Honestly, I should either be asleep or working on my Julius Caesar project. I'm doing neither right now so I'm writing. Didn't expect for this story to be going where it is, but I am enjoying writing it.

lenail125: Thank you for continual reviews, they mean a lot. I hope this lives up to your expectations!

Reviews mean a lot, y'all! They make a girl feel happy and motivate me to get the next chapter up that much sooner!

Warnings: Indecently short, I feel. Swearing.

Also, would any of you be interested in playlists? As in, me putting up what I was listening to while I wrote? Just a concept. I usually enjoy these when I see them, but I'm not sure about doing it myself.


Sam, who had been sprawled out on the worn, plaid couch in Bobby's living room ready to continue sleeping as he had been in the car, was woken up instantly, like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on him, when he heard the voice mails from the other room. Granted, they were loud enough to hear across town.

Panic filled his chest as his heart began to beat faster and faster. Oh god, oh god, oh god. At first he wondered how his dad had thought to call Bobby with such strong conviction. Though he figured, it wouldn't take a genius to figure it out. After each other, the person they were closest with was going to be Bobby. Hunters didn't tend to be close, after all. John may have been many things, a blithering idiot wasn't one.

He stood up from the couch, feeling as though he was walking on pins and needles since his nerves had seemingly fallen asleep. The panic in his chest swelled the more he heard John's voice.

"Goddammit, if I find out you have my sons, I swear I'll-" Bobby barely let them play through the first threat before he deleted them.

"If I find out you helped them, Bobby, I'll have your-" Message deleted.

"You're not their father, you don't have the right-" Deleted.

Sam was so close to hyperventilating it scared him even more than hearing the messages did. He stayed frozen right outside the doorway of the kitchen, paralyzed with fear and anxiety, unable to move if his life was in danger, "D-Dean...?" he called, though it came out in barely more than a choked whisper.

Dean, who had been facing the coffee pot while Bobby was at the answering machine, fists balled up on the counters, coffee growing cold in front of him, instantly softened when he heard Sam's small voice. He turned around and his hardened expression melted away as he walked over to his brother, placing a hand on his shoulder, "What's wrong, Sammy...?" he asked.

Bobby didn't bother playing any more. He cleared all the messages and turned to get himself a cup of much needed and well deserved coffee. Sam looked up to his brother, who stood a good foot taller than he did then, though Sam was growing quickly and Dean could see he was going to outgrow him. "Is he coming...?" he asked, fear in his eyes, lip quivering

Dean swallowed hard, taking a deep breath, "I don't know, baby boy. I really don't know." he said, wishing he could honestly give another answer. A better one.

Sam took a sharp breath in before he broke, and it seemed that was the only thing keeping his head above water. "I d-don't wanna go back! N-No more!" he cried, tears beginning to rush down his cheeks in hot, salty trails

The elder Winchester was quick to bring his little brother in close, arms clasped around him, holding him firmly. No John around to go, "Man up, boy." Dean let him let it out. He could scream and kick and thrash, whatever he needed to, or he could just cry. Dean would be there. "Shhh... It's okay, Sammy. I won't let him hurt you anymore. I promise." he said, holding the boy a little tighter

"Or y-you." Sam said quietly. Oh, Sam knew. Sam knew all the times his brother had taken it for him, even though Dean tried to hide it. Dean shook his head and pretended he didn't hear what his brother said. But Bobby did.

Bobby set his coffee cup down and took a couple cautious steps forward, "What's he talking about, Dean?" he asked, in a "you didn't tell me everything, now did you, boy?" tone.

Dean shook his head once more, smoothing Sam's hair down in an attempt to soothe him, "Nothing, Bobby." he mumbled, "He's upset." he said, the other hand rubbing calming circles into his brother's back. Sam pulled away; he let his brother get away with things in front of John, but this was Bobby. Before Dean could react or even know what he was doing, Sam took a hold of his brother's shirt and pushed it upwards.

There displayed for god and everybody to see, were all sorts of bruises. Some on his ribcage from the most recent incident where he'd been tumbled over the dresser and into the television, and others that looked a bit older, from a week or so to almost healed, though they were probably much uglier when they were fresh. He yanked his shirt back down defensively. "At least they're mine, not his. You should see some of his." Dean muttered as Sam wrapped his arms around him once more. Sam had survived some pretty bad ones. The worst ever resulting was a broken rib. Dean could only satisfy John for so long before he went after what he really wanted.

