Burned Corpses of Doppelgangers

by PTBvisiongrrl

Sam is away at Stanford, and Dean and John are still mostly hunting together. Dean gets caught by his dad doing something Dean thinks his dad will probably think he shouldn't be doing. Dean's fear of John's reaction is far worse than the reality. Sammy helps Dean trying to puzzle out Dean's reaction to his father's non-reaction.

FIC TITLE: Burned Corpses of Doppelgangers, or Was That Really the Past I Lived Through?

Author- PTBvisiongrrl

Part- 1/1

Date- 1/2/16

Rating – M

Pairings/Characters- Bobby/John (past relationship); Sam/Dean brother bond; bi-sexual Dean

Word Count- 5,283

Genre- Angst, Family

Warnings- Spoilers- Not really. I have only seen through Season 5 and this pre-canon.

Disclaimers- New to the fandom, though not fanfiction, so characters may be a little off. Unfortunately, I don't own any of these characters, and make absolutely no profit from taking them out to play…so please don't sue me. If I did own them, there would be a lot more shirtless Jensen Ackles getting some on the show!

Summary-

Sam is away at Stanford, and Dean and John are still mostly hunting together. Dean gets caught by his dad doing something Dean thinks his dad will probably think he shouldn't be doing. Dean's fear of John's reaction is far worse than the reality. Sammy helps Dean trying to puzzle out Dean's reaction to his father's nonreaction.

Dean was sure his Dad would be gone at least another day; they had started hunting apart more these days, which Dean had taken as a sign of his dad's approval—pride?—in Dean's own abilities. Dean himself had wrapped up a minor haunting yesterday, and had yet to find a new case. It was a chance to relax and enjoy him self, maybe hustle some pool if the opportunity presented. Relax and enjoy, for twenty-four year old Dean, meant sex and alcohol. Not a ton of alcohol necessary if there were lots and lots of sex.

Last night Dean hit the trifecta, and managed to combine all three of his free-time interests. He was drinking and playing pool, still sizing up whom to hustle, when a blond haired, blue-eyed beauty asked to join the game. Dean smiled widely, not sure what path the night was taking, but as his eyes raked over the blonde and catalogued how many of Dean's kinks were hit, he hoped for sex. "Let me finish running this one, and sure. I could go for a game."

Dean introduced himself between shots, and got a name from the blond- Jesse. They talked a little while Dean shot, gathering information, subtly testing boundaries. Jesse continued to hit Dean's kinks—hard rock, muscle cars, good whiskey—and Dean wrapped his solo game up as quickly as he could. Then Dean racked the balls while Jesse went to get more drinks. Well, blindly racked the balls, because Dean was busy watching Jesse's ass on the way to the bar.

Jesse wasn't the best player, and knew it, asking for some tips during a friendly game, which Dean of course was willing to provide. Tips generally meant close proximity for physical direction. It was quickly becoming obvious that Jesse really wasn't into pool so much as into Dean. Standing close behind that tight ass to help guide the cue stick, Dean did not bother to hide his interest, and the blond obviously did not mind the attention. Didn't mind enough to make a friendly wager, either—loser's place to go to for some private time.

Dean threw the game. Not obviously, and in the end he barely lost, but blondie was headed back to the motel with him so Dean did not care. Jesse properly admired Baby, agreeing that she was sleek and purred like a kitten on the ride to the motel. Jesse also kept one hand on Dean's thigh the entire short ride, gently massaging the firm muscle and keeping eyes on Dean until they pulled up to the room. Dean wasted no time jumping out and rounding to open the passenger side door for his date, but Jesse had beat him to it and was standing next to the car, hands shoved into pockets shyly. Dean grabbed Jesse by the wrist and wasted no time dragging Jesse to the room.

Smiling at his companion for the night (or at least the next few hours), Dean quickly opened the motel room's door, ushering the blonde in with a gentle hand at the lower back. As soon as the door was shut, Dean pressed the toned and barely shorter frame against the wall with Dean's own weight, lips millimeters away from Jesse's. Studying the man's eyes, searching for that spark of want Dean had felt on him over and over again at the bar, Dean pressed his lips against Jesse's tentatively.

Not all guys went for the full Dean experience. Some wanted a quick, impersonal fuck; usually the older men just wanted pretty-boy Dean to get them off as fast as possible. Dean had learned that the hard way a time or two, and stuck to younger guys from then on. Male or female, Dean's approach was the same. He wanted the build-up as well as the big finish—preferably more than one big finish, if it was a good night.

