OUTSIDE LOOKING IN
By SpenseDisclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, I'm just borrowing them, so don't sue me!
This story takes place sometime after the pilot and prior to 'Shadows'. Thanks to A-Blackwinged-Bird for her excellent help and comments on this, my very first Supernatural story!
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John Winchester halted, uncertainly. That in itself was very unusual. Uncertainty was not a hallmark of his nature. No, the ex-marine was determined, resourceful, and above all, focused. That all consuming focus had saved many, many lives.
He had been heading for the hotel and his son. His army of one. Well, two now, he supposed, since Dean had apparently collected Sammy. That Sam was back hunting was a miracle in itself. John had many, many regrets in his life, and letting Sam leave in anger was one of the biggest. But as always, his eldest son had stepped up, and was taking care of the situation.
The activity at the hotel that had made him stop, now sent him back into the shadows of the parking lot, watching and waiting.
The door to the cheap motel was open and John could clearly see Dean silhouetted in the bright light from the inside of the room. Less obvious, but still visible, Sam waited impatiently by the door to the Impala, obviously needling his brother, although from where he stood, John couldn't make out the words. However the single finger salute Dean threw his brother, black against the light, was unmistakable, as was the flash of his white teeth in the dark as he laughed.
John smiled a little as he studied his elder son, dark against the light of the room. The dark shadow that was Dean revealed only the medium stature and the solid build. It gave no hint to the iron will that John knew lay beneath that exterior. But that was so typical of his older son. Dean had a depth of strength, both physical and mental, that few people ever guessed at. As well as a loyalty to those truly important to him that John treasured, especially now. He knew that Dean's faith in him may be shaken by his dissappearance, but it was still rock solid deep down. It was that loyalty that would get the three Winchesters through this present darkness. John's train of thought was stopped as Dean shut off the lights in the motel room and closed the door, creating the illusion of disappearance.
Now John could catch the unmistakable quiet laugh of his youngest son, almost as though his hearing had been heightened by the extinguishing of the light. Just hearing Sammy's voice made John's heart clench. He'd missed it so much. Then the two shadowy figures blended into one against the dark of the car, followed by a quick, brief flash of light from the car's interior, and the creaking slam of a door. The Impala started with a deep throaty rumble that seemed somehow to match Dean's deep voice. A flash of brake lights and a squeal of tires, and his sons were gone.
John watched silently from the shadows a moment more, then stepped out, heading with purpose once more. Heading for the door to the small, ramshackle room his sons called home at the moment.
The cheap lock gave way easily to his clever hands as he let himself in silently, weapon within easy reach. John never took chances. Making sure the curtains were closed tightly against any stray light, only then did he reach for the light switch. Another quick smile crossed his face. The room, like so many over the last years, was overlay-ed with the debris of his boys. He could tell instantly that Dean and Sam were present. He'd know anywhere.
Dean's bed. closest to the door, was readily apparent. A pile of clothes, various magazines, and other miscellaneous debris piled together. The research he was doing was on the table, a mess, but an organized mess. Anything really important was neatly stowed in the Impala. Dean was casual with unimportant possessions. But anything to do with hunting was usually within reach and carefully serviced if it was a weapon, and in one central pile if it was research.
Sam's bed was also a mess. But it was covered with books, papers, and a laptop. From the single glance, John could tell it wasn't necessarily research. Sammy's interests had always roamed far and wide, whereas his own and Dean's were comfortably confined to one specific subject. Well, Dean's usually added girls and cars, but essentially, for both it was hunting. And that was one of the causes of the rift between himself and his younger son. John felt a pang of regret, once again.
John scanned the books, magazines and articles on Sam's bed. The books ranged mostly to classics, and the magazines covered math, law, and a couple of other esoteric subjects. Shaking his head, baffled at his offspring once again, John moved away.
Sam was always a mystery to him. He loved him as deeply as he loved Dean, the son who was the image of himself. But Sammy was so different. He wanted different things, saw things in a different way. John didn't understand him at all, and consequently, they had fought regularly from the time Sam was old enough and brave enough to take him on. But that didn't mean John didn't love him. He did. Deeply. But he didn't understand how his mind worked.
