Disclaimer – Not my characters, I just use them improperly.

You like? You don't like? Review and tell me why! (Constructive criticism only please, if you don't like the subject, don't read the story.) If you haven't read Full Moon, Fast Cars and Cracks in the Glass yet, you'll probably want to read those first or this probably won't make sense… Betaed by the wonderful Phx :)

Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed, I love hearing what you guys think of the story :) The next update will be same time next week…

Chapter 10

"So, fallen angels." Dean started the conversation, seeing as Sam seemed to be waiting for him to begin. His belly felt pleasantly full, even if his eyes were still drooping. He leaned back, letting his chair rock on two legs. Behind him, Missouri washed up the dinner plates, listening silently to their talk.

Sam picked up the top sheet on the pile of print outs Dean hadd brought back with him from Tony's. "Yeah. Apparently they were exiled from heaven with Lucifer. More specifically, they were said to, uh," he paused, his face paling suddenly, "they, uh…they mated with human women. They produced hybrid children." His eyes met Dean's, wide and shocked. "If…"

Dean leaned forward, bringing his chair back down on all fours with a bump. "Sam, we don't know anything for sure yet. This could all be a load of crap left by the demon to confuse us."

"But, it makes sense! I was born 'cause my dad was possessed when he and my mom…y'know. Did it." Even with the possible revelation of his birth, talking about sex still made Sam blush hotter than the freshly-made cup of tea sat in front of Dean. He took a moment to find it unbelievably adorable.

"Sammy, it says right here," he took the page Sam was holding, pointing to the first paragraph, " 'The Grigori are a group of fallen angels told of in Biblical apocrypha' – whatever that means – 'who mated with mortal women, giving rise to a race of hybrids known as the Nephilim, who are described as giants'. Giants, Sam. Now, you're pretty tall, I'll give you that, but I wouldn't call you a giant." He put the paper down, leaning back in his chair again.

"It's not always a literal interpretation."

"Yeah, well, I don't see you 'pillaging the earth and endangering humanity' either, kiddo." Dean said, rolling his eyes for effect. Truthfully, he had already come to a lot of the same conclusions Sam was, but the kid didn't need that right now. Whether or not Sam was a product of some kind of unholy union of human and fallen angel, he was still the same kid, still Sam. Dean had decided back at Stephen's, when the truth had first come out, that Sam was what he was. A sweet, beautiful kid with a heart much purer than Dean's had ever been, whether he'd been made by angels, demons or anything in between. And honestly, Dean was wondering what kind of pillaging a kid who blushed every time he had a dirty thought could do, really.

"What about this Azazel stuff? The guy's highlighted the name." Dean pointed to it.

Sam read out loud, "'Azazel: taught the makings of the weapons of war'."

Dean frowned. He picked up the entire pile of papers, flicking through them. There was more on the Grigori, but over half of the pages were focused on Azazel. "Is this supposed to be our demon, then?"

Sam shrugged, eyes still fixed to the first paper. "I guess so."

"But if he taught people how to make weapons, doesn't that mean his job is kinda already done? I mean, people have more weapons than they know what to do with. We've got a stockpile of guns, knives and explosives out in the trunk, and probably every other person in America owns a semi-automatic. Not to mention bombs and nuclear weapons."

Sam met his eyes, and that desperate look was back. That look was the one thinghe hadn't missed while he was gone. "What if…what if I'm supposed to be the weapon? What if me, and all the other psychic kids…what if we're supposed to-to do something? Our powers are there for a reason, Dean. Maybe the demon's plan is to use us to-"

"To what? Destroy the world?" Dean made himself laugh. "Sam, that's ridiculous. You turn away from the window when we drive past roadkill."

"I'm a hunter, Dean." Sam said, his voice low and insistent. "I kill things. It's what I do, what I've been trained to do my entire life."

"So do I, and you don't see me planning the apocalypse, do you?"

Missouri had been quietly stacking plates and putting them in cupboards. Now she came over to the table, putting her small hand over Sam's and squeezing tightly. "Honey, listen to me now. Maybe this information is right." Dean opened his mouth to argue, but she silenced him with a sharp look before turning back to Sam. "Maybeyou are supposed to be this demon's weapon. But it can only use you if you let it. If you're not in control."

