AN: The title of this chapter comes from one of my favorite quotes: "The problem with pounding a square peg into a round hole is not that the hammering is hard work. It's that you're destroying the peg." (Paul Collins) The original quote was written about people on the autism spectrum, but it applies to so much more than that. Usually, the reason we try to force others to match our expectations or fit in a predetermined box is for our own comfort. If you find yourself doing that to others, please ask yourself if you're hurting the person...and how little acceptance would cost you. And if you do choose acceptance, you'll be amazed by what you gain!

Stepping off my soapbox now. Please enjoy the story!

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John hated himself a little. Not that that was unusual for him. As happened far too often, his worry and, yes, fear, took the form of anger.

In hunting, that particular coping technique could be very useful. In a fight, anger lent him strength, brought clarity, even focus. Since that fateful night in Lawrence, John had used anger like a blacksmith's hammer on his own psyche, pounding out the unnecessary traits and shaping himself into a weapon against the evil and unnatural.

In parenting, anger was a liability, especially with a complex, emotional teenager like Sam.

From a very young age, Dean had had an ability to focus on the few things he found truly important and cut through the rest. It was one piece of what made him not just a good hunter, but a truly great one. He was on his way to becoming the best hunter John had ever known. He seemed to understand John's anger and it just motivated him to be better. He became stronger physically and mentally, more decisive and instinctive ever year. And his not inconsiderable intelligence was always focused on the hunt and protecting his family (and, yes, a certain amount of hedonism too, but never to the detriment of the hunt).

But the same tools that had pounded John into a hunter and honed Dean's natural gifts for the same were pounding Sam out of shape. Sometimes John wondered if Sam would still be Sam by the time he was capable of truly defending himself. But what choice did John have? The evil that was out there would eat the kid alive -- maybe literally -- if he were distracted or soft.

So John kept pounding away, hoping that Sam would come out the other side stronger. But if the rumors were really true, maybe John could put an end to it all...and Sam could have the life he wanted so badly, or at least one where he didn't have to be on guard 24/7. One where John could just be Dad sometimes. One where time spent reading and learning and even making friends wasn't time taken away from learning how to protect himself.

Sam deserved that -- so did Dean.

Many of those who knew John thought he was never afraid, because he faced danger so coolly and readily. The reality was that John was always afraid. Fear couldn't freeze him because it was his oldest companion.

Even so, the growing whispers that a demon had its cursed gaze on Sam was absolutely terrifying.

The Winchesters had come to Texas because there was a renowned demonologist there, and he didn't speak on the phone. If you wanted to get his help, you had to show up in person. John hadn't even gotten to the man when yet when the bartender at the local hunter watering hole had revealed that there was a serial killer terrorizing a town in North Dakota.

Witnesses said the killer had yellow eyes. John's quick research showed the murders were brutal and ritualistic. And there were portents showing up, more with each kill.

It was brazen. Possibly a trap. And the best shot John had had at Mary's killer in his over 15 years of searching. John didn't want his boys anywhere near it.

Fear was still thrumming through his veins when he got back to the trailer. And then Dean (Dean!) couldn't let it go. And that's when the anger had showed up.

As soon as the false and vitriolic words had crossed John's lips, he'd regretted them. He and Dean had both turned toward the trailer, and the thought that Sam might have overheard him made him nauseated. There was no sound from the trailer, and John let out his breath. Without another word, Dean walked away.

Yeah, John kind of hated himself. He promised himself that he'd fix this, fix them when he got back. He'd watered a cactus and climbed into the car, hoping the cooling air would make the interior of the black vehicle a reasonable temperature.

Two hours later, he was still awake. It wasn't the heat, or the car's old springs. It was the fear.

"Mary, what if, when I'm trying to fix our family, I break it?" he whispered.

As always, she didn't answer.

WINCHESTER * WINCHESTER

Dean kind of hated his dad right now. Oh, he always loved him, but right now, he was pissed.

First of all, he was twenty freaking years old, and a better hunter than most out there. Hadn't he proved himself, over and over? Proved to be capable, good backup, and able to keep his mouth shut about what they were after?

So why was he being sidelined like some inexperienced kid? And Dad wouldn't even say what he was going after. It was infuriating. Insulting. And though he knew better...usually...it made Dean question himself. Was he not as good as he thought? Not trustworthy?

Worse, Dad had lied about why he wasn't taking him or Sam. Dean had seen that in his eyes. Just hearing that had made Dean so angry he'd walked away so he didn't say something he'd regret. And what if Sam had heard that? When you hear something that confirms fears you already have, that's all you hear. Sam wouldn't hear the desperation behind the words, or the lie in them.

Damn, Dean hoped Sam hadn't heard. He and Dad were two of the smartest people Dean knew, but they sure didn't understand each other. It was ironic, given their similarities.

And where did all of this leave Dean? Stuck between two charging bulls, sometimes. While Dad and Sam both regretted the damage done to Dean after their tempers had cooled, that didn't negate the wounds they'd inflicted...on Dean or on each other.

Dean growled to himself. Dad had left first thing in the morning, barely staying long enough to warn them to not go into town unless absolutely necessary and to instruct them to check in at least twice a day.

