So the ending to the last chapter starts here, because I felt like the other one ended rather aburptly and I wanted to get more Sam/John in there. People seemed to like the whole Sam/John relationship.
In order to avoid confusion I'll let you know when I change the chapters, and I'll name them. Be warned, I have an issue with keeping chapter titles concise. We'll call it Panic!At the Disco/A Fever You Can't Sweat Out syndrome. Apologies.
I'm rambling now. Read, review, and enjoy! Suggestions, comments, and critiques all welcome.
Later that night, Sam was working on his fourth page of makeup work for Algebra 2 when the Impala's growling engine approached and the reflection of light from the headlights slid across the walls. Sam quickly flicked off the light and stumbled through the dark to jump beneath the covers of he and his brother's bed. Dean snickered somewhere in the darkness and when Sam turned all he saw was the outline of Dean's face highlighted by the wane moonlight, and the reflection of it in his eyes as he stared at the ceiling, hands behind his head.
"Smooth, Sammy," he whispered.
"Shut up, jerk," Sam threw an elbow, and from the grunt of pain and the sharp feeling of bone digging into his elbow, he would have guessed he'd nailed Dean in the nose.
"Bitch," Dean hissed, rubbing—yes—his nose. Sam smirked to himself. They both listened to the sound of the tumblers clicking and moving, and their dad thudded into the room, gun in hand. When he saw the two lumps beneath the covers across the room, he lowered the gun, sighing as he made his way to the bed. Sam feigned sleep but watched from beneath his heavy bangs and barely-open eyes as his father lifted his pillow and put the gun underneath. Sam snapped his eyes shut when John moved with a groan to the other side of the bed and stood over him. Sam thus didn't see the genuine smile that lit up John's tired, scruffy features as he admired his two sons. He ran a quick hand through Dean's short, blonde hair, patted Sam on the shoulder, and stepped away to let them sleep. He was about to go to bed himself before he caught sight of the binder on the table. Sam heard his footsteps stop short there, and the quiet tap of the binder's front flap hitting the table. Papers were shuffled around quietly for a few moments, before John let out another audible sigh. Sam thought it might be out of disappointment rather than fatigue, and he internally cursed himself. He fell asleep feeling the bitter sting of what he could only read as his father's disappointment. John fell asleep with an altogether different mindset—one of pride. Sam could use his head. Maybe he'd be fine.
Chapter 2: Riding the Pine
The next morning the three Winchester boys were gathered around the table in a 50's themed diner and both boys were focused rather intently on the concept of food, having had nothing since an early dinner the day prior. It was only when the waitress approached with a pad in hand was their collective attention diverted from the menu. She was wearing a lot of makeup for this time in the morning, Sam observed. He smelled immediate trouble upon giving her a once over. Curvy and blonde. He didn't dare glance over at his brother. If you could call what Sam had done scanning, Dean was probably evaluating.
"What can I get y'all to drink?" she asked politely, biting her lip.
"Coffee for me thanks," John answered vacantly.
"Same," Dean answered automatically, flashing her a smile. His eyes were trained on her face. Sam frowned for a moment but said nothing.
"Orange juice," he answered and when she had gone, "Since when do you drink coffee?"
"Since I decided I needed to be a hundred percent awake to save your ass," Dean answered sharply. Sam grumbled something unintelligible.
"What was that, Sammy?"
"Don't call me Sammy," Sam snapped automatically.
"Boys," John interjected sharply, and they both fell quiet, though Sam with some amount of insolence. He let out a small, noncommittal 'tcht'. John shot him a look. "Boy, you better watch it."
Sam was saved by the waitress, who had returned with a hot pot of coffee and a tall glass of orange juice. He looked over at Dean, who appeared to be continuing his evaluation of her figure.
"Are y'all ready?" she asked, pulling out her pad of paper again.
"I'll have the value meal. Eggs sunny side up," John answered.
"Bacon or sausage?"
"Bacon."
"For you?" she turned to Dean and he had the cajones, much to Sam's horror, to flash her his most charming smile and wink at her. Sam promptly buried his face in his hands.
"What do you recommend?"
"Oh God…" Sam mumbled, because couldn't help it. Dean had upped his game for her second go-around.
"The breakfast burrito is pretty good," she smiled obliviously.
"I'll have that then," he smiled.