Dean could kiss for hours before moving on, although he usually sped it up a bit for one-night stands. At Jesse's positive response to the press of Dean's lips on his, Dean pressed harder, urging Jesse's lips open and exploring just a little with his tongue. Jesse welcomed him in, met him thrust for thrust before allowing Dean to have his way with his mouth.

Hands were not still, either. Dean loved that Jesse's hair was a little longer, not long enough to be confused with a girl Dean might have picked up but long enough to pull it roughly and use it to tug Jesse's head back and expose his throat to Dean's licks and nips.

The groan that followed a particularly hard bite made Dean roll his hips against Jesse, the heat between them rising. Jesse was not passive, but had allowed Dean to direct most of the interaction up until this point. "If you are going to continue to do that, we need to get naked before I come in my pants," Jesse panted, his forehead resting against Dean's broad shoulder.

Dean pulled back, a satisfied smirk on his handsome face and pride in his eyes. "Well, I'm not going to protest naked, as long as that means that I get to make you come more than once tonight."

Jesse smirked back, reaching to pull his shirt off. "I thought multiples was a given," he said, pushing Dean off him and heading toward a bed. Dean laughed, his voice low and growly and 100% sex, and followed Jesse's example.

SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN

It was a fun night. So much fun that, after subtly Christo-ing Jesse and slipping a little holy water into a drink, Dean and Jesse fell asleep tangled together, a quick rest before round three (and hopefully four, in the shower), Dean thought as he drifted off.

Jesse had set his phone alarm for a respectable six-thirty, to give them time to actually sleep as well as to play again AND get him to his job on time. For once, Dean did not want to hit snooze…and Jesse made the loss of sleep well worth it. Twice, even before the shower (advantages to being an in-shape twenty-something!) And after the shower, Dean offered to dress first and run for coffee. Letting Jesse walk around in just a towel wrapped around his waist was a treat for Dean, which he planned to enjoy for a few more minutes as he laced his boots up before going for caffeine.

Until the motel room door was pushed roughly open, keys jingling in John's hand, and Dean felt his heart leap against his rib cage. Noticing the light on, John was surprised to begin with—Dean was a notorious late riser who hated getting up before ten. "You're up early, Dean!" John chuckled until he got a whiff of the room, and looked past his son's frightened face to a half-dressed young man desperately trying to pull his pants on without exposing himself. "Oh."

Dean went into panic mode. "Dad! I thought you were going to be a couple more days—"

"I can tell that. Sorry to interrupt," John kept his voice even, could tell Dean was practically ready to wet himself at John's appearance. "Ah, let me leave this gear here and I'll get out of your way."

"It's okay," Dean bit his lip. "Jesse was getting ready to leave, I just have to take him back to his car—"

"I can call a cab," Jesse offered, seeing Dean's panic and knowing he did NOT want to be in the middle of whatever this mess was. Calm, cool, seductive Dean was gone, replaced with a frightened boy. Jesse wasn't sure why—the scene unfolding did not make John seem like a threat, or angry, but Jesse also knew what he didn't know. Given Dean's reaction, Jesse would bet Dean's Dad had never caught him with a guy before.

Both Dean and his Dad rounded on Jesse. "No, son, Dean will take you back to your car." Turning to Dean, there was no mistaking the order in his tone. "After you drop Jesse off, Dean, meet me at the diner. I'll see you there by, say, nine? Okay?"

"Okay. Nine," Dean agreed, without really thinking. Obeying his dad was almost instinctual, and the calm voice his father had used was more frightening than the reaction he had honestly expected, whenever he thought about this possibly happening- violent fists, homophobic slurs, bone-deep disappointment, being left behind to fend for himself.

Once John dropped his bag to the left of the door, backed out and shut the door, Dean dropped his head to study his feet. "Fuck."

"Daddy doesn't know, huh?" Jesse finally managed to get his pants on and fastened, dropping his towel. As he reached for his shirt—and picked up Dean's first, before locating his—"You seem really upset. Is there anything I can do?"

Dean raised his eyes to meet Jesse's, shrugging a shoulder and looking young and vulnerable. "I'm really not sure what's going to happen. That wasn't the reaction that I expected."

Jesse looked concerned. "He seemed pretty calm. Was that a front because I'm here? Are you going to be safe with him when I'm gone?"

