"The trash needs taking out, John," Mary said, smiling sweetly. For some reason her husband had a visceral hatred of hauling trash, and for that very reason she took a perverse pleasure in reminding him.
John glowered, and with a put-upon sigh he grabbed the bulging plastic bag and made his way to the kitchen door.
The sight of his dad's disgusted expression caused four-year old Dean to giggle.
"Just wait until you grow up and have to take out the trash, kiddo," John said with a pout, wagging a finger at his son. "I bet you won't be laughing then."
:
But his dad's words only served to increase the child's hilarity.
"Why doesn't dad like to take out the trash?" Dean asked his mom. "It's easy. When I grow up, I'll do it."
Mary ruffled her son's hair with a grin. "I've no idea why your dad makes such a fuss. I think he just likes to grumble."
:
But John did have a reason, albeit one he never mentioned.
More than once when he'd exited the house at night, he felt as if he was being watched. He'd never managed to spot anyone, simply putting it down to his imagination.
Yet at times he couldn't stop the goose-pimples rising, his lizard brain reacting to some unknown danger.
:
Hidden in the shrubbery, the demon chuckled. It wouldn't be long now until he baptised little Sam Winchester with his own brand of nourishing liquid!