Bobby was outraged. Both of them? He could see what Dean was doing. He threw himself between Sam and John when he could. Like all the times his mother had done the same when he was a child, Bobby thought. What authority did he have here? What could he do? John wouldn't take him to court, wouldn't press charges, not with all the ones that could be thrown back at him in return. As he'd said, hunters avoided the law.

Sam was still choking and gasping, somewhere between anger and hysteria, "I'm s-sick of t-this! S-Sick of him hurting y-you and m-me, s-sick of everything!" he screeched, weakly banging balled up fists into Dean's chest. The elder suppressed a grimace, keeping his hold on his brother steady.

Then the phone rang.

Bobby didn't know whether to let another nasty message come through or pick up. Then again, it could just as likely be a hunter needing him as a reference for something. It was the CDC line ringing this time. He picked it up, "Maverick, CDC." he said, honest to god hoping it was Rufus or anyone but John, really. Dean and Sam were hoping for the same.

Seemed his luck had run out, though that implied he had some to begin with. "Bobby, it's John." came the eldest Winchester's voice. Bobby prepared for war. "Where are my boys?" he demanded. He sounded extremely hung over, irate, and downright dangerous.

What was the old hunter to say? He picked them up and carried them two states over so John wouldn't beat the hell out of them again? There was no truth to, "it won't happen again," or "I'm getting better." And if there was, it was about as rare as anything could get. Bobby liked to believe himself to be an honest man when it came down to it.

But all hunters lie when they need to. It's a skill well learned and well used.

"I don't know, John. Dean called me and said something about heading to Iowa. Didn't want me to tell you, though, so you didn't hear that from me. I don't much appreciate your messages, ya idjit." he said, a snide undertone to his words. If he could sell it, and he knew he could because it wasn't like he didn't have the experience, he could get John to believe him and switch the situation entirely.

John growled, "Iowa? That's real funny, Bobby. Especially considering the night manager at the front desk at the motel Deal holed up in with Sam said he saw them leaving in a beat up '71 Chevelle. I'm not stupid, Bobby. You can bring them to me or I can come get them, and I promise you, you don't want that." he hissed.

Just as he figured; Dean gave the man fifty to keep his mouth shut, John must have given him a hundred to talk. Figures. No one lies for you anymore, what's the world coming to?

Bobby went on the defensive instantly. "You listen to me, John Winchester. If your boys come to me with bruises and broken bones, you're pretty damn stupid if you don't think I'm going to do something. And you're even stupider if you think I'm going to let you in my front door." With that, he slammed the phone down.

Sam was hyperventilating wildly, still clinging to Dean, who was trying to calm him down, get him to breathe in and out, still rubbing his back soothingly. Bobby picked up his coffee cup again and finished off what was left in it before making another cup, Irish coffee this time.

"Dean, go take your brother to the living room. I'm going to make something for breakfast, seeing as none of us have eaten anything in god knows how long." he said. Sure, it was going to be something simple, probably eggs and toast, but it was more than John would have done, and it didn't come out of a plastic microwavable dish.

Dean nodded, "Yes sir," and lead his sobbing, shaking brother to the living room. He sat him down on the couch, not once taking his arms from around him, holding him close, securely. Sam felt safe in his brothers arms, safe away from John, states away. He didn't want to see John show up at Bobby's door. He didn't want to face punishment for leaving with Dean. He didn't want to hear something else that was apparently his fault.

In the kitchen, Bobby scrambled eggs in a pan, answering the phone when it rang with another hunter, "Yes, he's one of our best agents, of course he's got clearance for that, you idjit," and ready to hang up if John called again. He didn't.

The old hunter thought quickly. How long did he have to come up with some sort of plan, some sort of idea, something. By this point he was past questioning whether or not he'd done the right thing and now questioning what he was going to do to handle the situation. He wasn't going to hurt John unless he really needed to, wasn't going to kill him for damn sure. He couldn't do that to those boys.

He was out of options. Or, more accurately, he never had any to begin with. Was he supposed to run with them? How long could that go on? They deserved stability, dammit. Could he try reasoning with John? Not in this state. He didn't think John would listen to reason.

What was left. Improvising. That was his only option left, so it seemed. It was such a daunting concept he almost burned the eggs.

"Soup's on!" he called

For once, he didn't have a plan, and for once he hoped that would work.