Gravel crunched under their boots as John and Dean headed toward the barn, machetes in hand, and a strange tension between the two of them. John led Dean beside the barn, and leaned his back flat against the side of the building; Dean falling in line beside him, their shoulders touching as John thought of a plan in his head.
"Here's what we'll do," John's voice was low, and he had his head turned to his son, a smile on his face, though Dean couldn't see it. "You go in through the back, and I'll go in through the front.. That way, we can strike from both angles." Dean felt his heart drop at the thought of being separated, during a hunt nonetheless, from his father, but found himself nodding anyway.
"Yes, sir." Dean croaked and swallowed hard, the weapon in his hand shaking slightly. John felt his son trembling and put his hand on the young man's arm, to stop the tremors, and to just hold onto him.
"It'll be okay, Dean." John whispered, before patting Dean's arm, listening to the soft sound of his flesh hitting the fabric of Dean's jacket. Without another word, John dropped his hand and turned, making his way to the front door of the barn, and leaving Dean all alone.
Breathing hard, Dean stood there, staring into the darkness after John, his hand out-stretched; fearful that he would never see his father again, that he would never get to touch John again. With that thought, Dean's heart raced and his head got back in the game, and on the task he and his father set out to do. He remembered Bobby, the nest of Vamps, and the dead man's blood that felt strangely heavy in his pocket.
Dean turned toward the back of the building and began walking along the outer walls, one hand out-stretched and running along the smooth wood, while the other held the machete high. His ears strained to hear the sounds inside the walls, and he thought for a second he heard a scream, stopping dead in his tracks.
Dean pressed his ear to the cold wood, and strained his ear harder, needing to hear the sound again, or hear nothing at all. No, hearing nothing at all would be worse than hearing a scream, and Dean groaned when he heard nothing but silence. Sighing, he kept walking until he came to the end of the wall, and rounded the corner, his hands searching for a door handle.
His fingers hit something hard, cold, and protruding from the wall, and Dean tugged hard on it, pulling the door open. He shot glances beside him, and behind him, before walking through the door, shutting it slowly behind him. Once inside, Dean could smell blood everywhere - the horrible iron smell seeping from every corner of the building.
On the other side of the barn, John was fighting vampires off left and right; sending heads, and bodies, sprawling to the floor, blood pouring out onto the dirt. He stepped over the bodies carefully and looked around the room for a door, or some sort of entrance. John looked up, sighing as his eyes scanned along the ceiling, until they landed on a loft. Before he could think of a plan, or even think of the outcome of what he was doing, John ran to the ladder and scurried up it, hopeful that he would find Bobby at the top.
When he reached the beginning of the ladder, John scrambled onto the loft, crouching down as he walked further into the darkness. "Bobby?" John's voice was soft, and he had his weapon in hand, in case there were any vampires in the loft.
Dean entered the main room of the barn and looked around, seeing bodies, and heads, scattered along in the dirt. He saw the blood pool around each body, and tried not to step in it as he walked along the bodies, looking around for his dad.
"Dad!" Dean screamed, standing in one spot and turning around, his eyes darting from one corner of the room to another. Then he heard noises overhead; there was a series of thumps, groans, and the metallic sound of a knife hitting some other metal object. Dean's breath caught in his throat as his attention snapped up, toward the noises, and that's when he saw the loft.
His eyes also landed on a young woman, he guessed she was about twenty, being held over the edge of the small space. Dean saw that her hands, looking more like claws, were gripping the wood, her nails digging into it and scratching it as she held on for dear life.
And then he saw his father holding her by the hair, the tip of his machete laying against her jugular. Dean stood still, watching his father dangle the girl - the vampire - over the edge of the loft, his breathing stopped completely. He had watched his father kill lots of things, sure, but it'd been a while since he had seen such brutality, such raw anger. But here his father was, holding a vampire by the hair, with his weapon pressed against her throat, showing no remorse, or sympathy.
John stared down into the cold, dead, blank eyes of the girl he'd found about to feed on Bobby, who was knocked unconscious. His hand gripped her hair tighter, and the blade of his machete pressed against her skin, causing her to writhe against his hold, and his weapon.
"Are there anymore?" John's voice was low, and full of anger and rage as he stared down at the blood-sucker, his blade digging in deeper. The fang whimpered, a sound that surprised John, and kicked more, but John just yanked her hair harder - feeling the roots rip from her scalp.
"I'll take that as a no, and my son, best friend, and I are free to leave, right?" John's voice was that of a man who was dominating a woman, controlling her and making her obey his every word. In a way, that's what he was doing; he was controlling her life by hanging her over the edge, and not chopping her fucking head off when he had the chance.
The vamp squirmed more, growling and hissing at John as she exposed her teeth, mumbling incoherently. John rolled his eyes and pulled her back over the edge, laying her back before his machete came down, slicing through her throat. The body writhed, just slightly, as the head rolled away and John sat back, staring at the blade, watching the blood roll down the cold metal.
Dean started breathing, once the kill was done and over with, and blinked his eyes, keeping them closed for a second, before opening them again. When he looked up again, Dean saw John look down at him, his face serene and peaceful, which scared Dean just a little.
