Chapter 9

"God damn it, Bobby, I can't believe you've done this! How could you have kept something so important from me? I thought you trusted me!"

Sam jerked upwards from where he had been lying on his bed, staring miserably at the ceiling when he heard his dad's voice. It wasn't the first time John had raised his voice loud enough to carry through the walls and ceilings, but it was the first time in a long time that he had sounded more terrified than furious, almost as though he was on the verge of tears. Abandoning the book he had been reading, Sam swung his legs over the side of the bed and ran his fingers through his hair. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told him that it was almost half past ten at night and he frowned, wondering why John would be calling Bobby when it was so late, and what could be so important that it couldn't wait until a more reasonable hour, or at least until it was morning.

"Yeah, I called you at this hour on purpose!" screeched John suddenly. "I wanted to make sure you'd actually answer and then listen to me instead of churning out that old line about having to go to bed!"

Oh. Sam smacked his forehead in annoyance. There's a time difference. Idiot. But he didn't have time to feel exasperated with himself, because at that moment, John's voice rang out so loudly that it made the objects on the shelves rattle.

"You let me come here, thinking we'd be safe and you neglected to mention something like Lord Voldemort! Yes, Bobby, you'd better bet your ass I'm pissed off! Especially since I ended up finding out about the bastard and his crazy followers from Dean! From my eleven-year-old son who's now terrified that something's going to happen to me or Sammy!"

That got Sam's attention properly and he scrambled to the top of the stairs, hoping to hear better. He didn't know who this 'Lord Voldemort' person was, but anyone who could make John sound so scared could not be good at all. In fact, Sam could only recall one thing in all his life that had ever made his father sound like that.

A horrible thought suddenly came to him and he rushed down the stairs, almost tripping over his too-long pyjama trousers. He paused in the hallway and waitied, but John didn't say anything more after that outburst and a quick glance round the door showed Sam that he had hung up the phone and was now sat at the table with his head buried in his hands as his shoulders trembled. Sam sighed. He had never really seen eye-to-eye with his dad, but he could clearly see now that something was bothering him and that he needed comforting. Since Dean was away at Hogwarts, Sam realised that now he would have to be the one to do something about it.

Nervously, he crossed the floor and rested one hand on John's shoulder, standing on his toes a little to reach. "Are you okay, Dad?" he asked quietly.

John yelped and jumped away in alarm. He looked around wildly, only relaxing when he saw that they were the only people in the room. "What're you doing out of bed, Sammy?" he asked, visibly struggling to keep his emotions from showing on his face.

"I couldn't sleep, and – and then I heard you on the phone, shouting at Uncle Bobby," Sam answered quietly. "Dad, who's Lord Voldemort and why did you sound so scared? Is he," he stopped and lowered his voice, though there was no one else there to hear him, "is he someone who had something to do with what happened to Mom, but we didn't know it at the time?"

"No," John said quickly, shaking his head. "No, he's nothing like that. I almost wish he was, actually, at least then I might have some idea about what to do."

Sam's mouth dropped open. "What is he, Dad?" he asked again, although now he wasn't sure he was going to like the answer. Suddenly, he frowned. "Wait, is it someone you pissed off before we came here?" He knew that there was a long list of beings – both human and supernatural – who John had gotten on the wrong side of over the years, and who would be looking to get even with him.

John snorted. "Again, I wish," he said. "Trust me when I say you don't want to know what – or who – this guy is, Sammy. All I can say is that, for now, we're safe and protected here, so try not to worry too much."

Sam wasn't convinced. "But you're worried," he said. "And you said Dean was worried about something happening to us. If we're safe, why's he scared? What's going on, Dad? What do you and Dean know that I don't and what's gotten him so worried?"

John sighed. "Sammy, do you remember when you were old enough to talk, you kept asking Dean and I why we were always moving around and why you didn't have a mom like the other kids did? You remember how Dean always tried to get you to stop asking, because he knew you wouldn't want to know?" Sam nodded. "Well, when you found out, do you remember how you felt?"

"I...I was scared," Sam whispered. "And...and I wished I hadn't known."

"Exactly. And take it from me," John reached out and brushed Sam's unruly bangs off his face, "this Voldemort guy is just as bad as what we've faced, maybe even worse, so..." he sighed. "I just don't want you to have to be scared all your life, Sammy. One day, I know you'll know what's going on, but until then –"

"But, Dad, I'm not a little kid anymore." Sam knew he was whining, but he didn't care. "I'm a part of the wizarding world, just like Dean is; you said so yourself. I know you want me to enjoy life now that we're here, but," he chewed his lip, "isn't it better that I know what's out there so I can be prepared? Isn't that what you always used to say before?"

John closed his eyes, looking pained. "I thought things would be different now," he whispered, though it seemed like he was talking to himself more than to Sam. "I thought we could come here for a new start and...and a chance to have a normal life, just like we wanted. God, if your mother could see us now..." His shoulders slumped and he buried his head in his hands, his breath hitching as he screwed his eyes shut. "I've made such a mess of things."

