Deanna woke a few hours later. She was not by nature a sullen child, but that morning she was downcast. It may have been a nightmare or perhaps the effects of waking up in yet another strange environment. More than likely it was due to spending so much time separated from her mother, something she had never experienced before in her short life. Her sadness didn't manifest in any outward temper tantrum or surliness though. Instead she seemed to simply curl in on herself, becoming noticeably quiet and withdrawn. Whatever the cause, Sam spent some time trying to gently coax her out of bed. But with Eric becoming increasingly fussy and demanding more of his attention, there was only so much time he could spare. He was grateful then, when without even being asked, Dean took over from him where Deanna was concerned.
Dean spent the better part of an hour speaking with her, quiet hushed tones which slowly drew her out from her protective shell. By then everyone other than Ash was up and about, and Sam was perhaps the only one who wasn't surprised when Dean emerged with the youngster clinging to him. Jo didn't even bother hide her disbelief, so at odds was this seemingly tender persona with the more habitually brusque hunter she'd become accustomed to. Even Ellen and Bobby raised an eyebrow, but they at least had the tact to not gawp quite so openly.
At Deanna's request Dean agreed to stay for breakfast but Sam could see the disquiet in him growing; he wanted to be on the road, wanted to be working the case. When their eyes met across the table, they had one of those silent conversations that Sam had forgotten they were capable of having, and he knew Dean was ready to go.
Immediately after breakfast, when Dean took Deanna to one side and gently explained that he needed to leave for a while, Sam was suddenly struck by how often in his life Dean must have had similar conversations with him during their childhood, excusing their father's absences before Sam had known the truth.
Whatever Dean told her, it worked because she seemed to be more herself after that, and Dean was finally able to leave, albeit much later than he'd planned.
There was no fanfare, obviously, though Sam walked him to the car, hoping perhaps for some parting words of reassurance. But there were none. Instead, there was air of detachment, a distance in Dean's bearing, and Sam realised his brother had already left in some ways. Dean may as well have already been on the road, because despite standing right there, he was already 'absent', closed off and unreadable. Sam could have put it down to the urgency and need to get started, but he sensed there was something more. There was something hidden lurking behind Dean's eyes, a sense of secrecy, and Sam was instantly reminded of the looks that had passed between Dean and the others. Particularly the look that had passed between Dean and Ellen when Sam had asked about the wardings. He'd not been able to decipher the reason for it, but the meaning had been clear to him; Dean was telling Ellen to keep her mouth shut. Sam didn't know about what, but clearly there was something he wasn't supposed to know.
As the Impala disappeared from view and Sam turned to head back in, he realised he'd been wrong about the entire dynamic of the situation at the Roadhouse. When he'd first seen Bobby the night before, he assumed they'd arrived there to seek out his advice and insight. It had been a surprise then to discover that it was Dean, and not the older hunter, who seemed to be dolling out the order of business and directing the show. The 'show' itself, now that Sam was able to take stock of the situation, was not at all what he had expected. For starters, he'd expected his brother to be working alone, from a motel room and the Impala, and while Sam and Dean's initial encounter had all but confirmed this, the Roadhouse, with home-cooked meals, real bedrooms and more importantly, a real live hunting 'family', was completely unexpected. And it had been obvious that there was a familiarity between Dean and this group that went beyond the occasional visit. These people worked together regularly, which was why it was even more strange to Sam that it should be Dean who appeared to call the shots.
After settling his children down for a nap, Sam stood awkwardly in the middle of the bar, wondering what he was supposed to do with himself. Bobby and Ellen had gone on a supply run, while Ash and Jo were occupying space at the back end of the bar. Ash had an impressive IT set-up spread across one of the large tables, while Jo sat close by at a table of her own, cleaning a rifle, the tabletop covered with an assortment of weaponry, and one or two books thrown in the mix. Sam stood undecided for a moment, hating feeling useless, hating the feeling of helplessness, before heading their way.
"It's been a while since I've done this type of research," he admitted as he approached the two younger hunters, a slightly crooked smile hiding his embarrassment. "But point me where to start and it'll come flooding back, I'm sure."
"It's okay," Jo replied. "We got things covered."
"To be honest, I'd welcome the distraction," Sam confessed, not backing down. "And I can still read Latin, if it helps."
