Sam rolled over on the lumpy mattress that Uncle Bobby had set up on the floor for him. He could hear Dean's light, reassuring snores above him on the bed that he had claimed as soon as they staggered into the house. His strongly corded arm was hanging over the side of the bed limp.

Sam couldn't sleep. The blanket was the itchy wool kind and it was hot, even for September. Sam's gangly legs stuck out awkwardly at the end of his makeshift bed, brushing the old radiator that was dull with rust and the shadow of trees lit by moonlight.

Muffled voices rose through the vents and pricked at Sam's ears. Bobby and Dad were having a disagreement about something, he could tell. Sam hoped they hadn't been drinking. Turning over onto a particularly uncomfortable lump he rubbed his eyes and decided that there was no way sleep would come to him easily tonight. Making sure to stay silent, he reached up for a handle on the wall, and tiptoed out into the creaky upstairs hall.

For a guy who fought ghosts and demons for a living, Uncle Bobby had a pretty creepy house, Sam thought as he examined the peeling rose wallpaper that had seemingly always been yellow with age. Still, Bobby had a home, which was more than could be said for the Winchesters.

Even though he only stayed with Uncle Bobby for sporadic, often short periods of time, Sam knew which stairs to avoid on the way downstairs. His feet were quick as he made the correct steps— step, skip, step, step. The voices grew louder. They must have been in Uncle Bobby's office/living room/bedroom/dining room, Sam realized as he inched closer to the doorway.

"You can't go now, John," Sam heard Bobby tell his Dad exasperatedly.

"I have to Bobby, just for a couple of weeks. There's a good lead on it, and I was headed out there right after we stopped in on you anyway," John sounded resigned. He and Bobby must have been over this before.

"I'm no babysitter. I got work to do to."

"Sam and Dean need a place to stay."

"Dean's an adult now, John. He's gonna do what he wants, you know he will. He's gonna want to follow you."

There was a long pause. Sam could hear the familiar gulp of beer, the sound of bottle on wood. "He's still my son, and I say he ain't fighting a gorgon."

Sam heard Bobby let out a sigh. Bobby was almost as resigned to John's steel will as his sons were. There was no arguing with the man. He could have (and had at numerous times) been ready to throw himself to the dogs before he let anyone else have their way. Everyone knew that, but hearing that his dad was off to hunt a gorgon still made him nervous. Especially since Dean and him wouldn't be able to help out like they had been lately. Like I did with that Rukh, a pang of guilt shot through Sam like a poison arrow.

As the boys had gotten older John had let them in on his jobs more and more. Dean could be his intern investigator on house calls, and Sam could get the kids to talk. It was better than staying in motels for weeks with only Lucky Charms and cans of beans to eat, that was for sure, but it was still tough. It would always be tough.

Realizing that silence had fallen in the other room, Sam walked down the hall as if he hadn't been listening in on the adults' conversation. The two men looked up as Sam passed, surprised that he was still up. "Sam," John barked.

"Yessir," Sam turned toward John who looked surprising haggard and stretched from his tireless work in the dim lamplight.

"What are you doing up so late?"

Sam scuffed at the scratched up floorboard with his feet, "Couldn't sleep."

John looked skeptical, but nodded. Uncle Bobby was frowning at Sam like he was lying. He suspected Sam of listening in on Hunter Talk, but he wasn't going to say anything in front of John.

"I'm just going to grab a glass of water and go back up to bed," Sam motioned toward the kitchen and inched away.

Even as he opened the fridge and sorted through jars of pickled cat's liver and dead man's blood to find the jug of water Uncle Bobby kept at the far back behind the beer, he could feel his John's eyes on his back accusing him of ruining their last job, coaxing him to talk back or make a wrong move.

Sam poured his water and walked back up to bed where Dean was still lying, sound asleep. He checked to make sure that Dean was snoring before he slithered back into his lumpy bed.

Just in case.