"A short stack of pancakes. Side of sausage." And a razor with which to slit my wrists. She took the menus from them and cat-walked away. Dean didn't even attempt to hide it.
"You're shameless," Sam groaned, his face once again behind his hands. John tapped him on the head, though not unkindly, and frowned at him.
"Can we focus now?" It wasn't a question. Dean cleared his throat and Sam peeled his eyes away from his brother after one last long, disturbed look. "Demons."
"Did you find out why they're here?"
"I found out enough," John answered. "The bartender from the local bar around the corner has been watching Jamie Larson and Collin Burleigh come in and out of his bar every night for the past three weeks. Accompanied by Beatrice Nelson, now missing. A few nights ago the three of them left in some kind of altercation. Later that night, Beatrice went missing."
"So wait…the demons are yanking each other?" Dean asked. "Sounds like they're doing our job for us."
"Yeah, except the numbers are going up," John frowned. "A week ago there wasn't a demon for a hundred miles."
"So why are they here?" Sam asked aloud.
"There's something is this town that they want, and they're willing to kill each other for it."
"So if we find the object they'll looking for—" Dean started, but John shook his head.
"Not if. When. Whatever they're after is probably something we're going to want on hand, either because it's something they'd use to strengthen their own powers, or a weapon that could hurt them that they don't want any hunters getting their hands on."
"So we catch one, give it a shower with some Holy water, and make it tell us what it is and where," Sam said. John smiled at his son's quick thinking.
"I like the thinking. That's a good plan, Sam, but I called Bobby already. He's coming out to help me with that one. Things are too sketchy around here. You boys are going to stay out of the way—"
"Whoa, what?" Dean whipped his head around to face his father. "No way!"
"Dean," John's voice was lethally calm, just above a whisper.
"Dad, that's not fair," Dean argued. Sam smirked.
"Dean, you sound like a twelve year old girl."
"Shut up, Samantha," Dean snapped, without tearing his eyes away from his father. Sam rolled his eyes but didn't say anything. "Dad, you can't be serious. We're not going to sit in the motel and—"
"That's exactly what you're going to do, because I said so. You're going to sit in that motel and stay out of trouble," the edge in John's voice made it perfectly clear just how final his decision was, and if not for the arrival of their food, Sam had the idea that Dean might have continued to argue. This was all that they ever argued about. Nothing below the scale of a heart-attack was likely to keep Dean off a hunt. The waitress slid Sam's plate in front of him, then John's, and saved Dean's for last. Sam didn't miss the slip of paper that she handed him with the plate before she did another elegant catwalk down the aisle. John was staring at his coffee, shuffling somewhere between amusement and annoyance. "Eat your breakfast."
Dean didn't dare continue the discussion in public. They were sitting in the motel room watching John pack a duffle bag full of Holy Water and salt when Dean decided to bring it up again.
"Dad, I don't think we should sit this one out The more people we have on this job, the safer it's going to be—"
"I don't need you both in the way. And more than that, I don't need the two of you getting hurt. This is too big of a job. We're in over our heads here," John argued, raising his voice a few decibels.
"Exactly, so why don't we all—"
"I don't have to justify myself to you, Dean! You know how dangerous this can be! Now quit arguing!" John yelled back, and raised his belt. Dean took the hint and bit his lip. Sam continued to stare. Usually it would have been him fighting his father, though admittedly not over making him stay behind. "You stay here, and you take care of Sammy, do you hear me?"
"Yes, sir," Dean grumbled just as there was a heavy knock on the door. John shrugged past his son, throwing the belt down on the bed. Sam noticed he didn't put it away, and threw Dean a warning glance. Bobby stepped through the doorway with a gruff 'hello'.
"Hey boys!" he greeted Dean and Bobby with much more enthusiasm. Dean threw him a half-assed smile, and Bobby took that to mean that yes, he was being left behind and no, he most definitely wasn't okay with it.
"Don't be so sore, kid," he ruffled Dean's hair, the Bobby equivalent of a hug, and came over to stand behind Sam's chair, smiling at him as he flitted through the stacks of paperwork on the table. "Heavy stuff, John. You got a plan?"
John gave him a significant look, irritated almost to the point of offense that Bobby would have guessed otherwise. Bobby raised his eyebrows and sucked in a breath. John Winchester. He'd come close to not picking up the phone. Now he remembered why.