A/N: Thanks for reading! I can't believe how popular this fic has been! Hundley: Great to hear from you again. I'm glad you like the story, and I promise I will continue to update. I am committed to this story, and I am determined to finish. Thank you for liking my author's notes. Good to know they are appreciated.

On that note, there is a competition going on for novel-length fanfictions, and I'm thinking of entering. Thoughts?

I do not own Supernatural or its characters.


Chapter 23: Love and Monsters


They had been hiking for perhaps ten minutes when Bill paused, head erect, like some fine pointer on alert. John, suddenly realizing that his already remarkably slow column had come to a complete halt, turned in annoyance, "What's wrong?"

"I think I heard something. That direction," Bill nodded to indicate the direction meant. John was at his side in an instant, "You think it was the troll?"

Bill looked at him, "Troll?"

"What? You still saying it was a Windigo?"

"No, no, just, kinda glad to know what the hell that thing was."

"Yeah. Right. Okay. Um, Bill, how about you go over there," John said, pointing, "and try to keep the kid out of the line of fire."

"His name's Caleb."

"Just get him over there. You stay with him. Do not come out until the thing is dead or gone. Got it?"

Bill rolled his eyes, "I'm not a civilian you know." However he did move off into the hidden spot John had indicated.

John turned away, extending his taser out in front of him as he stared into the blackness. He always hated this part, the waiting, staring into nothing, not knowing where the threat might spring from.


Sam tugged at Dean's pants, "Dee! Pway!"

Dean stared down at him, "Now? Isn't it time for your nap?" Sam tugged again. That was precisely why he wanted to play, if he was playing then he wasn't asleep. He stared at his brother.

Dean looked back at the papers he had been working on. He had gotten Daddy to show him some basic addition and subtraction, and now he was drawing up an assessment of their supplies, trying to determine exactly how long they could go without a store. He was already coming to the conclusion that they used far too much in a day. Diapers and food were scarce resources, they needed to be conserved.

"Deeeeee…"

Dean sighed, looking down into the pleading puppy dog eyes that were artfully brimming with tears, "Look Sammy, I'm busy. Why don't you go sleep. We can play later." He turned back to his work assuming the conversation to be over.

"No s'eep. No."

Dean sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes to look obnoxiously at the ceiling, "Then play by yourself."

Sam stared at him a moment, sniffing and rubbing at tears now falling freely down his face. He turned slowly away and sadly started out of the room.

Dean watched him start to leave. The sight tugged at his memory. A few weeks after the fire, when he had gone to ask Daddy what was going on, Daddy had told him almost exactly the same thing. Of course, he understood now why Daddy hadn't wanted to talk, but he couldn't do that to Sam.

He hopped off his chair, running toward the toddler and scooping him up, grinning into the confused face, "So, what do you wanna do?" Sam looked astonished, rubbing a hand across his face to wipe away tears, "Dee?"

"Yeah. What, you just gonna sit there?" Sam smiled, struggling to get down and then running across the room, "Catch me!" He shrieked in babyish happiness, "Catch me, Dee!"

"Okay!" Dean chased after him, running and zigzagging around, childish yells and shrieks of glee drifting up toward the ceiling. Work could wait. For now he would be a kid.


John turned hurriedly as he heard a loud crash in the brush nearby. He cursed. He was really jumpy, and he couldn't afford that right now. There was something about the pitch black, the waving flashlight beam that illuminated everything and nothing, that made the dark even more unnerving. He heard another crash and swung to aim at it, his flashlight beam briefly lighting on the mottled skin of a moving figure. He almost shot at it before remembering the unlikelihood of hitting it, and the taser only had enouph charge for one shot. Hearing a noise directly to his left he dropped to the ground and rolled to the right, feeling the wind of a heavy fist narrowly miss his face. He bolted to his feet, trying desperately to see though the pitch dark. He heard it lumber toward him again, and again he narrowly missed a rather severe concussion.

This went on for a while. He couldn't see a thing, and could never get a clear shot. The troll, fortunately, was large, slow, clumsy, and rather stupid. The only problem was that it had a distinct height advantage, excellent hearing, and remarkable stamina. John could only keep up his dangerous game of ropadope for so long. Already he felt himself beginning to tire.

He continued for a while longer, growing increasingly clumsy and labored in his movements, his rolls and ducks to the side awkward and slow. Finally he tripped over an unseen root and went down, hard. As he tried to recover his breath, he realized that at some point during all this he had dropped his taser. He heard heavy footsteps above him, and rolled over to stare in horror up into the hideous face and horrible dark silhouette of the troll.

This was it. This was how he was going to die, killed by some damn creature from The Lord of the Rings.

The monster reached a hand toward him, then began to spasm, jerking and arching as blue-white bands of electricity flew over it, glowing brightly in the pitch black. This lasted perhaps twenty seconds, then it went dark and John heard it drop to the ground. A figure stepped over it with some difficulty and John saw a hand extended about a foot in front of his face. He took the offered help and carefully got to his feet, feeling himself pulled into a hug.

Bill's voice sounded from the vicinity of his shoulder, "You okay?"

They pulled apart with some awkward backslapping, "Yeah, uh, thanks for that." John's tone turned teasing, "I thought I told you to keep your ass in those bushes."

Bill shrugged, "Yeah, well… Hey uh, I don't think I asked, what's your name?"

"John Winchester."

"Good to meet you, John. Um… What do you say we get out of these woods?"


The sun was just making its way over the trees as John stopped the Impala outside the Roadhouse. Bill got out the other side and together they lifted Caleb out of the back seat. John supported him, and in this fashion they slowly made their way into the building, Bill opening the front door and John grinning his thanks.