"Dad..." Sam's stomach twisted when he saw his dad's defeated posture. He reached out, wanting to comfort him, but before he could, something caught his eye and he stepped back. There was a thin trickle of soot falling into the fireplace that had only been used once since they'd come to England, and a small spark of fire glowing in the grate. "Dad?" he said in a very different tone of voice. "What's that?"

"What?" John sat up, wiped his eyes and blinked at the grate, just as the spark exploded into a burst of flame that nearly shot straight out of the grate and onto the carpet. John let out a rather unmanly shriek and jumped up, almost knocking his chair over as he scrambled for a gun. "What the hell, Sam!" he cried, looking half-terrified and half-confused. "What's going on?"

"Dad!" Sam grabbed his wrist. "Dad, calm down! It's okay!" He was scared himself, but he knew only too well where his dad's mind would instantly go at the sight of the fire. He took a deep breath. "Dad," he said, more gently, but still urgently, "Dad, it's okay; it's over, it's all over." He bit his lip slightly, hoping that it was true. "It's over," he repeated as emphatically as he could.

John didn't react, but Sam didn't have time to freak out any further, because at that moment, the flames suddenly flared bright green, illuminating the whole room. He covered his eyes and let out a scream as a loud crash echoed around him, closely followed by a curse.

"Ow! That hurt!"

Sam blinked and quickly grabbed the gun from John's unresponsive hand, promptly training it on whoever had just tumbled into their living room. But his hand froze when he recognised a very familiar pair of green eyes staring at him from underneath a head of messy blonde hair. "Christo," he blurted out, unsure whether to be relieved or even more confused when nothing happened.

"I'm not a demon, Sam, or anything else for that matter. It's really me."

Sam frowned. "Dean?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

"I," Dean scrambled to his feet, dusting soot off his clothes, and winced. "Woah, I stood up too fast." He staggered around, blinking a bit, and swallowed nervously, his face a little green.

Sam gulped and instantly stepped back. "Please don't puke all over me."

"It'd serve you right if I did, after all the times you puked on me when you were a baby," said Dean, scowling at the fireplace. "Stupid Floo powder," he added with a pout.

Sam wanted to ask what Floo powder was, but he didn't because he was a bit too stuck on the fact that his brother was stood right in front of him. "What are you doing here, Dean?" he asked. "Did you get kicked out of the wizard school?"

Dean raised an eyebrow, which actually looked a lot less menacing considering he was still walking on wobbly legs, and he looked more than a little queasy. "Nice to know that's the first thing you think of when you see me, Sam," he said.

"Well, did you?" Sam asked, refusing to be distracted. He loved his brother, but he knew better than most how easily he could get himself into trouble.

"No," said Dean indignantly. "I'm here for something else." He fixed Sam with a pointed look. "Something that...family should be together for. Tomorrow," he added, his gaze becoming slightly harder.

Sam blinked at him in confusion. "Tomorrow? But..." but before he could finish the sentence, he realised. November 2nd. Nine years to the day that... "Oh," he said sheepishly.

"Yeah."

"How...how come I didn't know you were coming?"

"Because I asked Dad not to tell you. I wanted to surprise you." Dean reached over and tapped John's hand. "Dad? It's me. I'm here, Dad."

Sam looked at their dad, who still seemed to be stuck where he was, his face pale as he stared at the fireplace with wide eyes. "I think the fire thing shocked him," he mused aloud.

Dean looked confused for a second, then his eyes widened and he swore under his breath. "Oh, Merlin, I didn't even think of that," he whispered, looking stricken. "I just wanted to get here as quick as I could for you two, and I thought...Floo powder was quickest."

At that moment, John shuddered and blinked, rubbing one hand over his eyes. "What the hell was that?" he asked, gesturing to the fireplace which now seemed to be covering the floor.

"That would have been me," said Dean. "You know, Dad, you knew I was coming; you could've shifted that thing." He flapped his hand at the now broken front of the fireplace, but he didn't sound angry, more amused. Suddenly, he turned really green and ran for his bag, pulling out a small vial of potion which he then swallowed in one gulp, though not without a grimace. "Potion that helps with feeling sick," he explained once he'd stopped cringing. "Dumbledore gave it to me; said it helped with Floo travel. Wish it didn't taste so gross, though," he added with a scowl at the emtpy vial.

"And you just took it without checking what it was?" John shrieked, all signs of shock vanishing at his eldest son apparently doing something that even Sam knew was very stupid. "Damn it, Dean –"

"Come on, Dad." Dean snorted. "You know me better than that. I made completely sure it was what he said it was before I agreed to even carry it."

John opened his mouth to ask something else, but Sam cut in before he could. "Hey, don't I even get a hug?" he pouted, glaring at his brother.