Sam looked down at the table, his free hand clenching and unclenching on the polished woodgrain. When he spoke, it was with a voice so small Dean would have thought it came from a child. "But I'm not in control. My visions come whenever they want, and…and the other stuff…" He peeked up at Dean from underneath his bangs, his eyes darting to the side before Dean could try for a reassuring look.

Missouri let go of his hand, reaching over to gently cup his cheek, turning his face toward hers. "Sam, no one can use you. Not unless you let them."

Dean watched as Sam took a deep breath, like he was trying to inhale Missouri's words and keep them inside himself.

He squeezed his eyes shut, casting about desperately for something, anything, to change the subject. What popped out was; "Uh, the phones."

Mission successful – instead of looking like the world was about to end, Sam appeared to be considering whether or not the choking that had brought up bruises around Dean's throat had also left him brain damaged. Missouri was giving him much the same look.

"Huh?" Sam said, both eyebrows raised.

"The, uh, phones. They didn't work. When I was trying to call you, or call here. I just kept getting put through to your voicemail, Sam."

"The same thing happened to me. Margaret said you thought they were broken, but I was able to call other people." Sam blushed. "I wanted to make sure it was working, 'cause you weren't calling."

"I was, I swear. I left a ton of voicemail messages, but I take it you never got them?" Under the table, Dean's foot found Sam's, his sock-covered toes rubbing against the younger man's ankle bone. "I tried calling the house too, but I kept getting a busy signal. At first I just assumed that someone," he glanced at Missouri, who aimed a pointed look his way, "was using it, but then when it was still engaged at three in the morning…"

"So that's why you were calling Margaret." Sam said. Some of the tension around his mouth lessened, like he'd hoped, but hadn't wanted to believe Dean had been trying to call him. It made Dean want to hug him.

"You think this is something to do with the demon." Missouri broke in, her frown considering.

"Well, it makes sense, kinda. Whenever the demon shows up, there's always some kind of electrical interference. It's one of the ways my dad tracks it."

"So, it's blocking the calls deliberately?" Missouri said. "If that's true, it could be why John hasn't been in contact. And why I can't find him psychically."

Both Dean and Sam turned to look at her. "You've been trying to find him?" Dean asked.

She fixed him with a frown. "Of course I've been trying to find him! John Winchester is one of my oldest friends, you don't think I'd just abandon him, do you?"

Dean shrugged, feeling embarrassed. "Well, I…" The moment was broken when a yawn snuck up on him. Sam smiled, only a tiny twitch of lips but better than nothing.

"Well, I think that's a sign that we all need to get some sleep." Missouri said, businesslike again. When Sam looked like he was going to protest, she fixed him with a raised eyebrow. "That means you too, Sam. Come on, this'll all still be here in the morning. We can figure it out then."

Dean's arms were around his waist, fingers idly stroking over the bare skin just above the waistband of his boxers. "Kiddo, if you can't say it…"

Sam let a slow smile spread across his face, his hand trailing over Dean's shirt-covered pecs, up over his collarbone and around his neck. He could feel Dean's adam's apple jump as the older man swallowed compulsively, his eyes flitting from Sam's face to his chest. Sam rolled his hips against Dean's, pressing their crotches together. He leaned in, his mouth close to Dean's ear, and whispered softly. "I can too say it. Sex. Fucking. Your dick, my ass." He paused, letting his eyes fall closed as Dean's arms tightened around him. "Making love."

Dean turned his head at the last two words, catching Sam's eyes. There was something indefinable in Dean's expression, something that darkened to lust when Sam licked his lips, slow and deliberate. Dean lunged forward, capturing Sam's mouth again, chasing his tongue when it darted out to tease.

Somehow they were lying on the bed, and Sam blinked, frowning, but Dean was on top of him, kissing him like he was going to die if they stopped. Apparently in that fraction of missed time Dean had removed his shirt too, because Sam's fingers were roaming over acres of bare skin, his own chest was warm with the weight of Dean's pressing it down, crushing him in the best possible way.

"Sam, Sam…" Dean was panting into his mouth. Sam arched up against him, one leg hooking around Dean's thigh and bringing them closer together. The rough material of Dean's jeans was just this edge of painful through his thin boxers, but he could feel Dean, could feel the firm bulge that said Dean wanted this just as much as he did. And Dean's hand was slipping down between their bodies…

A knock on the door. Sam ignored it, forcing Dean's lips against his.

Dean responded, biting at his lower lip, his chin, growling deep in his throat. His hand was undoing the top button of his jeans, fingers going for the zipper…

The knock came again, more insistent.