Ellen looked up from where she was wiping down the bar, eyes going wide as she took in Bill standing awkwardly by the door, "Hey, Ellen."

She made her way out from behind the bar, moving one hand across the surface, as though she would collapse if she went unsupported. She stood in front of Bill, tears in her eyes as she looked up at him, a hand on his cheek as she leaned up to kiss him.

They pulled away and Bill smiled, "Hey, baby." Then his face turned to the side as she gave him a resounding slap. Her finger went up and into his face, "William Joseph Harvelle! Don't you ever, EVER do that to me again! I don't care if it's ten years from now. Scare me like that again and I kill you."

"Sorry, Ellen. Guess I'm just stupid." He grinned into her unturned face. She grinned back, "You got that right," and they kissed again, long and deep, maneuvering around her protruding belly as they wrapped their arms around each other.

John stood awkwardly, trying to shift the teenager's weight around to a more comfortable hold. Finally he decided they'd had long enouph. He cleared his throat. No effect. He tried again.

After about another ten seconds they broke apart, grinning like idiots. John spoke, "Where do you want the kid?"

Ellen turned her head to look at him, still resting her head against Bill's chest, Bill's chin resting on her hair. "Um… better put him on the pool table."

"Right." John started across the room, Ellen's voice drifting after him, "And John… Thank you."

Caleb moaned slightly as John laid the boy onto the table. Good to know he hadn't wasted all that effort on a dead kid, "No problem."

Bill was the next to talk as John walked back across the room, "Don't worry about clean-up. I'll burn the thing later." John came to a stop in front of him, "Okay. Well, uh, guess I'd better be going then."

"Wait! Um, couldn't you stay until this evening?"

"Why? What's this evening?"

"I guess it isn't all that important, but uh, you know, the Super Bowl's tonight. Ellen and I always have kind of a party for everyone here, and we'd really like you to come. After all, I haven't thanked you properly for saving my life! What better way than this, huh? Come on, Bears vs. Patriots! Bet we beat their asses this year!"

Ellen laughed, "You say that every year! About a different team!"

"I think I'm entitled to more than one favorite team, don't you?"

"Every year they lose!"

"Well, I'm right this time. What do you say, John? Stick around? Bet Caleb would like to meet you."

John considered. It sounded like a lot of fun, certainly better than sitting doing research in a motel with Bobby like he had last year, or drinking himself into oblivion, like most holidays since. And he really wanted to spend more time with the Harvelles… But. He stood for a minute, thinking, "Yeah, you should probably get that kid to a hospital. And, uh, thanks for asking me, but, uh, there's someone I got to go see." He and Bill shook hands, "Well, see you around, Winchester." Ellen spoke, "You be sure to come see us sometime."

"I'll do that. Bye."


Dean sat, frustrated, finally managing to get some work done now that there wasn't a screaming toddler running around, begging him to play with him. Sam had been placated with Bobby's picture book, which he held open in front of him, babbling wordlessly as if reading aloud while staring at the pictures. It was starting to get on Dean's nerves. He was attempting to calculate food supplies, carefully counting on his fingers, his brow furrowed in concentration as he worked. Finishing that, he wrote a number down on his paper, strung near the bottom after a whole line of others. He glared at it. Why did math have to be so hard?

A car pulling up outside drew his attention, and his heart leapt as he heard it park outside their room. Daddy was back!

He started to run to the door, then stopped, thinking better of it. Daddy frequently came home really badly hurt, and then there was that time last month at Uncle Bobby's… He decided to hang back and test the waters.

He relaxed as Daddy walked in, a large smile on his face, and no apparent wounds, "Hey, buddy. Come here." He reached out his arms and Dean ran to meet him, basking in happiness as he felt himself swept up into his father's arms. He leaned his head against the man's shoulder, "I love you, Daddy."

Daddy placed a hand against the back of his head. Dean was glad of the comforting gesture, "I know you do. Hey, Sammy!" He set down the grinning boy, instead grabbing a surprised Sam and tossing him in the air, before holding him close in a hug, ignoring the shrieks of protest and struggles for liberty as the toddler desperately tried to escape, "DEE!" The boy laughed at the sight, and Daddy turned to him, "Here, take your brother. I need to go out for a second." Dean accepted hesitantly, disappointed this lovely day would not continue, and watched the man walk out, ignoring Sammy relaxing in his arms, clutching his shirt and sighing, "Dee."

Daddy, to Dean' delight, returned a very short time later, several brown paper bags perilously held in his arms as he struggled to navigate the door. He caught sight of Dean's downcast face, "What's the matter, Dean? Oh. Um, sorry, I just had to go out to the car. Got us some stuff." He pulled a small toy football out of one of the bags and tossed it at Dean. Surprised, he did not catch it, but he quickly set down Sammy and ran to pick it up, walking to where Daddy was unloading all sorts of good-looking foods. Mainly junk, it was true, but it was delicious.

"Daddy? What's going on?" John handed him the channel guide, "Here, find the sports channel."

Dean flipped through, finally landing on the right one, replay of various football games moving on the screen. He tossed the ball at Daddy, "Daddy, catch!"

John caught it, yelling "Touchdown!" and Dean laughed, jumping up onto the couch to catch it again.

The motel room rang with shouts and laughter, full of joy and love, and for one shining moment, they were a family again.


The angel in the corner felt glad. Castiel had been checking in with them on occasion, telling himself it wasn't a problem so long as no one knew. He just wanted to be sure the family was all right. After all, The Vessels and The Righteous Man in the same family? They should be a magnet for demons. So he came. Not very often, and he didn't stay long, but enouph to satisfy himself that they were still alive. He stayed for a few minutes, watching them, and then, seeing that they appeared safe and happy, to his limited understanding of human emotion anyway, he departed.