"This is Dean."
"Oh, hey, Dean."
Dean put the rag he'd been cleaning his hands with down and walked out of the garage, gesturing to the phone for his dad's benefit. "Hey, Sammy. What's up?"
"Oh, nothing much. Just thought I'd call to see how you're doing. So, how you doing, Dean?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "I'm fine, but that's bull, Sammy. You're worried about something."
"What, you're psychic now?"
"No, I just know you, and Mr Michaelson wants his car back today; I don't have time to mess around. Now spill: what's bothering you?"
"I dunno, man." Sam's frustration came through loud and clear. "It's nothing; I'm probably just freaking out about the interview next week and with the time of year and all..."
Dean glanced back to the garage to see their dad watching him. "Yeah, I hear you. But, you're going to kick ass in that interview."
"That's what Jess said."
"Wise woman."
"It's just...Has Dad ever explained to you the whole salt thing? You know, salt at the windows, at the doors-"
"Sam, I've lived with the man for longer than you have, I know what you're talking about. And no, he's never explained. I just figured-"
"What?"
"Actually, I've got nothing. You caught me on a bad day. Ring back tomorrow, I'm sure I'll think of something suitably witty for your higher sensibilities."
"Dean."
Dean smiled. "Sorry. You were saying?"
"I did some research-"
"Geek," he muttered.
"-Shut up, Dean, and salt is used to ward off spirits, demons, etcetera."
"Did you just use etcetera in a normal conversation? Dude, you need to get a life."
"Dean! Would you be serious for just one second?"
Dean rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I already knew about the salt, Sam. I looked it up a few years ago."
From the pause, Dean knew Sam was trying to figure out how to reach down the phone line and strangle him.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Sam finally said.
Dean's expression was incredulous. "Dad comes across as crazy enough without knowing the whys of it. You'd have confronted him or wanted to send him to a loony bin or something."
There was a sigh. "You're probably right."
"Of course I'm right, I'm your big brother. Now, what's bothering you, 'cause it sure as hell isn't Dad's weird ways."
The line was quiet for a few moments as Dean put his free hand in the pocket of his jumpsuit and kicked a loose stone around.
"I've been having these dreams, about Jess."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Dude, you know I don't want to hear about your sex life."
When there was annoyed silence from the other end, Dean stopped. "I'm sorry, Sammy, continue," he said solicitously.
"Jess is on the ceiling and the room is on fire."
Dean winced. "Sam, that's not a dream, that's a nightmare."
"I've been having them every night. I don't want to tell Jess, because I don't want to worry her-"
"-Instead you worry me-"
"-And it's probably because of Mom dying in that fire that I'm having them. Although, why Jess is on the ceiling I have no idea."
"And then there's the obvious," Dean offered.
"Yeah."
"Have you picked a ring yet?"
"No... I can't find the right one. None of the ones I've looked at seem like Jess to me."
"Sam, a ring is a ring."
"Says the guy who got turned down."
"That wasn't to do with the ring." Dean shook his head, slightly pissed. "And I can't believe you brought that up. Talk about a low blow."
"Did I mention that I haven't had a good night's sleep in three days?"
"No excuse. I had worse with Kayla and I wasn't verbally castrating people."
"According to Dad you were."
"Well, we've already established that Dad's one fry short of a happy meal, Sam, so I don't think he's a very credible witness."
Dean could hear the smile in Sam's voice. "You have got to stop watching Law and Order, man. How is the midget doing, anyway?"
"Asking how people are." At Sam's snort, Dean continued, "I'm serious. Two days ago she turned around to Emily and said, 'How are you?'"
"Wow. She's what, ten months?"
"Eleven."
"That's big."
Dean smiled proudly. "Yeah, yeah it is. I have her tonight, so I'm hoping I can get a 'Dude, where's my car?' out of her, or maybe 'Uncle Sammy smells'."
Sam laughed. "Good luck with that."
He took a deep breath. "Sam, stop thinking so much, relax and take your girl out for a night on the town. Call me after the interview."
Dean hung up and walked back into the garage, taking care to not scuff the salt line. If he did, he'd never hear the end of it from his dad.
"She asleep?"
Dean sank wearily into the armchair. "Yep. I am, too."
John looked from the TV over to Dean and chuckled. He did look almost asleep. "Hey, Dean," he said, his voice casual, "was that Sammy who called earlier?"
"Yep," Dean replied noncommittally as he burrowed further into his chair and closed his eyes.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah." There was a pause and John thought that he would have to push more to get details. "He's just a little stressed about the interview, finding a ring. Been having nightmares." Dean propped his head up on his hand.
