Note: Sorry for the delay. This is supposed to be some ambiguous time after the season 4 finale. Anything that looks like a season 5 spoiler is just my guess so no worries reading it. Thanks for the feedback. It always helps!
Dean watched his brother and his Dad…no scratch that… his brother and John, go back and forth talking about the fae and the other world.
"Why didn't Tinkerbell just bring our real dad back to life?" He asked. They both stopped and peered at him.
"Fairies can't do that type of thing, Dean." Sam's snotty little voice rang out.
Dean flipped him off and leaned against the headboard, stuffing his mouth with a piece of day old pizza. The two condescending pricks could figure this out without his help then. Hell, what did he care? He wasn't lost. As long as other John stayed out of his way, he could visit from bizarro world as long as he wanted. He held up a slice for other Jim on the bed beside his, but the priest declined. Dean shrugged, stuffing it in his mouth too.
"I mean, they aren't really that strong." Sam didn't get it. He scrunched his face in dismay and sat down on the yellow rose comforter near the edge of the bed.
"Some are very strong, Sam. And they're good at opening doors." John sank into the chair at the table. Dean could tell he was getting fed up with Sam's questions. But the sneaky old bastard was playing nice. He did that when he wanted something. "And they enjoy playing games."
Sam crossed his arms. "But why? Why bring you both here? I don't understand what type of reward that's supposed to be."
John looked a little hurt with that statement. Dean snickered and felt a ball of pepperoni and crust lodge itself in his throat. He coughed, swatting his chest. The three men turned to stare at him. He swallowed, wiping his eyes.
"I'm good." New rule. No laughing when two or more food items were stuck in his mouth.
John blinked at him. "Something funny, son?"
Dean held up his hands and shook his head no. But he was finding it difficult not to laugh. This whole damn thing was funny. Before hell, he had wanted nothing more to see his Dad and even this dime store imitation would have sufficed. But now? John was pissed enough that he'd lost the colt. Wait until he found out he started the apocalypse. Oh yeah, and then he let Sammy get addicted to demon blood. Oh, and there was the whole Lucifer running free bit. They were trying to stop it and all, but who knew how that would go? He swallowed down another snicker.
The one good thing about this whole fiasco was he wouldn't have to face his father; tell him had badly he'd screwed up. And now basically a carbon copy of the man shows up. Yeah, life was freakin' hilarious.
He hadn't told Sam, but he was pretty sure he was on the angel's shit list. As soon as they didn't need him they'd probably toss him back in the pit. Besides, if by some miracle he got offered a heavenly pardon; Sam might be damned at this point. And he sure as hell wasn't letting them send his brother downstairs alone. Great – now he was thinking about hell. That always made him thirsty. He snorted and grabbed some water off the nightstand.
Sam peered at him, brow knitted in concern, until Dean became uncomfortable. He gave his brother the finger again.
"Mature." Sam huffed and turned back to the conversation. "Well, what do we do to get you back where you belong?" His brother stood up and started pacing the room again. Crap. Sam was already getting jittery.
"Don't worry about that, Sam. I have a plan for getting back." John leaned forward, radiating calm and confidence. And, dammit, it made Dean feel a bit safer. "But, first things first, tell me how you found the Colt?"
Sam stopped. His face turned red and his cheeks puffed out. Dean thought his brother's head might explode. "You're unbelievable. You know that."
He looked so much like the stubborn, rebellious Sammy he remembered from before Stanford, that Dean felt a strange wave of nostalgia. But then Sam sat back down on the edge of the bed, knee bouncing up and down, and all Dean could think his brother was going to need a fix soon. Sam stood up again and strode over to the door.
"Sam," John said with a tone that suggested he was placating them, "Stop. Lay down, son. Jim and I aren't getting home tonight." Then his father looked thoughtful. He inhaled. "We can figure this out in the morning. It's late. A few hours shuteye will do us all some good."
Dean thought Sam would argue. He puffed up again, but then deflated like a ruptured tire. Kid looked exhausted.
"Okay." He said sounding and seeming young despite all the physical space he took up.
And that brought up the other emotion Dean had been feeling since running into these two jokers. Actually, the emotion he'd been feeling since running into Adam. He wanted to thrash John. Forcing Dean into this life, that was one thing. Hell, the angels said it was his destiny, although he didn't believe in that crap. But his Dad could have at least tried harder for Sam.
