How could it have gotten this bad? It was just one mistake. Just one, stupid overlook in common sense. How did it get to this? I'm sorry, Dean. I'm so, so sorry.
"Alright, boys. I'm going to be at the library today so Dean you're in charge. You know what to do. Sammy, listen to your brother," John commanded, looking at his two boys. One was already nodding in affirmation while the other was looking at him with barely controlled anger.
"It's Sam."
"Sure thing Sammy." Sam growled at the use of his nickname again. It made him sound like a kid and he wasn't anymore. He was almost old enough to drive, and he was in high school now.
Sam glared at his father as he grabbed his heavy jacket and left out the door. The heavy wood wasn't open for long, but the icy chill still swept in and seemingly sucked the warmth from the house. Winter in Dixon, Montana was downright torture. No amount of bundling seemed to escape the artic chill. The average for this time of year during the day was in the twenties with the lows in the teens. Not to mention the wind chill that kept it feeling well below zero. Dean turned without a word, and left to continue sitting in front of the television while Sam did all of the work.
"Dean! We're both supposed to be looking up all we can about whatever it is in this town; not just me." Sam complained.
"Oh lighten up Sammy-"
"It's Sam," he interrupted angrily.
"You sound like a girl," he continued as if Sam hadn't said anything at all. "I'm just relaxing for a while before I start doing it." Sam stormed off. Dean was so lazy. He never did any of the work, and he always got the credit because Sam always ended up doing it all alone. He made sure to stomp up the stairs, and just because he could, slam the door as hard as he could as well because he was seriously done with Dean's attitude.
The room they shared stared back as him. With two dingy mattresses and sleeping bags on top of them, it wasn't much. He dumped himself on his bed, and grabbed his book bag. Grabbing the ancient book, he opened the yellowed pages and started researching what they were up against.
Next time Sam looked at the clock, four hours had passed. Surprised, he decided to take a well-deserved break. He stood up and stretched his stiff spine, relishing in the feeling. He made his way downstairs and into the kitchen, grabbing himself an apple from the counter. It wasn't a surprise to see Dean in the same position he left him in, sprawled out on the couch and flipping through channels much too fast to possibly see what was on them.
"Dean you said you were going to work. If Dad comes home and sees you haven't done anything, he's going to belt you." Dean for the most part simply rolled his eyes.
"I'll have it done, Sammy." Dean glanced at his brother, waiting for a response at the hated nickname. Sam glared, but much to his disappointment, didn't comment on it. He looked at his watch and rose from the fallen-in couch. He was chilled from the lack of activity, and wanted to take a hot shower. Sam took his place as he munched on his apple.
Dean took his time in the shower, mostly because it felt amazing, but also because he knew Sam would throw a tantrum if he used up all the hot water. Seriously, that boy complained more than a girl. It was just so much fun to rile up his younger brother. And these days it was far too easy to do.
Finally when the water had turned just on the side of cold enough to be unpleasant, he turned off the faucets and left the bathroom. He wrapped a towel around his waist for the walk to the bedroom. He threw on clothes quickly to keep the chill of the house from making him cold again. The heating in this place was truly terrible. Something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. The journal where he and Sam wrote their notes on the paranormal creatures in the cities. He flipped through it quickly. There, right under the name Dixon, Montana in Sam's neat handwriting were notes about all the people affected by whatever it was that was plaguing this city.
He was sure his Dad would belt him if he found out that he just sat around all day instead of working, and he was sure scared of his father's wrath. So he took it. He tucked it under his shirt and made his way downstairs. Sam was still on the couch munching on his apple, eye glued to some boring documentary on the television. Sam had awful taste in entertainment. Sam gave him a strange look, but thankfully didn't say anything.
Dean slipped into the kitchen and settled down into one of the chairs at the table. He took out the journal and the laptop and began sifting through articles like he was busy working. He knew their Dad would be home soon.
Sure enough, not ten minutes later the door opened, and John's booming voice cut through the silence of the house.
"Sam, why are you sitting around while you should be working?" About that time he walked into the kitchen to see his eldest son scribbling down notes, occasionally glancing at the laptop in front of him.
"Even Dean has been working!" He yelled. It seems John had a bad day. His face looked ragged and worn and his clothes were wrinkled. Sam came into the kitchen sputtering.
"But I have been working Dad! I just took a break because I'd been working for hours! Dean's the one that's been sitting around doing nothing!" John picked up the journal from the table and read through it.
"It looks like he's been doing plenty of work. Dean, why don't you take the rest of the day off and relax. Sam, you are to work until I tell you to stop." His expression brokered no arguments.
"But-But Dad!" Sam stuttered.
"No Sam. No arguments or so help me I'll belt you right now." Sam turned bright red, but to his credit didn't say anything. John left the room. Sam glared at his brother as Dean stood up. He would get his revenge.
"Have fun Sammy!" Dean couldn't help but adding before sweeping out of the room.
John yawned, staggering into the kitchen as he rubbed the back of his neck. It was late, or was it early? He turned on the coffee maker. He was almost out the door before he saw someone sitting at the table. Well, not sitting more as slumped against the table. Sammy had one arm cushioning his head, books and papers scattered all around him. Sammy looked truly exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes and his face was pale. Why was he still working? Slowly, John's tired mind supplied what he had said earlier: "Sam you work until I tell you to stop."
John groaned softly. After the fight with Sam he went to his room and buried himself in his work before falling asleep on his bed until waking just recently. Unable to go back to sleep and having to get up in just a few hours anyways, he got up to get himself ready. He had to be out before four to get to the hunt on time.
He gently laid his hand on Sammy's long hair. It would have to be cut soon, he thought distantly. John stood there for a moment, just taking in the moment where he could be near Sam without them being at each other's throats. They were constantly fighting about one thing or another. Heaving a sigh, he gently shook Sam's shoulder.
"Come on Sammy," he whispered gently when his youngest son stirred. Large, brown eyes stared up at him blearily. "Get to bed. You have school in a few hours. I'll be back later in the afternoon. This hunt shouldn't take too long"
Sam nodded absently and stumbled upstairs as his Dad left out the front door. When he made it to his room he pulled back his sleeping bag, fully intent on slipping inside. He was freezing and sore from sleeping on the kitchen table.
"Sammy, check the salt lines," Dean mumbled. Sam's head shot up in surprise.
"Dean, you were supposed to do that! I have school in a few hours!" he complained. His body was exhausted and his bed was calling him.
"I forgot, and it has to be done. You're already up, so stop complaining and do it already. You know why we have to check them." Dean's voice was beginning to sound agitated.
"Nothing's going to get us! Plenty of people don't have salt lines and nothing bad happens to them." Sam continued.
"We aren't normal people, Sammy. Now just shut up and check them." With that, Dean turned over fell back asleep. Sam huffed and threw down the edge of the sleeping bag he had been holding. He stomped over to the window in their room, checking it. He stomped downstairs and checked all the windows and doors.
What would Dean do if one wasn't intact? He thought to himself. A plan began concocting in his mind. He would show Dean that nothing bad came from a night without salt lines, and when his Dad came home and saw one wasn't intact, he would get onto Dean because it was his job to check the salt lines. Finally Dean would be the one to get in trouble. Sam smiled to himself, and walked over to a far window in the living room. As quickly as he could he blew out a piece of it, then scrambled back upstairs and into his warm sleeping bag. He still had the smile on his face when he slipped off to sleep.