Hello all!! So this chapter is a little shorter than the rest so I apologize for that. Also, I know John will probably seem a little OOC in this (I have a hard time writing him for some reason O.o) but hopefully its not too bad. I decided to make Dean the only one who gets to go all crazy psycho on Travis in the end but I like it better that way; you know brotherly revenge and all :D Hope you like it!!


It was just after midnight when the front door of their motel room swung open. Dean was on his feet in an instant, a 9 mm clutched in one hand, standing in front of Sam's bed protectively.

John Winchester raised one eyebrow slightly and smirked. "Good reflexes." He muttered, stepping into the room and dropping his coat onto the edge of the couch.

Dean let out a slow breath and lowered his arm, tucking the gun back into the waistband of his jeans. He'd gotten so used to it being there, he hardly noticed the cold solidity of the metal pressing into his lower back. "Jesus Dad," He sighed, rubbing his hand across his eyes tiredly. "Whatever happened to your top-secret-shoot-anyone-who-isn't-me knock?"

His father just shrugged and popped his neck. "Gotta keep you on your feet somehow." He noticed the soggy towel on the floor along with the deflated bag of ice water and the first aid kit that had been tossed carelessly to the side. He frowned, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "What happened?"

Dean's gaze drifted absently to the bed behind him where Sam still slept. "Sam ran into some trouble on the way home."

John's eyes narrowed even further and he stepped closer to the bed to look at his youngest son. "What do you mean "trouble"?" He asked, his eyes falling across the shadowed bruises marring Sam's face.

"He got jumped by some kids from the high school."

John scowled. "Dammit Dean!" He growled, rounding to face his oldest son. "You were supposed to pick him up from school! What the hell happened with that?!"

Dean had expected this kind of reaction and simply stood a little straighter. Their father could be a real asshole sometimes but they also knew that he was fiercely protective of his family and that lashing out was simply his way of dealing with the situation. "Look Dad, I offered to give him a ride but he refused. I wasn't going to push the issue; Sam's old enough to make decisions for himself."

John growled some kind of curse beneath his breath, knowing Dean was right. If there was one thing he'd learned about Sam over the years it was that once the boy decided to do something it would take an act of God for him to change his mind. He ran a hand through his dark hair and glared at the floor for a second. "Who?" He asked finally, his voice clipped with barely controlled anger. "Did he give you a name?"

Dean nodded, his shoulders relaxing a little when he saw his father begin to calm down. "Yeah, he said it was some kid named Travis. Said they followed him back and managed to overpower him before he could fight back."

John listened carefully, his fingers drumming against the thick denim of his jeans. "Did he give you a last name?"

"Yeah, Palmer."

His father nodded once in acknowledgment. "Alright, I'll take care of it."

"No, you won't."

John looked up, a surprised look crossing his eyes. He was used to Sam talking back every once in a while but Dean hardly ever did. Ever. "Excuse me?"

"I'm going to take care of it." Dean answered, his eyes darkening at the thought. His jaw was set tight in determination and his posture was rigid and stiff like an animal that had been trapped in a cage for too long. He glanced at Sam and nodded briefly to himself. "I'm going to take care of it."

John watched him for a second before he nodded in defeat. "Alright, I'll let you handle this your way." He emptied his pockets onto the cluttered table, fingers briefly leafing through a few pages. "We're not going to be here too much longer anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"We're heading out before the end of the month. Got a hunt down in Baton Rouge."

Dean just shrugged indifferently, not really willing to argue the point any further. He was used to the constant moving by now; Sam may have a problem with it still but it seemed like a good idea to get out of this town soon. He wasn't very fond of its citizens right now anyway. "Alright, I'll tell Sam in the morning."

John nodded and walked over, patting him on the shoulder. "Go change for bed." He said, noticing the rumbled shirt and jeans Dean had left in that morning.

"Yes sir." Dean said, grabbing a change of clothes from his bag and walking into the bathroom.

John waited until the door closed behind him and he heard the shower kick on before moving over to Sam's bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, reaching out to gently brush away a few stray hairs that had managed to venture across the boy's forehead. The bruises on his face were still dark and angry in the dim light but they would heal pretty quickly. Dean had been patching his brother up for years and he was good at what he did. The blankets had fallen away from Sam's shoulders just enough so that he could see his son favoring one side. Carefully, trying not to wake him unless necessary, John reached out and lifted Sam's shirt just enough to see the ugly purple bruise that stretched across his ribs. He cursed softly, on hand clenching into a fist at his side.

Sam shifted a little, blinking slowly up at his father as consciousness filtered through his senses. "Dad?" He asked, propping himself on one elbow so he was sitting a little higher.

John smiled softly, a rare, real smile and nodded. "Yeah Sammy, its me. Dean said you ran into some trouble on the way home."

Sam hesitated for a second before nodding, looking down at the floral print on the comforter. "Yeah." He mumbled, unable to look his father in the eye. It was one thing to face Dean with the fact that he had gotten mugged but to face his father, a former marine and the man who had raised them to be soldiers from the time Sam's could walk on his own, that was completely different. "I'm sorry." He whispered, still not meeting his father's dark gaze.

John sighed and lifted Sam's chin. "Sammy, I'm not mad at you." He explained quietly, watching as Sam visibly relaxed at the words. "But next time I want you to wait for your brother instead of walking off alone. Understand?"

Sam nodded slowly, smiling tiredly. "Yes sir."

"Good." John pulled the blanket back up to shoulder and pushed him down gently. "Now try to get some sleep. You'll feel better in the morning." He knew it was a lie; usually you feel worse the morning after but sleep helped with the healing process.

Sam obeyed and settled back down onto the mattress. It didn't take long before he was asleep once again, his breathing slow and even.

The bathroom door opened and Dean emerged, changed and clean, rubbing a towel through his short hair. "Is he asleep again?"

"Yeah." John stood and walked over to turn off the TV. "You should probably get some sleep too, you look like hell."

Dean laughed softly and rolled his eyes. "Thanks." He muttered, dropping the towel into a pile of dirty clothes next to his bag. He fell onto his bed, switching off the light and pulling the blankets back. "Goodnight Dad."

John offered him a smile and nodded. "Goodnight son." A few minutes later, the sound of both of his sons sleeping peacefully was the only noise that filled the room. John settled back into the couch, pulling a folder full of paper into his lap and flipping through them absently. He needed to figure out what kind of method to use against a zombie that had been brought back through voodoo practices.