His smile felt strained on his face after a few seconds, and he sensed their defences go up even before he saw the alarmed look that Ash and Jo exchanged. Then Jo smiled back, sliding over towards the side of her table, head inclining forwards to indicate to the small armoury spread out between them.
"Nothing to research. But you could help me clean this lot," she offered, smile still in place. "If you remember how."
But it wasn't lost on Sam that she'd slid away from Ash to force Sam into a seat that would hide the monitors from Sam's eyeline. Just as it hadn't escaped him that her smile was oh-so-slightly forced, hiding her unease. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Ash was eyeing him guardedly, and he wasn't smiling at all.
However, as much as Sam wanted to press the issue, he reeled himself in, reminding himself he was a guest (and an unpaying one at that) in these people's space. He had no right to impose or push, especially if they didn't want him there.
"It's been a while," he admitted again, easing himself down into the chair Jo had pushed out with her foot. "But sure. I'll give it a shot." He hadn't intended the pun, but it was lost on them in any case. He sensed the alarm reducing a touch though, even if their weariness seemed to remain.
Unsure what to make of their reactions, he stared at the table instead. The arsenal threw him a little. He wasn't sure he wanted so much weaponry in such close proximity to his children, especially since Dean had already pulled a gun on him. Twice. But he swallowed down his concerns and reached for one of the firearms; a Taurus Model 92 9mm, standard stainless version with 17-round magazine and mother of pearl grip. He thought it would feel strange in his hands, thought it would feel alien and unfamiliar. But the handgun seemed to nestle in his grip as though their acquaintance had been long since established. Before he knew what he was doing, his fingers were moving of their own accord, his hand deftly catching the discarded magazine before it even grazed the table and long buried muscle memory bubbled to the surface with no real effort on his conscious part. Within barely a minute, the gun lay field stripped in a neatly organised line, ready for cleaning.
"Not been so long a while then," Jo snorted, both amused and impressed. It seemed to reduce the anxiety in both her and Ash a little more, and Sam smiled awkwardly again, acknowledging the compliment but making no comment. He wouldn't have known what to say anyway, he'd surprised himself with his proficiency.
He worked quietly, and slowly the mood across their tables calmed. Occasionally Jo and Ash would begin a conversation, but every time the momentum built up, just as it seemed to verge on something substantial about a case or the research, they seemed to catch themselves, a furtive glance sent Sam's way even if Sam pretended not to catch any of it, and they would clam up again regardless.
It became irritating after a while, and when Sam had had enough, he decided to instigate his own conversation.
"So how long have you known my brother?" he asked, not specifically directing the question at either of them. "I remember Ellen from my Dad's funeral, so I guess a few years at least?" he ventured.
"A few." Jo agreed cautiously. "A few years before your Dad died."
"And your mom's place, it's just for hunters?"
"Mostly for hunters."
"So how'd that happen? How'd you and your folks get into hunting?"
There was silence and after a beat, Sam looked up. There was an awkwardness in the air again but different from before, and Sam realised he'd said something wrong.
"You don't exactly go around asking people how they got into hunting padre," Ash said at last, for the first time that day addressing Sam directly. "Not usually a happy bedtime story, if you catch my drift."
And Sam felt instantly abashed, understanding how callous he'd been with his inquiry.
"It's okay," Jo said, trying to ease the mood. "I kind of grew up with it all. Mom and Dad ran the Roadhouse since before I can remember. They were both hunters. Then Dad died on a hunt when I was pretty young, and Mom carried on with this place. So here I am."
"I'm sorry," Sam offered. "I hadn't meant to pry."
"S'okay," Jo shrugged.
"You never wanted to leave?" Sam asked after a moment.
Jo shrugged again. "I went to college for a bit, but it didn't stick. I never really fit in." She shook her head dismissively. "Besides, there's not much school can teach you about hunting. This is the best place to be if you wanna pick up those skills."
Ash snorted a laugh. "If Ellen ever lets you."
"She can't stop me." Jo shot back.
"Your mom doesn't want you to hunt," Sam surmised, understanding and sympathising with Ellen instantly. He would never want such a life for Deanna or any of his children.
