The last rays of the sun gleamed on the hood of the Impala, where she was parked outside a motel. Sam took out his bag and went over to their room. Dean closed the trunk of the car and followed Sam, carrying both his and Jim's bags, the boy slouching after them.
x
They entered their motel room. Sam paused for a beat. Jim was very quiet and mellow, looking down on the floor.
"How you doing Jimmy?" Sam asked.
"Fine..." the boy mumbled.
"Back at the diner..." Sam queried. "Were you scared something would happen to your dad?"
Jim just looked up at him with big, sad eyes.
Dean took a few steps in their direction, correcting the topic:
"Hey! Nothing's happening to nobody. We're all here and we're all fine. Right, Jimbo?"
Jim sighed and nodded obediently. Sam glared at Dean and shook his head, but decided not to fight him on this here and now.
x
Only a couple of streetlamps a yard away lit up the parking lot. Sam came out of their motel room, dialing on his cell phone.
x
Inside the motel room, Dean was sitting on his bed watching tv. When he turned his head, Jim was sitting on the other bed, watching him.
"You need something?" It sounded more hostile than he had intended.
"Where's Sam?" the boy asked.
"He's calling Bobby."
Dean continued watching the tv-screen, but he felt Jim's eyes still on him. Finally he turned the tv off and scratched his head, avoiding eye contact.
"So, uhm... You wanna learn some sparring?"
Jim tilted his head, he didn't know that word.
"I'll teach you how to fight," Dean explained. "So you'll be tough like me and uncle Sammy. Well, hopefully more like me, but..." He chuckled to himself.
His son smiled and nodded. Dean took his bed pillow and went down on two knees to match Jim's height. He held out the pillow in front of him for a punching bag.
"All right... Now, first of all: Balance."
x
Bobby poured himself a little Hunter's Helper and put the bottle down on his desk.
"So, yellow eyes, huh?"
"Yeah," Sam nodded into his cell phone, then paused for a beat. "Hey Bobby, you don't... I mean, this can't be the same demon that got mom and Jess?"
"Not the same one, 'cos you Winchesters killed him good and proper. Could be something ranking just as highly, though. Don't know yet." Bobby took a sip of the golden beverage and let it burn down his gullet. "What I don't get – in a long, colorful line of random strangeness here – is the time stopping. That's almost unheard of, takes some serious mojo."
"Okay, so somebody should know something, right? And Bobby..." Sam looked back at their room, making sure nobody was eavesdropping. "This thing was coming after Jim. Again! It's like they have the kid lo-jacked or something. At first I thought they were just screwing with Dean, but now it's like they're on a mission!"
Bobby tilted the phone away from his mouth as he took a deep breath, staring up in the sealing.
"Seams like. We'll figure it out, son. Just keep moving and keep laying out those salt lines."
Sam nodded. What else could they do at this point?
"How's Dean doing with...everything?" Bobby asked.
Sam shrugged and shook his head. He wasn't sure what to tell Bobby or where to start.
x
Dean held out the pillow and Jim was punching it with all his might. They had been at it for some time, Jim looked tired and warm, but Dean kept coaching:
"Come on, keep it coming! Lean in on your punches. Shoulders first, arms are extensions of the shoulders."
Jim stopped, took a step back and stood there panting. This wasn't fun anymore. Dean scowled the quitter.
"Come on, come on! The monster ain't gonna stop coming at you just because you're tired. Let's go!"
Jim was exhausted and annoyed, so instead of trying to use Dean's technique, he simply charged the pillow, fists in the air. Dean saw him coming and took a firm grip of the pillow. When Jim hurled himself at it, it didn't budge, and Jim bounced back and fell to the floor.
"Ouch..!" the boy complained.
Dean locked eyes with his son, who stayed sitting on the floor, holding his arm.
"Whatta hell was that?"
"I don't wanna...'spar'," Jim announced.
"Oh, you don't wanna, huh? Just like that? Let me tell you something: You don't stop fighting. Ever!" Dean couldn't hold himself back. "I'm gonna teach you every damn trick in the book, and you're gonna learn. It'll save your life one day. So you get up, and you don't stop! Now let's go!"
The boy was just sitting there, holding his arm, looking up at Dean with big, teary eyes. Dean was welling up too, but fought it. He held out the pillow and shook it, his voice cracking:
"Come on!"
The door opened and Sam entered. Jim got up, and ran to hug Sam's legs.
"What's going on here?" Sam asked. His older brother looked away and hung his head.
"We're just... Sparring."
Dean got up from the floor and put the pillow back on the bed.
"Sparring or menacing? Dean, he's six!" Sam was furious.
"Look, he's completely unprepared. And there are things out there that..." When Dean met Sam's eyes he stopped trying to justify himself. "Did Bobby have anything?" he demanded, changing the subject. Sam clinched his jaws.
"How about we talk outside?" he suggested. "Let's go for a little walk or something. It won't take long."
"Great, so who's looking after Jim?"
"We'll just be a block away, Dean." Sam's expression softened when he turned to Jim: "All right? You can watch tv and we'll be right back. We'll be just a minute."