"I found Bobby," John shouted down at his son before he turned back to his best friend, who was still knocked out. He breathed a sigh of relief and dropped his machete; crawling over to Bobby and pulling him out near the ledge.
"He's out, though.." John looked down at Bobby and gave his face a couple of soft slaps; cursing under his breath as the man's eyes remained shut. Sighing, John lay his best friend back onto the floor and looked over the edge at Dean.
"I need help getting him down," He shouted, gripping the edge of the floor tightly as he looked down at his son. Dean was standing there staring back up at John, bloody machete still in his hand; he was still reeling from watching his father kill a vampire.
"I'm coming," Dean shouted after several minutes of standing there, re-living the previous scene in his mind. He made his way to the ladder and tossed his machete to the floor before climbing up to the loft. When he got to the top of the ladder he saw his father kneeling in front of Bobby, trying to move the man.
"Bobby! Bobby, come on, wake the fuck up..." John was pleading with his best friend to wake up. Despite all of John's effort, Bobby's eyes remained shut and John grew increasingly worried. Dean crawled into the small space and sat beside Bobby, his eyes locked on John.
"How are we going to get him down?" Dean moved his gaze from John to Bobby; the hunter was out cold and Dean reached a hand out, touching Bobby's neck to feel for a pulse. He barely felt soft thudding against the pads of his fingers and sighed in relief, dropping his hand.
"I don't fucking know," John almost screamed at Dean, causing his son to jump back slightly and stare at him. Sighing, John looked up, tears rimming his eyes as he stared at Dean. "I'm sorry, I just.." John's voice dropped to a whisper, "He's my best friend, like fucking family.. Other than you and Sam, he's all I have."
John moved his gaze back to Bobby, who was still unresponsive and sighed, leaning back on the heels of his boots. Neither man said anything; Dean just kept watching John, while trying to form a logical plan as to how to get Bobby onto the ground. Dean leaned over, peering at the drop beneath them and swallowed hard; there was no way they could drop Bobby to the ground without injuring him.
"Why don't you carry him on your back? And I'll be down at the bottom, in case you drop him or something.." Dean bit the corner of his lip as he turned his head, looking at John who had lifted his head, eyes locked on Dean's. Chuckling, Dean shrugged and splayed his hands helplessly, giving his best 'It's worth a shot' face.
John swallowed hard, his eyes flickering between Bobby and the edge of the loft as he contemplated Dean's plan. With a heavy sigh, he nodded and motioned, with a quick nod, for Dean to climb down. Without saying a word, Dean obeyed; shimmying down the ladder before hopping down, backing up far enough to watch his dad load Bobby onto his back.
"Jesus, Bobby," John grunted as he settled Bobby on his back and stayed hunched over and crawled to the ladder. Carefully, John turned around and moved his foot until hit one of the rungs in the ladder, before sliding his other foot down to join it. With one hand, John gripped the top rung, while the other wrapped around his body, gripping Bobby's back to prevent him from falling.
John moved carefully, taking each step as slowly as possible, his grip on Bobby tightening with each step. He was sweaty and nervous; terrified that he would drop Bobby and kill him, or that they would both fall and get seriously hurt. Swallowing hard, John made it to the last few rungs and sighed in relief.
"Dean, grab hold of Bobby and pull him down onto the ground," John ordered, feeling Dean's hand tap his own to signal that he had Bobby. John let him go, listening to his son groan as he pulled the hunter off his father's back. Turning, John saw Dean laying Bobby onto the ground and smiling triumphantly.
Chuckling, John made his way to the ground and jumped off the ladder, dusting his hands against his jeans. He smiled at Dean before moving over to Bobby, patting his jeans pockets, and the pockets of his vest for the keys to his Chevelle. John finally hit something lumpy in one of Bobby's vest pockets and he dug into it, retrieving a key ring filled with keys.
"Okay, here's what we're going to do," John looked up at Dean with a small smile on his face, holding Bobby's keys up. "We're going to get him into my truck, then you're going to find his Chevelle - I think I saw the headlights reflect off chrome before we stopped, so that's probably where it's at. I'll drive Bobby home, you drive his car back; I know if that thing's not in the yard when he wakes up.." John chuckled and looked down at his best friend again.
"Alright, come on. We'll act like crutches for him; you hold him up under one arm, and I'll be under the other." Dean shoved the keys into his jacket pocket before bending down, picking up his machete before sticking it back into his jacket. He knelt on the right side of Bobby, while his dad squatted on the left. John counted to three, and both men lifted Bobby into a standing position, his head going limp and falling forward.
They had wrapped one of Bobby's arms around each of their shoulders and started walking, half dragging, half carrying Bobby through the barn doors. Dragging the hunter through the grass, Dean looked around, just to make sure he didn't see, or sense, any movements around them. They got to the truck safely, and Dean helped John pile Bobby into the cab before shutting the door.
"Be careful," John whispered to Dean, lifting his hand to brush rough fingertips against his jaw. Shivering, Dean closed his eyes for half a second before opening them, nodding his head as he removed his machete. John walked around the truck and climbed in, firing the engine up and watching, in the headlights, Dean walked toward the barn again.
