Disclaimer – Not my characters, I just use them improperly.
You like? You don't like? Review and tell me why! (Constructive criticism only please, if you don't like the subject, don't read the story.) If you haven't read Full Moon, Fast Cars and Cracks in the Glass yet, you'll probably want to read those first or this probably won't make sense… Betaed by the wonderful Phx :)
Thank you to everyone who took the time to review, I'm really enjoying hearing what you guys think of this :) Next chapter will be up same time next week…
Chapter 12
Dean was leaning against the doorframe to the living room, hands in his pockets and a quirked grin on his face like he was playing James Dean or something. All he needed were the shades and maybe a cigarette hanging from his lower lip. It was almost enough to make Sam smile; he had his suspicions that the image was one Dean deliberately cultivated, confirmed one day after accidentally walking in on the older man practising his smirk in front of a mirror, a tight white undershirt on and the collar of his leather jacket turned up around his neck. But the flicker of amusement died as Dean's words were processed.
Gareth called Dean on his cell, told him he was passing through. Just like the call in his vision, the one Missouri had just finished telling him wasn't real.
"Kid? Something wrong?" The grin had disappeared from Dean's face. His eyes had darkened, ever so slightly, and his head was cocked expectantly.
Missouri pushed herself up from the floor beside the armchair, dusting off her long skirt. She still looked shaky and pale, and Sam wondered why Dean wasn't asking her what was wrong. But the older man's eyes were fixed on him, like he was waiting for something.
Missouri started talking; "Dean, Sam just-"
"Just had a rough time. The…customer, she was kinda messed up." Sam didn't know why he was smoothing over the things his vision had shown him – the things that Missouri said the demon had put in his mind.
Only he did know, didn't he? Or at least he had his suspicions. Suspicions that were actually making an alarming amount of sense, now he thought about it. He felt his eyes widen slightly, his mouth going slack. Dean's words earlier; the demon could be anyone, could be living in some body right across the street. If the wards were supposed to keep it from entering the house, then how had it manipulated his vision? It wasn't possessing him but it was still there. Affecting his mind. And if it could affect his mind, then what was to stop it affecting anyone else's?
Some tiny stunted sense of self-preservation kicked in as he took in Missouri and Dean's questioning faces and he quickly wiped the shock from his features.
"Sam? You sure there's nothing else wrong?" Dean asked, a strange expression ghosting over his features before it straightened out into something resembling genuine concern.
"Yeah. I'm fine now." He brushed his bangs away from his face, his eyes falling to the floor as he spoke. "What were you saying about a phone call?"
"Oh, yeah." Dean said, brightening a little. "Gareth called me. The guy who I met when I was taking out possessed-Tony? He said he's passing through town, wants to know if we wanna meet up tomorrow night. He said he wants to see you, see how you're doin' now."
"Huh." Sam said, ignoring the cold shiver that ran through him. "Uh, yeah, we could do that."
Missouri sighed, sounding tired. "I suppose I can't tell you not to go. As long as you stay together."
Dean cracked an enormous plastic grin. "Yes ma'am, I'll keep a firm hold of his hand all night."
"I mean it, Dean Winchester." She rounded on him with a pointed finger. "If you're going, you stay together."
"We will." Sam interrupted before Dean could gear up for another sarcastic reply. The other man nodded, his face serious for a moment before he ducked out of the room. Sam listened to the heavy tread of his booted feet as he made his way up the stairs.
Missouri turned to face him as soon as Dean was out of hearing range, her hands on her hips. "Do you mind telling me why we're not letting Dean know about your vision?" She sounded honestly confused.
Sam ducked his head, chewing on his lower lip. "I just…I don't want him to worry. Like you said, it wasn't real. Was it?"
Her face softened. "Oh honey, of course it wasn't. The demon was using your thoughts and fears against you, to try and keep you on edge. You need to ignore it."
"Yeah." Sam nodded, keeping his head down. "Okay."
Nine o'clock at night found Dean lying on his back in the room Missouri had assigned to him, holding the pill bottle above his head like it was something to be examined carefully. The tiny pills rattled against the plastic as he absently rolled it between his fingers.
Margaret was right, he had decided. No point in yelling accusations; Sam would only look at him with big pained eyes, hunching down inside one of those hoodies like he was just waiting for a punch. It killed Dean every time he saw it, and whether Sam was taking pills or not, he wasn't about to do anything that would make the kid think he couldn't come to Dean if he needed help.
And besides, if they were Sam's pills, he'd miss them sooner or later. Then maybe Dean might get some answers.