Nervously licking his lips, Dean raised an eyebrow. "This is an unknown situation."

Jesse made his way over to Dean, wrapping arms gently around his shoulders and pulling Dean in for a kiss. "I hope it works out okay." Gathering his stuff, Jesse reached for the pen and note pad on the nightstand. Quickly scrawling on it and tearing it off, Jesse tucked the paper in Dean's back pocket. "Just in case you need something after talking to your dad."

"Thanks," Dean smiled at Jesse, pulling him in for a real kiss goodbye. "Its been fun, but if you want to get to work…"

"Yeah," Jesse smiled back. "I should get back to my car." Pulling Dean by the hand, Jesse started out to the Impala.

SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN~SPN

Dean dreaded talking to his father. Killing time, not wanting to get to the diner early, Dean went back to the motel room. He wasn't hiding, he told himself. He was being practical. Dean was there to pack up his duffle of clothes and weapons, to load up the Impala just in case his Dad kicked him out. Not that he can't live on his own, isn't old enough or capable enough, but his Dad is all he has left. Sammy is gone and, if Dean has anything to do with it, won't be coming back to this life. Heading to the diner felt like going to his execution as his walked down the block, where life as he knows it is over.

His Dad was sitting in a booth in the back, flirting with a pretty brunette, whom he kicked out gently after introducing Dean. John called the waitress over as Dean hesitated, asking for two breakfast specials and two Irish coffees, and motioned for Dean to sit down. Dean sat on the opposite side, on the edge just in case he had to defend himself quickly. John studied Dean and his reactions, his face sad. "I'm disappointed, Dean."

Dean's eyes swim at John's words, but he struggled to hold it in. He's a fucking Hunter, for god's sake, not some cry-baby. "I'm sorry I disappointed you."

"I thought I taught you better, but maybe I didn't." The waitress interrupted with a coffee delivery, and John held further comments until she was gone. "Never, never take a one-night stand back to the motel. Their place—get another room somewhere—Impala's back seat's big enough, know that for a fact—but don't compromise safety to get your rocks off."

Struck speechless, Dean opened and closed his mouth trying to form a sensible response. The best he could get out, after a few minutes to trying, is "I'm sorry, Dad."

"Don't let it happen again, Dean. I hope that you did not put your brother at risk with behavior like this when I left you two alone." John studied Dean for his reaction.

"Never, when Sammy was around. I would never put him in danger," Dean managed to force out of his gritted teeth. "I didn't want you to find out."

"I think giving you your first condom pretty much told you it was okay to go have sex, Dean," John chuckled. "Not finding it a surprise."

Dean continued to study his coffee, turning the mug around and around in his hands and refusing to look up at John. This was not normal behavior for Dean, and John had a moment of confusion that quickly solidified into a vague understanding. "Just how did you think I was going to react?" And then it clearly hit John—Dean's positioning, readiness for fight or flight… "Do you think I'm going to kick your ass over finding you with a guy, Dean?"

Dean looks like a deer caught in headlights, those clear emerald orbs, so like Mary's, wide and unblinking. "Yes?"

"I really didn't teach you better." John is a little shocked at that fact. "I taught you how to kill an encyclopedia's worth of monsters, how to care for and use more weapons than I can count, and how to live off grid, but I didn't teach you this. I thought I had, but I guess it never came across as important as all that other shit."

"You aren't going to hit me?" Dean asked, voice still unsure.

"You really think I'd hit you because I caught you with a guy," John stated, voice sad and heavy.

"Well, yeah," Dean shrugged, his brows tight and wrinkled with worry.

"Why the hell would I do that?" John demanded, his voice finally rising and showing some anger.

"It means your son is a fag?" Dean asked, anger growing in his own voice as the conversation spiraled out of the script he had pictured.

"Why would I care about that? And don't use that word." John's exasperation came out in increased volume, again. He reacted to Dean's cringe by lowering it again. "What did I ever do or say that would make you think I would be mad if you liked guys?"

Dean's face went slack with shock. "I don't remember any part of the birds and bees talk covering sex with guys."

John scrubbed at his face. "Well, I really wasn't ready for the straight birds and bees talk when you asked, so excuse my extemporaneous failure to cover all information at one go. I knew I shoulda sent you to talk to Bobby then."

"But you didn't," Dean downed half his spiked coffee before speaking again, drawing some courage from the alcohol. "And I highly doubt Bobby would have thought to include any details you didn't cover."

