Chapter Five
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The first glimmer of dawn was low on the horizon when John finally stood up, dusted down the seat of his pants, turned towards the motel room and soundlessly opened the door.
His sons were mashed together on one of the two beds; Dean spooned around his younger brother, an arm thrown over his scrawny chest as if to protect his sibling even in sleep.
His boys were far too old to bunk down in the same narrow bed, John reflected glumly, but the price of two rooms when money was low meant less on-hand for food or gas.
John wasn't sure if his eldest was asleep or if his eye-lids had shuttered down when he'd heard him enter the room. No matter, he understood how shocked Dean must be by what he'd told him.
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He passed a hand over his tired face.
Perhaps he'd been too impulsive; it might have been better if he'd kept his preoccupations about Sam to himself instead of sharing them with his eldest.
He hoped Dean would come to understand he was only worried about Sam, but his instincts told him that if Dean had so far straddled the line between love for his father and love for his little brother, chances were he'd come down heavily on Sam's side now.
Any danger that threatened Sam upped Dean's protective instincts a million-fold.
Well, he couldn't take back the words, the damage had been done.
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He went to take a leak before bedding down. Maybe he could still manage a couple of hour's sleep
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Dean had effectively been awake when his father had slunk into the room. He'd remained motionless under John's gaze, only taking a breath when he heard his father enter the bathroom.
His arm tightened instinctively around his sibling, the horror of what John had been implying keeping him from sleep.
Did Dad really believe Sam was the target for a demon? That his baby brother had some stain of original sin on his soul? That their mom had died because of Sammy?
How could the warm bundle Dad had placed in his skinny arms that fateful night be evil?
His dad was rarely wrong when it came to the hunt, but he was this time.
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Sam wasn't a monster. And even if he were, the little voice in Dean's head murmured, it would make no difference. He'd never kill his brother, he'd rather die first.
When sleep overcame him, he dreamed of his father towering over Sam, a vengeful expression on his face, a flaming sword in his hand, ready to bring it down on his defenseless little brother.
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The only Winchester who had soundly slept through the night was Sam himself, unaware of the drama that had played out between his father and older brother hours before.
He cautiously slipped out from under Dean's arm and switched on the antediluvian coffee machine provided by the motel.
It was unusual for Dean and Dad to sleep through the hum of the machine but they were both snoring heavily, so Sam snagged a mug of coffee and went outside, the fresh morning air a welcome contrast to the stuffiness back in the motel.
With the laying of the salt-lines, no window was ever left open to aerate the room during the night and the morning brought its own series of odours caused by the close confines of three grown men.
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Dean jerked awake, the comforting mass of his brother's body no longer against his own. He skidded out of bed, afraid that during his sleep Sam had been spirited off somewhere to who knows what fearful destiny, the image of John wielding the sword still fresh in his mind.
"Not on my watch," he murmured under his breath, throwing a glance at the other bed where his father was snoring softly.
Dean's mind registered the low hum of the coffee machine and it calmed him a little. Sam had to have switched it on, so his sibling must be around somewhere.
He scooted out of the room, relieved when he saw the younger boy leaning against the Impala, sipping from a cup.
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After John's revelations of the night before, a part of Dean was terrified his father's words might have some truth in them, that even talking about Sam as some sort of devil's spawn could induce evil to pay them a visit.
But Sam looked exactly the same as yesterday, a lanky body that promised future growth, mussed chestnut hair and two wide green puppy eyes; all defining features of the little brother Dean loved and who couldn't … didn't…. have an evil bone in his body, despite Dad's dumb theory!
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"Hey," Sam smiled. "Thought you and dad would never wake up. Tough night, huh! Did he keep you up talking tactics or something?"
"Na, I was just wrung out. Musta had a backlog of sleep to catch up with," Dean replied casually. "That coffee sure smells good."
"Why didn't you grab a cup? There's plenty more inside."
"Didn't wanna wake dad."
Sam rolled his eyes.
"Here! Don't say I never do anything for you." Dean took the proffered cup and downed the remaining liquid, his shoulder bumping against his sibling's.
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Caught up in their conversation, neither boy noticed their father watching them from behind the curtain.
John helped himself to a cup of coffee and took a seat at the rickety table wondering what to do next. He'd hung around these past days, somehow afraid to leave Sam on his own, convinced the demon had told the truth.
His youngest was involved in some way with Mary's death and though he wasn't blaming Sam, well not quite; Sam definitely held the key to solving this mystery.
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Sam wasn't a demon, of that he was sure.
John had surreptitiously tried out all the tests on him these past days; holy water, walking through devil's taps, iron, silver. But if Sam had nothing demonic about him, what had the demon meant?
Just what was Sam's role in all this? And if he discovered Sam was destined to turn into a monster, would he have the courage to kill his own son?
John didn't have an answer to that question. He'd dragged Sam and Dean on his crusade to find Mary's killer and now he'd discovered one of his own sons was involved.
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The next day, John came to a decision. For the time being there was nothing he could do here. He had to find out more and the only way to do that was to get his hands on another demon and squeeze the truth out of it.
But he'd go alone.
Dean needed to stay with his brother, keep an eye out for Sam, watch him, look for any sign Sam was turning into something else.
When he called Dean to the side and told him he was taking off, his son didn't answer him with his usual "Yes sir" but held his gaze with a glint of defiance.
" You gonna leave us here with no car and no money, Dad? How are we supposed to manage? Why can't you take us along?"
"You're seventeen now, Dean. A man. Old enough to take care of youself; and Sam's no longer a kid either. ..."
"No, not a kid!" Dean spat out, wondering where his courage had come from. " He's some kind of demon spawn, according to his own father!"
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John's expression darkened." You've got this all wrong, son. I don't want anything to happen to Sam. But to help him I've got to get more information, and the only way to do that is to catch another demon."
"I still don't get why Sam and I can't come along."
"I don't want your brother anywhere near a demon. Not until I've found out everything," John said.
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"Dad. Please don't leave us here like this. Can't you at least take us to Bobby's. We'd be better off there. Sam can go to school in Sioux Falls and I could find a job to keep us going money-wise."
John hesitated.
As usual when he got the scent of a hunt, he tended to dismiss the practical side of things. Dean had always managed to fend for himself and his brother through it all. But this time, Dean was right. He needed to get his sons settled in a more stable environment before taking off for who knows how long.
"You're right, son," he conceded. "I'll drop you off at Singer's."
Sam wasn't happy about having to change schools again but other than stare daggers at his father's back when he wasn't looking, there wasn't much he could do about it. John's word was law, though Dean seemed as annoyed with dad as he was, something that rarely happened.
They must have had words, he mused.
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When they drew up at Bobby's, a black truck was parked beside the door.
"Bobby finally bought himself a decent ride, " Dean commented studying it.
John turned to his son. "It's mine. I told him to look out for something suitable. I meant for you to have the Impala on your eighteenth birthday but I guess there's no harm in anticipating the date."
Dean's features took on a blissful expression, the first one John had seen since he'd told him about Sam.
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"At least I've done one thing right," John whispered to himself, before letting the keys drop into Dean's hand. "She's yours now, Dean. Treat her well."
This time, Dean's "Yes sir "was quickly forthcoming. His dad had given him the Impala!
When John got out of the car, Dean glanced back at Sam who gave his brother a wide grin. "Dude, no more walking to school. Got my own taxi service now."
"You wish, bitch, " Dean grunted, but nothing could wipe the ecstatic smile from his face.
Whatever was in store for them, They'd face it together, or die trying.
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The End (for now anyway)