Fourteen-year-old Sam Winchester dragged the back of his hand across his eyes and yawned. It wasn't quite light outside yet, but his internal clock told him that it was early morning, maybe six, which meant that his father and brother should still be sleeping. However, he heard their voices floating in from the living room of their apartment of the month, and strained to make out what they were saying.
"Hell no," Dean demanded, his voice firm.
"Don't you argue with me, boy. I said you're coming with me, and that's final."
Sam froze. Coming where?
"No," Dean repeated, "I'm not. I'm not leaving Sam alone while it's out there. We have no idea how close it could be."
"Dean." John's tone was pure command. "This is a big job. Bigger than I thought in the beginning. I can't handle it alone. You are coming with me. Sam will be fine. He can take care of himself."
"Oh, yeah? And what if it does come while we're gone, Dad? What then?" Dean countered.
John was quiet for a moment before responding, "There's always going to be something, Dean. Whether it's this wendigo or not, there'll always be something. Sam knows how to protect himself. He wouldn't let anything get in."
"Accidents happen," Dean insisted. "So, humor me. What if?"
At that moment, Sam pushed open his bedroom door and stepped into the living room.
Dean worked to rearrange his features into a mask of calm. "Hey, Sammy," he greeted a little too cheerily.
Sam gave him a half-smile and turned to John. "Dad, what's going on? Why does Dean have to go with you?"
Dean's facade dropped as soon as he learned that Sam had overheard their conversation.
John sighed. "Because I can't take this one on by myself, Sam."
Sam stood quietly for a moment before asking, "Do you think there're more?"
John nodded wordlessly, eyes cast downward.
"What?" Dean asked incredulously. "That's why? Dad, there is no way in hell we're leaving him here alone if there's more than one out there."
Sam took a seat on the couch beside Dean, placing a hand on his arm and interjecting before John had a chance to speak. "Well, okay... Let's just think about it, Dean. Whether I'm alone or not, really, I'll be safer here. And Dad'll be safer if you're with him. It'll only be a couple of days, right? That's not too bad. And you can call and check in every few hours, make sure I'm alright. If anything happens, I'll let you know, and you can head back here."
Dean didn't respond for a long moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "I don't know, Sam. I don't like it."
Sam's hazel eyes locked on Dean's liquid green ones, entirely open and honest. "I know you don't. But it's not like you'd be going anywhere too far. It's only a couple of towns away. You could get back fast if you needed to. Not that you would need to, though, because everything would be fine."
After pausing for an even longer amount of time, Dean asked, "Are you sure? Completely sure? Because if you need me to stay, I'll stay."
John didn't even attempt to dispute Dean. He could talk a big game, but he knew that, ultimately, whether he was the father or not, when it came to Sam, Dean made the decisions. Not that he'd ever admit it. But that was how it had always been, really. Even a few moments ago, telling Dean that he had no choice but to accompany him, John knew that Dean would do whatever he thought was best for Sam in the end, regardless of what he said. That knowledge made a part of John swell with pride for his oldest son, taking charge just like he'd always taught him and protecting his brother at all cost, and a part of him feel like his heart was breaking because he knew he'd never have the kind of relationship with Sam that Dean did.
"I'm sure," Sam confirmed, breaking John from his thoughts.
John forced himself back into commanding officer mode, and when he spoke, his voice was as rough as gravel. "Go pack, Dean. We're leaving in ten."
Dean reluctantly stood and went to pack his things, which wasn't too hard a task considering they never really got unpacked. When he finished, he returned to the living room and squatted down in front of the couch where Sam was seated. "Gun?" he asked expectantly.
"Under my pillow," came Sam's automatic answer.
"Good. Money?"
"In the coffee can." Sam gestured toward the small kitchenette of the apartment.
Dean nodded. "Rock salt?"
"All the guns are loaded, backups in the cabinet."
"Anti-possession?"
Sam pulled on the chain around his neck. "Got it, Dean."
"Alright. You be safe, Sammy. Call me if you need anything, okay?"
"I will," Sam assured him. "Promise."
Dean leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on the top of Sam's head. "I love you," he whispered.
"Love you, too," Sam replied. "Be careful. Both of you."
John gave a sharp nod. "We will. Be back soon."
With that, they were out the door.