Chapter 4

A couple of weeks passed. Dean forged John's signature on Sam's progress reports, bought tickets to the big rodeo in Amarillo and made a trip to the history museum to accommodate Sam's paper on the evolution of barbed wire. He even came across a few things at the museum that opened up new avenues of research on John's hunt. And, yeah, with his spare time he got to know a couple of the local girls … and a few of the college girls. Turns out there were a lot of things museums were good for.

All in all, despite their official butterflies and the pride they took in things like being home to the largest parking lot in the world, Texans were turning out OK. Dean was even kind of enjoying the high percentage of female bottoms bearing the Wrangler brand. On the other hand, he could do without the disdain he'd noticed in the eyes of all the big mud-splattered-truck owners when they looked at the Impala.

And after hearing about the cow-tipping escapades of his classmates, Dean concluded that he and Sam weren't likely to be arrested, or even noticed, during a brief bit of trespassing. So he relented and walked with Sam through the pasture in the back in search of the maybe possibly horses. They had to slip through a barbed wire fence – Sam helpfully identified it as being of the Scutt Split Arrow Plate Barb variety – and Dean warned Sam that if they got caught, they better make a run for it, because if they made laws against cow graffiti, then they probably shot suspected horse thieves on sight.

"What's with you and horses lately, anyway?" he asked as they picked their way around the cow patties.

Sam shrugged. "They're just cool."

"You never seemed to think so before."

Sam shrugged again, but didn't reply. The brown specs in the distance grew a little more distinct and Dean could finally tell for certain that they did at least have four legs. He reached down to pluck a weed, preparing to stick it in his mouth because it seemed like the kind of thing you were supposed to do when walking through a pasture. Then he dodged another cow patty and decided maybe not, after all, and threw it down.

"The three Musketeers rode horses," Sam said, suddenly. That being one of the few books that he'd read (on Sam's insistance that he'd love it), Dean was able to affirm that statement as true.

"William Wallace."

"Sometimes," Dean again allowed. Braveheart was their new favorite movie. They were still bellowing "They'll never take OUR FREEDOM!" at each other at random intervals.

"William Travis."

Sounded familiar, but Dean couldn't place the name. "Don't think I know him," he said.

"He was the other colonel at the Alamo. Him and Jim Bowie."

"They had horses at the Alamo?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed, exasperated. "How else would they get around? William Travis was a member of the cavalry."

Dean couldn't really add anything to that, so they passed the next few steps in a comfortable silence before Sam spoke up again.

"He was a lawyer, you know," he said, out of the blue.

"Who?"

"William Travis," Sam peeved at him, apparently irritated by Dean's inability to keep up with the meandering conversation.

"Uh. OK," Dean said, not sure exactly what Sam was getting at.

"I just. Think that's cool, is all. That he was a lawyer."

Dean shrugged. "I guess," he said, though, personally, he didn't, especially.

It was beginning to look like the horses were actually horses. Unless they were maybe mules. Or donkeys. Did people keep herds of mules?

"Would you have been scared?"

Geez, what was with the kid tonight, Dean wondered. He was usually a little more articulate than this. "Sam," he sighed, "you're gonna have to start including some context clues if you want me to know what the hell you're talking about."

"At the Alamo," Sam said. And though Dean was looking at him, he could hear the eye roll in his voice. Would you have been scared at the Alamo?"

Dean snorted. "Well, yeah."

Sam stopped short and when Dean turned back to see what was up, he looked surprised. "You would?"

"Dude, what kind of idiot do you take me for?" Dean laughed again, but stopped when he realized that Sam was genuinely confused. "Man, you got the whole Mexican army bearing down on you and your 200 friends and you're not scared? Something's wrong with you."

"But …" Sam trailed off, mouth hanging open while he processed this. Dean gave him the time to think. "But they were heroes, fighting for their country, a cause they believed in."

Dean nodded slowly, carefully, trying to make up for laughing at Sam's question earlier. "But," he said, "dying for a good cause is still dying. Doesn't make a bullet hurt any less or leaving a family behind any easier."

If anything, Sam's brow furrowed more at this. His mouth opened and closed a few times in aborted protests before he decided on one. "So, are you scared during hunts with Dad?"

Was that what this was about? Crap. "Nah," he said easily and mostly truthfully. "Dad doesn't let me go on any of the certain death ones yet."

OK, possibly that didn't come out in comforting in which it was intended, because Sam's expression went from troubled straight to slack-jawed horror.

"Dad goes on certain death hunts?"

Yeah. Dean could see, now, how that would be less than comforting. Crap. Now Dean was the one fish mouthing, but Sam didn't do him the courtesy of a minute to think.

"Is he on one now? Is that why you've been worried since we got to Texas?"

"Sam, calm down. Dad's not on a certain death hunt. He's just researching right now. You know that."

Sam looked unconvinced. And nauseous.

"Come on, man. I didn't mean it like that. I was exaggerating. You know Dad's not going to go after anything until he's got a plan to kill it dead. If anything, it's certain death for those monster sons of bitches."

"What about that Baihu? Back in San Francisco."

"He's fine now," Dean pointed out.

"But he almost wasn't," Sam insisted, pitch going higher with each syllable.

"Sam." Dean paused to take a steadying breath. "Sam. It's a dangerous job. You already knew this. Dad's careful, and he always comes back, one way or another. Why are you getting worked up about this now?"

"Does Dad get scared?"

Dean thought about lying, but decided Sam probably deserved the truth. And he wasn't sure what the right answer was here, anyway. "Yeah," he said. "I mean, we don't talk about it or anything, but, like I said, some situations, you'd have to be an idiot not to get scared."

Sam didn't say anything. Just looked at Dean, crestfallen, and turned to walk back to the house.

"Hey!" Dean called after him. "What about the horses?"

OOO

Sam didn't answer Dean, just kept walking, thought jumbled enough that he wouldn't be surprised to trip over them.

He knew. He knew hunting was dangerous. But. He'd figured it was like Dean had told him back when he'd first found out about the monsters. Dad was a superhero. Or you know. Sam didn't really think Dad was a superhero, but. Just.

If they weren't scared of it, it couldn't be that bad, right? Because if they were scared of it … then they knew it was dangerous enough to hurt you. And if they knew it was dangerous enough to hurt you … kill you, maybe … why would they do it?

Sure Dad came back bloody from time to time. And Dean even had a scar from that one hunt Dad took him on last year. But those were just mistakes. Accidents. Not because the hunt wasn't something they could handle.

He made it back to the house, let the screen door slam behind him, stormed into the bedroom he shared with Dean and flopped on the bed on his side of the room to stare at the ceiling. A few minutes later, he heard the screen door slam again, Dean following far enough behind to give Sam his version of space, but close enough that he didn't have to worry. Soft footfalls announced his presence in the room.

"Why do you do it, then, if you're scared?" he asked without taking his eyes off the ceiling. He deliberately didn't ask how do you do it if you're scared. He'd just assumed that was something he was going to grow out of.

"Told ya, I'm not scared. Nothing to be scared of when I'm with Dad."

Sam frowned at the peeling drywall. "OK, then. Why does Dad do it, if he's scared?"

He heard Dean take a deep breath before he moved farther into the room to sit down on his own bed. "It's like you said," he said. "He's a hero."

Sam let his head fall to the side so that he could give Dean a hard look. Dean just shrugged.

"He does it because it's worth doing," he said. "A cause he believes in." He paused and pursed his lips, giving Sam a thoughtful look. "Kinda more badass to do it even though you're scared, right?"

Sam went back to studying the ceiling.