Okay, so here's the next chappie…I know this is short too. But we're getting to the good parts now, I think you'll enjoy this. I heart suspense.

Chapter Three: Strategies and Screwups

Enjoy and REVIEW!

The brothers eyed the phone hungrily, and Dean shot a glance at Sam before grabbing it up from its honored spot atop the table.

"Hello?...No, what?...WHAT? Wrong NUMBER…"

Sam looked down at his food, suddenly not hungry anymore as Dean angrily tucked the phone into his jacket.

It was the first time that Sam began to wonder what would happen to them if something happened to their dad. Foster care? Orphanage?

He's fine, Sam reassured himself. He has to be. He always is. He's Dad.

"Sam? Hello, earth to Sam," Dean waved the phone in front of Sam's face. Sam lifted his eyes, and Dean was struck by his sunken gaze.

Geez, Dean thought sadly. He has the eyes of someone who's been through so much at such a young age…

But that was who Sam was. Only thirteen. They had both been forced to grow up too fast, and Dean had regret buried deep inside him for that. But he couldn't blame their father as much as Sam did sometimes…he had done the best he could.

"Something bad happened to him," Sam stated, lowering his gaze once more.

"What?" Dean was startled from the process of putting the phone into his jacket.

"Something happened to dad. We have to hurry," Sam wouldn't look into his brother's piercing, questioning eyes.

"How do you know that?" Dean's mouth hung open in confusion.

"Trust me, Dean. I just know," Sam pushed away his food and stood.

"I'll be in the car," He exited quickly, leaving Dean to stare after him.

Questions and fragments ran through Dean's mind as he watched his brother's retreating form through the dirty windows. In a daze, he stood and emptied the barely-eaten food into the garbage. He stood still for a moment beside the doors, contemplating. He trusted Sam's instincts wholly, because Sam had gotten them out of some sticky situations before. Dean didn't know how Sam had these feelings, but he felt that Sam was right. Something bad happened, and they had to help their father. Dean had a feeling of his own that something shitty was going down.

They had to find their father. Because Dean wouldn't know what to do without him.

Sam couldn't lose another parent.

Dean fumbled in his pocket for his keys as he left the McDonalds, the door swinging squeakily behind him. As he strode toward the car, boots crunching on gravel, he saw Sam sitting in the passenger seat staring straight ahead. His eyes looked glazed. Like he's having an out-of-body experience, Dean thought worriedly. He slid behind the wheel, startling his brother. Dean acted as though nothing was wrong.

"I figured we should be there in an hour if I drive fast," he commented calmly, putting the key in the ignition and trying not to let his hand shake.

"Too bad I don't know how to drive," Sam said, a ghost of a smile flitting across his lips.

"Yeah, and you're not learning in this car," Dean retorted. He shot a sidelong look at Sam.

"So, Sammy, what's up with you?"

Sam looked at Dean like he had grown two heads.

"Well, let's see," Dean sighed, realizing his mistake at once," "I have to miss two days of school, the girl that I thought was into me was stringing me along, our dad is missing and injured, we're going on a rescue mission with no background information whatsoever, and I'm stuck in a car with my brother who has a tendency to speed through yellow lights. That pretty much sums it up right there,"

This failed to provoke a satisfactory response from Dean.

"Try calling dad,"

"Why? Dean, we both know he's not going to pick up."

"When did you become such a pessimist, little brother? Maybe Dad was just drunk or something when he called us and this is all a mixup. Maybe your instincts are nothing more than hunger considering you haven't eaten since lunch. Maybe…"

"Dean,"

Dean was silenced by Sam's tone. Wishful thinking, Sam's voice conveyed.

To humor his brother, Sam took the offered phone and punched in their father's number, not expecting anything other than the same message he had been listening to over the past few hours.

"Hello?"

"Dad!" Sam exclaimed, causing Dean to beep the horn in surprise.

"Dad, is that you? Where are you? What's going—"

Dean snatched the phone from Sam's ear, one eye on the road.

"Dad…yeah, we are…no, what the hell? Sammy knew that something was wrong, you can't…How the hell am I supposed to know how he knew? He's not wrong, is he? I knew it… You have to go to a hospital, or at least someplace safe…no, Dad! Just wait…don't…we're on our way, just wait…of course we're coming, just tell us...yeah, should I have not brought him? We were just trying to help…why? What? Dad, you there?"

Dean shut the phone slowly.