Sam reminded John so much of Mary. He'd see flashes of her in his son on a daily basis. And as Sam had gotten older, and the workings of his mind reflected his mother, it was harder and harder for John to see. There were times when Sam would say something that was so reminiscent of Mary that John could hardly bare to be in the same room. He knew that Sam didn't understand his emotional (and sometimes physical) withdrawal at those times, but John just couldn't help it. The pain ran too deep. It made keeping his mind on hunting both easier and harder at the same time. Easier, because it kept his goal so clear. And hard, because to see Sam both looking and sounding more like Mary on a daily basis was an excruciating reminder of what he'd lost.
John was profoundly grateful for Dean, yet again, at those times. His elder son provided the much needed buffer between the other two Winchesters, keeping the misunderstandings from flaring up to unendurable levels. Except for once. John winced again as he remembered the last time he truly spoke to his son. And yelled was more like it. He hadn't done much speaking. And he still regretted it. Not why he'd said it, but how he'd expressed himself.
John had been so proud of Sam's acceptance to Stanford and what it represented. Sam had all of Mary's intelligence and then some. But John still, to this day, would not be able to tell Sam that. Sam still just wasn't capable of comprehending how his father could be proud of him, yet still refuse to let him go. Not only that, but for his son to understand how gifted John felt he was would have given Sam a weakness, a trust that he was smart enough to beat the things they dealt with daily. And John wouldn't do that. They had to survive, and to survive meant no weaknesses, no chinks in the armor of his training.
Switching off the light switch, John headed to the recliner in the dark and sat down, soaking in the essence of his sons.
He knew that as a father he certainly hadn't been the ideal. But he'd done the best he knew how. His sons were strong, and they were equipped to survive in a world that most people took for granted. From the day Mary died, they had known better, and he made sure his sons would not be taken. After losing Mary, that would have destroyed him.
Hunting was dangerous, and the means to survive had to be ingrained deep. And there were only two things important to John - killing the demon responsible for his wife's death, and keeping his sons alive, by whatever means possible. And he was doing his very best to make sure both goals were successful.
Therefore, both boys knew how to kill anything, they were fit, and could defend themselves in any situation. And he was so proud of them. They saved so many lives.
And that freed him up to go after the demon that had killed Mary.
But then Sam had gone. He had really gone to Stanford, and John still couldn't believe it. His own incredulity had been his downfall, leading him to say things he did not mean. Sam had followed orders all of his life, albeit reluctantly at times. He'd never openly defied his father completely until this one moment. And John, who could think so coolly on a hunt, could not completely believe that his son was so thoroughly defying him. He'd resorted to threats as his normal methods of keeping his son in line had all failed, one after another, in the face of Sam's determination.
John still regretted the argument, and the rash things he'd said in the heat of the moment. He especially regretted telling Sam that if he left, to never come back. John shut his eyes in pain as he yet again relived that statement. The pit in his stomach that followed the stone silence that reigned after his words had rung out still remained. It was as fresh as the day he'd spoken. Then Sam's terse 'Fine' and his exit out the door mixing with Dean's indrawn breath of horror. It had been done, and it was too late to take it back.
But couldn't Sam see that they had to do what others could not? That his brains and knowledge were needed? His son was so bull-headed about wanting a 'normal' life. Life was anything but normal.
But yet again, amidst the frustration and anger had been a small stirring of pride. Sam was strong. Strong enough to stand up to him, and strong enough to see his dream through. He'd be safe. John had prayed that he would be safe, and not forget that the world was not kind, and that 'normal' was an illusion.
John's foot hit something with a light touch as he moved towards the chair. His eyes had adjusting to the lack of light, he looked down and recognized Dean's bag. The box of salt had tipped at the touch of his foot, and spilled slightly.
Again the faint smile touched his lips. His Dean. He shook his head as he sat, thinking in pride of his eldest son. Dean was so many things. Cocky, yet careful. Strong, determined, and brave. John was grateful daily that Dean was on his side. His life would have been so barren without his son at his side, doing what they did best. He'd wondered if Dean would leave him as well after what he'd said to Sam. He had half thought he might. But he hadn't, and John was forever grateful.