John studied Dean for a few minutes. "I'm pretty sure he would have. Bobby always wanted you boys to have as much information about how the real world worked as possible. He hoped you wouldn't stay in the life, wanted you to be able to fit in if you left. One of my many fights with him."

Dean frowned again, and he shook his head. "I don't think Bobby knows this type of detail to share, Dad."

John's laughter—full, hearty, belly-deep—rang out, startling Dean. That laugh was not heard often, and usually not directed at something Dean had said or done. It took several minutes before he could breath enough to talk. "I can guarantee Bobby knows more than you apparently think he does."

"How did this become a discussion about Bobby?" Dean demanded. "Just tell me what I have to do to make it up to you." Deep sadness flashed through Dean's expression. "Just let me make it up to you, Dad, give me a chance."

John finished his own coffee, and signaled the waitress for another refill. "There is nothing to make up, Dean. I know you won't make the same mistake of bringing a hook-up back to the motel again. And I am not pissed at you for Jesse being a guy. Why should I be? I didn't tell you I was headed back early, so I should really apologize to you for interrupting."

"Huh?" was all Dean could manage to form into speech.

"You think I'm mad you're bisexual?" John clarified. "At any point, have you heard me say or see me do anything that would make you think I would have an issue with it? I mean, you've seen ME flirt with a guy if I thought it would get me information. I've told you to do it, too."

Dean blinked owlishly again. Acting for information—that was one thing. The Winchesters had lied in many ways, many times, for a case. He himself hadn't managed to label his desires, at least not out loud. The idea always threw him, the attraction to men, made him feel uneasy and uncomfortable, and he always held it separate in his mind from his pursuit of all women. He knew the rules for pursuing women, knew the accepted rules of interaction, and also knew women appreciated him. Men were another whole story, though. He had never had any guidance in his pursuit of men, aside from an occasional redirecting punch or succinct, judgmental statement. His attraction was kept quiet, and secret, and left for him to figure out on his own.

"You do," John stated, shaking his head at Dean's silence. "Even if I wasn't happy about it—and I'm not entirely happy, because its not an easy path to choose on top of being a Hunter, and I don't want your life to be any more difficult than it has to be—I couldn't be mad."

Dean studied his hands gripped around the chipped diner coffee mug. Wide nails, blunt fingers with scarred knuckles, freckles sprinkled across the backs of both hands. They were strong hands, held death or defense, equally capable of bringing pleasure to male or female partners. While there was no doubt that they were the hands of a man, the kind of man—construction worker, policeman, soldier—was unclear until they were in action. His father had spent years training those hands to kill, to heal, to work hard, and all the training was successful. But his heart—his soul—had not been given the same diligent care. Dean literally had no idea why his father WOULDN'T be mad. "Why aren't you mad?" he asked, feeling braver than he had since his father had walked in to the hotel room less than an hour ago.

"How old were you when we first stayed at Bobby's?" John answered with a question of his own.

"I dunno," Dean had to really think. "Five? Maybe six? Why?"

"Why do you think we stayed with him?" John continued.

"You had two kids that couldn't hunt with you, and he had a place to leave them safely?" Dean ventured.

"Not saying that wasn't part of the reasoning on my side," John graveled out. "But why would he let us stay there? What on Earth would make him do something that disrupted his life so much?"

"He's a nice guy?" Dean offered, trying again when John rolled his eyes at him. "You were friends?"

"How many friends would let a barely functioning alcoholic widower with two kids under seven stay with him for months on end?" John drank some more coffee.

"I don't understand," Dean answered. John and Bobby had been friends for years; there had been some harsh words thrown back and forth at points, mostly about John's drinking (pot calling kettle there, in Dean's opinion both now and then) and the boys, but never complaining about the three Winchesters basically living at the salvage yard. Bobby was family to Dean, and that was what family did for each other. He had never questioned beyond that, although he realized as he considered it now, something had to create that family bond, and Dean has no clue what that was. It wasn't part of the shared family history. "What are you trying to tell me, exactly?"

John laughed. "I can't be mad at you for liking guys, unless I'm more fucked up in the head than even I think I am, since I'd have to be mad at myself."

Stunned silence filled the booth as Dean let John's admission play over and over again in his head. "But Mom-"

"But every waitress at every diner or bar, Dean?" John raised his own eyebrow. "I know you like the ladies, too, Dean. So do I."

