November 2nd, 2042
"So you can dig around in my guts for bullet fragments," Sam gestured theatrically with his fork. "But you can't handle a deer heart without upchucking?"
"I didn't—" DJ protested.
"Dude, you were fucking green," Cass interjected, smirking around a bite of muffin.
"Okay, enough," Dad broke in, pulling a face. "Not at the table."
He shouldered his way between the twins, taking care with the sizzling pan, and slid its contents onto their waiting plates.
"What is this?" Sam asked, prodding his eggs dubiously.
"It's fucking delicious, is what it is," Cass commented, sucking in air around a too-hot mouthful in a belated attempt to cool it.
DJ snorted at Cass' antics and shoved a stack of napkins in his direction.
"It's spinach," Dad answered. "It's just a vegetable; it's not gonna kill you. Eat."
Sam wrinkled his nose, speared a tiny bite of eggs-with-spinach, and touched it to his tongue experimentally; the table was treated to another of dad's bitchfaces.
"It's good, Sammy," Cass promised, swallowing. "Put some cheese on it or something; bacon, maybe?"
Cass glanced over at dad hopefully, but he just shook his head.
"Sorry; I don't really eat bacon, so I don't keep it in the house."
"What kind of freak doesn't eat bacon?" Cass groused, shaking a liberal amount of the shredded cheese onto his own plate before passing the bag to Sam.
Dad leaned back against the countertop and rolled his eyes, smiling into his coffee cup.
"Spinach is high in iron," DJ said to Sam, snagging the basket of muffins from in front of Cass as he spoke. "I'm glad you're feeling better, but you did nearly bleed out on my kitchen floor, dude."
"Jesus Christ, guys," Sam complained. "I get it, all right? Look, I'm eating!"
He held up a generous portion for their inspection, then shoved it into his mouth and chewed aggressively.
"Gotta get your strength back," Cass said approvingly, reclaiming the muffin basket from DJ. "We've already lost two days; catching up to those vamps is gonna be a bitch."
"Actually," Dad broke in. "I called Krissy; her team's going to take the case. They're already on the road."
Cass' eyes bulged out; dad had caught him mid-swallow.
"You did what?!" Sam yelped.
"The Geek Squad, really?" Cass whined.
"Man, don't call them that," DJ protested under his breath, ducking his head and pretending to be deeply absorbed in peeling the wrapper off of his muffin.
"I know you boys aren't this stupid," Dad continued. "You really think you can just pick back up where you left off with hunters on your tail?"
"But it's our case!" Cass hissed, banging a hand on the table.
"Not any more," Dad said firmly. "You boys are headed home as soon as Sam is okay to drive; I'll follow you the whole way if I have to."
"So, what, we're just supposed to sit on our asses at the packhouse until those assholes get bored and move on!?" Cass snarled, standing up.
"No," Dad set his coffee cup aside and straightened up, looming just a little larger. "You'll stay where it's safe until they're taken care of."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Cass demanded, throwing his arms wide.
"Cass," Sam said quietly, catching his brother's elbow. "I think he means he's gonna put them down."
DJ looked up sharply, but his dad was avoiding his eyes.
"But they're human," Cass blurted, confused.
"Humans can be monsters too," Dad answered softly.
"Dad," DJ started to object, but his dad cut him off with a gesture.
"Hopefully it won't come to that," he went on. "But it's nothing I haven't done before, and it's better than one of you boys having to do it."
DJ felt like he'd been sucker-punched. His dad was right; if Cass or Sam killed a hunter, even in self-defense, there would be hell to pay. He pushed back from the table with a sigh and rubbed his forehead; when his dad dared a glance in his direction, DJ gave a small, affirming nod.
"I don't like it," Cass grumbled, scowling.
"Me either," Sam said soberly. "But thanks."
"Well," Dad said, retrieving his coffee. "I'd like it better if I had something to go on. How many were there? Where did you meet them?" He prompted.
DJ got up and started collecting empty plates; he needed something to do with his hands while his thoughts were still all jumbled up. His dad appropriated the seat he had just vacated as the twins began to rattle off the relevant details.
"Not the sink," Dad called to DJ, interrupting Sam. "I've got Cass' clothes soaking to see if I can get the blood out."
DJ wrinkled his nose at the unpleasantly murky water in the kitchen sink and made a detour to the dishwasher.
"You know a potion that can get blood out of clothes?" Cass asked.
"Sure," Dad laughed. "OxiClean."