"Sam…" Dean paused, flushed and panting, his hand right there. He met Sam's eyes, that indefinable look melting into something Sam had never seen directed at him before, something Sam wanted more than anything in his life. "Sam, I lo-"

The door flew open, and Sam's head snapped toward the sound.

Dean was gone, vanished in a puff of smoke like a bad magician's trick. Sam ignored the ache his absence brought, because this was a dream, goddamnit, the real Dean was just a door away from his sleeping body. So what if it was a fucking awesome dream, the dream to end all dreams?

He looked around. He was still sitting in his room in Missouri's house wearing nothing but his boxers, only the sky was bright blue outside and the vase of pink carnations sat undamaged on top of the dresser. Shadows chased each other around like naughty kittens, making strange patterns on the walls and floor. Still dreaming, then.

"Sam? Sam, can you hear me?" A woman's voice echoed through the open doorway, and Sam frowned. "Sam, you have to listen!"

He stood up, walking to the doorway. There was no one outside, nothing out of place. The door to Dean's room was closed, but that was normal. The bathroom door hung half open, a dirty grey towel left piled on the floor to prop it. Sam rolled his eyes; even in his dreams, Dean was a slob. And Missouri's room…

Missouri's room was firmly shut, as always, but the doorknob had been replaced. Instead of the brass knob, the same knob the rest of the doors in the house had, there was a shining silver lock. No key, no handle. Just a lock, and Sam moved closer, frowning. There were runes carved into the silver, like nothing he'd ever seen before, and the keyhole…

"Sam, answer me!" The voice. Missouri's voice, and coming from behind the door. "Sam, you need to-"

Sam jerked upright, panting loudly. He was in his bed, again, only this time there were no carnations on the dresser, and the voice…

"Sam! Dear lord, child, getting you up in the morning is a chore!" He started, his head snapping around to face the doorway. Missouri stood there, one arm holding a basket of clean laundry and the other hand on his doorknob. She smiled gently at him, her expression softening her words. "I've been calling you for the past five minutes!"

"Oh." Sam blinked, his head feeling like it'd been twisted around and put on backward while he was sleeping. "Sorry."

"That's okay. Just thought you might like some breakfast. It's gone ten o'clock." She looked at him quizzically. "Are you okay, sweetie? You look flushed, is your head hurting again?"

"No, just…weird dream." Sam said, shaking his head.

"Okay, then. Dean's already up. He said something about going to wash his car an hour ago and I haven't seen him since." She rolled her eyes. "Also, I have a customer coming in at twelve, if you wanted to sit in."

Sam nodded vaguely, waiting for her to close the door before pushing himself out of bed. Weird dream was an understatement.

He felt across his bedside cabinet until his fingers closed around the plastic pill bottle, uncapped it and shook one out. They'd more than proved their worth to him, stopping the nosebleeds and the psychically-induced passing out, but he still hesitated a moment before raising the tiny white tablet to his mouth.

He wasn't sure why he hadn't told Dean about the pills last night. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He knew exactly why he hadn't told the older man, and it had everything to do with Dean's protectiveness toward him and his animosity toward Missouri, even if the two of them been getting on pretty well for the time being. Dean would pitch a fit if he knew Missouri was feeding him pills; he'd throw harsh accusations and have Sam packed up in the Impala and halfway to the state border before Sam could say a word in his own defence. The other man still thought of Sam in terms of 'the kid', the one who needed saving from the big bad world. Even though Sam had been introduced not-so-gently to the evils of that world years ago, Dean still didn't get it, not entirely.

Sam swallowed the pill down dry, feeling a strange mix of guilty and defiant as he did it. They helped, and that was that.

He climbed out of bed, pulling on an almost clean tee shirt and yesterday's tattered jeans and made his way to the door. He tucked the half-full pill bottle into the pocket of one of his hoodies, telling himself he wasn't hiding the evidence.

After driving through the night, fuelled by nothing but bad coffee and steadily growing worry, Dean had expected to be out like a light as soon as his head had hit the pillow. But no, apparently seeing Sam safe and sound wasn't enough to soothe his head. Instead all the other problems had surfaced to fill the space; his dad, demon-Tony, this Grigori shit. He'd tossed and turned, eyes sore but unable to just stay shut, and finally he'd given up on sleep and dragged his ass out of bed in time to see the dawn rear its ugly head over Missouri's herb garden.