He sighed, dropping the bottle on the bed sheets beside him and rolling over onto his stomach. More than anything, he wished his dad were here. He wished he knew John was okay, that he and Caleb hadn't been captured or… He pressed his face into the pillow, blocking out the thought before it could finish.
He couldn't help but feel that he was screwing everything up. Flying by the seat of his pants had always been his speciality, and usually it all worked out okay in the end, but right now? Right now there was way too much at stake. People he cared about were in danger, and he felt worse than useless.
A tentative knock at the door jarred him from his thoughts. He snatched up the pill bottle, tucking it under his pillow before calling out.
"Come in."
Sam's head appeared around the door. The kid looked pale and nervous, and for a second a hot viciousness flooded Dean's mind, sure that Sam was about to confess to taking pills and beg forgiveness. Guilt and shame were hot on its tail; if Sam were about to tell him, the last thing he would need was Dean's anger.
But Sam only smiled weakly at him, lingering in the doorway like he wasn't sure he was welcome. "Hi."
"Hey kiddo. C'mon in. Sit." Dean gestured to the end of the bed.
The kid carefully made his way around the strewn clothing covering the floor – Sam might be a neat-freak, but Dean was messy, and he liked it that way.
"What's up? You were quiet over dinner."
"Yeah." Sam sat, staring at his hands clenched together in his lap. "Uh, there's something I gotta talk to you about."
Dean sat up straighter. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." Sam met his eyes shyly, his hair flopping across his forehead. It occurred to Dean that the kid hadn't had a haircut in god knows how long, and the long strands looked greasy and unkempt. Not like Sam at all. "It's…while you were out. With Margaret. I, uh…"
Dean frowned. "You what?" He prompted, trying to keep his voice gentle.
Sam bit his lip, the pink flesh turning white under the pressure of his front teeth. "I…I had a…a kind-of vision."
"You…what?" That wasn't what Dean had been expecting, and it threw him off course.
"It was…Missouri said it wasn't real. That it was the demon trying to mess with me. But, uh…I heard you."
"You heard me?" The constant questions coming out of his mouth unheeded made Dean feel slow and stupid, left out of the loop. Why the hell hadn't this come up earlier, when they were all making nice with each other at dinner?
"Yeah." Sam's hands were twisting together in his lap, the only visible sign of agitation Dean could see. "You were talking to Gareth on the phone. And then you came in, and said Gareth had called you."
"Oh."
"Yeah." Sam was watching him, looking like he was waiting for something more than 'oh' in response. But Dean's thought processes were stuck, like glue in the cogs of a machine, and all he could do was stare blankly.
Downstairs, Missouri dropped something to the floor with a clatter. Sam's head snapped toward the open doorway like a gundog sensing a kill.
"What? What's wrong?" Dean had his hand out, reaching for the kid before he could stop to think.
Sam looked back at him, a sheepish half smile on his lips. "Nothin'. Sorry, just…startled. By the noise." There was something not right about Sam's expression, in the way his smile didn't crinkle the corners of his eyes.
It made Dean feel edgy.
"Hey, can I hang out here for a bit? Missouri told me to meditate in my room, but I'm not really feeling it at the moment. Too many thoughts." Sam's hand came to rest over Dean's on top of the bed covers, and he let his fingers wander softly over Dean's knuckles like he was mapping out each groove of skin.
Dean thought suddenly about that hidden bottle of pills, nestled under his pillow. "Sam…"
Sam looked up at him, eyes half covered by a lock of dark hair. Dean sucked in a loud breath. "Kid, is there anything…is there anything you're not telling me? 'Cause you know you can talk to me, if you need to. About anything."
The kid bit his lip, eyes darting to the open doorway again, a split-second movement that Dean wouldn't have caught if he hadn't been looking for it. "Can…can we talk about this tomorrow? Maybe before we meet Gareth? I-I think it would go better if we had a few drinks."
Dean narrowed his eyes, feeling sore all over. Well, that was practically a confirmation. But maybe it would be better if they talked about it outside of the house. Something about being stuck in here, it made Dean's head crazy. It was probably the lack of travelling, the sense of being tethered down to a single place with no room to breathe or move. He wondered how he ever did it before, lived in an apartment, held down a job. Although, it occurred to him, his 'normal life' was punctuated with liberal amounts of alcohol. Maybe discussing Sam's not-so-secret secret in a bar was a good idea.
"Yeah, kiddo. It can wait."