As he sat in the dark, musing on his sons, John suddenly remembered his real reason in coming. He smiled once again to himself. How good it was to be back, surrounding by the essence of his sons. It felt so right and so good. Drawing his mind back to business, once more, John pulled out his cell phone, the small light a very tiny glow in the heavy darkness. That was what they were, he thought briefly, a light the in darkness, trying to keep people safe.
He'd planned to see Dean, and give him the coordinates personally, but the fact that Sammy was still with him made him pause. As much as he loved his youngest, Sam was definitely better off with Dean at his side rather than his father. His relationship with Sam was still decidedly rocky after Sam's decision to go to Stanford. Long before that, actually.
No, now that Sam was back hunting, he needed to give him a chance to get his bearings back. Recover from Jessica's death and get into the swing of things. And Dean was the best one to help with that.
Besides, John was so close. Close enough to the conclusion of the hunt to make it dangerous for his sons to be anywhere near him for any length of time. He could drop in on Dean, and leave again. It would be unbelievably hard, but doable. However, with Sam back in the picture, it would be next to impossible.
No, he'd gage Dean's reaction to his call before he'd decide whether to tell them he was here or not.
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Sam slouched against the bar, nursing a beer, a slight smirk on his face as he watched his brother in action.
Dean was in his element. A pool cue in hand, none-to-smart bikers to hustle, and a blond at his arm. Sam hid a snicker. The woman's rack had to have been pumped up with a bicycle pump, he decided. Nature just did not make them that big. Only Barbie had those proportions.
Dean may have been just average height, but he made up for it in sheer cheekiness. Or cussedness. Or maybe fat-ass arrogance. Sometimes Sam just couldn't decide which.
'Napoleon complex, that's for sure', he thought to himself. Someday he'd say that to his brother, just to see how he'd react. He was pretty sure he knew. But just to be safe, he bring it up sometime when Dean was just too exhausted to be able to completely pound Sam into the ground. Sam knew he could hold his own, but why waste the effort? Better to pick his moments. That's why he was called 'geek boy' by his brother.
Sam didn't live to grow up by being stupid. Especially not with Dean as a big brother. Dean could be incredibly protective, but also the big brother from hell. One incident in particular summed it all up nicely in Sam's mind. He'd been in seventh grade, and set on by bullies on his way home. Dean had come to the rescue, fists flying, saying, 'Only I get to pound my little brother'.
Sam had looked at him incredulously when it was all over. "Only you can beat me up?" he'd asked, unbelieving.
"Yeah. You're my little brother. Only I get to pound on you. Everybody else is hands off," he'd said with a shrug, clearly oblivious to the illogic of his statement.
The scary thing, Sam reflected, was that to Dean, that statement had made perfect sense. He shook his head in renewed wonderment at the workings of his brother's mind as he gazed at the scene in front of him. His brother truly was in his element.
Dean's white teeth flashed again as he smirked and made some acrid comment as his opponent leaned down to line up his shot. The white knuckles on the man's hands told Sam it had made it's mark.
Sam grinned openly this time. Dean was definitely doing what Dean did best.
Looking up as thought he'd read his brother's thoughts, he met Sam's eyes, tossed him a quick grin, and returned back to the blond at his side. She ran a finger nail slowly up his arm, demanding Dean's attention. Dean agreeable returned his attention where it was requested.
Looked like he might be sleeping in the Impala tonight, he thought in amusement as he saw Dean turning on his doubtful charm. 'James Dean wannabe,' he thought wryly.
"What's so funny?" a feminine voice next to him asked curiously.
Sam looked over, startled, to see a pretty brunette perched on the bar stool next to him. He smiled, turning on his own charm for the heck of it, and was gratified to see her do her own version of melting.
It was still hard, after Jessica's death, but Dean had drug him out so many times, and heckled him so often, he found himself flirting in self-defense, just to get his brother off his back.
Jutting his chin towards Dean, he commented, "Just watching my brother, doing what he thinks he does best," he finished with a grin.
