Chapter Three
John took his sons to the firing range for two hours of after school practice. Dean perused the assortment of handguns Dad had brought and picked out a sleek, silver Ruger 357 magnum. It was one of his favorite guns. Bad guys would think twice before going up against that gun. He aimed at the black form of a man's head and torso on the back wall of his shooting lane and fired off six shots in quick succession. He proudly grinned at his handiwork as he hit the button to retrieve his target
John smiled as the target rolled up to them. Dean had perfectly placed two shots for the eyes and four shots for a smile into the head.
"OK Riggs, how about some heart shots now?" He challenged his older son.
Dean changed guns and slipped a clip into the automatic P-38. He fired fifteen shots into the heart area of his next target. The chest area of the paper target almost disintegrated from the onslaught of bullets. Target practice at the firing range wasn't much of a challenge for Dean anymore. He thought anyone can hit a stationary target; tracking and shooting an evil being on the run was the real challenge.
Sammy practiced his shooting in his own lane. He didn't get the same joy out of weapons practice that his brother did. He was there because he had no choice. He had learned long ago to reserve his battles with Dad for times that really mattered, or times when his frustration level just couldn't stand the training any more.
Dean continued switching out weapons until he used five or six different guns. It was a good thing they used credit card fraud to supplement their incomes from poker and pool hustling. Bullets weren't cheap!
Manny, the owner of the shooting range, stopped by to check out the Winchesters' skills. They were his best customers, coming in at least once a week. He didn't ask any questions, he was just happy to take their money. Of course, they always paid cash. They didn't use the credit cards in town. What was the old saying? Don't shit where you sleep?
John was satisfied with their practice session and decided to treat them to a steak dinner at the roadhouse. He still had a supply of cash and they might as well enjoy a good meal. He would be leaving town in another day and he just wanted to spend some time with his sons. God knows, he didn't spend as much time as he wanted with his boys.
The waitress at the roadhouse was happy to see the Winchesters, they were a handsome family. Although she was too young for the father and too old for the older son, she had her fantasies nonetheless. Her heart melted a little whenever either of them smiled at her. She wondered how they could be unattached; why some lucky women hadn't latched on to them. They never brought any women with them; she wondered what happened to the mother?
Sammy enjoyed the meal but as soon as he was done he was ready to go home to do his homework. Dean was in no hurry to return home. He was enjoying the rowdy atmosphere of the roadhouse. They had a pool room in the back and he headed over to see about a game.
He was on his third game and was just about to close the deal on a two hundred dollar wager when the bruiser he was playing against got persnickety. Dean sank the winning ball but before he could pick up his winnings, his adversary Earl grabbed up the money and called him a cheater.
"Now, I'm sure you're just having a bad day, but I think you ought to rethink your attitude there fish face." Dean retorted. Dean didn't like being called a cheater; he may have been a hustler, but he was not a cheater.
Earl was at least five inches taller than Dean and had fifty pounds on him: fifty pounds of muscle. Dean didn't back down an inch from this guy; in fact, he seemed to move in closer, taunting him. Earl took the first swing, but Dean ducked and the force of his swing almost caused the lug to fall down.
Dean was quick and agile, he moved in and punched Earl in the nose. Earl's nose started to bleed and his eyes grew wild with fury. He had started this fight with a kid and now he was beginning to realize it wasn't going to be an easy victory.
John and Sam had been standing in the pool room watching Dean play. Sam waited for Dad to break up this fight, but his dad just stood against the wall watching.
"Aren't you going to stop this?" Sammy yelled.
"Nope." Was all Dad said.
Dean moved in again and punched Earl in the stomach; it was like hitting a brick wall. Man, this guy really works out he thought. Earl hauled off and connected on a hard hit to Dean's jaw. Dean reeled and almost lost his balance. His head was spinning and blood filled his mouth. Earl moved in for the kill and pummeled his torso with four quick jabs. Dean fell to his knees, his ribs exploding in pain.
Earl grinned and started to walk away, confident of his victory. Dean knelt on the floor gasping for air, trying to regain his composure. Sheer determination willed him to his feet. He was not going to be beaten by a Neanderthal. Earl seemed surprised his opponent had returned to his feet but he turned back; ready to put him away for good. Dean moved away just until he could get his bearings.
He had to finish Earl off quickly. He didn't have many moves left in his battered body. He needed to use Earl's weaknesses against him. He waited for his opponent to make his next move. Earl moved very quickly towards him, ready to finish off this young whippersnapper with a show of massive force. Dean waited until the last second, slipped out of Earl's path, and threw out his foot to trip him. The force Earl tried to use against him now worked to Dean's advantage as Earl tumbled head first into the bar. His head cracked as it hit the brass foot rail and he was knocked out cold.
