Disclaimer; Don't own anything :)

Second story, it's going somewhere, at some point... slowly. Set before Sam left for Stanford.

It's another Easter in another fluorescent motel. The curtains are drawn, the door locked and salted – along with the window sills. As the majority woke to handfuls of chocolate and a doting family, Sam and Dean slept. Last night they'd struck the golden idea to create their own Easter. So Dean hid his handgun down the back of his jeans and they walked the half an hour to the only 24/7 convenience store they'd seen on the way into Crowley, LA.

The Days Inn played as residence to all sorts of characters who sauntered in off of route 100, so when John Winchester pulled up they didn't bat an eyelid. The Impala was making an awful chugging noise that broke all three boys' hearts, they couldn't bear to see her go, but they didn't have the time or patience to sit and fix her. The receptionist was busy tapping her fingers against the hard wood of her desk; she flipped the page of her magazine and smacked her gums. Dean was checking her out from where he lent against the Impala, Sam nudged him hard and he broke from his raunchy day dreams.

"You're annoying, kid." Dean mumbled.

John threw one of his credit cards down in front of the girl, right on the poster of John Stamos she was gawking at.

"2 queens," He spoke harsher then he'd meant too. Truth is he hadn't spoken in hours and his voice had grown rather horse. He happened to catch a glimpse of himself in framed photograph of when the Inn first opened, he was a mess. There was a deep cut under his left eye that more than likely needed stitches, his hair was coated in a thick layer of dust and grime and the right side of his neck had a rather dense cover of blood – not his. He flipped up the collar of his leather jacket to hide it.

"Smoking or non-smoking?" She didn't even look at him, he thought it was probably a safety precaution in all no-tell motels. Don't know what kind of crazy's going to walk through the front door and want a roof, and its best not to ask.

"Non." He replied, this time he made a conscious effort to sound less like Oscar the grouch.

"Dad, c'mon, please, its Easter can't you just stay for a day or two?" Sam pleaded as John cleaned and checked his arsenal.

"Sam, you know I can't."

Dean stayed quiet, though Sam was voicing his feelings exactly, he couldn't help but remain on his father's side, after all he was probably right.

"Dad, a day isn't going to do anything."

"How do you know that, Sam? What if someone else dies? Do you want to be held accountable because you're selfish?"

Dean clicked his tongue involuntarily; his father had struck a chord, crossed a line and Sam didn't retaliate

"I'm sorry boy, it's just you saw this thing, it isn't going down without a fight. If I had a choice I'd be here, but you know I can't" John put aside the rag in his hand, he was glad that he'd taken the time to have a shower but he'd wasted precious seconds when he could be hunting this damn thing. "I'll get you boys dinner before I leave any special requests?"

Sam didn't answer, he trudged down to the Impala to get the last of his belongings; they could be stuck in this second floor corner motel room for another two weeks.

"Dean?" John tried to prompt an answer out of him. Dean nodded to his father, John knew what Dean would have, and then he followed Sam out the door.

After their father had left they stayed mostly in silence, occasionally Dean would make a snide remark about the events on the television, but other than that conversation between them did not exist. Sam sat on the bed farthest from the door as usual while Dean occupied the other, his eyes were not on the television set; they wandered over the walls of the room, lost in deep thought.

Sam didn't sleep that night, his mind playing over the events in Henderson. He knew it wasn't his fault, well at least that's what he wanted to believe. His fingers tore into his duvet cover, leaving tell tale rips across its broad surface. If only he could move faster, if he were stronger, if he didn't have such a strong sense of survival and an attachment to life – well then maybe, just maybe.

"Watch the sun come up Sammy? Was it all romantic like? Do you want to hold my hand?" Dean mumbled half asleep as the clock buzzed on 7:30.

"I call the shower." Sam moved for the first time in 6 hours towards the bathroom.

Dean worried himself with Sam and went over the salt lines, looking for any kind of break. He knew Henderson was still with him, that kind of thing just doesn't dissipate, it was going to follow them both for some time.

After they had been washed, they, yet again, settled in to watch day time TV. Dean felt the dense atmosphere, it was strangling them both.

"What do you want to do today man?" he asked.

Sam scoffed, "Sit here, like good little soldiers. Orders are to stay in the room Dean – like always."

"Screw the rules Sammy, let's do something. I can't sit here watching Days of Our Lives."

"Don't you want to know if the doctors' her brother?"

"Hell no, didn't you watch yesterday? What they did. "

Sam laughed, it was hollow but it still gave Dean hope.

"So Sammy, watcha up for? We could jack a car, drive to New Orleans."

"Bit late for Mardi Gras Dean."

"Really?"

"Yeah it was a month ago."

"Next year then."

Sam let the subject sit; he didn't want to think about next year. He wanted nothing more than to finish school, go to college, get a degree – put something to the Winchester name then a slew of bizarre corpses.

Dean left to get them lunch grudgingly at 12, he had almost begged Sam to join him, but as always Sam was stubbornly stuck in his stupor.

The girl behind the fast food checkout counter gave Dean a sly smile and an idea; apparently there was something to do in this town. He got her number, an ego boost and an invitation to a party. It was all so typically high school, which is what Sam had always wanted; a sense of normalcy.