John stayed where he was, letting Dean use the headlights to look for the car, instead of walking aimlessly around in the dark. Five minutes later, he faintly heard the roar of the Chevelle and saw headlights flicker on. Sighing in relief, for the countless time that night, John pulled into the yard and made a slight U-turn before driving down the path; watching Dean pull behind him in the rear-view mirror.
Dean relaxed against the seat, one hand handing over the steering wheel as he followed John; his head swimming with thoughts. Chewing on his lip, Dean flipped the radio on and tuned it until he heard AC/DC's "Back In Black," playing. He smiled and cranked it up, singing as loud as he could, drumming his hands against the steering wheel.
Two hours later, Bobby was in bed, while Dean and John were downstairs, sitting on the couch and drinking a beer. An hour after being home, Bobby had woken up with no recollection of what happened to him. So, after a gruesome story of how Dean and John had taken on a whole nest of vamps, then risked dropping him and possibly killing him, Bobby had gone to sleep.
John sighed and drained his beer - the third one since they'd been home - and tossed the bottle on to the couch next to him. Dean was sitting beside John, quietly staring at his bottle of beer, his first that night, and John reached out, brushing his knuckles along Dean's jaw.
"What's on your mind?" John cupped Dean's jaw, gently lifting his head and smiling at the young man. Swallowing hard, Dean moved his eyes to his father's and shook his head, chewing at the inside of his lip.
"Nothing, I just," Dean sighed and leaned forward, breaking contact with John and placing his beer on the coffee table before leaning back. Turning to his father, Dean managed to muster a small smile before speaking again.
"I think we should go see Sam, and sometime soon. I miss the kid, and I know you do too. Hell, we can take Bobby with us." Dean sighed softly, his eyes studying John's face slowly, trying to judge his reaction. Then, John smiled, the space beside his eyes crinkling slightly and his dimples showing.
"I'd like that, and I'm sure Bobby will, too; he's always talking about how he misses Sammy." John leaned forward and pulled Dean against him, kissing his lips gently as he wrapped his arms around his son's torso. "We'll go once we know Bobby's okay," John whispered against Dean's lips, smiling more before laying down, pulling Dean on top of him.
Sure, it wasn't the most comfortable way to lie down, but Dean had his head on John's chest, and he couldn't be happier. Closing his eyes, John lifted a hand and ran his fingers through Dean's hair, while the other moved along his spine, tracing it under his thin cotton t-shirt.
"This is going to sound cheesy and cliché," John sighed, fingers threading through Dean's hair as he listened to his son's even breathing. He didn't know if the young man was still awake, or he'd passed out, but either way John needed to speak his mind.
"I love you, Dean; I know this is one of those 'chick-flick' moments you complain about so much.." John sighed again, fingertips gripping Dean's shirt as he continued, "but, I just need to tell you. What we have isn't typical, nor is it accepted among many individuals.."
John stopped talking when he heard Dean snoring faintly, and smiled, shaking his head before leaning it against his son's. He would talk to Dean tomorrow, or before they left for Palo Alto - whenever that would be - and the kid would know how he felt.
He laid there for a few minutes, making sure Dean was knocked out before he slipped, carefully, from underneath his son. John pushed Dean onto his back and pulled a blanket over him, leaning in to kiss his cheek softly.
John pulled back, looking at Dean with a smile on his face, until he felt a pain in his temple. His eyes snapped shut and suddenly all John could see was red; he heard screaming, pleads, and snarling. Stumbling to the stair case, John fell to his knees on the bottom step, hands on either side of his head.
This could not be happening; he was having these fucked up images during the day, not just at night, and when he was asleep. Snapping his head back and forth, John tried shaking the images out of his mind as he took slow, shallow breaths, keeping his ears open, in case Dean woke up.
Finally, John's vision cleared and he gasped, the last image in his mind being Dean, lying on the floor with blood pooling around him. Swallowing hard, John pushed himself onto his feet and walked up the stairs, making his way, slowly, to his room.
Once inside, John walked to his bed and collapsed on it, burying his face into the pillow and sighing into it. He hoped, in vain, that these dreams were just coincidental, and didn't mean anything. Chalking it up to some weird coincident, John turned onto his back and closed his eyes, folding his hands over his chest.
As he lay there, John thought about seeing Sam, getting to see him graduate; have the life he'd set off to have by himself. John fell asleep with a smile on his face, and thoughts of Sam, Dean, and himself being a family again - even for a little while.
All the while, John had no idea that Dean was downstairs, writhing on the couch as he was dreaming about Hell; dreaming that the Hell Hounds were on his trail, and no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't lose them. John was oblivious to the fact that Dean was gripped by fear, whimpering and moaning in his sleep, reaching out for someone - anyone - to save him.
The house was quiet, for the most part - two out of the three occupants sleeping soundly, while the other thrashed around, 'running' from Hell Hounds in his sleep. The clock was ticking for Dean and the dreams got worse and worse when he slept alone. Then again, everything seemed to go downhill when he was alone; the tremors got worse, the panic grew to enormous proportions and his faith decreased rapidly.
