A/N: Just a short one today! It was at this chapter I realized I was not going to get this done in 15 pages. Heh.
Don't Judge a Book
Chapter Four
When John Winchester had started on his quest to find (kill) what had destroyed his family almost a year and a half ago, he'd had no idea what he was getting himself into. He still didn't know nearly enough. There were too many threats out there, more than he could have ever anticipated. Every day that passed brought a new kind of evil to fear and hate. He narrowed his eyes, scanning the house for any sign that might help him gain the access he needed. There were still lights on, a shadow passing by drawn curtains now and again.
He thought of his boys, asleep back in that rathole motel. He trusted Dean, young as he was, to watch out for Sammy, but John was no fool. He knew he was taking a huge risk leaving them alone so much, protective wards and salt notwithstanding. He knew it wasn't good for them. He knew most people would call it neglect. He also knew that there was no better option. He didn't have family to speak of to help with the boys even if he could bear to lose control of them, and Mary's … he swallowed past a sudden lump. Mary's parents had been gone for a long time, and the thought of their grisly murders always made him feel uncomfortable. He'd never known what had really happened, and Mary would never give him anything but vague answers and tears. In the end, he'd never truly wanted to know.
But all these years later, after what happened to Mary, John found himself wondering more than he should about that confusing night and his wife's reluctance to answer his questions.
Now was not the time to dwell on his own history, ancient or recent. He couldn't even allow himself to think of his boys in an immediate sense, only in the way that never left the back of his mind. They were why he was here. He had to protect them, and right now the only way he knew how to do that was finding as much evil in the world and eliminating it before it came for his boys. For Sam. After tonight there would be one less danger to them, to anyone. He focused on the house.
If only he'd been able to gain entrance through the usual methods, he'd be done and back on the road again right now. John was fairly certain the Sanchez house had a poltergeist, but after his initial fact-gathering attempt he had been shut out. He was surprised this didn't happen more often. First impressions being what they were and all, John knew he didn't come across as trustworthy. Sometimes he was sure new acquaintances believed him dangerous. They weren't exactly wrong. It was easiest when the cases came to him, not him to the cases, but he rarely got what he wanted anymore. His good life had taken an ugly and irreversible diversion into bad, in nearly all regards.
And right now, that meant to the Sanchez family he was a world class pervert bent on ogling the missus and daughter. Hell, they'd probably pegged him as worse. For civilians, they were on high alert, a frustrating situation but not a roadblock yet. He took his eyes off the house for a second, surveilled the neighborhood in search of the two clowns that had been sicced on him. If they'd been around waiting for him to show up in the Impala, he might have considered leaving the Sanchezes to their haunted house. It turned out borrowing this rusty Plymouth Horizon was a waste of time. Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum weren't out tonight. He supposed he was lucky they hadn't gone to the cops. He could handle the small potatoes private investigators with one hand tied behind his back. Cops meant danger for the boys.
John frowned. He didn't miss the extra distraction the detectives would have caused, but at the same time their absence rang warning bells. That he'd made them easily didn't mean his two PI tails weren't good; they were reasonably good at their jobs. He was just better at his. His life and his kids depended on him being the best in any situation. Ultimately, he knew there had to be a reason for them to not stick to him like glue. He wondered if they had gotten to the house before him, that the shapes moving behind curtains were actually Mr. Country Club and Roy Rogers.
He weighed the options, seriously considering giving up on a case. He hadn't done that yet, no matter how hairy things had gotten. Right now, sitting in this tin can of a car, it didn't seem worth it to finish, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the 'geist became violent. No, interference or not, he had to handle this and get out quick. The Sanchezes were innocents and they needed to be protected, even if they didn't know it.
He glanced at his watch. It was well after midnight. Every other house on the block had the lights out. John had figured a half an hour ago that the Sanchez house would not go dark. He kept an eye on the illuminated windows, watching for the silhouettes to stop appearing. It was the only way he'd know they were sleeping. He didn't like the thought of breaking in, knowing it made him a criminal in everyone's eyes but his own. If the house were dark, he wouldn't be sitting there slogging through some great internal debate.
The bottom line was, the chances of running into nosy detectives and very awake potential victims were impediments he didn't need. John was learning as he went with this hunting thing, but he already knew poltergeists weren't something to mess around with. Ideally, he'd get the family out first. Of course, 'ideally' wasn't going to happen, so he rapidly came up with a new plan. Daylight break-ins weren't something he normally did, but in this case it was the better option. Tomorrow, when the Sanchezes were at work and school, he'd handle the problem. And hope their neighbors weren't nosy enough to notice him.
Tonight John would spend with his boys. He knew sitting up watching Dean and Sam sleep, faces soft and sweet, wasn't nearly enough. It didn't make him a good parent. He only knew he needed it sometimes, to see Dean unguarded as a little boy should be. It could only happen in sleep. The second after Dean woke up every day, he transformed into someone old, weary and sad beyond his six years. John wanted more than anything to let his boys be boys, but that could not happen until he knew they were safe. He knew that meant that it would never happen. There would always be some evil to fight. He hated it, he truly did, that his life was now all about fear, and so by default so were his boys'.
He drove the Horizon to the near vicinity from which he'd borrowed it, wiping all evidence of himself off the steering wheel, dash and door, and walked quickly back to the Impala. This was as close to a night off as he saw these days, and the soft-hearted boy buried deep within himself dared claw his way almost to the surface. He told himself he deserved the break. He told himself that having the time to bring his sons to Denny's for a hot breakfast was proof of his love for them. Because pancakes could make everything golden.
He entered the room with hardly a sound, gently nudging the door shut before turning around to take in the sleeping forms of his children. In one heartbeat, he went from loving to frantic. John's heart beat fast, the sound of his blood rushed in his ears. Instead of finding Dean and Sammy asleep in their bed, he found their bed turned upside down, the room ransacked. Complete panic blinded him for a moment, replaced quickly with rage. Someone or something had his boys, he knew it as surely as anything. Whatever it was, it wasn't going to live to see the light of day.
John the hunter resurfaced, pushing father and soft-hearted boy to dark recesses. He surveyed the room with a methodical eye, searched for telltale signs of the supernatural. He found none. With some pride, John noted the shotgun-blast damage to the kitchen cabinets. He saw no blood, a relief and a concern at the same time. Dean didn't give up without a fight, as John knew he never would. He noticed things had been moved in the kitchen, minor shifts of drinking glasses and bowls and the Lucky Charms cereal box. His mind raced, he drew conclusions based more on gut than logic. The predators here had been human. There were only two people in San Diego who might have the first reason to pay mind to him, even as Emil Waunetka or whoever he was for the day.
The private detectives. Simon and Simon. God help him, John didn't think he would even flinch about ending them, if they had taken his boys. They had no idea who they were dealing with. If Dean hadn't gotten him and Sammy to their designated safe spot, if they were with those two dicks, John would not be totally responsible for his actions. After grabbing what personal belongings that had been left scattered about, he set out on a much different hunt than the one he'd begun earlier in the evening.