated yearning created a nauseating emotional stew inside of him. "Dad?" Sam's mouth had gone dry and caused his voice to crack like an adolescent's.
John Winchester lifted his foot from his son's neck, stepped back to the desk and flipped on the lamp. His handsome visage was split wide with a grin and his eyes sparkled, as much from the joy of seeing his son again, as from the adrenalin coursing through his body after Sam's attempted ambush.
"You scared the crap out of me," Sam whispered harshly. He was both pissed and embarrassed. Ashamed he had been caught unprepared and flatfooted and angry that his own father had stuck a shotgun, almost assuredly fully loaded, into his chest.
"That's cause you're out of practice, Sammy," John said with a half smile.
Sam saw the smile as a smirk and his old friends failure, disappointment, frustration and regret joined the party and he wished John Winchester would just go and leave him to his hard won peace. But when John only laid the shotgun across the desk and continued to smile enigmatically at him, Sam knew his father hadn't come all the way from wherever to just say "Hi".
Rejected his father's outstretched helping hand, Sam demanded peevishly when he got to his feet, "Dad, what the hell are you doing here?"
"Well, I was looking for a beer," John answered flippantly trying to defuse the situation. He knew full well that his sudden and unorthodox homecoming had thrown Sam for a loop and, to his credit; he never would have attempted any kind of reconciliation if it hadn't been absolutely necessary.
John Winchester and his youngest son had parted on bad terms, to say the least, but after a while he'd come to terms with Sam's decisions. He and Dean had kept away so Sammy could continue on with his schooling and the hunting free life he so desperately wanted without any regrets.
But Sam Winchester was full of regrets, not the least of which was that his father had found out where he lived, and he asked him again, "What the hell are you doing here?"
"Okay, all right. We gotta talk." John stepped closer to his youngest son ready to grab him if he tried to bolt but Sam stood his ground.
"Uh, the phone?" he suggested.
"If I'd have called would you have picked up?" John wanted to know and within seconds he could see the answer in Sam's face.
"Sam?" It was Jessica Moore. She was sleep tousled and utterly gorgeous and John smiled and nodded his approval.
"Jess, hey," Sam said and pulled her close, "Dad, this is my girlfriend Jessica."
"Wait, your dad?" the tall blonde asked hardly able to believe her eyes.
John acknowledged the nightshirt she was wearing with a laugh and told her, "Sammy used to love the Smurfs."
Thoroughly embarrassed, her cheeks colored prettily and she stammered, "Just let me put something on."
"It's okay. I need to borrow Sam here, talk about some private family business, but, uh, nice meeting you."
"No. No. Whatever you wanna say you can say it in front of her," Sam said forcefully hoping his father would recognize the fact that Jess was an integral part of his life, a life that had no place in it for hunting or hunters, no matter their relationship.
"Okay," John agreed but knowing his son he figured Jessica Moore knew nothing about the family business, "Um…Dean hasn't been home in a few weeks."
"So he's working over-time on a "Miller Time" shift; he'll stumble back in sooner or later."
"Dean's on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home in a few weeks," John added and Sam's whole demeanor changed.
"Jess, excuse us, we have to go outside." Sam led his father onto the landing and down the stairs, "I mean come on; you can't just break in, in the middle of the night, and expect me to hit the road with you."
"You're not hearing me, Sammy. Dean's missing; I need you to help me find him," John told him but Sam refuse to rise to the bait.
"You remember the poltergeist in Amherst, or the devil's gates in Clifton? He was missing then, too," Sam countered.
"Not for this long. Now you gonna come with me or not?"
"I'm not. I swore I was done hunting for good."
"Come on, it wasn't easy, but it wasn't that bad, Sammy."
"Yeah? When I told you I was scared of the thing in my closet, you gave me a .45."
"Well, what was I supposed to do?"
"I was 9 years old. You were supposed to say, "Don't be afraid of the dark"."
"Don't be afraid of the dark? What, are you kidding me, of course you should be afraid of the dark! You know what's out there!
"Yeah I know but still- the way we grew up after mom was killed, and your obsession to find the thing that killed her, but we still haven't found the damn thing, so we kill everything we can find."
"Save a lot of people doing it, too."
"You think mom would have wanted this for us? The weapons training and melting the silver into bullets. Dad, we were raised like warriors."