"What did he say?" Sam's eyes were questioning, curious, tired, all his emotions assaulting Dean at once. I'm too tired for this shit.

Dean's mouth settled into a grim line. "He's hurt. He's alone. He's going back to the forest to wrangle the werewolves again."

"By himself?" Sam yelped. "How hurt is he?" If he won't go to a hospital, maybe it's not that bad…

"He said a few scratches and bruises, but he could barely talk," Dean seemed to be conversing with himself. "I wouldn't put it past him to have a busted jaw and broken bones and still try to get rid of –"

"How far is he from here?" Sam interrupted, his heartbeat increasing.

Hold on, Dad. Don't do something stupid…

"About a hundred miles from here,"

"We'll never get there in time if he's going back now, of all times,"

"You know Dad, he won't stop until the job's done." Not even if it gets him killed. Dean felt the adrenaline rush through his body.

"We'll get there in time," Dean tried to reassure the young Winchester, doing nothing to alleviate his own doubts or quell his fears. Dean's lips thinned as he pushed down on the gas pedal.

"Do we know anything about these werewolves, like—"

"Sam, I've already told you a million times! Dad didn't tell us anything when he left, and he sure as hell didn't tell me anything on the phone, okay? They're werewolves. As long as we have silver bullets, we'll be fine," Dean stopped his tirade, not looking at his brother. Neither of them believed that, as Sam knew from his books that each pack of werewolves had its own distinctive hunting pattern. Without knowing that, we might as well offer ourselves to 'em, Sam though pessimistically. Sam stared out the window, his mind going through possible attack strategies. But without knowing the terrain…

Dean was going through the same doubt-and-think phase. We need to know more, his inner voice said. We're as good as dead if there's something else going on here.

There isn't anything else going on here, he reassured himself. We can do this. No time to research; anyways, Dad already did that. We just need to make sure he's okay…fight 'em off with him…

Save him. And watch our own asses, too.

"So what's the plan?"

Dean gritted his teeth as Sam piped up from the seat next to him. "Remind me to stick you in the trunk next time,"

"If we don't have a plan…"

"How the fuck are we supposed to have a plan if we don't even know what the hell we're doing?"

Dean's words rang throughout the car, and Sam recoiled, startled. Dean sighed.

"Look, Sammy, I know that we usually do all that planning shit, but do you really think this is the time to stop off at a library and discuss the exact type of werewolf that lives in Greenbay National Park? Huh?"

"Did you say Greenbay?"

Dean glanced at Sam. "Yeah, why?"

"Last year, we were researching national parks, and I remember hearing about Greenbay. Apparently, there have been a ton of unexplainable maulings over the years that've been passed off as bear attacks and stuff, but no one's really sure,"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "How does that help us, in any way?"

"Well, we know that they've been there for a while, probably growing and breeding,"

"Okay…"

"So the reason Dad probably went up there was because there was another attack, and we know the pack must be stronger and bigger…"

Sam paused, and Dean nodded, giving him permission to go on.

"That's all I've got,"

Dean exhaled loudly, thumping his hand on the wheel in frustration. "Thanks for the educational information, genius. That really helped out, I think we're ready to go face a huge pack of strong werewolves now, don't ya think?"

They were silent for a while, both thinking.

"Doesn't Dad usually tell us what he's doing and where and why…"

"Yeah, but he was rushed this time. Just got off that poltergeist gig where he came really close to flying out a three-story window, so I think he was a bit distracted,"

"Dad? Distracted?" Sam was utterly perplexed, and Dean grinned.

"He's not God, you know. He does have his moments too,"

"Yeah, I know that. You mean, like not waiting for us to help him with the werewolves?"

"Or him not going to a hospital to make sure he's not bleeding to death,"

"Or not telling us that he's hurt so we know what to expect,"

"This is so fucked up, you know? I don't think we've ever saved his ass before,"

Sam didn't have a response for that, because he had been thinking the exact same thing. It wasn't like John to be distracted enough to not tell the boys what he was doing.

"He was trying to protect us," Sam said softly.

"Yeah, how do you figure?"

"He didn't want us to come after him, because he knew it would be dangerous. But it's not like this is protecting us either. So basically, he screwed up,"

"Dad knows what he's doing," Dean was now officially speeding along the rural interstate, going close to a hundred miles per hour.

"Like you said, Dean, he's not God."

Dean shut his mouth, cursing internally. Just hang on, Dad. We'll sort this out later.

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