So many people just called me evil. All i have to say to them is: Hey, at least I'm updating! Here's Chapter 8!
The moment he heard the tumblers fall back and the door squeak open, John Winchester was on his feet, his head turned down, ready to reprimand his irresponsible son. Instead, he found himself looking at a torn-up, faded pair of blue jeans.
John's eyes traveled up the man that stood in the doorway to the motel room. He'd never seen the man before, at least not that he could remember, and that was bad. "Who the hell are you?" John demanded, searching the parking lot for his sons and finding them hiding behind the strange man's legs.
"I'm friends with your kids," the man answered, flashing a nervous smile that didn't reach his hazel eyes. He raked a shaking hand through his sandy hair and laughed weakly. "Can we come in?"
"Boys," John barked, grabbing both of his sons' arms and pulling them roughly into the room, "get behind me." His sons did as they were told without an argument, and the hunter saw for the first time that another man was standing in the parking lot, holding two large stuffed animals. "Christo," John hissed, his eyes narrowing. The two men in front of him didn't flinch.
"We're not demons," the man with the toys said, stepping forward.
"What are you then?" John asked, his eyes briefly flitting to the shotgun that was propped up in the corner.
"What's the matter, dad?" the shorter of the two asked, stepping around the hunter to enter the room, "don't you recognize your own sons?"
John kept his sons behind him as both men entered the room, shutting the door behind them and cutting off the hunter's only escape route. He glanced back at his boys, who both cringed as his eyes fell on them. "What did you do to them?"
"We didn't do anything," the taller man, who was in desperate need of a haircut, said, "besides saving them. My, uh, brother doesn't know what he's talking about, do you, Dean?"
"I know exactly what I'm talking about. The man deserves to know, Sam." the shorter man replied.
"It could ruin everything. Besides, do you really think he'd believe us?"
The hunter's eyes scanned the room, searching desperately for a way to escape the intruders while they were distracted. Unfortunately, the only door was blocked and none of the windows opened. He was trapped. Even worse, his sons were trapped with him. "What do you want from us?" he asked, stopping the newcomers' argument.
"Nothing," the shorter man said, smiling, "we're not demons, we're not ghosts, we're your sons. Well, in seventeen years, anyway. We missed you, dad."
John glanced back at his sons, then at the men standing in front of him. "You're Sam and Dean? My Sam and Dean?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's cute. You might have been able to fool my sons, but I'm a little smarter than a couple of kids. It would take a lot of convincing and some serious proof to get me to even trust you enough to let you leave this room alive."
"It's true, dad," Sammy muttered from behind him, "they're us."
"Shush up and let the grown-ups talk, Sammy. Proof. Now."
Shrugging, Dean tossed his jacket onto one of the room's chairs and rolled up his shirt sleeve to reveal a long scar running from his wrist to his elbow. "My first hunt," he said, "I was seven and got tossed through the air by a poltergeist. I hit a bookcase and it fell on top of me. It wasn't a wooden shelf like most bookcases, though, it was this big elaborate thing made of iron. There were points all over it and it sliced my arm wide open. You had to rush me to the emergency room. Forty stitches. You made me stay home with Sam after that."
"Anybody could have found that out," John scoffed, eying the man suspiciously, "convince me."
Dean nodded. "Right before the fire, you went into the nursery, I jumped into your arms, and you asked me if I thought Sammy was ready to play catch yet. You never did get around to playing with him. Shame, too, because he could have whooped your ass."
The hunter's eyes traveled up the scar to the man's haunted eyes. He still wasn't convinced.
"All right," Dean sighed, throwing up his hands in exasperation, "let's see. Last year, you were hunting something in Wisconsin. I left the room, Sam was attacked, and you're still mad at me. You're always going to be mad at me. In fact, you'll hate me until the day you die. Sad thing is, nothing I do can change that, because you're stubborn. Sadder thing is, you know you'll never forgive me."