"So, what are you gonna do? You just gonna live some normal, apple-pie life? Is that it?"
"No. Not normal. Safe."
"And that's why you ran away?"
"I was just going to college. You said if I was gonna go, I should stay gone. And that's what I'm doing."
"Well, your brother's in real trouble if he's not dead already, I can feel it. I can't do this alone."
Sam knew his father well enough to suspect his motives and assured him, "Yes, you can."
"Yeah, well, I don't want to," John said almost petulantly.
"What was he hunting?" Sam asked with a sigh as John stepped to the back of his pickup and lifted the cover to his cache of weapons, each one methodically stored and lethal as hell.
"All right, let's see. Where the hell did I put that thing?" he wondered aloud. He lifted a particularly nasty looking machete up and out of the way and found the beat-up leather journal he'd been searching for. Pulling a couple of newspaper articles from between the pages he handed them to Sam. "Dean was checking out a small cluster of dead bodies found in and around Coos Bay, Oregon.
"So when Dean left to go play Dr. G, medical examiner, why didn't you go with him?"
"I was working my own gig, this voodoo thing down in New Orleans."
"And you let him you go on a hunting trip by himself?"
"Sam, he's twenty-six," John reminded him as he fished in his jacket for his cell phone, "He's hunted on his own for quite a while now."
That was something Sam hadn't known. He quickly perused the articles and his ire began to rise again and he pointed out, "All these occurrences say that there was little or no blood left in the corpses."
"So?" John replied and flipped his cell phone open, "Killed somewhere else, maybe on a boat, then dumped into the water."
"And the word "vampire" never entered your mind?"
"Why would it? As far as we know they're extinct so he's more than likely just tangled up with some kind of mass murdering nut job," John speculated easily. He knew Dean could handle himself in any kind of situation and if it weren't for the message he'd received from his eldest son, he would have never darkened Sam's door. John listened to make sure it was still stored in the phone's memory and handed it to Sam who put it up to his ear. It was definitely his brother's voice.
"Dad, it's me, Dean...I know I've been gone for a while now and that you're probably royally pissed off...but I just wanted you to know that I'm okay and..." the voice trailed off and Sam heard Dean clear his throat before he started again, "and that I love you...and Sammy...so please don't look for me because...like Thomas Wolfe said, you can't go home again."
Wondering if Dean's words were a warning or a battle cry, Sam repeated, "Can't go home again," and his meaning was not lost on his father.
John tossed the cell phone into the box along with his journal and closed the lid. He turned back to Sam and said, "You know in almost two years we've never bothered you. Never asked you for a thing."
His father was right and even though his brother was probably not missing at all but had finally decided to cut the cord and was shacked up somewhere with some girl he'd picked up in a bar, he reluctantly agreed to help. "All right. I'll go. I'll help you find him. But I have to get back first thing Monday. Just wait here."
"What's first thing Monday?"
"I have this…I have an interview."
"What, a job interview? Skip it," John suggested disdainfully.
Sam was hurt that his father would dismiss his plans so out of hand and explained to him, "It's a law-school interview, and it's my whole future on a plate."
"Law school?" John was both pleased and impressed with his son's obvious success...and his determination.
"So we got a deal or not?" Sam asked and when his father agreed he headed back inside to pack.
"Wait you're taking off? Is this about your brother? Is he all right?" Jessie asked worriedly as he pushed a sharp hook down into his duffel bag.
"Yeah, you know, just a little family drama."
"But your father said he was on some kind of a hunting trip."
"Aw yeah, he's just deer hunting up at the cabin and he's probably got Jim, Jack, and Jose along with him, and a hooker or two. We're just gonna go bring him back."
"What about the interview?"
"I'll make the interview. This is only for a couple of days," Sam told her as he headed toward the door, his face unreadable.
"Sam, I mean, please," Jess said plaintively, "Just stop for a second. You sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine," he assured her although he was far from it.
"It's just…you won't even talk about your family and now you're taking off in the middle of the night to spend the weekend with them? And with Monday coming up which is kind of a huge deal."
"Hey, everything's gonna be okay. I will be back in time-I promise," he said softly and gave her a kiss.
As he walked out the door she called after him, "At least tell me where you're going."
And the words "straight to hell" popped, unbidden and unwelcome, into his head.