All right, I have time for one more update today (I'm feeling generous because everyone feels bad for Dean now).
John ran into the room shortly after Dean's return and began throwing things into his duffel bag. "Daddy?" Sammy asked, popping his head over the couch, where he'd been sitting to draw some more disturbing pictures, "what's wrong?"
"On the news," John said quickly, "I just saw it in the office. A string of cattle mutilations in Hamlet, Nebraska. It's probably just a coyote or something, but it could be worse. It might be a werewolf."
"Cattle mutilations?' Dean asked, looking up from the sink, where he was busy washing the dishes from that morning's breakfast.
"Yes, why?"
"Have there been electrical storms in that area recently?"
"I didn't hear," John said distractedly, finally zipping up his duffel and turning to face his son, "Why?"
Dean shrugged. "No reason. Just a question."
Sam, who had been watching himself draw, turned to glare at his brother. Lying to their father, withholding information, what next? As he opened his mouth to say something, the little boy beside him tugged on his jacket sleeve.
"Don't," the kid warned, "please don't make daddy yell at him again. He knows what he's doing."
Even though Sam didn't quite believe the kid, there was just something about the way the boy was looking at him, his eyes wide and pleading. Again, Sam Winchester fell victim to his own puppy-dog look. Sighing, he turned back to the kid's pictures, which clearly depicted a man with shining yellow eyes standing over four mounds of dirt, two small, two large.
John grumbled something about wasting his time and headed out the door. "You boys can take care of your demon, right?" he asked, then, without waiting for an answer, "right. Good. Dean, remember what I said. Be good." The boy nodded as his father closed the door and left the room.
"So," Dean began, watching the Impala drive away, "let's go find Jake. Can't be too hard to track him down."
"We're not going to use me as bait?" the ten-year-old asked, relief flooding his voice.
"No," Dean said, "I'm sure that he'll come to us if he realizes time is running short. All we have to do is pick an exorcism," he pulled his father's battered old journal out of the inside pocket of his coat, "and hope it works."
"Hey," Sammy marveled, finally turning his large eyes from his older self, "that's daddy's book, only older and bigger."
"Sure is," Dean smiled, sitting down on the couch and beginning to thumb through the journal.
A soft breeze blew through the park as Dean sat on the bright green bench, his arm wrapped protectively around the ten-year-old who sat beside him. He hated to admit it, but his father had been right. Jake was definitely after the kids, and it was just too dangerous to send Sam out into a fight. However, he sure as hell wasn't about to send a kid out to do a man's job, which was why he sat, unprotected, with the small boy on the bench. They were both acting as bait.
"He won't come if you're here," the kid said, "he'll know it's a trap."
"I've spent the past couple of days with you," Dean pointed out, "it won't look suspicious."
"You should have brought something. Something to hurt him."
"He'd probably know. Relax, I'm not gonna let anything happen to you." Dean smiled down at the boy, who had straightened up at the words. He knew why. No one had shown the kid anything close to compassion since his mother had died. His father had turned into a drill sergeant, his brother into his responsibility, and, as a result, he had grown up too fast.
"We shouldn't have left Sammy alone," the boy finally muttered, "something could happen. Dad would get mad if he knew."
"He won't find out. Even if he does, I'll take all the blame."
"Why? Why'd you stand up for me? You're doing all this nice stuff, but you won't ever remember it, will you?"
Dean shrugged, looking into the kid's eyes and watching as the perfectly trained soldier began melting away, giving way to a small, scared little boy who had never really had a friend or protector. "I dunno. Doesn't matter, though. Our date's here."
The boy looked over to the entrance of the park, where a man in a dark raincoat was standing, staring at them. He smiled, walking casually toward the bench, eyes going black as he neared it. "Howdy, there," the demon hissed, eyeing the boy with great interest, "been looking for you, sport."
"Funny," Dean smirked, "we've been looking for you, too." As soon as he'd finished the sentence, Sam jumped from the bushes, tackling Jake at an angle so that the possessed man's head hit the concrete sidewalk hard.
"Sorry," Sam grinned, rolling off the shorter man and tying his wrists behind his back, "hope that didn't hurt."
When Jake finally woke up, nearly five hours after he'd been tackled to the ground, he found himself staring into the eyes of one of the little snots he'd been sent to kill. The kid stared at him before turning and informing his elders that the captive had awoken.
"So," Sam began, sliding up in front of Jake as he opened his father's journal, "you wanna tell us what you're doing in 1989?"
"Go to Hell."
"Right back atcha," Dean replied, "now tell the truth, Jakey, because we're really not in the mood to play around. See, my iPod hasn't been invented yet, so I can't charge it up. Without Britney and Christina, I get kinda grumpy."
Jake smirked, his eyes again turning black. "I'll kill you! I'll kill you both," he rasped, his voice deepening an octave or two, "and then my father will move on to your daddy. Oh, yes, he'll make a fitting host. Strong, healthy, and a real pain in the ass to boot."
"We already know the demon's in Nebraska," Sam said, "now, just tell us why it wants you to kill the kids and why it wants our father, and we might let you go."
"I don't believe you, hunter. Prove it."
Dean smirked, taking the journal from his brother hands, and began to read the exorcism they'd chosen earlier that day. Jake's body, tied in a chair in the middle of the room, contorted with pain as the demon inside fought for control. "We'll let you go," Dean muttered, stopping the ritual before it was over, "right on back to Hell. I bet your sister's been missing you."
"The children," Jake panted, "will die. If not by my hands, then by my father's. And you will again feel the pain of losing the man you once held so dear." He looked up at the hunters, his eyes devoid of all emotion, black as the night. "He will become my father's servant, and I will happily sacrifice myself for family!"
Sam and Dean looked at each other, then back at the kids. Dean shrugged, looking back at the journal. "All right, then, if that's what you want." He finished the exorcism, sending the demon flying out of Jake's mouth and right on back to its warm, happy home.
The man tied in the chair before them slowly lifted his head and smiled. "Thanks," he muttered, "but you need to hurry… to Hamlet. It's going to possess your dad…. Kill them before they become you… hurry…" The man passed out as the brother's untied him.
"Is he telling the truth?" the ten-year-old asked, his voice barely audible, even in the silence of the room, "is the thing that killed mom really gonna go after dad and us next?"
Dean turned to look at the kids. "Probably," he said, "but we're gonna try to stop it. Sam, why don't you take little me and go, uh, get some transportation. I'll take you and send Jakey back home."
Sam nodded. "All right. Any, uh, preferences? Make, model?"
"How about a '67 Impala," Dean smirked, hoisting Jake's limp body over his shoulders, "black. Good luck."