His arms ached, but he slapped the soapy sponge back on the hood of the Impala, scrubbing until it shone in the morning sunlight.

One thing bothered him more than anything else; how had the demon known he was going to see Tony? The guy was completely unconnected to this business – not even his dad had heard of him. The only link between them was Missouri. And Missouri had been the one to send him on this merry goose-chase in the first place.

Across the road, one of Missouri's neighbours started up a lawn mower with a bang. It made Dean start, sweat dripping in his eyes. When he looked up, the guy waved in his direction and continued wrangling the motor across his small patch of lawn.

How many other demons were out there, watching him? Yellow-eyes knew they were here, had probably known all along. How many of Missouri's neighbours had mysteriously stopped going to church recently?

He wished he could get in contact with his dad. John would be doing all he could to get to them, Dean knew. But if his dad expected him to hunt this demon by himself…

He wasn't leaving Sam alone again. And going after yellow-eyes, even with two of them, was a Bad Idea in capital letters. They didn't have the Colt. They didn't have a chance. Throw in the whole possible fallen-angel thing and it all added up to pretty much the same thing.

They were screwed.

No, the best thing to do right now was to get Sam's psychic stuff under control. If what Tony had managed to find for them was true, then yellow-eyes wanted to use Sam as some kind of demonic weapon. And Dean wasn't going to let that happen, even with the odds so firmly stacked against them. Nothing was getting to Sam, not while he was there to stop it.

"Hey." Sam's voice drew him back to the present, and he pulled his face into a ready smile as he looked up. The kid didn't look much better than Dean imagined he looked; jumpy and tired, black circles ringing his eyes like war paint.

"Hey, kiddo. You get any sleep?"

Sam blushed at that, ducking his head. "Some. Not much. You?"

Dean shrugged, playing it off. "You know me."

"Yeah, I do." Sam smiled shrewdly. "So, you were up all night then?"

Dean couldn't help the wry grin. Absently he reached up to run a hand through his hair, jerking and cursing under his breath when dirty water ran down the back of his neck. "Couldn't sleep for worrying about the car. I swear, a little kid sees this shining example of automobile perfection and it just can't stop itself from wiping dirty hands all over it."

Sam nodded. "Of course. Worrying about the car. That's clearly what kept you up all night."

"Yep." Dean said, his smile fraying a little around the edges. To make Sam drop it, he held out the sponge. "Wanna help me clean it?"

Sam rolled his eyes, but reached out anyway. Their fingers touched for a moment, slippery-wet and warm, and in the middle of suburban hell Dean let his emotions shine through, just long enough for Sam to catch. Sam's face reflected his fears, his hand brushing Dean's wrist as he pulled away. The touch was enough to comfort Dean. They were both scared, but for now they'd be okay.

Sam noticed Dean's surreptitious glances across the street after a few minutes of quiet work, but he figured some girl was getting dressed in front of her bedroom window or something. Except the only other person Sam could see was some old guy mowing his lawn, and as much of a horndog as Dean could be sometimes, he'd never shown any inclination towards men with beer bellies and receding hairlines before. Sam watched him for a few more minutes, frowning in bemusement. But Dean was definitely staring at the guy with the mower, and finally Sam gave in and asked.

"Dude, why are you checking out the old guy?"

Dean looked downright horrified. "What? I'm not checking anyone out!"

Sam paused in his washing, bracing his forearms on the roof of the Impala and leaning closer to Dean. "Well then, why is a guy mowing the lawn so interesting to you?"

Dean glanced over at the guy one last time before lowering his voice. "Look, I was just thinking, this demon, it knew where I was, what I was doing. Any of these people could be possessed, and short of chanting exorcisms and carrying a spray-bottle of holy water with us everywhere we go, we wouldn't have any idea until they started trying to beat the crap outta us."

"Well, we know demons can't cross Missouri's wards. We're safe inside the house."

"Yeah, I know." Dean shrugged, his mouth flattening into a thin line. "But I'd go fucking insane sitting in that house all day. It'd be like being on house arrest in hell."

"I think hell is pretty much its own house arrest, Dean." Sam said, amused despite himself.

Dean let out a long breath, meeting his eyes with a small smile. "I'm just…twitchy, I guess. I'd like to go to the grocery store and not have to worry about demonic possession in the frozen foods aisle, y'know?"

Sam snorted. "I'd like to see you actually go to a grocery store, full stop. I think staying here is the first time I've ever seen you eat vegetables before."

