AN: The title is the title of a Tom Waits song. The story is starting to get a plot, now. I hope that doesn't keep me from actually working on it, lol, because I'm starting to really like where this is going. I don't own anybody but Duff. Who I'm starting to be proud of owning, and hopefully I won't do anything to sour that.

When the door opened, the boys froze. They weren't so far gone, lost in one another, that they'd abandoned their sharp reflexes. Unfortunately, Dean had frozen with his arms around his brother's torso, hands up the back of his shirt. And Sam had frozen lip-locked with his brother, hands groping his chest.

"What the Hell's going on here?" John asked. He didn't sound mad, yet. Just extremely disgusted and surprised, which could've been worse.

Dean pushed Sam back and stood up to face his father. "Sammy....asked me to teach him to kiss..." He stuttered out.

"Right." John said, hesitantly making his way over to his bed and setting down both of his duffel bags; the one he carried with him on hunts, and the one he'd retrieved from the car filled with extra ammo. It became plain that he was only here to stock up, again. "I...don't think I can handle this right now."

"What...so you're going to take off?" Dean challenged, feeling as though he'd suddenly grown a set of brass ones. Sam would've liked nothing more than to reach out and pull Dean back down onto the bed to save him from whatever he was getting himself into, but how would that have looked? "And then, when you do come back....if you come back...you'll probably have strategically forgotten all about this, huh?"

"Are you smart-talking me, boy? You think that's a good idea after what I just saw you doing to your little brother?"

"Didn't you hear him?" Sam asked. "I asked him to. It wasn't his fault, it was mine."

"I don't wanna hear another word out of you, Sam. Both of you better get to somewhere where I can't see you in the next five minutes, or I don't know what."

Dean gave his father a short-lived, but well enforced glare before grabbing his little brother by the wrist and pulling him around John and out the door.

"Where're we going, Dean?"

"Don't know. Just somewhere." He could hardly talk; his teeth were grinding so hard. "Do you see, Sam? If we keep this up, we're going to be sneaking around for the rest of our lives."

"No we won't. Once I'm 18 I'm out of here."

"What're you talking about?"

"I'm not his once I'm 18. I can go wherever I want. Hopefully, I'll have finished high school, maybe I'll get a scholarship or something. I'm going to get out."

Dean shook his head and began walking even faster, letting his brother's wrist go and crossing his arms over his chest as he went.

"We're not like other families, Sam. Normal isn't exactly an option."

"I'm not saying 'normal.' After today...after the past 14 years...I can never be 'normal.' I just meant....as close to it as I can possibly get."

"So you just wanna leave? You just think you're going to abandon Dad and me?"

Sam had no problem keeping pace with his brother. His legs were longer, so he didn't even have to speed up much.

"Dean, you're the one who's been complaining about him the past couple of days. You're the one he treats like his slave. And you saw how he was just acting. You're 18; he shouldn't be able to threaten you anymore."

"He's still Dad, Sam."

"Yeah. I get that. But we don't exactly owe him anything. I mean, c'mon, Dean. You had no child-hood, because of him. You were too busy being my big brother...my mother....my father when Dad wasn't around. You grew up the day mom died because you were forced to. Me? I gave up my share, too. We've paid whatever debts we may have had to him."

"I still...he's still family."

"Dean...you're just going to sacrifice the rest of your life to him? He can't own us forever. I love him, too. But this thing that killed Mom? Well....it's like I'm numb to it, now. I've spent so long hating it, I don't have any hate left for it. But I'm afraid that if I stick around him for too much longer, I may start hating again. And I'll be hating the wrong thing."

"Sam, you don't mean that."

"You wanna bet?" the younger Winchester boy kicked a can the toe of his boot had found in his way. It flew, bounced a time or two, then rolled to a stop at the toe of another shoe.

Both boys' eyes traveled up the boot, the leg, the torso, and all of this happened relatively quick since the man these body parts belonged to was maybe 5'5" at most.

"You." Dean grumbled.

"Me." Duff smirked.

"Where're your buddies?"

"How the hell should I know? Not with me, obviously." Duff seemed to be drunk. Very drunk. As he walked closer to them, his ankles crossed. He fell against a brick wall at one point before the brothers rushed forward to help him. Not because they wanted to, of course, but because they felt obligated.

Sam grabbed him around the waist, attempting to lift him back to his feet. Dean, who was more height-appropriate, pulled Duff's arm around his neck.

"Where're you headed?" They both asked simultaneously.

"The fuck you care?"

"Well..." Sam offered. "We can't help you get there if you don't tell us where it is."

Duff began to twist in their arms, not quite fighting, but wiggling free.

"Oh, what, you're too tough-guy for our help?" Dean asked.

"Did you hear me ask for it? Like I'm gonna tell you where I live."

"Well, it'd be in your best interest if you want to get there." Sam regained his grip around the small man's waist and hoisted him back up. "I'd be surprised if you knew your left from your right at this point."

"Hah. I'm not even sure he could tell us where he lives, Sammy."

The two looked down at the man, waiting for some sort of come-back. They received none. Sam rolled Duff's head back with a sharp tug of his waist to reveal that he was unconscious.

"Great, Dean. What're we supposed to do with him, now?"

"I don't know. I guess we should take him back to the motel."

"Oh yeah? And what'll Dad say about that?"

"Well, nothing if he doesn't catch us."

"What're you suggesting?"

Dean took the rest of Duff's weight from his brother and lifted him over his shoulder, secured under his arm. "I'm suggesting we wait outside the room until Dad leaves if he hasn't already. Then we let him sleep it off."