She grinned as well as she followed his gaze. "Talking to a woman's chest?" she observed.
Startled, Sam gave a sputter of laughter. "Usually, but especially when they look like balloons," he remarked. He looked with more interest at the woman next to him. A sense of humor was a definite plus.
She choked on her beer, and when she could speak again, replied, "Well, yeah, they do look a little . . . um . . . "
"Fake?" Sam supplied, grinning.
"Fake," she said, chuckling. "I was trying to be tactful. Not many people walk around sporting bowling balls."
Before he could reply, a phone rang. Still chuckling, he held up a finger to the pretty woman next to him indicating 'hold that thought' and reached into his pocket where his phone and Dean's currently resided. Dean hadn't wanted to be distracted, and pawned it off on his brother. Grabbing the ringing phone without looking at which one he had, he answered.
"'Lo?"
"Sammy?"
"Dad?" Sam gasped into the phone. His father's voice was the last thing he'd expected to hear.
"What are you doing answering Dean's phone?"
Sam quickly sat on the stirrings of resentment at the question. Some things never changed. He bit back a sharp reply, something along the lines of 'why is Dean always first with you', and worked hard at being the adult he was. Something about his father just always seemed to make him revert.
"Dean's a little busy right now. Where are you?"
There was a pause on the other end. Great, Sam thought again, his mind immediately heading down paths so familiar that he thought they'd worn groves in his brain. Trying to decide what to tell me. He'd tell Dean everything. He steadied himself.
"Are you all right Dad?"
He looked up to find Dean's eyes drilling holes in him from the side of the pool table, his game and female conquest all but forgotten. 'How the hell does he do that? He always know when something's up. His own version of 'shining'?' he thought in amazement. He knew Dean couldn't hear him from this distance.
He held a finger up to indicate 'hang on' to his brother.
"Dad?"
"I'm okay, Sammy. I need you and Dean to look into something for me."
Dean was heading purposefully towards him, leaving a bleached blond looking huffy, and a couple of irritated pool players who'd been set on winning some of their money back.
"Take this down."
"No, hang on! Dad, is everything okay? Where are you? When are you coming back?" The brunette next to him was all but forgotten.
"Sammy," John sighed. He knew Sam just couldn't understand that it was too dangerous for him to be near them right now. "Later. We'll get into it later. Right now, I need . . ."
"Later!" Sam cut his father off, his voice rising, tight with tension. "When? Do you know how . . ."
Sam was cut off in turn as Dean grabbed the phone from him. "Dad?"
"Dean? I have some information for you. Take this down." John was relieved to hear Dean on the line. His logical son. As opposed to his emotional son. He sighed in relief this time.
"Yes sir," Dean said crisply, and obediently copied off the information. As he finished, he asked tentatively, "Are you okay?"
John blew out his breath in frustration. He knew they cared. He just couldn't give them answers right now. Not the ones they wanted anyway. "I'm fine Dean. I'll get back to you as soon as I can."
"Can we help?"
"Not right now. It's too dangerous to have you anywhere close to me."
"Okay. Keep in touch."
"Will do, Dean. You and your brother be careful."
"You too, Dad."
And the connection was broken.
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The ride back to the motel was the polar opposite to original trip to the bar as it was possible to get. The chill between the brothers would have been enough to put frost on the inside of the Impala's windows. It might have been funny had either of the brothers been in a laughing mood.
As it was, Sam sat as close to the window of the passenger side as was possible and fumed, staring out at the darkness. He knew he was behaving childishly, but somehow, dealing with his father always brought him back to that point. Normal logic just didn't work with the man, and the frustration that caused Sam seemed to take away all of his adult coping mechanisms and made him react like a child. He swore he could even hear the whine reappear in his voice. It made him cringe every time! Someday, just once, he'd like to feel like a mature adult after dealing with his father. And that day, pink pigs would be flying over Manhattan.
