Chapter 2 - Not while I'm around

A/N: This is not an AU, and it's not a deathfic. Chapter title is taken from Not While I'm Around from Sweeney Todd, written by Stephen Sondheim. Partial lyrics at the end of this chapter.

Disclaimer: I don't own the boys, or John, Jim, or Caleb. This is just for fun, not profit.

"Dad?"

Christ. John froze in place for the barest second. He managed to keep his shoulders up and back. Not a good idea to have your shoulders slump at the sound of your youngest son's voice. Not a good idea at all.

Nowadays just about anything was liable to set Sam off. Sam, not Sammy. "Sammy's a chubby four year old" the kid snarled at him the last time John called him that.

Might as well get this over with.

John straightened up from the Impala's trunk, carefully zipped up the duffel with the camouflaged crossbow and silver tipped bolts. He glanced up at the afternoon sun, a deceptively casual gesture, knew that Sam knew he was checking the sun, calculating how much daylight was left.

John was putting a time limit on the conversation. They both knew that, too.

Sam stared at John grimly. "Dean's playing bait tonight, right?"

John slipped the car keys into his jacket pocket, closed the Impala's hood in one smooth motion. He nodded solemnly as he turned to look at his youngest son.

"He volunteered." John said calmly.

Sam ferociously probed all around that wall, that shield that his Dad had up around him all the damn time now, searching for a weak spot. Sam bristled. "Just because he volunteered, Dad, doesn't make it right."

"Get to the point, Sam," John said quietly. He didn't miss the inflection; he just chose to ignore it.

"He's your son, Dad. Not your soldier. That's the point."

"Whatever you have to say to me, say it." I don't need to hear this now. I don't.

"Either you come back here with Dean alive and well, or you don't come back here at all."

John didn't blink. "Is that it?"

"Yes, sir."

John nodded. "Alright. You've had your say. You're staying with Jim until we get back. No more drama tonight. Understand me, Sam?"

"I need to know—" Sam's voice wavered. Just a little. It was a weakness, a crack in Sam's otherwise tough front. John pounced on it, not out of animosity, but out of habit. Sam pushed, now John pushed back.

"Need to know what, Sam?" John's tone was dangerously quiet. They were on the edge now. John knew it, and Sam didn't care.

"Need to know that you won't let him die out there." Sam blinked. His eyes became bright and wet. "I need to know Dean's coming home alive and unhurt after this is all over."

John blinked. Finally. "Nothing's going to happen to Dean. Or to you. Not while I'm around." John's voice softened slightly. "You know that, Sam."

"No, Dad. I don't." Sam backed away, towards the house. He shook his head in the negative, over and over again. "I don't believe you. Mom's dead."

There it was, that brief flash of pain in John's eyes. It was a fleeting victory, and Sam knew it. John straightened his shoulders slightly as he settled himself again. The wall came back up, and Sam hated him for it.

"You…you couldn't save her, could you? Mom's dead, Dad. Why should I believe anything you say?"

Pastor Jim came out on the front porch as Sam brushed past. Jim opened his mouth to say something and then wisely decided not to. After all, the boy was on his way inside to say goodbye to his older brother.

His older brother whom he adored. His older brother who might or might not come back from this hunt. One never knew what each day might bring, what day might be your last. Pastor Jim knew that better than anyone. Normal family business was prickly stuff; Winchester family business was like a cactus on steroids, damn near impossible to grasp sometimes.

Sam would come around later. If not, Jim could lure the boy out in the open with that baked chicken he liked so much. They'd sit in his kitchen with the window open and listen to the crickets and frogs give their nightly summertime concert outside. Sam would talk, and Jim would listen. Sam hadn't eaten lunch, and he was bound to be hungry.

John just stood there by the Impala as he watched his youngest storm into the house. Pastor Jim kept his face carefully neutral. Lord, he loved John like a brother, but even on his best day 'pig-headed' didn't even begin to describe him.

"Sorry I hit you," Sam mumbled softly as he threw himself onto his bed.

Cutting it a little close there, bro', Dean thought to himself as Sam stalked into the room. For a moment Dean was worried the little brat wouldn't show. That prickling sensation in Dean's sinuses actually eased up then. Eased up a lot. Allergies from pollen.

Yeah, that was it.

"Hit me? Is that what that was, Samantha?" Dean scoffed as he slipped on this green fatigue jacket Sam had never seen before. "You hit like a girl."

His nose twinged a little at the lie. Dean shrugged. "Barely felt it."

"Yeah. Right."

"Dude," Dean said, almost proudly. "Bobby's got me lojacked."

Sam frowned. "What?"

"This jacket. Bobby's letting me wear it. Got a bug sewn in the lining. Bobby's gonna track me with the receiver."

"Uh huh," Sam said flatly. "Uncle Bobby's idea, huh? Not Dad."

Dean scowled as his stomach gave a slow, lazy flip flop. "Sam, look, don't start that again, all right? This is gonna be cake."

Dean shrugged as Sam got off the bed and walked over, staring at the jacket. Dean slipped his watch on. "It's just a bunch of girls, anyway. I could take 'em with one hand tied behind my back."

Sam snorted. "They're cannibals, Dean."

"It's okay. I taste good," Dean snarked. Sam flinched.