"I don't know, Sammy," said Dean, his brow creasing up in a frown. "What do you think, Dad? Has he missed me enough for that? I mean, it's barely been two months yet."

"I'd say so," said John, his lips twitching a little. "But only just."

"Dean!" Sam whined, pulling out his best possible puppy eyes. He was relieved that his dad hadn't thought to go on about how he'd moped around the house for three solid weeks after Dean had left, and he also knew that it was rather pathetic to be whining like this, but at the same time, he really did just want a hug from his big brother. Besides, he hadn't seen him since the beginning of September; this was the longest time they'd spent apart and he'd missed him!

Sighing, he bit on his bottom lip, allowing it to tremble and blinked up at his brother. "Didn't...didn't you miss me at all?" he asked, letting his voice break a little on the words.

He knew that what he was doing was more than a little devious, but he also knew that this was always the one thing that could make his brother melt. Sure enough, Dean's cocky smirk vanished and stepped forwards, pulling him into a tight hug and ruffling his hair. Sam ignored the slight twinge of guilt as he wrapped his own arms tightly around his brother and closed his eyes. "I missed you," he said.

"Yeah, yeah," said Dean, the slight tremor in his voice betraying his casual words. He patted Sam on the back. "Steady on now, you're cracking my ribs, Sasquatch."

"I'm not that big," Sam grumbled, his words muffled against Dean's neck. "You're just being mean."

"Hmm, I don't know." Dean pulled back and looked at him. "Dad was right in his letters; you've definitely grown an extra few inches. You'll be taller than me pretty soon."

Sam grinned. "Really? I'll be tall like you?"

"Might even be taller than me one day," said John with a soft laugh. "But I think you two should go to bed. Sam, you weren't even meant to be awake at this time and Dean, you look exhausted."

"That's what Floo powder does to you, Dad," said Dean. "Luckily, you'll never have to use it. Lucky for any poor jerk who happens to be at the other end, that is."

Sam laughed, knowing that their dad, for all he could stomach blood and corpses, had a bit of a weak stomach when it came to fast motions. Suddenly, he frowned. "Wait, how did you expect Dean to get here tonight without me noticing in the morning?"

"We didn't," said Dean. "The plan was for me to get here and then Dad would sneak me into our old room and you'd see me tomorrow morning. Unfortunately," he cast a green-eyed glare on John, "someone forgot to sort out the grate, so even if Sam hadn't been awake, there's no way he'd have slept through it." Slowly, he stepped back and rubbed his face. "Ugh, next time I have to travel like that, I am so not doing it on a full stomach."

John laughed. "What did you tell your friends about why you had to leave?" he asked. "From what you've told us in your letters, they're a pretty smart bunch."

"Oh." Dean blushed a little and looked nervous. "I told them the truth. There wasn't any point in not, because they already know about us."

Sam gaped. "You told them?" he almost screeched. "Why?"

"Turned out what happened with our old yellow-eyed friend isn't so secret over here," said Dean with a soft sigh. "Lily found some stuff out in a book she bought and blurted it out to the whole common room. Now, of course, the entire damn school knows." He dropped down on a chair. "Word got around that I was a hunter first, but then...well, now, they all know pretty much everything. Including that it was me who killed that son of a bitch."

Sam glanced sideways at his brother, hearing exactly what wasn't being said. "And I bet not all of them were nice about it, were they?" he asked.

A look of intense pain flashed briefly over Dean's face, but then he set his expression in a calm mask and shrugged. "Yeah, well, doesn't matter now."

"Shit," hissed John, but he didn't sound angry, just completely deflated and Sam knew that he too had understood everything that Dean hadn't said. "God, I...this wasn't what I wanted for you, either of you. It was supposed to be a fresh start for us, a chance to put all that crap behind us once and for all. I didn't want you to have to deal with all this any more, not after everything I made you..." but he broke off, choking on sudden tears.

"Dad, don't," pleaded Dean, reaching out to catch his arm. "Not now. Mom wouldn't want you to."

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently, because John collapsed back into his chair and buried his face in his hands. "Oh, God, Mary..." he gasped. "If you could see us now...I should never, never have put them through all this. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..."

Sam tugged at Dean's arm as they watched their father break down in front of them. "What do we do now?" he asked. This wasn't a situation he was especially familiar with and his last attempt at comforting him hadn't gone particularly well.

Dean sighed and gently kissed the top of John's head. "Dad, it's not your fault," he said quietly. "What we've done...it saved people. Maybe we...we couldn't save Mom, but we've helped so many others, and that's because of you."

"Don't, Dean," sobbed John, barely even looking up. "Not now. Please, just go to bed, both of you."

"Dad!" Sam protested.

"Go to bed."

Dean stepped back and ran his fingers through his hair. "Come on, Sammy." He grabbed his bag and made his way up the stairs, Sam trailing behind him and trying to close his ears to his dad's gasping sobs.

Some Winchester family bonding there. :P As always, reviews are love and gold dust! :) Ash xxx