Sam stole a glimpse towards his brother's profile. The covert look showed that Dean was as stoic as ever. Sam wondered how the man did it. Their father ordered him around, then just up and disappeared, but continued to order him around anyway, and Dean just took it. Sam felt the slow burn start again, and he turned back to stare at the cool darkness, hoping it would sooth his raw soul. He just couldn't be the calm, cool, collected man his brother was, and that ached as much as his father's treatment.
On the other side of the Impala's bench seat, separated by a mere few physical feet, Dean wasn't as far from his brother mentally as Sam might think. Beneath his stoic exterior, Dean was as roiled as his younger brother. He was just far superior at hiding it. Staring out the windshield, supposedly concentrating on the road, Dean was actually very aware of everything around him. Hyper-sensitively, actually.
And Sam's seething was really grating on him. It was as irritating as fingernails on a chalkboard. The kid had matured amazingly while he'd been at college, Dean mused. He'd had been pleasantly surprised at how focused and disciplined his younger brother was now. But that maturity had apparently stopped flat when it came to Sam's relationship with their father. That seemed to have actually regressed.
Dean had done his best throughout Sam's teenage years to try and mend the deteriorating relationship between parent and younger son, alternating from pounding his brother into submission to reassuring him. Nothing seemed to work. Sam was just adamant about reading the worst possible motives into his father. And John wasn't much better. The two were just oil and water and Dean was tired of trying to get them to get along.
The fight between the two when Sam announced his decision to go to Stanford had been monumental. Dean still felt the pit in his stomach when he remembered his father's words. 'If you walk out that door, don't ever come back.' And to shock of both John and Dean, Sam had done just that.
Dean had seen John's regret from the moment Sam slammed the door. It was apparent in every little movement, gesture and word his father spoke. But John didn't know how to retreat, or how to say the words to mend the breach, and Sam had inherited his stubbornness from his father. So all three had grieved silently, and Sam obeyed his father's order, and didn't return. And the grieving had continued because of the entire Winchester clan's inability to verbalize emotions or to back down.
It didn't stop Dean or John from keeping an eye on Sam covertly. Dean figured that he and his father knew Stanford as well as Sam did by this point. He knew Sam would be shocked by that knowledge, but he damn well should have excepted it. Sam knew John's mode of operation as well as Dean did. But it came right back to Sam's painting his father in the worst possible light.
Full circle once again, Dean thought as he glanced at his glowering little brother once more. But tonight wasn't the night to try once again to fix it, however. They had a job to do. They'd need to check out of the motel and be on the move right away. Situation about as normal as it got. But, on the other side, it did promise to be a long night if Sam didn't lighten up.
On the flip side, relationships aside, Dean was pumped. They had a focus again, and a ghost to hunt. Dean took a true satisfaction in riding the world of the evil that inhabited the world side by side with the oblivious humans. He knew that others lived because of what they did. He was never more happy than when on the track of a new baddie.
He looked over at his brother and grimaced. Sam could seethe for hours when he perceived he'd been wronged. The kid could hold a grudge longer than Dean ever thought possible. Dean's way was healthier. He just shot supernatural ass.
"Would you lighten up?" The elder Winchester finally groused.
He received the 'glare of death' from his volatile younger brother.
Dean hid a grin and began counting to himself. 'Five, four, three, two . . .'
"Why couldn't he have just come in person?" Sam complained.
'Right on cue'. Dean had long ago decided that he could clock his brother's reactions to the second. He knew Sam would just hate that if Dean ever informed him. He was saving it for just the right moment.
"Give it up, Sammy. He's got his reasons. He'll tell us when he wants us to know. In the meantime, we've got us a new gig!" Dean grinned openly now, knowing that between calling his brother 'Sammy', and his open smirk, Sam's irritation level would spike through the stratosphere.
Next to ghosts and girls, tormenting his brother was his favorite activity. And he had it down to as much of an art form as the previous two. Besides, it would stop Sam from fuming. The upcoming car trip would be much more relaxing with a sleeping Sam as opposing to a sulking Sam.
Sam rose to the bait, right on schedule. "I know he's got his reasons," his brother glowered, frustration showing in every movement he made as he pushed his hair off his forehead and out of his eyes. "I just wish he'd share them with us, once in awhile," he finished in disgust.
