Heehee... my plan to get people to hate John as much as I do is working! Yay!
"You're sure you don't want to come with us?" Sam asked as he checked his wallet to se how much money he had left. His father just nodded.
"I've got some work to do." Of course, by 'work,' John meant 'research.'
Sammy sighed, glancing out the window at his brother, who was waiting behind the wheel of the car and occasionally looking back over his shoulder into the room to make sure his brother was really coming along. "Want us to bring you anything back?"
"A burger would be nice," John replied, flipping open the laptop and pulling his journal close, "extra pickles."
"All right. We shouldn't be gone too long." The younger hunter left the room, slipping the key into his pocket, and crossed the parking lot to the Impala. He slid into the passenger seat and smiled at his brother, who smiled back.
"So," Dean began, putting the car into gear and pulling out of the spot, "where's this diner you saw?"
"About a mile out of town. There's a big sign out front that says 'diner.'"
"Really? Never would have guess. Thanks for that. Dad doesn't want to come?"
Sam shook his head. "Said he had work to do."
"He's lying," Dean replied, "he doesn't want to come because of me."
"That's not true. He just wants to find a way to fix this. He wants to make you whole again without any of those unforeseen side effects we got last time. He wants us to pick him up a burger, too. Remember that, because I'll probably forget."
"Believe what you want to," the older man muttered sadly, "but it's me. I'm useless to him now."
Sam looked at his brother, shocked. "What gave you that idea?"
"I overheard you guys last night. Motel walls are paper-thin. It's all right, though. I always knew he liked you better. I guess you could say I'm used to it. Really, it's all right." he smiled weakly as the small diner came into view.
John sighed, staring blankly at the computer screen, his eyes unfocused. If he acknowledged it the problem would be made real, so he would try to push it from his mind, try to distance himself from it. It wasn't his son, it couldn't be. Dean was invincible. Nothing bad could happen to him, because he wasn't human. He was something more. He wasn't a murderer, and he certainly wasn't the fragile thing John had met the night before. No, he was somewhere else, whole and laughing his head off at his father's stupidity. Sammy was probably in on it, too.
As much as he wanted to believe that, though, he couldn't. Because Dean was a murderer, and Dean was fragile. There was a reason for that, the hunter knew, someone to blame. He just didn't want to point the finger. He didn't have to anymore. His son had done that for him.
So he stared at the screen and thought about his life. He thought about his son's life, about all of the years locked up in motel rooms, about the endless training, about the hunts. He thought about his own lack of confidence in the boy after one mistake, about his own unwillingness to accept the fact that, as he had grown up, Dean had slowly redeemed himself for that long-ago mistake.
He thought about the relationship his sons now shared. How the demon had shaken it after a year of rebuilding. How the simple words it had spoken had damaged Dean far worse than anything else in his life. He thought about this split had opened up a way for his boys to finally communicate, and how, without his usual barrier of wit and sarcasm, Dean was just like everyone else, his defenses weakened. He would talk about things now, say what needed to be said.
They would communicate better as long as his oldest son was two people. They would get along better, maybe even learn a few things. That was what John feared most, because Dean wasn't like other people. He was damaged. There were things hidden away in his mind that could make a grown man shudder, and that was why he kept them hidden. There were feelings of inadequacy that should never be expressed, fears that should never be conquered, and thoughts so disturbing that to put them into words would bring shock to anyone's system.
Good and evil, his son had his secrets. Big secrets. Murder, sex, lies. Loneliness, abandonment, grief. John just hoped he could find a way to fix it before anything really bad happened. Hopefully, with a little luck and a lot of digging, he would find a way to get his proper son back without any painful memories. One body with one mind. That was the goal.
Tearing himself from his stupor, John pulled the computer close and began to read, checking his journal when he needed to, but finding nothing truly useful.
Up and down, up and down, the quarter traveled up and down. Sam was getting sick of it. He watched it fly up, twisting in the air, before traveling back to his brother's hand. Up it went again, then back down. If the food didn't get there soon, if Dean didn't need both of his hands to eat, Sam would grab that quarter and shove it up his big brother's ass.
"You all right?" Dean asked, still flipping the coin. He wasn't sure he liked the way his brother was staring at him, like he had something twisted planned.
"What?" Sam asked.
"You're staring at me. It's unnerving."
"Maybe I'd stop staring at you if you'd stop flipping that damn coin."
Dean grinned. "Make me."
"What?"
"You heard me," the older man said, though the confidence had drained from his voice, which shook a bit, "make me. Just don't use your hands."
Sam leaned forward across the table, his eyes following the coin again. "You're kidding, right?"
"Just try it."
"Fine," Sam sighed, sitting back in the booth and looking around the near-empty diner. He focused on the coin, trying to block everything else from his mind. If he could stop it midair, or make if fly across the room, or maybe even beam his brother in the head with it… really, anything would work as long as it stopped.
He closed his eyes, only thinking about the coin, only trying to make it stop. He concentrated on it, keeping his mind clear. He only saw the coin, 25 cents hovering in midair. His eyes snapped open.
Dean just stared at him, still flipping the coin, smiling slightly.
"It won't work," Sam said, shaking his head, "I can't turn it on and off. I know we've had this discussion."
"You moved that knife in Onyx," Dean pointed out, "right after you threw the maniac across the room."
"But I didn't mean to do any of that. The guy ticked me off, and I'm not even sure what happened with the knife."
"What happened when you moved the cabinet in Max's house in Michigan?" The quarter continued to move, up and down, up and down. Very annoying.
"I don't know, man. I saw you die. I told you, it just came out like a punch."
"So, you weren't trying to move it when it slid away?"
Sam shook his head. "No, I wasn't."
"Or the knife, or the other me?"
"No and no. What's that got to do with anything, though?"
Dean grinned. "Look up, Sam." The younger man followed his brother's gaze. The quarter sat in midair, completely still, hovering about a foot above the table. As his eyes found it, the coin dropped, clattering back onto the table and spinning a bit before falling silent.
"How?"
"Looks to me like you need a distraction," Dean said, picking up the quarter and inspecting it, "be it grief, anger, or just s friendly conversation, you can't do this unless you're thinking about something else."
"So it just happens when I need it to but don't want it to?"
His brother shrugged. "Maybe. Want to try again?"
Sam shook his head. "Maybe later. I've, uh, gotta go." he caught the look on his brother's face and sighed as he slid out of the booth. "Bathroom, man. Relax."
"Get back soon," Dean muttered as the waitress approached with their food.
Sammy nodded and headed toward the back of the restaurant, where the restrooms were located. He pulled open the door and glanced back at his brother, who was staring at him intently, before stepping inside.
He locked the door and turned to the mirror. Sighing, Sam ran some cold water into the sink and splashed his face with it. His brother was finally willing to help him understand the strangeness that was Sam Winchester, and it was a welcome change to his usual don't-ask-don't-tell policy.
Grabbing for the paper towels that hung beside the sink, Sam looked up into the mirror and found a very familiar someone standing behind him. He chuckled. "Dean, I told you I'd be back. You need to trust me."
"Oh, I did trust you, Sammy," the man in the black t-shirt sneered, "and it's gotten me into a lot of trouble."
The younger hunter whirled around in time to see the handle of the knife that the evil man loved so much sailing toward his head. He felt an explosion of pain, and then darkness.