"Can I still stay? Here, with you?" Sam asked, worrying his lower lip, like he honestly believed Dean might turn him away.
"Of course you can, kid. C'mere." Dean tugged on Sam's arm, pulling him down onto the bed.
Sam craned his head to meet Dean's eyes. "Dean, Missouri's rules-"
"Hey, we're not gonna do anything." He grinned, and the expression only felt partially fake. "Just…lie here for a bit. That cool?"
"Yeah." Sam smiled back at him. "That's cool."
Dean spooned up behind him, wrapping an arm over the kid's chest so he could feel his heartbeat under the palm of his hand. He nuzzled the back of Sam's neck, just a little, and Sam relaxed into the embrace with a soft sigh.
Dean's other hand slipped under the pillow, closing around the pill bottle. He squeezed it hard, feeling the white childproof cap imprint lines into his flesh, enough to hurt a little. A reminder.
Dean was asleep. Sam could tell without having to look over his shoulder; he'd learned the rhythms of Dean's breathing, the slow and steady beat of his heart against Sam's back. This last week, lying in bed alone, the memory had been the only thing that let him finally slide into sleep.
The sun had set a while ago, covering the room in shadows. Dean's room was simpler than Sam's, no vase of flowers on the dresser and no patterns on the bed sheets. It was probably a good thing; Dean would have bitched for hours about being stuck in a 'girly' room otherwise. For someone who was carrying out an increasingly not secret relationship with another guy, Dean was surprisingly insecure when it came to his masculinity. Then again, the older man had never defined their relationship in clear terms. It didn't bother Sam so much anymore though – Dean cared, that much was obvious to anyone, and it was the best thing Sam could imagine, ever.
Missouri started humming softly somewhere downstairs, brief snatches of tune floating up to Sam. It made him bite his lip, turning his thoughts back to the feeling of Dean, snug and warm against his back. Sam's eyes fell shut, sleep threatening, but he forced himself to stay awake. It was rare that Dean ever fell asleep before Sam; usually the older man would lay awake, absently stroking Sam's back or the side of his neck, once running a finger down the bridge of his nose again and again until Sam dropped off. Sometimes Sam wondered if it was because the other man didn't trust himself not to react to the heat of Sam's body while he was asleep, unconsciously do something he'd regret. It was true that Dean was more tactile when he was out of the count. Sam smiled to himself, his point proven as Dean's hand – which had started the night lying innocuously over his shirt-covered chest – migrated further downward until the pinky finger was sliding under the waistband of Sam's boxers. Sam caught it before it could go too far, moving it to a safer position. Despite his surety that he was ready, goddamnit, ready for that final step, he didn't want to coerce Dean into it while he was hovering between sleep and wakefulness.
It was still tempting though, sometimes.
His thoughts drifted back to the demon, that vision. The way the demon had crawled into his head, reading his thoughts like a picture book. If it could get inside his head, it could get inside all of their heads. He bit down on his lip hard.
"Sam?"
The voice startled him. He blinked, seeing Missouri's outline silhouetted in the open doorway to Dean's room, the light directly behind her blanking out her features. She was just a shape, a person-form that seemed to be composed entirely of shadows. It made Sam's stomach turn.
"Are you going to bed?" She spoke quietly, a faint trace of disapproval in her tone.
"Uh, yeah. I was…just getting up." He pushed Dean's arm away and sat up. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Dean's forehead crease, his fingers clenching in the warm spot Sam had been laying in.
Missouri stepped away from the door, letting Sam escape the room with his shoulders hunched and his head down. Before he could run and hide, she caught his arm. "Sam? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
She cocked her head, her eyebrows arched. "Really. Then why do you keep thinking about that false vision?"
Sam tried to pretend he was a part of the wall. When that didn't work, he reluctantly met her eyes. "I…I guess it's just…bothering me. I mean, the phone call – that came true. What if…"
Missouri sighed softly, stroking his forearm. "Child, you can't trust anything that demon sends you. I mean it. Demons lie, but sometimes they tell the truth, when it suits them. If the demon can make you doubt the people around you," she glanced over at Dean's sleeping form for a second, "then it's won something. You can't let it win."
Sam took a deep, slightly shaky breath. "Okay. Okay, I'll try."
"Good." She smiled warmly. It was the expression Sam had seen thousands of times before on sitcom moms, a smile he'd imagined on his own mother's face as she looked down at him, lying in his crib as a newborn, a six-month year old baby. He turned away as quickly as he could.
"I'm, uh, gonna get to bed. Good night."