Dean reached into Earl's pocket and pulled out the two hundred dollar wager. His eyes grinned at his dad and Sammy as he waved the bills at them before he placed them in his breast pocket.
"Well Sammy, enough excitement for ya? I guess I'm ready to go home now." Dean laughed.
John put his arm around Dean to congratulate him, but secretly he was also helping keep his son steady as they walked out of the roadhouse.
Somehow this all seemed too familiar to Sam as they entered their house.
"Sammy get the first aid box." Dad yelled.
John got some linens and water and started cleaning the blood off of his older son. The damage wasn't too bad: a split lip, a sore jaw and a repeat of the bruised ribs. Dean was lucky his opponent was all brawn and no brains. His training had helped him maneuver a bad situation to his advantage.
"Dean, do you think we could let these ribs fully heal before we go battering them again?" Dad inquired.
Dean laughed even though that caused his ribs to hurt even more.
"Dad, it's not my fault. I keep running into bad guys!"
"Dad, why didn't you help Dean? You could have stopped that fight before he got hurt." Sam angrily confronted his dad.
"Sammy, I had the situation under control. No need for Dad to step in." Dean calmly offered.
"Sam, you need to realize I won't always be there. You and Dean need to depend on your own skills to get you out of a jam." John tried to reason with his son.
"Yeah, well, I guess we already know we can't depend on you. It's not like you're ever here when we need you." Sam shouted as he ran up the stairs to his bedroom and slammed the door.
Silence filled the room. Dean understood why his dad hadn't stepped in. Truth was, he was glad his dad didn't treat him like a child that needed saving. He took it as a sign of respect: as validation that Dad knew he could take care of himself. Sam was overreacting, he just didn't understand.
Dean was stiff and sore and needed rest so he headed up to bed.
John sat in his chair writing in his journal. He wondered if he had failed his sons. He'd felt this way hundreds of times before when he so desperately missed having Mary to guide him in raising their boys. She always knew the right course of action, the right words to say. She softened him and made him a better man, a better father. She bridged the gap he sometimes found difficult to traverse in reaching his sons.
He deeply loved his boys but he needed to keep them strong to keep them safe. Sam couldn't comprehend how much restraint it took for him to stand and watch Dean being pummeled by a giant. How it took every fiber of his being to stand his ground and not rush in to save his son. How if he could he would take on any anguish life wanted to throw at his boys. He would spare them any and all pain and torment, but he knew that was a fantasy. John knew what was out there in the darkness. The best he could hope for was the strength to prepare and train his sons so they could fight their own battles which would come soon enough.
Dean found it easy to fall asleep this night. Exhaustion has a way of doing that. Minutes after his head hit the pillow he was asleep and heading into his first dream.
He felt his ribs exploding as the vampires threw him against the wall. The head vampire aimed the crossbow at him and fired. The arrow entered his left shoulder and impaled him to the wall. He tried to pull the arrow out, but the head was securely embedded in the wall. The evil vampire laughed as Dean struggled to break free.
"How does it feel hunter?" The vamp sneered at Dean.
Dean knew if he didn't act fast he would be dead. The pain was intense but he forced himself to slide his shoulder forward on the arrow. He grabbed the shaft of the arrow and held it firmly as he used all the leverage he could manage to snap the arrow between his shoulder and the wall. He fell to the ground as the next arrow struck where his heart had been.
Dean rolled over onto his stomach, his hand reaching under his pillow to reassure him that his Bowie knife was still in place.
Dad grabbed the shaft of the arrow and quickly pulled it out as blood started to spurt. He plunged the hot steel rod into Dean's shoulder to seal the wound and the pain was excruciating. The smell of his own burning flesh was nauseating and he wondered if he could survive this torment. His body tensed and thrashed against his bindings, muffled screams escaped from his clenched mouth.
Dean woke for a moment, shuddered at the intensity of this dream and turned over and went back to sleep. He continued with more dreams than usual throughout the night. It was a replay of the Winchesters' greatest exploits. He dreamt of werewolves, demons, ghosts and poltergeists. One after another the dreams came and went. They continued until morning and his alarm went off forcing him to face another day at school.
He was exhausted after his night of dreams, not that they were that disturbing to him, after all he had lived through all these adventures. He was tired more from the sheer volume of them. He never fell into that deep, recuperative, restful sleep. His mind was kept active all night reliving the events of his life. It was his mind that was denied rest.
He went to prepare breakfast for Sammy. He didn't feel up to cooking this morning so they settled for toaster waffles and orange juice. Sam seemed to notice the unrest in Dean's eyes.
"Dean, are you OK? You look tired."
"Just a restless night. No big deal."