The storm had been brewing for hours. Thick, black clouds hid the sun, casting daytime into premature night. A chilly wind ripped the last dried, clinging leaves from the trees.

Sam and Dean huddled on their motel room beds, watching cartoons restlessly. They had been in town for four days while John unsuccessfully hunted a witch.

"Do you think Dad's okay?" the younger boy asked suddenly, tearing his gaze away from the Thundercats playing across the television screen.

"Of course he is, Sammy," Dean replied, his eyes glued to the screen, "He's Dad."

Sam didn't reply. A few weeks ago, John had returned from a hunt, staggering and bloody, and it had terrified his youngest son. If his Dad could get hurt than that meant that he could die and if he died, who would be there to take care of them?

"Turn on the light, would you Squirt? It's getting pretty dark in here," Dean commented absentmindedly.

Sam leaned right over on his back on his mattress and reached out to turn the lamp on the beds. As soon as he turned the dial there was a bright flash of light and a sharp crack and the room went dark.

"Dean!" Sam cried out, surprised and drew his hand away from the lamp as though it were a striking snake.

"It's okay Sammy," Dean replied calmly, "The bulb just blew."

"Oh, okay," the younger boy chuckled nervously and left his bed to join his sibling.

"What? You're not scared of the dark, are you, Sammy?" Dean asked as he inched over to give his brother room.

"No," Sam replied quickly as he settled down on his belly.

Dean snorted derisively but didn't say anything.

As though the light bulb had been a signal, the heavens opened and suddenly the sound of the television was drowned out by rain pounding on the roof of the motel.

"Crap," Dean muttered as he turned the television volume to the max and still couldn't hear his show.

Mutinously he clicked off the TV and crossed the darkened room to the window that looked out into the parking lot and peered outside.

"Wow, would you look at that," the older boy muttered.

Sam left the warmth of the bed to join his sibling and stared at the rain pelting into the ground, the wind whipping the trees fiercely and the flare of lightning in the distance.

The younger boy reached out and grabbed for his older brother's hand.

"Dean," Sam said, hurt.

"Don't be a baby," Dean commented, "It's just a little rain."

Dean didn't see the tears well up in his younger sibling's eyes because he was too focused on the storm outside the window.

As soon as it had started, the rain abruptly stopped. Dropped pattered from the overhang in front of the window but other than that, all was quiet.

"See," Dean smiled at his brother, "The storm's over."

Sam frowned. Something didn't feel right. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he shivered suddenly.

"Let's go," he suggested, speaking before he could stop himself.

"What?" Dean asked, peering at him in the shadowy motel room, "What are you talking about? Go where?"

"Anywhere but here," Sam said, "Something's wrong."

Dean shook his head, "We have to wait for Dad."

Sam looked out the window and watched as a flock of birds lifted from the trees in the lot across from the motel and, squawking loudly, flew away.

They know something isn't right; Sam thought and turned, grabbing his duffle bag from the foot of his bed.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked.

"I told you, we have to get out of here," Sam told his brother.

"We're not going anywhere," Dean argued and pulled the bag from his brother's hands.

"Dean-" the younger boy began but stopped when a loud bang came from right outside the motel room, startling both him and his brother.

"Dad's back!" Dean cried and flung open the door to see, not the familiar black 1967 Chevrolet Impala, but a battered and bent stop sign.

"What the-" Dean began but didn't get to finish his sentence.

Sam grabbed the back of his t-shirt and pulled him away from the door, trembling.

"Do you hear that?" he hissed at his brother.

Dean opened his mouth to snap at him but paused.

If he listened carefully, he could make out an odd growling sound that seemed to be coming closer.

"What is that?" Dean asked, not really expecting Sam to have an answer.

Peering over his shoulder, the older boy stared for a moment at the stop sign and then realization dawned on him.

"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered and grabbed his brother by the upper arm.

"C'mon Sammy, quickly," he dragged the younger boy deeper into the motel room, towards the bathroom.

Stepping into the small room, Dean closed the door tightly and bodily lifted his sibling into the bathtub.

"Lie down," Dean instructed the boy as he followed suit, lying above his brother, resting on his knees and forearms so he wouldn't squash him.

In the distance, the sound of growling grew closer and closer.

"Dean," Sam whispered, "I'm scared."

"It'll be okay," Dean replied and smiled down at his brother.

The wait was horrible. The ominous growling grew increasingly louder as the minutes dragged on. Sam started to cry, unable to stop himself.

Then the sound of tearing metal joined the roar and Dean lowered himself over his brother completely, wrapping his arms around his younger sibling and feeling the front of his shirt dampen with his brother's tears.

The room began to shake and the roar was deafening. They could hear items out in the main room toppling over- the television, the lamp- and Sam screamed when the bathroom door was ripped off its hinges and grabbed his brother so tightly his nails dug into Dean's chest and drew blood.

The railing that supported the shower curtain broke and landed across Dean's back. He clung to his brother as tightly as Sam hung on to him, not worried about smothering the younger boy, only thinking that they needed to get through this.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, the tornado moved on and all became quiet.

For a long time neither boy moved.

Then, Sam whimpered, gasping for air.

Dean sat up on his knees, grimacing at the pain in his back as he did so and took in the motel room with a look of shock.

The tornado had passed right by them. Cutting through the parking lot and dragging cars across the pavement, tearing up the trees next door but had only just missed the motel itself.

Climbing out of the bathtub and helping his sibling out, Dean ventured into the main room of their motel room.

The sheets were torn from the beds; the television lay on its front- its screen no doubt shattered- their duffle bags nowhere to be found.

Walking to the front door, Dean peered out and saw that their neighbors were doing the same. Mothers and fathers with their hands on their children's shoulders, couples with their arms around each other, business men with their phones glued to their heads, and couldn't help but grin.

They were okay. He and Sammy were okay. And their Dad, wherever he was, just had to be okay too.

Sam's hand found its way into his older brother's and this time Dean didn't pull away.

They waited, hand-in-hand, until the Impala pulled into the parking space in front of them and John hurried out of the car, gathered both of them up into a bear hug and, tears leaking from his face, kissed both his sons.

Author's Note:

This was another little fic I had written a beginning for but hadn't gotten around to finishing. Now, with a beer to help push my muse along, I've been able to think of an ending.

Please take a moment to leave a review if you enjoyed this little tale.