Dean sat on the wall outside Rex's Bar, watching the sun go down behind the shop fronts across the streets. Despite the expensive backlit sign, the bar was crowded with bikers and girls in little more than stringy bikini tops, tramp stamp tattoos peeking out over low-cut jeans and tiny skirts. It was the first time Dean had felt at home since arriving in the town his mother had died in.
Although they'd agreed to talk, Sam had wandered off as soon as they'd climbed out of the car, making some vague noise about buying a bran muffin and checking his email in the Starbucks on the opposite side of the road. Dean kept his eyes on the kid through the glass-front of the shop, watching him grace the barista with an awkward smile, watching him boot up the laptop. He knew the smile on the kid's face as he connected to the WiFi; it was the one that grew every time he picked up a book or walked into a library. From the few things Sam had told him, Dean knew it was always Jim Miller's job to do the research for hunts. It just confirmed what a crappy father the man was; Sam was obviously in his element when he was learning, putting the facts together to find an answer. Either Jim hadn't cared enough to see Sam's love of knowledge, or he'd known all too well how much his son enjoyed that side of the hunt and deliberately denied Sam that small pleasure.
Dean allowed himself to watch as Sam left the coffee house, tracking the loose stride and the long rangy body hidden under layers of clothing.
"What time is Gareth supposed to be meeting us?" Sam asked as he approached, stowing the laptop away in the trunk of the Impala. He sat himself on the wall beside Dean, a foot of space between them. This wasn't the place to be touchy-feely, even if Dean had been in the mood for public displays of affection.
"In about half an hour." Dean met Sam's eyes, smiling to try and put the kid at ease a little. "Uh, there was something you wanted to discuss?" Sam seemed to shrink away at that, his arms held stiffly over his chest and his head dropping to gaze at the dirty sidewalk. Smooth, Dean, he thought. Start aggressively, that's the way to get the kid to open up.
He glanced behind him quickly, putting an arm out to squeeze Sam's shoulder after making sure there was no one around to notice. Sam peeked up at him from the corner of his eye, putting on a tiny smile for Dean's benefit.
Dean sighed softly.
After all this was over, he decided, they'd take a break. Somewhere touristy – he'd seen Sam trying not to ogle all the people on vacation in the towns they blew through, nothing better to do than lie on the beach or wander through gift shops buying useless crap made from shells. It would drive Dean crazy, being around all those brainless people on two-week breaks from their nine-to-five jobs, but it'd be more than worth it to see Sam's smile. His mind threw up an image of the two of them, walking along a boardwalk somewhere at sundown, listening to the chatter of hotdog vendors and sunburned vacationers and drunken college kids. He'd buy Sam a beer and they'd sit on the beach together in the dark, listening to the waves lapping the shore, maybe making out a little when no one was around to see, to interrupt. Just the two of them, like it should be.
Of course, to do all of that they had to get through whatever the demon was planning for them.
"I…" Sam started talking, breaking Dean out of his daydream. "I…uh…"
"Dean?" The second voice made Sam's mouth snap shut instantly, and Dean wanted to hit whoever it was. He looked up to see Gareth's scarred face, the older man climbing out of a beat up pickup truck by the side of the road.
"Hey, Gareth." He said, trying to inject a little enthusiasm into his voice. Sam was about to tell him, goddamnit, admit to him what he'd known all along. The kid was about to trust him with his secret.
But Gareth wasn't even looking in Dean's direction. His eyes were locked onto Sam, something like awe written across his rough features. "Sammy? Boy, is that you?"
Sam blushed like he didn'tlike the attention, like he didn't understand how anyone could be pleased to see him. His head went down again, his hair flopping forward like an ink stain over his face, black in the falling light.
Dean stood, his eyes on Sam. "Uh, yeah, this is Sam. Sam, this is Gareth."
Sam gave the older man a shy smile from under his bangs. "Uh, hi. You, uh, you knew my dad?"
"I did. Once upon a time." Gareth said, taking another hesitant step toward Sam. He stopped before he got too close, which Dean was glad for. "Knew you, too. Until your dad stopped me from seein' ya. But you prob'ly don't remember that now."
"Sorry." Sam looked honestly distressed that he couldn't remember, that he couldn't please this guy who was a stranger to him. Dean hated that about him; that he still felt that he had something to prove in order to make people like him.
Gareth nodded sombrely, like he was thinking the same thing Dean was. "Hey, it's fine. You were just a kid. It's just good ta know you're okay now."
