AN: Happy Mother's Day, everyone! I almost missed today's update. It isn't the best chapter I've written, but I hope it gets the point across. The 'best of two bad options' and 'unforeseen consequences' or both concepts that are explored a great deal in Supernatural, especially in the middle and later seasons.

Stormysea-breaks: I love that you quote Camus! Also, I saw your comment on my little story Melusine and I absolutely loved it! Circe was always a favorite of mine. I can see how Melusine was similar. Perhaps it's bad of me to say, but I hope she got to have plenty of fun before she tangled with the Winchesters!

Kathy: I'm SO glad you laughed at the chapter full of silly flashbacks! It was so much fun to write.

This takes place at the end of season 9, episode 3, I'm No Angel, the night after a heartbroken Dean tells Cas he can't stay. Every time Dean had to lie to Sam or was forced to deal with "Zeke" I kept thinking about what a great actor Jensen is! And of course, there were horrible repercussions…*sniff*

CHAPTER 15: Hobson's Choice

Collateral damage. Friendly fire. Unforeseen consequences. Or Dean's personal favorite: inadvertent and unexpected negative effects.

They were all words for the same thing. Maybe it should be called doing a Winchester, Dean thought. Tossing back a shot of some kind of amber liquid he'd found (so smooth, but enough of a bite to be pleasantly painful), he remembered a story he'd read once. Some Greek trajillionaire had bought an island paradise. It had all kinds of wildlife, but the douche didn't like the bats and had them removed or killed or something. Somehow, that had upset the entire system of the island. Within a couple years, the only creatures left alive on the island were insects. They were so numerous that people had to abandon it entirely.

Personally, Dean would have found it funny that some rich dick couldn't use his own private island because he had tried to change it and ended up screwing it up. Or he would have found it funny if he hadn't seen the parallels to his own life.

The Winchesters could be like carpet bombs. For all the good they tried to do, their passage caused devastation. Dean's deal to bring Sam back to life had been the catalyst to break the first seal and left Sam alone and vulnerable to Ruby's manipulations. And of course, Sam's willingness to use his powers, and yes, he intended to use them to save people, had led to Lucifer being released. Before that, Mary's deal had saved the man she loved but sent her sons into a maelstrom of destiny and terror. John's deal had cost the boys their father and (for a time) their best weapon. It went on and on and on.

Their deals always always had repercussions. Faustian repercussions.

Maybe that was why Dean was sitting at the table drinking instead of even trying to sleep, even though they were safe inside the bunker, and Zeke was upholding his end of the bargain. But. He had to send Cas away. Cas who was "always happy to bleed for the Winchesters." He had to lie to his brother. So, yeah, this was starting to feel like another slippery slope, and Dean couldn't help but wonder what the price would be this time.

Dean didn't remember the name of the state or town they were in, only that it was hot. They had a bigger room than usual, and there was a weird wall that didn't go all the way to the ceiling between Dad's bed and Sam and Dean's. That's right, Sam and Dean each had their own bed! It was the only kind of room they had, Dad said. To his boys, it was the height of luxury.

Dad was on his side of the room talking with a guy named David something who smelled like cigars and generally ignored the boys. A lot of hunters didn't seem to quite know what to do about the fact that John hauled his kids around with him, so Sam and Dean didn't pay any attention.

Sammy was writing on the back of a receipt at the table, but Dean was trying to listen in. He hoped Sam wouldn't run out of scrap paper soon, because he was always the quietest while writing. Already beginning to read at age four, he would obsessively copy down words from anywhere he found them, writing them with painstaking care, then bringing then to Dean for interpretation. He knew better than to touch any of Dad's important papers, but no scraps or receipts were safe.

"…not until Caleb gets here," Dad was Besides, I'm not doing anything until I find a place for my boys in town. We're too isolated here." Dean had actually noticed how isolated their hotel was. A derelict gas station stood on one side, empty storefronts dotted the other side of the street, and there were no other buildings in sight.

"A few ghouls are no big deal, Winchester. I heard you were fearless. More like spineless." The other man laughed. He had the gravelly voice of a lifelong smoker.