"You need a haircut, Sammy," Dean said matter-of-factly, and smirked as the 'glare-of-death' turned up a couple of notches.
"It's SAM, okay? Not Sammy!"
"Lighten up, you're going to give yourself a heart-attack," Dean said, ignoring the actual statement and addressing the mood, which he himself had provoked.
"I just want to find what killed Jess and Mom," Sam said in a soft, defeated tone, his quicker silver mood changes showing up once again. "Sooner. Not later."
Dean sobered instantly. This was the real heart of the matter, and it wasn't something to joke about.
"I know," he said quietly. "And so does Dad. And so do I. But until then, we keep our skill level up, and get in as much practice as possible. And ridding the world of some baddies in the meantime. Dad will let us in on it, when the time comes."
Sam just nodded and stared moodily out the window. "I hope so."
'And when you're ready,' Dean thought to himself, seriously considering his brother from the corner of his eye. He hoped they wouldn't have to face the demon soon. Sam was just not ready yet. Emotionally or skill-wise. He was just getting into the swing of things again. And Sam and their Dad had some things to deal with as well, before they could work as a team to bring this thing down.
Dean didn't like being separated from his father, but knowing how many times they had checked on Sam without his knowledge at Stanford, Dean had little doubt that their father was keeping tabs on the two of them now. And they wouldn't see him when he did. John was just too good. No, he would show up when the time was right. Dean just held tight to that thought, allowing the theory to help him keep his own equilibrium.
In silence they reached the motel, and all business, headed in to pack and checkout. Sam finally spoke again as he followed his brother into the room.
"Did Dad say what the new gig was?"
"Nope. Just the coordinates, and that we needed to get there in a hurry. Why? You getting a vision or somethin'?"
"No. Just . . . wondering."
Dean shrugged as he resealed and pushed the salt box deeper into his carry-all and snagged if off the floor. He added the research on the demon that they'd been working on and zipped it shut. Then he turned his attention to his messy bed and duffle bag as Sam was doing the same to his.
"We'll find out soon enough. Right now, we got some driving to do."
"You planning on letting me doing any of that?" Sam turned to look at his brother, grinning.
"Are you nuts!" Dean reacted exactly as Sam had thought he would. "As if!" he snorted. "Only when . . and IF . . . I get tired. And don't forget . . " he began, lifting his finger in emphasis.
"Driver picks the music," Sam finished for him, the corner of his lips twitching upwards.
"Damn right!"
"Good thing I can sleep through anything," Sam muttered. "Even that crap."
"What was that?" Dean demanded instantly, turning fully and studying his brother intently.
"Nothing."
"Good."
John stood once again in the deep shadows, watching his sons pack their belongings into the Impala. He'd seen the serious mood as they had arrived, and was heartened by the teasing he was seeing now.
He smiled slightly, listening to the familiar banter, glad that his two boys were together again. They were falling into the same patterns of working together, changed and shaped by Sam's maturity and adulthood. They were molding into a seamless, working team faster than John had ever thought possible.
Now wasn't the time to reappear in their lives. Sam's response to him on the phone showed how clearly on edge he still was. A little more time, John mused. Just a little more time for Sam to settle. Then he and Sam would need to talk. He flinched involuntarily. He hated talking. Dean understood inferences, but Sammy needed everything spelled out. But this talk would be necessary, no question about that. Especially after what he'd said to his son when Sam had left for school.
John had regretted those words the moment they'd left his mouth, but hadn't known how to retract them. So a conversation, as hard as it was, was long overdue. Once all of that was cleared up, then they'd be able to finish this once and for all. Kill the damn demon. But not until then.
In the meantime, it was just too dangerous for him to be close to his sons. The demon was close. Too close. And that meant the danger was real. No, he needed to wait until they were ready as a group. Then they would come together as a united front.
John watched a moment more, indulging himself in the pride he had for his sons. They had grown into strong men. They would watch out for each other, and work together, just as he'd taught them.
Another smile played on his lips as he watched for a second more. Then, secure in the knowledge that his sons were safe and well, he slipped deeper into the shadows and away on his own hunt.
finis