"Oh, shut up." Dean said, suddenly very interested in soaping up the wing mirror. "I eat vegetables."

The amusement hung in the air around them for a moment, like they were insulated from the outside world, alone together. It was the only place Sam wanted to be. They worked silently, each on their own side of the car. The rhythm of soap, wash, wipe was soothing in its own way, almost a meditation, and the warmth of the clear sunny sky felt good against the back of his neck. But it couldn't last, and too soon Sam found the worries sneaking back up on him.

"So, what do we do now?" Sam said, sloshing a bucket of water over the hood of the Impala. It washed away all the bubbles of soap, leaving a black sheen in its wake.

"I guess we research this Grigori stuff some, find out if there's anything to it. Try and find my dad and Caleb." Dean answered, looking up at him from the other side of the car. Sam met the older man's eyes for a second and then looked away, ostensibly to scrub at a stubborn spot of dirt clinging to the headlight.

'This Grigori stuff', Dean kept calling it, like it was no big deal. And yeah, Sam had slowly come to terms with the demon-blood thing – not accepted it, exactly, but it didn't send him running for the hills to think about it anymore – but finding out he was possibly part fallen angel, destined for some mysterious task? It was kind of terrifying. He bit down on the inside of his mouth, fixing his eyes on the glint of sunlight on shiny metal like the brand left on his vision would burn that part of him away if he looked at it long enough.

Of course, that was the moment Dean chose to wring his sponge out over Sam's head, laughing like a madman.

Sam spluttered, his hair stuck to his face. "Oh, you ass." He picked up his own sponge, aiming carelessly and hitting Dean's forehead dead centre.

"Boys will be boys, huh? Even when they're old enough to know better." Margaret's amused voice drew his attention to the next house, where she stood in jeans and a simple tee shirt, leaning on the fence dividing her lawn from Missouri's.

"Hey Margaret." Sam said, shifting on his feet and suddenly feeling like he'd been caught with his pants down. Dean grunted something unintelligible from the other side of the car, retrieving his sponge and setting to work with unnecessary diligence.

"Hi Sam. Dean." She nodded in Dean's direction brusquely, turning back to face Sam with an earnest expression on her face. "I was just coming to ask you if you were busy today, actually. I was going to take the kids to the park, and Charlie would love it if you came along. He couldn't stop talking about you the other night."

Sam grinned, feeling a blush heat his cheeks. It gave him a stupid sense of pride to know he could win over a three year-old. "Hey, yeah, I'd love to. We had fun playing cars." Self-consciously he tried to tuck the wet strands of his bangs behind his ears, as if the invitation would be revoked if he didn't look up to par. And then he remembered Missouri telling him about the customer coming in later. He bit his lip, feeling his face fall. "I just remembered, I can't. Missouri has a customer coming round, I said I'd be there."

But Margaret didn't look disappointed or annoyed like he'd expected. Instead she nodded and smiled like it wasn't a big deal at all. "That's okay, maybe another day instead."

"Yeah." Sam said quietly. It was stupid, feeling so bad about cancelling plans with a three year-old. Sam realised, pathetically, that he wanted Charlie to like him, wanted to be his friend. And it would have been nice, to do something normal for a few hours, distract himself from the seemingly never-ending cycle of doom and gloom.

"Charlie will just have to play cars with one of the other kids at the park instead." Margaret cocked her head, like she could see the distress in Sam's face. "He won't mind."

"Dean could go." And Sam had no idea why that came out of his mouth, except both Dean and Charlie liked cars, and Dean got along great with kids. Charlie would love him.

Margaret, on the other hand, looked like he'd suggested Charlie go play with dog shit.

"Dean could go where?" Dean asked, coming up behind him.

"You could go to the park with Margaret and her kids. Charlie wanted someone to play cars with." Sam said, swivelling his head between Dean and Margaret, trying to aim his best imploring look on both at the same time.

Dean pulled a face. "I, uh, don't think that's the best idea you've ever had, kiddo."

"But you love kids."

"Yeah, but Margaret might hurt me." Dean said, leaning in so she couldn't hear. "Besides, we were just saying anyone could be a demon, what makes you so sure the next door neighbours are exceptions?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, Margaret and her kids have been in and out of Missouri's house like five times a day. I think we'd know if she was a demon. But that doesn't mean she's not in danger of being possessed." Sam fixed a puppy-dog expression on Dean. "You'd be protecting them."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, I think a woman like that can hold her own." But his expression took on a serious tone all the same.