John stared at the man, glanced back down at the scar, and turned back to his sons. Scared hazel eyes looked up at him, as if his oldest son had been betrayed in the worst way.
"Believe us now?" the taller man asked, stepping forward and dropping the stuffed animals to the floor.
Silence fell in the room while John considered the situation. Finally, he let his guard down. Muscles relaxed as the hardened hunter stepped forward and wrapped his arms around the shaggy-haired stranger. "Sammy?" he asked as the man nodded, "boy, you got tall."
He disengaged the embrace, stepping back to look at the man his youngest son would become, and was shocked to see a familiar look in the shining green eyes. It was the same hurt that John saw every time he looked into a mirror, the hurt that had appeared after his wife's death.
Slowly, the hunter turned to the other man, who smiled weakly, a little embarrassed after his sudden confession. "Dean," John began, patting the man on the shoulder, "you know you shouldn't have told me that."
"Yeah," Dean muttered, hanging his head as his father took a seat at the kitchenette's small table, "I know."
"Now," the older hunter sighed, "you mind telling me how this happened?" Sam and Dean sat down opposite their father, who glanced at the kids. "Boys, it's late. Get ready for bed."
"We always miss the good stuff," Sammy complained, grabbing his dog off the floor and following his big brother into the bedroom.
"All right," John said, turning back to the adults, "what was it? Wormhole?"
"Yes, sir," Sam nodded, "we found it in the Topeka courthouse in 2006. We were hunting a man named Jake. He'd been possessed and led us right to the hole. We jumped through and landed here. We spent a day searching for Jake before we finally found him. He-"
"He'd broken into the room to attack the kids," Dean interrupted.
"How?" John asked as Sam glared at his brother.
"He went in through a window. We saw him break in," Dean lied, "and jumped into full-on hunter mode. We broke down the door and scared him off as he wrestling with, uh, me. He ran out the open door and Sam and I introduced ourselves as friends of yours to gain their trust, but I wasn't won over easily. It was work just to get the kid to back away from the shotgun."
John smiled weakly. "Yeah. Then you told them?"
"No," Sam said, "Dean read them a bedtime story and we settled in for the night. He told himself the next day, and I guess I found out from him. We've just kind of been hanging out and-"
"Looking for Jake almost non-stop," Dean interrupted again, "we thought he, uh, might be hiding out with the carnival freaks so we scouted the place today, you know, after training. Can't slack on that."
Sam stared at his brother, who was lying convincingly. The only thing that really shocked the younger man was who Dean was lying to. He usually never kept anything from their father.
"That's it, huh?" John asked, "what's been going on? Nothing else?"
"Well," Dean said, "I went to the store for more food, but other than that, it's pretty much been hunting and training. Now," he turned in his chair to look back at the bedroom door, "knowing me, I'll be listening in on the conversation. Excuse me while I go scold myself for eavesdropping."
"All right, guys," Dean said, walking into the room and closing the door securely behind him, "I know you're not really asleep. Or, at least, one of you isn't. So, come on, sit up. It's time for a little lesson on privacy invasion."
He sat down on one of the beds as a sandy head popped up from beneath the covers. "Eavesdropping's wrong and I shouldn't do it," the ten-year-old sighed, "can I go to sleep now?"
"How much of that did you hear?" Dean asked, glancing quickly at the other bed and ascertaining that Sammy really was asleep.
"All of it. Why'd you lie to dad?"
"Why do you think I lied?"
The kid looked at him hopefully, hazel eyes shining with a kind of mistrustful understanding. "To protect me. You didn't want him to know I'd put Sam in danger. But why didn't you tell him I'd figured it out?"
Dean shrugged, smiling slightly. "Forcing someone to admit they're from the future is kind of against the rules. I didn't want to see you get in trouble."
"But won't he be mad at you?"
"Doesn't matter. You shouldn't be getting in trouble for something beyond your control."
The kid seemed to relax, sliding farther under the covers and sighing. "Thanks."
"No problem," Dean smiled, patting the boy on the head and turning towards the door, "now go to sleep."