"I'm not so sure sharing a room with this guy is a good idea, Dean. I mean...not that he looks all that dangerous, but he does think we're gay. And he is a bit of a redneck biker. He also threatened to kick your ass back at the bar."

Dean nodded. "I can see the cause for concern, Sammy. But seriously....look at him."

Sam sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. He's much less threatening without his buddies in tow."

"Alright." Dean began in the direction of their motel. "But I'm only carrying him the first half."

Sam lugged Duff the last few feet before tossing him behind the dumpster onto a pile of broken down cardboard boxes. He figured that would be enough to soften the fall. Either way, the man didn't stir.

"Alright." Dean sighed, crouching down beside the pile of Duff and peaking around the dumpster which was conveniently placed just yards away from their motel room window. "So now we wait."

"Why couldn't he have already left?" Sam growled.

"Because apparently he lives to make you miserable?" Dean snapped back. But Sam didn't really want to start that again, so he just crouched beside him, nearly leaning on him.

Through the window, they could see a dim silhouette of their father against the blinds. He seemed to be cleaning the barrel of one of his guns, but his pack was already slung over his shoulder, so it wouldn't be long before he left.

"Do you think he'll be back before long?" Sam asked.

"Probably not. I mean...I figure we probably did shake him up a bit."

"Do you think he bought the kissing thing?"

"Nah. I don't know. Probably not. I mean...look at him. Nothing gets past him."

"True."

There was an awkward minute of silence before Sam took hold of a small twig that had been laying next to his boot-clad foot. He began drawing invisible lines against the pavement, making a soothing and redundant scratching noise to fill up the air while he tried to sort his thoughts. Tried to get past the possibility of him and Dean forming an incestuous relationship and, subsequently, being forced to confess to their father about it. It was a lot for a fourteen year old to handle.

Lost in his thoughts and the gentle scraping of the twig, Sam didn't notice the hotel room door open until Dean put his own boot heel down on the end of the twig, snapping it in half. Sam shocked out of his trance and held his breath, clinging to his brother for stability on the now-wobbly balls of his feet. John took a moment to survey the night climate before closing the motel room door behind him and lugging his gear to the Impala. It hurt Dean increasingly more every time he watched John take off in it. On his 17th birthday, he'd been promised the car as a gift. "Bobby's fixing me up a truck, and once he's done with that, I'll let you have the Impala." That had been a long time ago, and Dean couldn't have waited anymore patient on the exterior. As their father finally sped off, Dean considered what it would be like to have the Impala as a home on wheels for just him and his Sammy. Nobody else. No evil to hunt; Just the road ahead of them to swallow mile after mile. Occasional motel room stays where they may finally find the solitude to explore this new....thing they had developed.

"Okay. I'll get his arms. You get his feet." Sammy had left his side and already had a hold of Duff's scrawny arms by the elbows. Dean joined him at the other end of the sprite-like man and they lifted together, easily covering the distance of blacktop to the motel room door. Thankfully, Dean thought, this motel only had one floor. He didn't think he would've had the restraint not to allow the guy's head to bump up a few steps on a flight of stairs.

He set the feet down when they got to the door, and Sammy took his cue to lift Duff on his own once more as Dean fished his key out of his pocket and let them in, flipping on the switch that light both of the bed-side lamps. "Put him on Dad's bed."

Sam laid him out, taking care of making sure that the position he left him in looked comfortable.

"You're such a mother." Dean smirked.

"Shut up. He may be a dick, but we're the ones who're going to have to put up with him in the morning when he's got a hangover."

The conversation was abruptly halted with the sounds of stirring against the bed sheets.

"He's waking up? There's no damn way." Dean muttered. "He was sloshed. And...he's tiny."

"Maybe he's got a strong drinking stomach?" Sam shrugged, watching Duff rub at his eyes with his arm and sitting up, squinting against the lamp-light and looking around.

"'The fuck...?" He grumbled, raising his eyebrows at the boys.

"We ran into you on the street....you passed out, and we couldn't just leave you there." Dean volunteered.

"I remember that, asshole. I didn't black out. Why the Hell couldn't you leave me there? Unless you two fruitcakes had a mind to take me to your room and have some fun. In that case, I have two fairy asses to whoop."

"Believe me, dude. If we were going to find somebody to date-rape, it wouldn't be the midget with the handle-bar mustache."

Duff didn't even respond. It seemed, at this point, that he didn't even care. Maybe it was due to the fact that he posse wasn't around to show off for anymore.

"So if you two's gay, why you got two beds?"

"We're not." Said Sam. "We're brothers. We're on a trip with our father. That's his bed. He's out for the night."

Duff looked around him at the bed, then looked to his side, noting the belt that was still draped over the headboard. He lifted his hand and fingered something that clanked against the wood and itself. Something metal, that chimed a little. John's dog-tags. He gripped them and lifted them, holding the charms in front of his eyes and close range so that his drunk eyes could make them out.

"John....Winchester? Winchester?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah? That's our name..."

"John?"

"That'd be our father..." Sam chimed in.

"Holy shit." Duff choked out, obviously sobering up a bit.

The brothers shot each other a glance, and each stepped forward. "What is it?" They asked, simultaneously.

"1969....it was 1969...God. John Winchester."

TBC....

Afterword: So...what do you think? Are you as excited as I am? Or disappointed it may be a while before we get to some porn? I must know! I can't believe something I'm writing is developing a PLOT! Lol. Unfortunately I update so slow, but that may be a good thing. Better to work on it when I'm motivated than to force myself into writing something plotless and bland that's just a bunch of strung-together one-liners. *Ahem* ALL MY OTHER STUFF. Lol. JK. They call it crack for a reason.