Dean had believed, he had truly, honestly believed that their Dad had done his best for them. But then he met Adam, and Adam got a father, not a drill sergeant. Adam got to go to ball games and got to go fishing for fun. Dean was glad his littlest brother got that. He seemed like a good kid. But damn was he jealous of that life, even if it was unfairly cut short. Cause, frankly, dead…well dead and not in hell…was pretty tempting.
"We'll get a second room tomorrow." Sam yawned crawling beside the priest on top of the covers.
Dean watched, eyes big with disbelief, as John walked around his bed and sat beside him on top of the cover.
"You know," Dean fidgeted, trying to make the bed bumpy and knocking the man with his boots. "There's a perfectly comfortable floor about two feet down, John."
"Is that so?" John pulled a pillow from under the blanket and turned towards the door. His voice came out exasperated. "Go to sleep, Dean."
"Whatever." He said, pulling his own pillow out. Dean turned away and closed his eyes.
**
Dean awoke, startled. Heat and putrid smells and pain radiated from his dreams and dissipated like thick smoke as he sat up.
"You were dreaming."
Dean didn't honestly know if the angel was being concerned or was being a smartass. Cas leaned against the door frame. The others in the room remained asleep.
"Apparently, I still am. What do you want?" He sat up, scooting back against the headboard.
"You have not had nightmares in several months now."
"Okay." That didn't really answer his question. He'd try again. "Why are you here?"
"The demons in this town are numerous, be careful." The angel paused. "I cannot condone what you are doing, Dean."
Dean glared. "If you hadn't let Sam out when he was detoxing before, we wouldn't have to do this. Now, he can't survive going cold turkey."
"Perhaps I should not have told you that."
"Perhaps you shouldn't have done that." Dean motioned towards the sleeping men. "Do you know how to get those two back?"
"That is up to John."
"Right." He stood up, crossing his arms. "No reason for you to help with that."
Cas's face twitched in something approaching annoyance. Dean bit his bottom lip. It wasn't smart to alienate the one winged freak that he kinda liked. The angel's face returned to stone.
"Thirteen West Almond Street. There are two demons there, separated from the others in town. You can get what you need for Sam. But remember, there are more important matters than your brother."
Dean bristled. "Regardless of what you and your brothers think," and he knew this was true in his gut, "this won't get fixed without mine."
Next thing he knew, he was blinking awake. Again.
**
John watched his son sit up, going from sleep to lucidity in under three seconds. His pale face lacked the restful lines that came after a good night's sleep. Not that he was surprised. Dean had spent the few hours he had been asleep twitching with his face set in pain. It worried him. As far as he knew, Dean hadn't had a nightmare since he was five.
His son rubbed his eyes. "We should split up after breakfast." His demanding tone irked John. "John, you and Sam go check around the bar where we ran into Faye. I have another lead, an address, I need to check on that." Then he paused, looking thoughtful, "Jim, you're with me."
"Dean…" John started, warning in his tone.
"You got a better idea?"
"Fine." John shook his head. "But the only reason I'm cutting you any slack with this attitude is because you look like hell warmed over."
Dean snorted. "Dude, you don't know the half of it."
John grabbed his coat, ignoring his oldest. Some alone time with Sam was a good idea. He needed one of the boys to tell him about the demon. His and Mary's youngest might open up more without his brother and his new attitude in the way. He shook his head.
He spent most of breakfast trying not to strangle his son. Dean could be a major pain in the ass when he wanted. John would have been reluctantly impressed if the brunt of his attitude wasn't turned on him. For the first time, he felt a modicum of sympathy for the multitude of teachers, principles, and police officers that had complained about Dean over the years. The boy could dish it out with the best of them. But he kept his composure. Besides, the slightest reprimand laid on Dean made Sam bristle. And he was trying to keep at least one of them in his good graces.
Dean got up to leave when the check came. "We're taking the car. You and Sam can walk." John glared. Dean turned away and strutted out the door. Jim pushed up, shooting John a sympathetic, knowing expression, and followed him out. The priest had always said Dean would rebel one day. But once the boy had passed twenty-five John had figured he was safe. He should have known better. One thing this job taught you was that no one was ever safe. He crinkled a sugar packet in his fist.
