Chapter 14: Blood, Sweat, and Fears

It had sounded like a wonderful plan. Live on an Amish farm, spend his days working on an old engine, hang with a friendly guy his own age. The FBI would never find him here, right? He'd spend his days rebuilding an engine, right?

Dean had been wrong about the FBI. The agents had located the Amish farm two days after Dean and Sam arrived. Thankfully, Dad had put a call in to DCFS first. They were living under adult supervision. They hadn't done anything to be arrested for. So DCFS couldn't take them to foster care, and the FBI couldn't arrest them. But they could watch. Every day, Dean saw the black sedan parked alongside the cornfield across the street, watching.

It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

He'd been wrong about the mechanic work, too. Well, not entirely. He did get to work with Heinrich on the old truck, and Heinrich was a nice guy. But Heinrich had chores to do, and they took most of the day. If Dean didn't help, they had no time to work on the engine.

Which was how he'd landed himself here, muscles aching, sweat dripping from his face, pushing on a stump while Heinrich stood up front, slapping the reigns on a huge horse and yelling for him to pull. It was the same every day, hours spent clearing a new field for tending to the crops, or the horses, or the farm tools. It was almost like Heinrich's parents wanted to keep them too busy to get any real work done on that truck.

Cousin Virgil came over the hill, waving his arms. He mimed something at Heinrich, who waved back and nodded. He let the reigns go slack and patted the horses' back. "Time for a break, Dean, you have a phone call."

"Oh, thank goodness." Dean leaned against the stump to catch is breath. A phone call meant a trip to Heinrich's cousin's family store-they owned the only phone in the Amish community. He would have at least twenty minutes to sit still in the buggy. Then, ten more to sit in the air conditioning, and maybe a cold soda to boot.

It was the simple things in life that mattered.

Dean paused on the threshold of Cedar Pines Discount Groceries and let the air-conditioned interior wash over him. Ahhhh. Better than a cold beer after a long night hunting.

"Dean's having loads of fun."

Dean's ears automatically picked Sammy's voice of out of the thrum of background noise. He was sitting behind the cash register, sucking on rock candy and talking animatedly into the phone. "He goes out to play with Heinrich all day, and then they work on the truck at night. Unless we play volleyball. Everybody here loves volleyball. My arms hurt more than they did after that poltergeist threw a cabinet door at me."

Dean winced. Sammy should know better than to talk about hunting in front of civilians. But no one even glanced in his direction. The Amish just assumed he was talking about a strange 'English' past-time, and the customers assumed he was talked about a strange Amish superstition.

Ok, so maybe Sam was right. Life on an Amish farm was pretty fun. He'd worked hard all day every day, collapsed in bed unable to move because he was so sore, but it hadn't felt like work. It felt like hanging out with friends.

"Oh, Dean's here now." Sam handed the phone to Dean. "Dad wants you."

Dean glanced at the black sedan parked outside. Amish life was fun, sure, but it was only a matter of time before those agents found an excuse to pick him, or Sam, up. But Dad had burned the bones already, and it had done no good. Now, he was looking for an antique hammer in an area where everyone had antiques in their attic. Dean took the phone, and hoped for good news.

What he got was more work. He hung up the phone, took one last, deep breath of the cool air, and stepped outside to find his brother.

Sam was perched on the back end of a buggy in the parking lot, counting a wad of cash he'd pulled from his pocket. His cut of the TV money, and his pay for his work at the store. Dean was stuck in the fields with Heinrich, but Sammy had worked the puppy-eyes on Virgil's momma, and landed himself a sweet job behind the cash register.

Sam carefully did not look at the black sedan parked across the street, although this little show was entirely for Henricksen's benefit. A challenge to the agent to come over here, try to figure out where all that lovely cash came from, and give Sam a good excuse to call the home office with a complaint that could get the man fired.

They'd done this dance every day for a week now. Dean could see the agent turning red through the windshield, though whether it was the heat or Sam's antics, he couldn't tell. Sam usually

"Hey, Sammy." Dean settled next to Sam, his back to the agent. "Sammy, why are you picking on the FBI agent?"

"He's a bully."

"He was just doing his job."

"You hassle cops all the time."

"Yeah, that's not what you're doing. You've got some kind of feud going on with this guys, and I don't like it. This isn't like one of our prank wars. Don't take it too far."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Why not? It's not like he's a monster who could eat me. All he can do is arrest me. Then you and Dad will bust me out again."

"You know, most kids think getting arrested is a scary thing."

"Most kids don't hunt monsters, Dean."

"Right." Why should a kid who'd faced down a poltergeist be scared of a mere man with a gun and the ability to throw him into a tiny cell for a very long time? When Sam stuck to the books, he was brilliant. But when it came to people, Dean didn't know where the kid's head was. He'd tried to tell Dad this was a bad plan, but Dad had been firm. Sam was still too young and too little to go off with him all night, and Dad needed help tracking down this artifact. So.

"Sammy, I gotta go help Dad tonight. But I can't have the FBI following me."

Sam grinned. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Think you can keep his attention for a little while?"

Sam folded his wad of cash and shoved it back into his pocket. "I can do that. I gotta make a call." He tossed a cheery wave toward the black sedan before going back into the store.

Dean gave the agent across the street a smile and a half-hearted wave. What have I done?