Dean looked between the two men, one staring like he couldn't quite believe his eyes, the other huddled up like he wished he could dissolve into the wall he was sitting on. "Uh, maybe we should go inside, get that drink."
Gareth looked over at Dean, like he'd forgotten there was anyone else in the world other than Sam. "Oh. Yeah. Guess that's what we're here for." He looked back over at Sam again. "You okay with drinkin', Sammy? I should've thought…I mean, after your daddy…" He scratched at his neck, awkward tension making his words jerky.
"It's fine. Really." Sam met Gareth's eyes with a small smile. "I can drink. Dean and I, we…we've been to bars, it's fine." He glanced over at Dean, warmth in his eyes. "Anyway, my dad…alcohol didn't make him do any of the stuff he did. It just…helped him along, a little."
"Okay." Gareth nodded once, the failing sunlight making the scars on his face look like a miniature mountain range carved painfully into flesh.
Dean clapped his hands together, drawing the attention of the other two. "Okay, let's go. I need a beer, like, yesterday."
Sam sipped at his second bottle of Corona with lime, listening to Dean talk as they sat at the bar. It was one of his favourite things to do; just sit and listen as Dean charmed witnesses, waitresses, cops, little kids. Once he'd even managed to talk a distraught ghost-girl into dropping the wrought iron candlestick she'd been about to use in a fit of jealousy on her baby brother, instead persuading her to move on into the light, which she'd meekly done after seeing Dean's beaming smile. Sam put up with Dean's little old midget lady impressions for a week after that – "Go into the light! Cross over, children! This house…is clean!"
It was something normal, something Dean did whether they were on a hunt or not.
But it didn't distract him from the fact that there were things he couldn't tell Dean about, not yet. Like his hastily-sent email in the coffee shop half an hour ago, a brusque typed line; Stephen – John Winchester & Caleb MIA – Sam. He had no doubt that Stephen, sittting alone in that enormous wreck of a mansion, would had received the email instantly. He also knew that the old man would trace the email to its origin; a Starbucks coffee house. Stephen had a code he gave out to hunters he trusted and worked with often enough to need precautions in place. It was instilled into Sam back when he was hunting with his father, something he knew as well as he knew his left from his right. It had been Stephen's idea of black humour – Starbucks coffee houses were clearly taking over the world. Sam didn't think his father got the joke, but he knew the code as well as Sam did. If you're on a hunt and you think you might be compromised, send an email with instructions from a Starbucks. Stephen wouldn't come to help him, but he'd do as Sam requested. If anyone could find Dean's dad and Caleb, it was Stephen.
And if the demon was listening in, it couldn't dig the knowledge out of Dean's mind if he didn't know it to begin with. He hated keeping things from Dean, but if it made the older man a less tempting target for the demon, then there was no choice. He'd just have to hope Dean would understand, when this was all over.
"Sammy? C'n I get you another?" Gareth asked, leaning in close enough that Sam could see every pocked mark of skin on his face, every strange smooth patch of scar tissue. It made him sick to think his father had done that.
"I'm good, thanks." He tried to grin, holding his half-full bottle up so the other man could see it.
Gareth didn't immediately move away. "Aw, you'll be done with that in no time. I'll buy ya another, I owe Dean for the last round."
Dean flashed him a grin that didn't quite meet his eyes, waiting for Gareth to step up to the bar before leaning in. "You don't have to drink it, kiddo. Gareth'll understand if you say no."
Sam shrugged, feeling vaguely guilty – for what, he had no idea. "No, no, it's fine. He's already paid for it. I don't wanna-"
Gareth interrupted before he could finish, plopping the full bottle down in front of Sam. He passed over another to Dean, raising his own in a toast. "Here's to a successful hunt!"
Dean smiled apologetically at Sam, raising his bottle to clink against Gareth's. "To a successful hunt. Hey, Sam, d'ya want a glass of water before you get started on that next beer?"
"Um…" Sam bit his lip, watching from the corner of his eye as Gareth turned to look at him, a concerned expression on his face.
"Hey, you really don't haveta drink it, Sammy…"
Sam ducked his head, reluctantly picking up the new bottle. "No, I want it, really. It's fine."
Gareth nodded, like Sam's show had convinced him. "Y'know, Sammy, I c'n still see somethin' of that kid I met in you, back when you were a boy. You don't know how much I regretted not helpin' ya out more, back then."
Sam watched as Dean's eyes softened, his hand reaching over to slap Gareth on the shoulder. "Hey, it's just good to know Sam had someone watching out for him, for a while at least."