Sam hadn't said a word since.

Awesome. Tin can in the desert. No town, no girls, no hunt, and a sulking brother.

Actually, that wasn't quite fair. Sam had brought Dean coffee and pop tarts for breakfast and was currently working on the world's most pathetic ceiling fan to see if he could get it going. The kid knew how to work, if nothing else. And he was still trying to make the place livable despite the turbulent emotions Dean had seen when he'd caught a glimpse of the eyes under that sheepdog hair.

As for Dean, he was racing the heat, working on the air conditioner that was possibly antediluvian. He tapped the side of the trailer. "Hey, bitch, you got the wire stripper?"

"Always with the strippers, jerk" came the muffled reply. Dean had to grin; Sam might be irked at the situation, but he was trying. Then, "I've got it. You need it right now?"

"Yeah." Dean was going to Macgyver the crap out of this thing. His shirt was already sticking to his back, and it had been the wee hours of the morning before it was cool enough to sleep comfortably. Not that it was ever comfortable to fit over six feet on a five and a half feet wide futon. Dean was so taking the bed tonight.

The screen door banged and a shaggy head appeared around the corner, followed by a slightly less shaggy dog. Dean wasn't sure who was more attached -- the boy or the dog. Either way, it was gonna suck when they inevitably had to separate.

"Is he...is he wearing a collar?"

Sam blushed as he handed over the wire stripper and a tall glass of water. Dean was surprised that the latter was cold. Sam must have put some of the treated water in the fridge. So, while it tasted like ass, the liquid was more than welcome. Dean drank it quickly.

"She," muttered. "I call her Desi."

"Does that make you Lucy?" teased Dean. He obligingly scratched the head the butted his hand. "She is wearing a collar! Have you been practicing your macrame?"

Sam was bright red now. "I was tearing up an old shirt for rags and I braided a couple pieces together to make a collar. It's no big deal."

"Did she feel bad that she was naked?" Dean grinned, then turned to the mutt. "Don't worry about it, girl. We still respect you." Dean was amused, if a little confused by Sam's motivation. It wasn't like there were other dogs around, that they needed some way to tell them apart. And there was certainly no reason to leash the pup. She wasn't willing to go more than a few feet from her new best friend.

"I...wanted her to know she wasn't alone any more," admitted Sam, half defiant, half embarrassed. "Everybody needs to know they belong."

The last sentence was said in such a rush that Dean barely understood it. Shit. Sam had definitely overheard Dad. By the time Dean had reasoned out what he'd said, Sam had grabbed the now-empty glass back and started back around the corner of the trailer.

"Sammy!" called Dean. Sam stopped but didn't look back. "She -- she knows. Or at least she should. You don't take care of someone you don't care about." Okay, not exactly subtle, but he was in a rush.

Sam's shoulders came down a little, and he did look back now. He looked tolerant, amused. But at least he didn't look like a kicked puppy any more.

"Hey, Dean, you wanna spar? I, uh, need the practice."

"Ugh. No way!" Dean used one hand to pull his sticky shirt away from his body. "It's too damn hot. Besides, you don't need practice, you need to get heavier. But if you want, we can do some target practice after I get this damn thing running." Dean swore again when his hand slipped and he scraped his knuckles yet again.

"Okay. Is that thing going to be up to code?" asked Sam with mock seriousness.

"This pile of steaming crap wasn't up to code when it was made, back during the Eisenhower administration," complained Dean loudly. "Dammit!" There really wasn't room for his hands.

Sam gave him a little smirk. "Don't stay in the sun too long or you'll turn into a lobster. Again." He chuckled and ducked around the corner when Dean threw a rag at him.

Dean glanced at the canyon behind him before getting back to work. Sam's eyes had strayed there several times while they were talking. And a few times, Dean had felt like someone was watching him from there. He'd even walked over to look down the chasm. But there was nothing, not so much as a bird. Still, Dean started to work faster.

Maybe when they were ready to leave, they could use the whole stupid trailer for target practice. Dean would even pay for the bullets.

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AN: Lucy (Lucille) Ball and Desi Arnaz were the real life couple who played Lucy and Ricky Ricardo on the classic sitcom I Love Lucy.

Timelady66: I'm glad you like preseries! There's a lot of freedom writing it because the show only gave us glimpses of their childhood. LOL about the camper...hopefully it wasn't as bad as this trailer!

BruisedBloodyBroken: Hopefully this chapter gave some insight as to John's thought process. I like to think that he had good intentions.

Scealai: Glad you liked that phrase. I feel the same. Do you still like the pace even though there's still no action yet? hehe And um...didn't take them long to have a disagreement.

cyrilalbar06: Thank you for commenting.

Colby's girl: Doesn't the trailer sound awful? I shudder when I picture it! And I'm really not nice to Sam, like ever. *g*

Shazza: I know, right? Some friend. I love the Lethal Weapon movies. Now Dean's thinking something is watching too...

Atlasina7: I would just hate being stuck in that trailer so much...if I'm in a trailer, there better be water nearby. And just...yuck. Of course, things are about to get so much worse for the boys. I'm glad you're reading!