Jo let out an exasperated sigh. "Mom would be happy if I went off to college and stayed there, if I never had anything to do with hunters. Bad influence or whatever. But like I said, I tried school, wasn't for me."
"I guess," Sam allowed. "But I can't say I disagree with your Mom. Huntings not the safest job in the world."
"But it's worth doing," Jo retorted, looking at him defiantly. "With everything I know, I couldn't just walk away, knowing there are people out there who need help. People I could help. What kind of person would I be if I turned my back on that?"
It seemed to take a minute for her to realise what she'd said and who she'd said it to, and when she did her features instantly changed. "Oh god Sam I'm sorry! I didn't mean you. I didn't mean–"
"It's OK," Sam said, brushing it aside, ignoring the flush prickling at his cheeks. "And no offence taken, I get it. Honestly, Jo, if I'd grown up in a place like this?" he shrugged. "Who knows, I might have stayed in the life."
"I guess life on the road constantly," Jo allowed cautiously. "I guess it probably wasn't much fun."
Sam laughed, then shook his head, clearing the memories before they could settle. "It wasn't a picnic. But this place, the Roadhouse, this seems like a proper home."
"Yeah," Jo agreed, casting a gaze across the bar. "It's not bad. And it's taught me how to handle myself, which is a hell of a lot more than I can say for any school."
"Amen to that sister," Ash intoned, raising his half chewed Twizzler as a toast before promptly returning it to hang from the corner of his mouth.
There was another lull in the conversation, though less awkward than all the ones preceding, so after a while Sam decided to press his luck by resuming the discussion.
"I'm guessing this place is normally busier than this."
"Yeah, obviously," Ash responded, not looking away from his computer screen. "But when Dean says we're closed, we're closed."
Ash missed the warning look Jo shot him, while Sam pretended he hadn't seen it, knowing all the while that this was again some kind of territory that was verging on a no-go area. He couldn't understand why.
"But what if someone turns up?" he pressed. "I mean how would they know you're closed before they got here?"
"Got everyone's intel right at my fingertips," Ash tapped the side of the monitor, looking confused as though Sam's question was incredibly basic. "When we're a no-go, I just let 'em know. It ain't rocket science."
Sam thought about that for a moment. That would have to mean a lot of hunters, all connected through the one Roadhouse. That wasn't the system he'd grown up with. John had hunted in isolation most of the time, save perhaps for Bobby and on occasion Pastor Jim. The picture Sam had built of hunters, of the hunting life, had been informed solely by John, and that picture had been one of lone hunters, working independently, no unified organisation at all. At odds with the picture Sam was slowly forming now. It was more probable, Sam decided, that this network amongst hunters had always existed, and that John had simply avoided being any part of it. Still, it was an adjustment to his worldview to think of hunters as being an organised force, of hunters having a place to network and coordinate their efforts. He wondered how Dean fit in to it all. He wondered how Dean ended up calling the shots. He wondered what all the secrets were about.
Another lull in the conversation ensued, until again Sam broke it.
"Do you hunt?" he asked Ash, unable to picture the scrawny man wielding a weapon.
"Me?" For the first time, Ash tore his eyes away from his computer and looked truly surprised. "My deadliest weapon is my intellect. I'm like Brains from Thunderbirds. 50 years ahead of his time, but with better hair."
Jo snorted a laugh before Sam could respond. "Better hair?" She raised an eyebrow, her sight travelling over Ash's head. "You sure about that?"
"Damn right better hair." He smoothed his hands over his scalp, the hairs jumping back as soon as his palms passed over them, before he flicked his fingers through the long strands of his mullet. "Business at the front, party at the back, and nothing but Grade A brains runnin' all the way through the middle."
"Right. It's a real party back there."
"Oh I forgot, you prefer short chopped manes packaged in flannel shirts and a drinking problem."
His attention was back on his screen, so he missed the mortified look Jo gave him. That would have been bad enough, except Ash felt the need to explain his comment.
"I meant your brother," he clarified for Sam. "He and Jo were Ow! What?!"
He'd jumped when Jo had kicked him, and now sat rubbing his shin, a perplexed look on his face. Jo's face resembled a hue more akin to strawberries.
"Did… er.. Did you and my brother… date?" Sam ventured, trying to not sound too curious, trying to hide his own grin at Jo's embarrassment and Ash's lower leg injury.