"That sucks."
"Yeah. I certainly wouldn't want to be dreaming about Emily on the ceiling on fire."
John's stomach sunk right through to Australia and didn't resurface. "What?"
An eye cracked open. "He's having nightmares that Jess is on the ceiling and the room is on fire. Freaky, huh?"
John gripped the arms of his chair tightly. Sam was only six months old when his mother died; there was no way he could know. John had never told him and Dean about it. He wanted to give his sons as normal a life as he possibly could. It didn't mean that he didn't take precautions, but the boys were unaware of their meaning.
He abruptly got up from his chair.
"Dad?" Dean said, unwinding slightly from his compact position. "You okay?"
"I'm fine, Dean." John dropped a hand onto Dean's shoulder as he walked past. "Just relax. I want to look something up on the net."
He stared at the screen. It couldn't be.
All the signs were there.
He couldn't rule out that it wasn't related to a child who was about to turn six months old. But, there hadn't been any activity on that front for years.
And, Sam's dream. He was dreaming about something that he couldn't know. He was one of the children – and maybe that meant that there was something special about him, some reason that the demon had to kill his mother and, maybe, now kill Jess.
He needed to know whether all the details in Sam's dream matched up.
"Dad?"
John swiftly turned around and faced his sleepy son standing in the doorway. "I want you to call Sammy."
Dean's brow wrinkled with puzzlement. "It's late, Dad. Can't this wait until tomorrow?"
"No, it can't." John searched for the portable phone buried under the weather reports on his desk, finally finding it under Arkansas, 1983. He handed the phone to Dean. "Call your damn brother."
Dean looked at the phone and at John. "Dad..."
"Now, Dean," John barked.
Dean glanced back towards his daughter's room before sending a concerned 'let's humour the crazy man' look John's way.
"Okay, okay," he muttered as he dialled the numbers. "Yeah, I know, Sam... You might want to go outside, avoid disturbing Jess... Look, I'm sorry, man, but Dad wants to talk to you." Dean thrust the phone at his father.
"...don't want to talk to Dad, Dean. I'm hanging up."
"Sammy," John said, "don't hang up. It's very important that you listen to me."
"It's Sam. Sammy was a chubby twelve year-old. Whatever this is, it better be good."
John breathed through his annoyance and frustration and ignored the concerned looks he was getting from Dean. "Jess is on the ceiling, her stomach is slit open, there's blood dripping down and then she and the ceiling are on fire."
"Wh-what?" Sam's voice was shaky and he drew in a deep breath. "How...how could you know that? I only told Dean about the f-fire and her being on the ceiling. How-"
John locked eyes with Dean who was leaning on the wall, silently shaking his head back and forth.
"Sam, your mother died the same way above your crib. She was on the ceiling."
Dean pressed his lips together as his face scrunched up. He backed towards the door. "No, I'm not listening to this. This is insane," he whispered.
"You must – you must have told us what you thought you saw-"
"No, Sam."
"Or we heard you dreaming about it-"
"Sam, it happened and this may happen to Jess. I've researched it. Other mothers died in fires in their baby's nurseries on the night that the baby turned six months old in 1983. All exactly six months."
"No."
"Yes, Sam. There are always signs – electrical storms, cattle mutilations. They happened when your mother died and they're happening in Palo Alto right now."
Dean shook his head one last time before fleeing the room. John turned his back to the door, putting all his will power into persuading Sam.
"The fire in your nursery, Sammy, it chased me out of the room. It was like it was alive."
Sam's voice was choked up. "Do-do you realise how completely insane this sounds? What? Did a ghost or a d-demon or something kill Mom?"
"A demon."
"A demon. Demon. Right."
"They exist, Sam."
"And, what do you want me to do, Dad, huh?" The Sammy voice that John remembered so fondly made a comeback. "If this crackpot theory of yours is true, what do I do?"
John's voice was quiet. "Leave Jess, leave Stanford."
Sam laughed. "Oh, you'd love that, wouldn't you? You never wanted me to go away to school. Is that what this is? Some sick attempt to get me to leave Stanford? Because, I'm telling you now, it's not going to work."
"Sam," John barked, "you're the one who is dreaming about Jess dying. Are you so selfish that you would even risk it happening? Can you risk her life on your Dad being a crackpot who just happens, by coincidence, to know details of your dream that you didn't tell anyone? Can you, Sam?"