Sam shrunk back on the bar stool, overbalancing slightly and snatching at Gareth's big forearm to catch himself. His head ached a little from the crowd, the smell of spilled alcohol on the sticky surface of the bar. He smiled feebly at the two men discussing him like a charity project, feeling shamed by his own weakness.
Dean laughed suddenly, and Sam tuned back in to the conversation. They'd moved on; now discussing cars, making incredulous noises at the discovery of a mutual hunter friend with a salvage yard up in South Dakota. Sam let them talk, staring at his hands wrapped around the bottle in his lap. Every few minutes, he felt the weight of their gazes as they fell on his bowed head.
Dean was on his sixth bottle and feeling damn fine. Good surroundings, good company and good conversation all added up to the most fun he'd had in what felt like years. Sam was a warm body to his left, safe and by his side, where he should be. He made sure to brush up against the kid every now and then, just to feel a whisper of hair on the back of his hand or the heat of skin under clothes.
Gareth was halfway through a story about a wendigo hunt in Black Water Ridge that had Dean almost pissing himself trying to hold back laughter.
He was about to offer to buy another round when Gareth excused himself with a roll of his eyes and a thumb to the men's room.
"Hey, Dean?" Sam tugged on his sleeve, making Dean wobble on his feet slightly. Damn, it had been a while if he was halfway to drunk on only six beers.
"What's up, kiddo?" Sam's cheeks were flushed, his hand still gripping Dean's sleeve tightly. It occurred to Dean that the kid had drunk almost as much as he had, and he felt a hot rush of sick guilt. "Oh, fuck, Sammy, I shoulda asked if you wanted to go home."
Sam shook his head, his lips pressed tightly together like he was trying to keep the words in. "No, I'm fine. I was just wondering, when do you wanna go, 'cause Missouri's not gonna like us getting in too late."
"Yeah, you're right." Dean nodded, surreptitiously manoeuvring so that his hand was splayed low on Sam's back behind the cover of the crowded bar. "We'll finish these up and get going, yeah?"
The kid's face showed badly concealed relief. "Okay, cool."
Dean smiled at him, his hand rubbing Sam's back gently, tiny up-and-down motion that made the kid lean into his side a little. Dean glanced around; no one was looking, most of the other patrons well on their way to drunken oblivion.
"Hey, Dean." Gareth reappeared suddenly, looking surprisingly sober, a deep frown cutting through his scarred face.
"Gareth, listen, I think we're gonna get going-"
"Dean, I hate to tell ya, but I glanced outside on my way back, and I think someone might've bumped your car."
Dean choked on a mouthful of beer. "What? Jesus fuck, I'm gonna-" He shoved off the bar, his hand instinctively grabbing Sam's.
"Hey, hey, calm down." Gareth caught his shoulder, squeezing gently with one big hand. "It's not that bad, I just saw some broken glass on one side-"
"What?"
"Dean, calm down!" Sam pushed in close to him, leaning down a little to bring his mouth close to Dean's ear. His eyes darted from side to side before he began to speak in a low voice. "Look, this might be a trick. The demon could be here, playing with us. Maybe it wants to getus alone outside."
Dean met the kid's eyes. "But Sam, my car…"
"Dean." Sam cocked his head. "We've gotta be careful."
"Well, we can't stay in here forever." He sucked in a breath, glancing at Gareth who was watching them curiously. "Look, why don't you stay here-"
"Fuck that." Sam spoke over him, an obstinatelook on his face. "We go out together. There's three of us, we're as safe as we're gonna get, which isn't much. All I'm saying is, we should look out."
He nodded at the kid reluctantly. "Okay. Okay, let's go."
Dean went first, keeping Sam close behind him. He made sure Sam was between him and Gareth, that anything that might want to harm the kid would have to go through them first.
Outside, the air was crisp and sharp in his lungs. A group of bikers stood in the parking lot, admiring each other's bikes and laughing loudly. Dean kept his eyes on them, making his way cautiously to the Impala, parked on the street.
There was a low brick wall separating the parking lot and the sidewalk, blocking Dean's view of the car from the windows down. He jumped it quickly, reaching out to run a hand down the glossy black paintwork. There was no broken glass, no scratch-marks, no nicks to the chrome. He circled around the Impala, frowning as he examined the headlights, the taillights. It was just as he left it. There wasn't any glass on the ground, not even a broken bottle to explain what Gareth had said he'd seen.
He looked up, his mouth open to ask what the hell was going on.
The only people he could see were the group of bikers, still laughing. Gareth and Sam were gone.
