A/N: Ah, thanks, all, for letting me know that you're still reading. I greatly appreciate it. *hugs*

Under the Bed
by
Deanie McQueen

Chapter Nine - Reactionary


The lights are bright and neon against the dark sky and the air smells as putrid as the motel bathroom did this morning - men, women, and children have been upchucking their cotton candy and funnel cakes, John supposes, considering the splatters on paths of trodden-down grass leading from some tumultuous ride or another. Sam and Dean crinkle their noses and start to look sick again. John doesn't want to see any regurgitated pie or cookies any time soon, though, so he grabs them by the backs of their jackets and leads them away.

"I hate carnivals," Sam mutters, wriggling in his father's hold.

"Me, too," John grunts.

"I like the food," Dean says, and his eyes light up when he sees a tent manned by a pretty, young brunette. "Speaking of which, I think I'm gonna go hit up that hot carnie for some cotton candy-"

"Dean." John yanks his eldest back when the kid attempts to make for the sweets and the sex. "You just had pie. And we're on a job."

"Fine. But after the creepy kid show?"

"No."

"You can do what you want, Dean," Sam interjects, finally manage to shirk John's grip. "You're twenty-seven. You don't need his permission to have cotton candy or intercourse."

"Intercourse? Really?"

"Out of everything I just said, that's seriously what you're holding on to?"

Dean engages in a short series of gentle tugs of resistance until John finally releases him. He eyes his younger brother peevishly. "Why's it always gotta be a fight with you, man?"

John groans internally. This isn't going to progress well.

Sam rolls his eyes. "I'm sorry that I'm a human being and refuse to respond to anyone with a dog-like obedience-"

"Go fuck yourself, Sammy."

"Hey." They don't have time for this. According to John's watch, the pageant's already started, and the last thing he needs is for these two to be scared and at odds. "Sam, show your brother some fucking respect. Dean, watch your mouth."

Dean blinks. "Watch my mouth?"

"You heard me."

Sam sucks in an agitated breath. "You're such a hypocritical sunuva-ow."

Sam stops in his tracks. Dean stops with him. John stops because they stop, regards them with an irritated expression. He's waving his hand in the air because it stings and the boys are looking at him like he's lost his mind, or that he's suddenly an incredibly dangerous monster, and he's not sure why or what just happened and he asks, "What?"

"I..." Sam trails off, shock apparent. He reaches his hand behind him, only to bring it forward again, all twitchy like he wants to do something but can't let himself. "I..."

"Dude, are you okay?" Dean looks at his brother in concern, puts a hand on Sam's shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "S'okay, Sammy."

"I..."

"I won't let it happen again," Dean assures him, and then looks sharply at John. "Jesus fucking Christ, Dad. There's this thing called progressive parenting. Look into it."

John blinks at him. He honestly has no idea what he just did, but he looks at his stinging hand and back at Sam, notices the way Sam's own hand is behind him again, rubbing his backside like he's just been-

Oh shit.

"Fuck, Sam, I'm-"

"Are you going senile?" Sam demands, jerking his hand back to his front again. "Because if you're going senile, we're going to need our weapons back and yours, too."

"No, Sammy, I just...I reacted-"

"I want my gun and my knives-"

"I didn't even realize...I can't, son, you're still affected. Can we just...let's just...can we go? Can we get this over with?"

Sam clenches his hands into fists, and from what John can see in the glow of the fair lights, his face is red, with anger or embarrassment or both. "I'm not five."

John knows that. "I know that. I'm-"

"I'm calling CPS."

"You just said you weren't five."

"M'callin' them, anyway," Sam sniffs, jerking away when Dean grabs his arm. "Don't touch me, Dean."

"Hey, I didn't hit you."

Okay, this is ridiculous. John's had enough. He lost himself for a minute and slipped up and yeah, it was a bad slip, but they can't just stand around here all night in this awkward family mess while he has a job to do and two boys to get better. And it wasn't hitting. "I didn't hit your brother, Dean."

Deja vu. John feels it.

And this is fucking ridiculous.

He sighs. "Sam, you'll be fine. It was just a little smack on the ass-"

"A little psychologically damaging smack on the ass, are the words I think you're looking for."

John grits his teeth and pinches the bridge of his nose. Those, in fact, weren't the words he was looking for, but if that's what Sam feels, fine. John gave him a little psychologically damaging smack on the ass and now they have to move past it and move on. "Fine. If that's what you feel. But now I've had enough of this shit and we're going. So come on."

He starts walking. They don't follow him.

He stops.

When he turns around, he finds two sets of green eyes staring at him with that same wholehearted, but absurd terror John's been seeing since they arrived in this godforsaken town two nights ago.

Holy fuck, he's the monster under the bed.

"Boys..."

Dean clears his throat uncomfortably. "Uh, Dad, in light of you going all spare-the-rod-spoil-the-child on Sam, I think, um...I think we'll wait in the car while you solve this." The boys are moving in sync as they take a few steps back. "Is, um...is that okay?"

He just bought them pie and cookies, for chrissakes. And there was no rod.

"There was no- christ, nevermind." John bites his lip, takes a breath, and calms himself. "You know what? Fine. If waiting in the car feels safer to you, you wait in the car." He pulls the keys out of his pocket and takes a step towards them, hand outstretched. They skitter back and away.

"Could you..." Some hint of apology is shining through Dean's fearful gaze. "Dad, I'm sorry, could you just throw them?"

It's worse than he thought. And he's trying not to take it too much to heart. It's just...it's the curse. It's the fucking peanuts...

Some of it's just the fucking peanuts. Some of its him.

Because monsters under the bed? Dean sleeps with a knife under his pillow. Dean's always been wary of such things that may or may not be imaginary. And this curse is just causing him to react differently. John Winchester is a scary dude. Even his sons think so.

He tosses them the keys.

"I'm sorry," he says, but they're already walking away, walking closer than usual, so that their limbs are brushing together with each stride, taking what little comfort they can in the fact that they're brothers and they have each other. That it's always been them.

Mary would hate him so fucking much right now.

That's fine. Or it's not. It could be anything, but John's head is everywhere and he needs to focus on just the one thing, he needs to focus on making this better, and when they're not scared of him anymore, his sons...he'll make sure they look at him differently. He'll buy them pie and cookies and make sure Dean doesn't die from a heart attack by 30 and Sam won't hate him, anymore. John will make sure of this. He'll get rid of the curse and he'll kill the demon and they'll all start over.

Little girls in frilly dresses and adult-amounts of make-up giggle as they run by his legs, towards the three foot tall stage at the front of the gigantic tent.

The Little Miss Peanut Pageant is underway and John has arrived.