There was silence. "No," Sam finally said, his voice thick. "No, I can't risk her life. It's just... It's a lot to ask me to believe, all in one go."
"I wish I didn't..." John trailed off.
"I know, Dad," Sam softly said.
"After I talk to Dean, I'm going to leave. Break up with Jess, go to a motel. I don't think that anything will happen till November 2nd, but you can't risk it, Sam. You can't."
"I know."
"I'm sorry, Sammy. You have no idea how much."
John pressed the button on the phone to end the conversation and just stood there, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He was too old and tired for this. He walked to the door and out, glancing across to Kayla's room and then down the stairs. Dean was sitting on the bottom step, Kayla's bag beside him, and the girl herself asleep on his shoulder.
Fixing the image firmly in his mind, he slowly made his way down and sat beside Dean on the wide step. He brushed his fingers gently over Kayla's soft brown hair and she stirred slightly in her father's arms.
"I couldn't even make it out the door," Dean said softly.
"You don't have to.'
Dean looked John in the eyes. "Why didn't you tell us?"
John mentally sighed in relief. He didn't know what had happened to make Dean believe, but he did. "I was trying to protect you."
Dean's brow furrowed. "How could I protect Sam, how can I protect Kayla, if I don't know what's out there, what happened to Mom?"
John scratched his cheek absently. "You have to understand, Dean, most people will never see anything like this in their entire lives. I had no reason to think that what happened was related to Sammy. The demon took your Mom, not him."
There was a snort. "Sure you didn't."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Dean readjusted his grip on Kayla. "You didn't want Sam to go to college."
"And I told you to go."
Dean nodded.
"This conversation is going to take a while, might as well do it in comfort." John stood up and led the way to the two armchairs they had been sitting in before, claiming his own. He waited until Dean was settled, Kayla leaning on his chest. "When you went to college, did you put salt at the windows and doors like I told you to?"
"Yeah." Dean nodded. "Most of my roommates thought I was insane, but yeah, I did. I couldn't lie to you, not about something that you thought was so important." He inclined his head. "Even if I didn't know the reason."
"Do you think your brother would?"
John could almost see the light bulb go on above Dean's head.
"You were scared that something might happen to Sam because he wouldn't, and that's why you didn't want him going," Dean said slowly as John nodded his head in agreement. "What about Kayla, though? What if it, the, the demon," he stumbled over the words. "What if the demon had come after Emily when she turned six months old? If you'd told me, I could have protected her."
"No," John shook his head, "you couldn't. Dean, I don't know how to kill this demon. If it had come, you might have been killed, too. There were no signs, but I watched Emily's house all night. If it had happened, Kayla would have been safe."
Dean's eyes were full of pain and disbelief. "And Emily would have been dead." He dragged in a deep breath. "So, Sam's having dreams about things that he couldn't know, which is... Actually, I don't know what it is, other than freaky. What happens now?"
"I'm going to go and get Sam and go and see Missouri."
"Missouri?"
"Missouri Moseley. She's a psychic in Lawrence." Dean made a face at the word. "She's the real deal, Dean. You seemed to like her, when you met her."
There was silence as Dean chewed on his lip. John couldn't believe how well he was taking everything; that he believed what John was saying.
"I can't come with you," Dean said abruptly, his face set. "I can't leave Kayla."
"I know." John felt his gut burning with tension. "And we won't be able to contact you. We can't take the risk that it will come after you or Kayla."
Dean's breath hitched as he rocked slightly. He looked away, trying to recapture his composure. "Just, just make sure you and Sammy don't kill each other, okay?" Dean smiled at John.
John smiled back sadly. "Will do," he said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. "I should get going." He stood up hesitantly, feeling his joints creak. Dean pulled himself out of his chair, moved forward and threw his arms around John, making sure to not squash the girl in his arms. John closed his eyes as he wrapped his own arms around Dean, holding him tightly. "I'm proud of you, Dean," he whispered. He felt Dean's head nod against his shoulder. John reluctantly let go and Dean stepped back. "And I love you, little girl." He kissed Kayla's head gently before turning and walking to the door.
"Dad?"
John stopped and faced Dean.
"That motel we stayed at when I was seven, that was..."
"Yeah," John said.
As John drove to Stanford he tried to submerge his guilt and grief.
It would only take a few months: they'd find out how to kill the demon, figure out what was going on with Sam, and it would all be over. Sam could go back to Stanford, make up with Jess, get married and become a lawyer like he wanted to. John could go back home and have his family back.
Just a few months. He could do that.