Cass looked mildly disappointed.
"As I was saying," Sam continued, feigning irritation. "These guys were older; not as old as you, Big Sam, but definitely older than us. Thirty, forty, maybe? They caught up to us in Kearney, and they knew what they were doing; they had a full kit in their truck."
"Truck?" Dad queried, raising one eyebrow.
Sam nodded and gave him the color, make, and model, which dad punched into his phone and sent off into the ether.
"I didn't catch a plate, sorry."
"Don't worry about it; this is a good start. What did they look like?"
"I dunno, sorta average, I guess? Just regular guys."
"'Just regular guys?' Jesus, Sam, you suck at this," Cass griped. "Average height and build; they both had brown hair, kinda short, and one of them had a beard. Didn't see any birthmarks or tattoos. They both had scars up and down their arms, but that's pretty much standard for hunters."
"Hmm," Dad frowned. "I don't know if that description is any more helpful than 'regular guys.'"
"I'd give you names, but—" Cass' mouth twisted. "I think they just gave us their aliases."
Dad tipped his head in acknowledgement; hunters were a notoriously suspicious bunch.
"You think they made you at the start?" he asked, curious rather than judging.
Cass shifted uncomfortably and shrugged.
"All I know is that you don't bother loading up on silver bullets before you raid a vamp nest," he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.
"They might have been hunting us the whole time," Sam admitted. "They started shooting the minute they had us separated."
His dad's face did something complicated; the expression was so quickly shuttered that DJ could almost doubt that it had been there in the first place were it not for the fine tremor in his jaw.
"Well," he said after a moment, a little strained. "Better not let that happen again."
"No sir," Cass said vehemently, "Not making that mistake twice."
"Definitely not," Sam agreed, subconsciously rubbing at his freshly-healed gunshot wound through his shirt.
Dad tracked the motion with his eyes and frowned, seeming to recover himself a little.
"You boys should try to get a few more hours' sleep," he said gruffly. "Grantsburg is a long drive, especially when you have to take the scenic route around Kansas City."
Sam looked like he might protest, but Cass cracked an enormous yawn—a Pavlovian response to the mere mention of a nap—and bumped shoulders with his brother.
"Not a bad idea, Sammy. I'm beat."
The twins shuffled and shoved their way out of the kitchen and back down the hallway, squabbling half-heartedly over who would take the library pullout and who would head upstairs to crash in the guest bedroom-an argument Cass conceded with suspicious speed. Dad smiled fondly after them.
"So what's the plan? Tracking spell?" DJ asked when the house was quiet again, folding his arms across his chest.
Dad shook his head.
"We don't have names, or anything of theirs to focus on," he sighed, taking off his glasses to scrub at his face. "Looks like we'll have to do this the old fashioned way; wait and see whether Jody gets a hit on their vehicle."
"I guess we don't even know if they're still after Cass and Sam or if they went back for the vamps," DJ realized, speaking his thoughts aloud.
"Huh," his dad's eyebrows lifted. "Good point. Maybe I'll drive out and meet Krissy's team in Kearney, see what I can find out."
"I could come with you," DJ offered, cracking his knuckles. "I wouldn't mind a piece of those douchebags."
"You have class on Monday," Dad reminded him.
"I know," DJ felt prickly and defensive. "But Sam almost died, Dad. I can't just do nothing."
"You saved Sam's life," Dad replied, standing up and putting his hands on DJ's shoulders. "That's not nothing. What you're doing—going to school—that's something, Dean. That's important."
"It's DJ," he corrected, but there was no heat behind it.
"Right," his dad pulled back, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I'll be all right on my own; it's just recon. See if I can't get some names and faces."
DJ knew his dad was right, goddamnit, but it still sucked. The whole thing had gotten under his skin more than he liked to admit.
"Well," he grumbled, resigned, "Just be careful, okay?"
"I always am," Dad answered readily.
"Bullshit," DJ huffed a short laugh.
"Hey," Dad said, with a knowing smirk. "If I haven't caught up to the bastards by Thanksgiving, you can come watch my back."
DJ rolled his eyes and gave up.
"All right, old man," he muttered, teasing. Then, more hesitant: "Are we still taking that drive?"
His dad seemed unsettled for a moment, as though he'd forgotten. Then he bit his lip, dug a little further into his pocket, and produced a set of keys. He jingled them thoughtfully in his palm for a moment before tossing them to a startled DJ, who caught them on reflex.
"Sure," he said finally. "I call shotgun."