"Call me whatever names you want. You're the one who asked for my help, but we can be checked out and on the road in 10 minutes." John was unperturbed. "So, are you gonna posture or are we going to make a real plan?"

"We should scout – "

"No."

Just then, Sammy ran out of space on his receipt and brought his carefully copied words to Dean, meaning the latter didn't get to hear anything else. Only a few moments later, though, the annoyed hunter stormed out without even glancing at the boys.

The rest of the evening was quiet, but long after Dean had fallen asleep, all hell broke loose. There was pounding on the door, and Dad was helping David inside the room and locking the door. David was covered in so much blood. Dean wanted to see, but knew it would scare Sammy, so he dragged his brother back behind the wall.

"Thank God I made it," said David. He was breathing hard like Dad did when Pastor Jim had to 'put his shoulder back in,' whatever that meant. "They were werewolves, not ghouls, John. I didn't have any silver bullets on me. Shot one right in the head and he kept coming after me."

"Calm down," said John. "Or you're only going to bleed faster. How did you kill them if you didn't have any silver bullets?"

"I didn't kill them!" David sounded exasperated. "I hardly made it to my truck to hightail it here."

Suddenly, Dad spoke in a voice that made the hair on the back of Dean's neck stand on end. "You led a pack of werewolves here?"

"They didn't have cars, dipshit," argued David. "Or not close enough to follow me."

"YOU are the dipshit!" yelled John. "You're bleeding everywhere. You don't think they can smell that?"

The fight was interrupted by such a loud bang on the door that Dean jumped and Sammy hid his face in his brother's shoulder. A terrible voice called at the door. "Did you think you escaped us, hunter? We will make a meal out of you!" It sounded like it was talking and screeching at the same time.

Dean risked a peek. John was pushing a gun into David's hand. "It's loaded with silver bullets," he said, low. "Just one to the heart will take 'em down."

"I can't walk, John! You can't leave me here," David whisper-screamed.

"I'll come back as soon as my boys are clear," promised John calmly. "You just have to hold them off for a couple of minutes."

"You have to help me fight or I'll be overwhelmed!" David was panicking, but John turned away.

"My boys first."

David kept protesting, but John just went back by his boys. He wound the window open as far as he could and kicked out the screen as the banging at the door grew louder and louder.

"You can't leave me!" yelled David.

"I'll be back." John kicked the window until the whole thing fell out. He took a quick look out, threw the comforter over the ledge, and half pushed Dean out. "Boys, out now!" The boys scrambled out and John grabbed one under each arm even though they were getting big, and he ran. He slid to a stop in front of the driver's door of the Impala, opened it and shoved both boys across the seat. He was in and squealing away before he even had the door closed.

John had stashed the boys in an abandoned house, slapping a gun into Dean's hand. "They have no reason to come here, Dean, and I won't be gone long but…"

"Be ready?"

"Yes, son." Then John was gone.

Dean and Sam sat in silent terror until John drove up again. He had their bags in the car and some new stains on his jacket. He wouldn't say more than a word or two. He drove into town and checked into a new motel, then left again for a few hours. He came back shortly before dawn smelling like wood smoke and packed them up again, still nearly silent. They drove all day, Dad not even eating when they picked up food. He brought them to Bobby's, and was gone when they woke up the next morning.

"Where is Daddy, Uncle Bobby?" asked Sammy innocently as they ate their pancakes the next morning.

"Ever heard of a Hobson's Choice? Otherwise known as a hunter's special?" asked Bobby with a sigh. He shook his head, remembering his audience. "Sometimes there are no good options. Your Daddy just needs to – " kill something, he thought. "Work out his frustration," he finished instead.

After that, Daddy rarely worked with other hunters.

Hobson's Choice. Hunter's Special. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. As Dean remembered the look on Cas' face when he'd sent him from the safety of the bunker, he cursed the choices he faced. Throw a very human Cas to the wolves, or let Sam die. There was only one choice he could make, but he knew there would be repercussions. There always were.

Dean took another long drink.