"Look, you worry too much, all right? Dad and Bobby have my back. I'm gettin' sick of hearing you bitch and moan, Sam. Especially about this."

Sam took a breath. His eyes were slightly red, and from the way his breath rattled a little in his nose and throat sounded like he'd been crying. Or close to it. He came in the front door, past Dad, and yeah, Dean heard practically the whole damn conversation.

Don't wanna leave like this. I'm coming back. I am.

Dean normally wasn't the most sensitive kid around (well, he was, sometimes anyway, he just went the opposite way to hide it) so he grabbed Sam by the neck and shoulders, held him there and ruffled the hell out of the kid's hair with one hand.

Sam gave a surprised but pleased squawk. He didn't struggle much.

It was better than a hug. A hug would've seemed too…girly.

"Getting kinda shaggy there, Samantha," Dean drawled as he released his brother.

Sam blinked underneath this mop of wild hair. "Jerk."

Dean grinned. "Bitch."

"Dean?" John rumbled from below. "Time to roll, kiddo."

Sam actually deflated at the sound of John's voice. Dean sighed. "Gonna kick your ass when I get back for all this drama you put us through, Sammy," Dean growled. He headed for the door, and there was a moment, just a second, when he thought Sam was gonna follow him.

No such luck. Sam backed up, flopped down on Dean's bed with his face set in this mulish look, eyes staring down at the floor.

Dean paused in the doorway. Don't do this to me, dude. Please, don't. You can at least see me off, right? That's not too much to ask, is it?

There it was again, that knot of tension right between his shoulders, immediately followed by that damn prickle in his nose.

Shit.

Dean turned away. He rolled his shoulders as he walked down the hallway. He carefully pinched the bridge of his nose and when he raised his head he felt himself settle into his familiar swagger. He was on a job, damn it, with two of the best hunters he'd ever hunted with, John Winchester and Bobby Singer. There was nothing to worry about. Nothing.

It wasn't like these fuglies were basilisk, or gorgons. Now those were bad-ass. It would be time to worry then, kiss your ass good-bye almost for certain.

John and Pastor Jim stood at the bottom of the stairs. Pastor Jim nodded.

"Chapter and verse, Ace," John growled. "Let me hear it."

Dean rolled his eyes. "There are thirteen of 'em in this cluster. They're the Handmaidens of Ba'al Zebûb. Loosely translated Lord of the Flies, Beelzebub. Demon of gluttony. Silver kills 'em, stone cold dead. Bobby's got me lojacked, you guys will be nearby. The feast is tonight. They start butchering people at nightfall. Naturally, they won't be able to resist adding yours truly to the menu. Once I'm inside, I get loose, and start killing as many sonsabitches as I possibly can."

John raised an eyebrow. "Dean?"

"Okay, okay, only if I have to. My main objective is to get to the hostages and secure them."

John nodded. "Okay, then."

Pastor Jim stepped up then, and Dean didn't struggle as the padre hugged him. Hey, it was manly enough, and Dean could feel the blessing in the gesture anyway as Jim patted him on the back once.

"Safe hunt, Dean," Jim Murphy whispered into his ear. Dean nodded gruffly and stepped back.

"We got a fourth wheel on this one," John drawled as they stepped out onto the porch. "Don't know how much use he's gonna be."

Dean looked at the young man leaning against the pick up truck with the four dogs sitting alertly in the back. "Hey! Caleb!"

"Thought you might need a little help on this one," Caleb's drawl was just as soft and unhurried as ever. He shrugged. "Besides, the boys here need some practice." One of the dogs leaned forward and slurped noisily at Caleb's left ear.

John rolled his eyes as he went for the driver's side of the Impala. "Dean, you're riding with me. Jim got us blueprints of the house. You need to take a look at 'em."

Dean went for the passenger side. John nodded at Bobby and Caleb, and the other two men moved to their vehicles.

Time to go.

Pastor Jim stood on his front porch and watched them go. He said a prayer for them inside his head, naturally, not out loud, a prayer to bless and protect them all, with a safe journey back. He could hear Sam moving around upstairs, hear the sounds Sam was making, and it broke his heart.

Upstairs Sam sat frozen on Dean's bed. He heard the voices outside, and that pit in his stomach just kept getting bigger and heavier. He flinched when he heard the doors squeak, and the rumble of the Impala's engine, loud at first, then fading off into the distance.

Sam barely remembered crying, or throwing himself off the bed. Even as he lurched down the hallway, his body remembered where the bathroom was, even if his mind didn't. There was nothing in his stomach, but he dry retched anyway, blinking, heaving. Over and over again.

Dean wasn't coming back. Didn't matter what Dad said, didn't matter what Bobby did.

Dean was gone.

A/N: This fits so well, it's scary. The song is Not While I'm Around, from Sweeney Todd, written by Stephen Sondheim. Here are some of the lyrics:

Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around.
Nothing's gonna harm you, no sir, not while I'm around.

Demons are prowling everywhere, nowadays,
I'll send 'em howling,
I don't care, I got ways.

No one's gonna hurt you,
No one's gonna dare.
Others can desert you,
Not to worry, whistle, I'll be there.

Demons'll charm you with a smile, for a while,
But in time...
Nothing can harm you
Not while I'm around...

Next chapter's up Monday.