At that moment, Kiera and Charlie came barrelling out the front door. Kiera was wearing a princess costume, a plastic tiara balanced precariously on top of her curls. "Momma, we're ready!"

Charlie came to a stop beside Margaret when he saw Sam and Dean, grabbing hold of her pant leg. She knelt down to face him. "Sam can't come today, baby. But he said he'll come next time, okay?"

Sam felt a knot forming in his belly as the little boy's face fell. Before he could stop and think about it, he was grabbing Dean's arm and propelling him forward. "Dean can come though. He likes cars too."

Charlie blinked up at the new person, not saying anything.

Dean sent a narrow-eyed look Sam's way before kneeling down like Margaret. "Hey, you must be Charlie, right? And Kiera. I like your dress."

Kiera smiled shyly, and Sam could almost see the little-girl crush growing. She smoothed out her puffy skirt with pink-painted fingernails. "I'm Cinderella. Are you gonna come to the park with us?"

Dean caught Margaret's eyes, and Sam could see the annoyance there. But she nodded once resignedly, and Dean turned back to the children with a wide smile. "Guess I am."

"You don't have to go. I mean, if you didn't want to." Sam mumbled, watching Dean change his jeans from the doorway of his room. "I didn't mean to make you or anything."

Dean sighed. He could think of a million things he'd rather do than spend the rest of the morning with Margaret, of all people. He just knew as soon as her kids were out of earshot, he was going to get verbally abused. It almost made him wish he hadn't called her so many times. Almost.

"It's fine, Sammy. They seem like cool kids. And I guess you have a point." He admitted grudgingly. "They could be in danger. Although what kinda suicidal demon is gonna go after that woman, I don't know."

"You could try not pissing her off." Sam grinned. "And they are cool kids. Charlie told me he likes your car."

Dean grinned back. "Well, that decides it then. The boy's alright."

The front door bell rang and Sam turned his head. "I think that's Missouri's customer. I better get down there. You sure it's okay that I set you up on a play-date?" His lip twitched as he said it, and Dean reached over to tap him lightly on the side of the head.

"Shut up, you geek. Go practise being psychic."

Sam smiled, giving Dean a dorky little wave before disappearing.

Dean took a deep breath, snatching up his flask of holy water. Time to go play nice with yet another woman who hated him. He felt a pang as he realised that this would be the second time he'd left Sam alone in one week. But it was only an hour, and Sam would be inside the wards the whole time. Nothing could happen, except maybe Dean might miss Sam. He rolled his eyes as he thought it, calling himself a pussy.

Sam had left the door to his bedroom open, and Dean stopped outside. Clothes were still strewn about the floor, an obstacle course laid out between the doorway and the bed. He frowned; messy wasn't Sam's style at all. The kid nagged like an old woman when Dean dropped a pair of socks on the floor, for Christ's sake. It didn't stop him from doing it, but the bitching was one of the things Dean had come to depend on in their otherwise highly unstable lifestyle. But then again, Sam had been under insane amounts of stress lately. He couldn't expect the kid to keep up his obsessive neatness habits, especially when he himself was the cause of a lot of that stress. A flush of guilt had him stepping over the threshold to pick up an armful of the clothing. The least he could do was clear the floor a little, make sure the kid didn't trip and break his neck on a dirty pair of boxers.

Something rattled in the pile of clothes, a sound like the clacking of teeth. Dean paused, shaking the clothes experimentally. The something made the same noise again.

He dropped the pile on Sam's bed, feeling stupid and glancing at the door to make sure no one was watching him. Observing him, as he searched Sam's pockets like he was a paranoid woman looking for signs of adultery in her husband.

In the pocket of one of Sam's many hoodies, his fingers closed around something rounded and plastic. He pulled it out, biting his tongue.

"Dean! Are you coming?" Margaret's voice called from downstairs. He ignored it, his attention focused on the pill bottle in his hand. The pill bottle that had been hidden in Sam'shoody.

"Dean? Mommy wants to know if you're ready yet? She says we're gonna leave without you if you don't move your bottom."

Dean's head came up at the high voice, Kiera's, coming from the doorway. He blushed like he'd been caught stealing. Without thinking, he shoved the pill bottle into his own pocket, aiming a smile that felt like it would crack his face. "Yeah, I'm ready. Let's go."