Dean was beyond shocked. He had to filter through the family history with new eyes. "You and Bobby?" Dean asked, suddenly getting what his father had been hinting at. "How was Bobby my step-mom and I never realized it?"

"Don't call him that," John warned. "He loves you boys but I am not his favorite person these days. I don't want his pissed-off at me to rub off on you. How did you never realize it? I mean, it's not like we were making out in front of you kids, but still. I slept in his room, Dean."

"I really don't know how I missed it," Dean shrugged. "I never noticed. You two never acted in a way that made me think you were, uh, together. And thanks for putting that into my head now, by the way. I could have lived without those mental pictures."

"Why? What is so upsetting about finding this out? Especially since it is long since over," John looked a little regretful at that.

"What happened?" Dean asked. "I don't remember anything dramatic happening before we left that last time."

"That's another conversation, son, and one that requires more alcohol than I've had to drink yet."

"You didn't want to end it with him." Dean studied his father's reaction.

"No, I didn't. I'm not the one who chose to end it." John stared off into space for a moment, before drawing himself back in. "I'm the idiot that caused it to end, but I didn't choose to end it."

Two breakfast specials slid onto the table in front of the men, a smile from the waitress following it. "Just holler if there's anything else you two need," she said, winking, as John and Dean automatically winked back with a smile, flirting ingrained in them both.

Dean dug in to his meal, appetite restored slightly from the chaos of his churning stomach earlier. "Does Sam know?"

John chewed a forkful of his home fries. "I thought he was smart enough to have figured it out, but he never asked me or said anything to me. As far as I know, he never said anything to Bobby, either, but Bobby and I don't talk much besides business these days." John dumped ketchup on his eggs before loading a fork up. "And if Sam never said anything to you, I really don't know."

Dean nodded as he ate steadily. He didn't talk much to Sam these days, trying to keep Sam's apple pie life from exploding in an ectoplasmic, flaming mess, but this required a phone call. Tearing a corner off his toast, Dean reached for his phone and flipped it open, easily finding Sam's contact information. Hoping Sam had not changed numbers, Dean dialed him, waiting for another mouthful until Sam or voice mail picked up.

John continued to eat, honestly interested in the answer but also knowing that Sam would not talk if Sam knew John were here. While the last words John had thrown at Sammy—if you leave, you stay gone—had been said to guarantee that Sam would give a normal life a honest effort, the words had still hurt both of them.

"Dean?" Sam's voice carried clearly across the scratched wooden table. "What's wrong?"

Dean laughed. "Nothing's wrong, exactly. Just had a question for you."

"You and Dad are okay?" Sam pressed, concern in his voice. "No one injured?"

"No one is injured. What are you doing right now?" Dean drawled, wanting an answer but also not wanting to shock Sam into a car accident or something.

Sam sighed, the exasperation with his older brother audible. "Studying on my sofa. Why?"

"Ah," Dean suddenly felt anxious to ask his question.

"You haven't talked to me, beyond Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday texts, in almost a year, Dean. What is so important?" Sam slammed a book closed on his end of the conversation and Dean could hear the rustle of his jeans against furniture as he rose.

"Did you know that Bobby was our step-mom?" Dean blurted out, trying to get the question out of his mouth before his brain short-circuited his delivery yet again.

There was a long pause, Sam sighing again, before Sam answered. "Where is this question coming from?"

"Just answer it, Sam," Dean demanded, his own exasperation at Sam's behavior making him terse.

"Yes, I knew," Sam answered. "Why do you want to know if I knew? What does it matter now?"

"How did you know?" Dean asked, feeling a little sick to his stomach. "And why didn't you tell me?"

"How didn't you know?" Sam asked. "And why would I tell you, if I assumed you had figured it out, too? Its not like Dad and Bobby said anything to us. Usually what isn't talked about in the Winchester household is not supposed to be talked about, so I never did. What's the big deal?"

"I don't know how I didn't know!" Dean yelled, getting a look from the waitress and a raised eyebrow from his dad. "I just didn't. And now I do. And I don't understand how you would know something so big but never tell me!"

"I didn't think it something to tell, Dean!" Sam yelled back. "Its not a big deal."

"Yes, it is!" Dean harshly shot back, keeping his volume down a little bit. "Knowing this would have been helpful!"

"Why would it have been helpful?" Sam answered, equally aggravated. "How could it possibly have mattered after we left Bobby's?"

"It just would have," Dean muttered back.

