All right. Chapter 5 is here, along with all of the character that we know and love. And John. John's here, too. Hope you enjoy it :)

Running a hand over his weathered face, John knocked on the door of the motel room. "Who is it?" a familiar voice called from inside. The tone annoyed John more than anything else, but he figured that his oldest son was just stressed. After what had apparently happened to Sam, the hunter couldn't blame him.

"It's me, Dean, open up."

"Who's me?"

"Dean, I'm not kidding. Open the door."

"What's the password?"

"Dammit, Dean, I said open up!"

"Don't throw a hissy fit, I'm coming." The door was pulled open with great force, causing it to squeal on its hinges. "Man, dad, you were the one who told me to be sure about a person's identity before opening the door. Remember my top priority? Take care of Sammy?"

"Dean, move. Just let me in the room." John pushed past his son and gazed around the empty room, confused. Sam was nowhere in sight. "Where is he?"

"Who?"

"Sam. Where's Sam? You said he was in trouble, Dean, you told me he was hurt bad, now what happened?"

"Oh. That." Dean closed the door, locking it, and ushered his father into the room. "There was an explosion. We were fighting a werewolf and the warehouse it changed in just blew up. I pulled Sam out of the fire, and I gave him CPR, and he came back, but he was weak."

"So you took him to a hospital?"

"No," Dean smirked, grabbing a coil of rope from the bed nearest the door and approaching his father, who was still surveying the room, "I put him out of his misery. I stabbed him, dad. In the heart. Several times. And he screamed, oh, he screamed so loud. You wanna know what I did after that? I slit his throat. I slit his wrists. And then I pulled him out into a field to rot."

John turned, terror in his eyes, his face drawn and pale. He saw the rope in Dean's hands and tensed, his eyes sharp, but no longer panicky. "You're not my son."

"Not all of him," Dean replied, still smirking, "just the part you raised with your own brand of tender, loving care. I'm your perfect little soldier, dad, but I've finally decided to go AWOL."

John reached for the pocket of his jacket, but Dean was faster. He grabbed the knife he'd taken from the car. Taking the blade in his hand, he whacked his father over the head, sending the older man tumbling to the ground.

Sam gasped and sat up in bed, looked wildly at his brother. Their father. Neither of them had considered the fact that John could be on Dean's list of enemies. Because of their oversight, the man that had raised them could be close to death.

Silently, Sammy slid his cell phone from his pocket and dialed his father's number. "Dad," he whispered, "it's Sam. If Dean calls, don't believe him. Something bad happened. Just don't listen to him, OK? I'll explain everything later. We need to meet up. We're staying in Oklahoma tonight, but we'll be traveling tomorrow. I'll call you later to give you the location. Just don't believe a word he says, all right? It's important. Life or death. Bye."

He turned off the phone and gazed at the other bed, at his brother who was sleeping peacefully. It had been a long time since he'd seen Dean sleep like that, like the world was gone, and the night would never end. He was always alert, always searching for evil, and in the past month his sleep patterns had been off. He hadn't been sleeping at all, most nights. But now the voice was gone, and the nights were peaceful again.

Sam looked at the phone in his hand, thought about the dream he'd had, and glanced back at his brother. Dean deserved at least one good night's sleep. Besides, if the vision came true, they would know. Dean's hand would start to bleed.

Lying back in the bed, Sam closed his eyes, hoping for a dreamless rest of the night.

He glanced down at the caller id as he sped down the highway. Sam. But Sam had been hurt, Dean had said so when he'd called earlier that night. He was probably just using Sam's phone to call, to remind the man behind the wheel of the truck to hurry. He didn't need a reminder, though, he needed his truck to go faster. He needed to be there for his youngest son.

John Winchester crossed the state line between Kansas, where he'd been busy hunting down a troublesome ghost, and Oklahoma, where Dean had told him they were staying. He sped up, hoping to get to the Rusty Nail Motel in time to help his boys.

"A dream?" Dean asked as Sam shoved the various odds and ends they'd unpacked back into the duffel bag, "why didn't you tell me about it last night?"

Sam shrugged, zipping up the bag and throwing it over his shoulder. "I didn't want to worry you. I figured we'll have enough time to prevent it, and it looked like you were finally getting a good night's sleep. Dad'll be fine. He can take care of himself, right?"

"I guess. At least we know what the other me's up to now. I can't believe he'd want to go after dad, though. I mean, why?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm not sure. But he's still in Oklahoma, in the Rusty Nail Motel. I looked it up early this morning, and it's not exactly walking distance from here."

"How do we get there?"

"We could hitchhike."

Dean grinned. "No offense, man, but the last time anyone in this family tried to hitchhike, you met Meg."

"Well, we could steal a car."

The good-hearted grin faded fast. "Stealing's wrong."

Sam chuckled, glancing at his brother and finding himself suddenly reminded of the current situation. Even though his brother had been the one to teach him how to hotwire a car, Dean apparently wasn't in a grand theft auto mood at the moment.

"All right," Sam sighed, "how about you just sit here and I'll come around with some means of transportation. You don't ask about it, and I won't tell you. That way, no guilty conscience. Everyone wins."

Dean seemed to consider for a moment before finally nodding in consent. "I guess. But-"

"I'll be back. I promise."

The older man's smile reappeared, though a little shaky at first, and Sam felt comfortable leaving.