A/N: Here comes chater three. In my opinion, it is the best chapter I have written so far (and enjoyed the most), however I planned it to be longer by developing Sam's thread. I just couldn't resist to leave it in the moment it ended! Anyway, it's the chapter where the real action starts and the next one might be pretty heavy. Enjoy and don't forget to leave a review. It really motivates! ^^

Chapter three: Foolish pride

The rain was pouring heavily from the sky. Dean was soaked wet and had a little runny nose already, yet still pushed himself forwards. He swore quietly, remembering what they were hunting. "Great idea, dad. Of course we don't have to come back to the car. It's absolutely no problem to kill a wendigo in a middle of a rain!" He stumbled into an old branch that lied on the ground and fell straight to the mud. "Fuck!" he sighed, assessing the damage and feeling familiar discomfort in his right ankle.

The bell rang, signalling the break. Sam couldn't have been happier that moment; although no one dared to speak to Sam after the talk, he still wanted to run away as fast as he could.

He was packing his books to the bag when he felt some person just behind him, thanks to his hunter training. He fought the need to punch that person, not wanting any more trouble than he already had.

"They won't give up on us quickly, you know?" It was the same guy who protected him earlier that day. When he stood, he seemed even skinnier, weaker than before. Like he hadn't eaten anything for a month. "Oh, I'm Harry," he stretched his hand, allowing Sam to shake it.

"Sam." Young Winchester smiled shyly, zipping his backpack.

"New in the town?" Harry asked, forcing his voice box to produce as neutral tone as he could. Because not that he cared about Sam…

"Yeah, just arrived yesterday."

"After one month of school? That sucks."

"Tell it to my dad." The Winchester couldn't (and wouldn't) hide a bit of bitterness in his voice. Not that he didn't love his father, but he still had a lot of grief hidden inside. "What's your next lesson?" He smoothly changed the topic. He felt like he could say anything to the boy standing aside him, but right now he didn't find it a good idea.

Harry hesitated, feeling the tension in Sam's voice, but eventually decided to ignore it. Not that he cared, but he didn't want to be intrusive. "History."

"Oh," Sam sighed sadly, seeing big letters saying 'English'. "See ya at lunch, then." He said it casually, trying not to sound as it was a question.

"Yeah, I guess."

Harry was gone in a second, and Sammy felt lonely again.

Dean pulled the phone out of his pocket. "Please, let it be a signal, let it be a signal," he whispered to himself. "Yeah, signal!" He dialled his father's phone without hesitation. After some really long seconds, he heard a harsh 'hello'. "Dad, let's head to the motel," Dean let the words flow out of himself. "It's raining too much, and I'm sure as hell it won't magically stop in a few minutes. There's no way we can kill those bastards in such weather, and I'm not risking getting hurt just to try it." He closed his eyes, waiting for his parent's screams about how important this job was. But they never came.

Instead, he got soft voice of John, almost a whisper. "Okay," he said. "I'll be in the car by twenty minutes. How about you?"

Dean slowly moved his weight on his injured leg to make a step. He couldn't help a little squeal that escaped from his mouth as the wave of pain shot through his ankle. "Might be little longer, I guess." He forced himself to sound natural.

If John heard Dean cry in pain, he decided to ignore it and simply hang up.

"Looks like I'm alone with the problem." Dean allowed himself to chuckle a little and turned left, approaching the car.

"Slowly, one step at a time." He kept instructing himself while walking through the woods. The ground was uneven and slippery, yet he pushed himself towards the car as fast as he could. His ankle burned and itched and throbbed, but he was just too determined to make it on time and not to show his weakness. He was too proud to admit to John what happened. And he was too focused on himself to remember he was on a hunt.

And this moment, he changed from a hunter to victim.

John knew something was wrong with Dean.

Well, maybe not that he knew, but he strongly suspected. It wasn't likely for his son to call with such a case. Yeah, Dean was right, they shouldn't hunt in a weather like this. But the withdrawal meant they had to do it all over again a few days later.

But the problem was, Dean knew it all. And if he knew it, and still made the decision to leave Sam once again to repeat the hunt, something must've been wrong.

He took his mobile again and quickly dialled his older son's number. When Dean didn't answer once, he called him one more time. Still no response.

"John Winchester, you old fool," he growled to himself and ran to the car.