"Don't worry." Sam said, picking up the bill. "I'll get us a rental." He fumbled with his money clip, pulling out a black credit card first and then a blue and pink one from between the green bills. He gave the black card to the waitress and handed the other one to John. Sam looked at him, eyebrows raised. "We don't know if yours will work. Take it, you know, for emergencies."
His kids were damn bossy here. John groaned, pocketing the card. They walked the three blocks to the rental place. He waited a few minutes after Sam disappeared into Hertz to stride over to the pay phone. Turning away from the building so he could keep an eye on the street, he used the obnoxiously colored card to dial the University of Wisconsin switch board. The operator answered on the eighth ring.
"Yeah, could you connect me to Adam…"
A hand tapped his shoulder. John turned to see Sam, car key in hand, looming behind him.
"Dad," Sam's voice was hard. "Hang up."
It sounded like an order to John and it would be a cold day in hell when he started following Sammy's orders. His mouth twitched down and he told the operator to hold – well he told the operator that since she didn't pick up until the eighth ring, she could wait her ass for a moment – and peered at his son.
"This is important, Sam." His voice came out low and rough. John waved his son away. "Not to mention private."
Sam stilled, angry eyes fixed on him. Then he reached across John's chest and pushed down the metal phone cradle, hanging up the phone. John inhaled, turning towards his boy. He felt his muscles clinch. Heat inched into his cheeks. He'd known Sam's good behavior wouldn't last long. At least this was familiar. He was used to having it out with Sam.
"Care to explain yourself, son?"
"Ghouls." Sam said it like it meant something. His face flashed from angry to sad to angry again, like he couldn't decide what he was feeling. His mouth tightened and his glare returned. Angry then.
"Ghouls?" John repeated.
"Yeah, Dad, ghouls." Sam pushed further into his space, face flushing. "After all the crap you gave me about wanting normal, you go play house with Adam and his mom. Dean and I were lucky to see you on our birthdays, and you go take this kid to ballgames and on fishing trips. You're a freakin' hypocrite."
John prickled. The boys weren't supposed to find out about any of that. That sinking feeling that always surfaced when someone questioned his parenting skills ushered through his limbs – as did the tight anger that always followed. He stiffened.
"That's none of your business, Sam. Let's get this damn car." He turned towards the lot behind the building. Sam followed, grabbing his shoulder and turning him around.
"None of my business? Really?" Sam threw his hands up. "Then tell me this – how come Dean and I end up having to clean up all your messes? Huh? Do you have any other kids we need to know about?"
John grabbed the key from Sam's hand, and strode behind the building. He scanned the lot, frowning, and went to Car number 19. Sam had rented a damn Honda Civic. John set his hand on the silver hood, hearing Sam stomp up behind him.
John turned to him. It didn't make sense. "What does this have to do with ghouls, son?" He felt an uneasy fluttering in his guts. He'd been hunting a ghoul when he'd met Adam's mom. But ghouls didn't hurt the living. They were pests – feasting on the dead.
Sorrow passed over Sam's face. He looked down, shaking his head. When he raised it back up, his expression had become hard.
"Your perfect little family is dead, Dad."
Dead? That couldn't be right. Sam was wrong. He had kept Adam and his mom as far away from the life as possible. He crinkled his brow, thinking. When was the last time he'd checked on the boy back home?
He blinked at Sam. "Dead?"
"Ghouls killed them…for revenge. So I guess you were right. All along." Sam's voice sounded bitter. He yelled. "I should have figured it out after Stanford, after Jessica. But I get it now. Better soldiers than oblivious pieces of meat. I mean, we might not get to be happy or to feel safe, but at least were alive. Right. Right?" Sam hugged his chest, his voice softening. "Don't worry, though, Dean and I took care of…"
Sam's eyes squinted in pain and he stumbled over, going down hard. A demon, riding a thin man in a cheap suit, had felled his son with a wrench to the head. Black eyes flickered on the man's face making him look like a demonic used car salesman. Sam didn't get up.
On reflex, he rushed the demon, knocking the wrench from his hand. He grabbed the demon, slamming its head against the silver hood of the civic. It connected with a hollow whoomp. The demon pulled free, snarling. It turned towards him, blood seeping down its forehead, pooling near Sam's still form, and smiled.
John pushed his shock and still forming grief to the back of his mind. Right now, he needed to worry about saving his living son, not mourning the dead one.