Sam let the silence settle for a minute, obviously trying to figure out how to continue. "Wait. You didn't know. And you are upset now that you do. What happened to make this relevant? Did you see Dad with some guy and freak out?"

"No," Dean sullenly answered.

"Oh," Sam answered, and then repeated. "He caught you with a guy, huh?"

"Why do you think I'd be with a guy?" Dean shot back, his self-image feeling yet another hit.

"Because you've been with one before, when you thought I wouldn't realize it?" Sam laughed back. "You really weren't as sneaky as you thought you were."

"Shit," Dean slammed his head down on the table with a solid, heavy thunk, avoiding his food just barely. "And you have known all these years, and said nothing?"

"Its not something that needs to be said, Dean, or talked about. I never understood your need to talk about all the girls you banged, either. You like pussy and you like cock. Big friggin' deal."

John had continued to eat, blotting up his egg yolk with some toast, studying his eldest while listening to the conversation. He and Sam might often be at loggerheads, but when it came to Dean—when it came to this facet of Dean—both he and Sam were on exactly the same page.

"It doesn't bother you?" Dean asked, his voice hoarse and wavering.

"If it didn't bother me as a 14 year old, why would it bother me now?" Sam demanded. "I really don't care what hole you're sticking it into, Dean. I just didn't want to hear about any of it."

"Dad caught me with a guy," Dean whispered.

Sam was immediately concerned. "Are you okay?"

"He wasn't mad about it being a guy. At all." Dean breathed deeply, trying to calm his racing heart.

"So he told you about Bobby, when you were amazed he wasn't pissed at you," Sam stated calmly. "Did you want him to be pissed at you or something?"

"No, of course not!" Dean got loud again before dialing it back down. "Just surprised that he wasn't."

"Why?" Dean knew from Sam's tone that Sam was shaking his head at Dean. "Dad never said anything against gays, never used negative epithets, never made any comments or statements about gay being a bad thing that I ever remember. And its not like me to stick up for the man, Dean. Why were you so sure he would be pissed at you?"

"I don't know, now." Dean toyed with his fork.

"Are you mad at you for liking guys?" Sam asked, and Dean could picture the incredulous look on Sam's face right now, the eyebrow raised and forehead wrinkled in puzzlement.

Dean considered his answer for a few minutes. "Maybe. I'm not sure. I have to think that one over for a while."

"Well, Dean," Sam sighed. "You do that. My only question to you is, was this another one night stand, or someone special I should meet?"

"You know me pretty well, Sammy. No one special," Dean admitted.

"Then this shouldn't bother you at all. Dad caught you with more than one girl before, this is no different." Sam shifted the phone from one ear to the other, the soft slide of metal on skin filling the quiet. "Are you going to be okay?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, yeah, I think I am. Some thinking to do, but everything is alright."

"Good," Sam's smile was in his voice. "Can you maybe call more often without needing my help to resolve your sexual identity crisis?"

Dean closed his eyes, feeling the guilt of not talking to Sam in so long, even if it was for Sam's own good. "I will. Thanks, Sammy."

"Its Sam," Sam automatically corrected Dean without thinking about it. "And while you're calling people out of the blue….give Bobby a call, too. He worries about you, and he won't call you."

"Why not?" Dean snapped out before thinking, then mentally answered his own question. "Never mind. I understand. And I will give him a call, too."

"My only advice, when you talk to Bobby—because I know you—is not to call him Step-Mom," Sam laughed lowly.

"You did it already, you smart ass, didn't you?" Dean laughed too.

"Yes," Sam laughed back. "I thought his head was going to explode, he got so red before storming off muttering about idjit boys to himself."

"Got it," Dean agreed. "I'll save that one, then, for emergencies. Take care, Sam."

"You, too Dean," Sam echoed. "And take care of Dad," he added before hanging up on his older brother.

John's eyes widened, hearing Sam's direction to Dean, but he continued to eat. He used his toast to wipe up his plate clean while Dean finally dug into his food. "Told you he'd know," was all John said to Dean.

Dean spent the remainder of the meal flirting with the waitress in between discussing the next hunt with his dad. The day was turning out much, much better that he had thought it would when John had appeared.

Now Dean just had to figure out why he felt so out of sorts that it hadn't gone as badly as he feared, as if there was still another shoe to drop. Of course, he felt like that a lot of his life, not trusting in good things because they were always followed by disaster. He really, really hoped that he was not going to experience a reversal of Fortune on this one.