"No, we didn't." Jo supplied curtly.
"Only coz Ellen threatened to skin him alive if he even looked at her sideways like that." Ash explained, scooting out of the way before Jo could get another shot in.
"She wouldn't have needed to threaten him, because he never stood a chance with me." Jo shot back, the colour on her cheeks still tinging the brighter side of scarlet.
"Right, Sure. Not even back when you two were making eyes at each other over the bar. You remember? Back when he wasn't such a crotchety jackass? No offence Sam. Know he's your brother an' all."
"Believe me, none taken," he waited a beat before querying Ash's last comment. "But… 'back when he wasn't'? Did something happen at some point…?"
"He wasn't half bad when I first met him. Then, well–"
"Then nothing," Jo piped in, giving Ash another warning look. "You were passed out on the pool table most of the time. Like I said before Sam, Dean's always been a jerk."
She'd been aiming for joviality, but Sam detected something hidden behind her smile.
"Suppose it doesn't matter now anyway," Ash commented, seeming oblivious to Jo's subterfuge as he slid back to his computer.
"What do you mean?" Sam asked, uncertain whether Ash was referring to any prospective romance between Jo and Dean, or whether he meant something else entirely.
"All things considered, with what's going on now. Doesn't matter what Dean's like anymore, so long as we stay on track."
Sam opened his mouth to question him further, but Jo intervened before he managed it.
"He means we have more important things to worry about right now." Jo sent another meaningful glare at Ash, one which Ash finally registered but the meaning of which was still lost on Sam.
Ash stared at her blankly, flicking a glance Sam's way before looking at her again. "Right," he started, seeming uncertain. "You mean… like the sea–"
"Sealed police reports." Jo said cutting him off again, even though Sam wasn't entirely convinced that was what Ash had been about to say. He couldn't think what else he could have meant though, and in any case, Jo was already moving the conversation along as she continued. "Yeah, those. And the footage Bobby wanted you to go over Sam. Anything that'll help us find your family."
Ash blinked at her, as if his thoughts were physically joining the dots in the conversation.
"Right," he responded eventually. "Right, yeah. Here," he tapped the keyboard on one of many laptops by his side before passing it over. There were several videos lined up, the media player screens all tiled one in front of the other. "Take your time with these. They're all loaded up, just hit play."
"Why are there so many?" Sam asked.
"Oh I got 'em from different sources. Some's the CCTV footage. Some's the private home security from your neighbours. You know, the usual. No big."
"You got private security footage?" Sam asked incredulously.
"Despite what one of your neighbours considers airtight," Ash said, giving him a look somewhere between bemused and appalled. "homeCAM123 is not as secure a password as you might think."
Sam accepted that without further comment, and when Jo subtly suggested he could move the laptop if he wanted to be nearer the kids, he recognised that he was being asked to leave. He acquiesced, knowing whatever it was they wanted to discuss, they weren't going to do it in front of him. No matter how much they seemed to have lowered their defences around him, it wasn't enough to be allowed into whatever it was that was going on.
tbc
I'm very sorry for the delay in posting. Thank you for your patience though *air-hugs*
Thank you Guest! Hope you continue to enjoy reading this :-)
Thank you Kathy for your continued support and feedback. And thank you for commenting on an older story too, I appreciate it!
Shazza19, thank you for the feedback about the look between Ellen and Dean, I hope I clarified it (again, one of those things in my head that I hadn't made clear enough on the page). As for the other questions, we'll see :-)
Soliloquy, I'm humbled. Thank you. I will try not to let too many days pass in between updates. It's mostly written but sometimes I'm just not happy with my ramblings! So I appreciated your kind words :-)
AN The gun that Sam instinctively reaches for to clean is his preferred sidearm in the show. I like the idea that no matter what they do or who they are, our boys are still our boys and their tastes are still their tastes.
AN This is just kind of humourous; I started this so long ago that I'd initially named Sam's son as Jack. This is before they had an actual Jack on the show. I then just kept it because I couldn't decide on another name and only changed it a day before posting, using the 'find-and-replace' command to change Jack to Kyle. So obviously here (as with one of the earlier uses), Dean got referred to as a crotchety Kyleass :-D
