Author's Note: OH, EM, FREAKIN', GEE. T-t-twenty four reviews? ONLY in the first chapter? Twenty eight alerts and 14 favorites already? What are you guys trying to do to me? THANK YOU SO MUCH YOU GUYS ROCK! So sorry guys for the long pause there. I'm still suffering from writer's block. Thanks to AlElizabeth for betaing this chapter too, and for helping me. If it weren't for her, I would've never been able to write it, she practically wrote the whole chapter for me.
-The Broken Road That Led Me Straight To You-
-Chapter Two-
Once the Winchesters had gotten the drink out of their systems, Bobby decided it was time for them to dive back into their work.
The grizzled hunter knew how John and Dean were feeling, knew they missed Adam — hell, Bobby missed the boy as well — but every time March twenty-first that rolled around, the two remaining Winchester men would get themselves plastered out of grief and were completely useless for a number of days; and that wouldn't help anybody. It wouldn't bring Adam back and all John and Dean were doing were pickling their livers.
Barging into the Winchesters' motel room the morning after he'd dragged them out of that bar, Bobby set down three large cups of take-out coffee.
Both John and his son were sprawled out on their beds, dead to the world, still wearing their jeans and boots and shirt-sleeves.
Bobby stepped closer to the sleeping men, making no attempt to be quiet and sighed softly when he saw that Dean was holding onto that photograph of his brother the day their Daddy had taken them to the beach.
"Alright you two..." Bobby grumbled to the sleeping Winchesters. "Enough's enough."
Walking into the motel room's tiny kitchenette, the veteran hunter rummaged around until he found a frying pan and a saucepan.
Standing in between the beds, noting that the alarm clock read 7 o'clock, Bobby couldn't help but smile a little before he bashed the pans together, eliciting a loud, resonant toll.
The reaction was instantaneous. Both John and Dean leaped up — John's hand on his gun and Dean's on his knife — before they realized that the only threat was Bobby.
"Jesus Christ, Bobby!" John snapped once his heart had stopped pounding. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
"I'll do a lot worse if you don't put that gun down." Bobby growled and John, looking sheepish, lowered the weapon.
Dean, sitting on the edge of his bed, rested his head in his hand.
"I know you don't wanna hear bad news this early in the morning but a friend of mine up in Auburn Hills, Michigan called last night and said there's been a series of what the authorities are calling 'feral dog attacks." Bobby set the frying and saucepan on the table in the kitchenette and handed the Winchesters their coffee.
"Huh, so he is civilized at least." Dean muttered to his father.
"I heard that!" Bobby growled back to the young man.
"What makes these dog attacks our thing? Is it a werewolf?" John asked and stood, stretching.
"Doesn't seem like one." Bobby scratched his beard thoughtfully. "The hearts of the victims were all intact — they were just about the only things not torn to shreds."
Dean frowned. "Sounds like it could be a Black Dog, then."
The other two older men nodded. "Michigan isn't far — few hours' drive. Why can't your friend deal with this Bobby?"
"She's not really a hunter but she keeps an eye out for anything supernatural." Bobby explained and Dean could have sworn he saw the grizzled hunter turn red beneath his beard.
"Okay." John said. "Let's hit the road."
Bobby nodded as he watched the Winchesters packing up their duffle bags. Work always took his mind off his own loss, his beloved wife Karen, and he knew it did the same for John and Dean. If only for a little while, at least. The veteran hunter watched as the Winchesters pulled out of the motel parking lot, one in a classic '67 Chevy Impala, the other in an imposing, black truck and felt saddened by the fact that the third member of their family was not with them. Bobby sighed and climbed into his own vehicle, not looking forward to the long drive back to South Dakota.
SNSNSNSNSN
Sam Wesson woke up as soon as the alarm clock rang. Hitting the OFF button quickly so as not to rouse his brother, Sam silently climbed out of bed and pulled on a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He grabbed his jacket, pulling it off the back of one of the motel room's chairs and slipped outside.
Sam brushed his brown, longish hair out of his eyes and began walking toward the small diner at the end of the street.
Knowing that his brother would not wake up until he had returned, Sam enjoyed the quiet morning and the orange and pink sky despite the buildings obscuring most of the sunrise.
Sam smiled shyly — with deep and gorgeous dimples standing out on his cheeks — at the motherly-figured waitress who took his order at the diner and thanked her politely when she came back with his food.
Sam searched in his jacket pockets, more and more frantically once he realized he didn't have nearly enough money to pay for the breakfast.
"I'm sorry." Sam apologized, feeling ashamed as he ducked his head down.
"Don't worry about it, hon." The waitress said and smiled, feeling compassionate towards the young boy's kicked-puppy-expression. "You go on."
Sam gave a small smile and nodded gratefully, leaving the diner with his shoulders slumped. He didn't want to be embarrassed like that again but he was afraid to ask his brother for more money, because it didn't go too well the last time he did, even though it was out of necessity.
SNSNSNSNSN
Rick Wesson opened his eyes as soon as his younger brother stepped through the door.
"About time." He snapped angrily and sat up. "I was thinking you left me, Sammy."
Sam shook his head quickly and took two cups of coffee from their holder, handing one to his brother and keeping the other for himself.
"What'd you get?" Rick grabbed the paper take-out bag as he sat at the motel's small table. "Better not be pancakes again."
Sam waited for his brother to pull a Styrofoam container of bacon and eggs out before taking his own breakfast out. He watched Rick dig into his fried eggs for a moment and then carefully picked the paper off his blueberry muffin.
He was almost finished with his breakfast when Rick took a drink of his coffee and then quickly spat it out as if he'd just drank motor oil instead, face scrunching up in disgust.
Sam almost choked on his muffin as his brother tore the lid off the cup and held it out to him, sloshing the liquid inside as he shook it slightly.
"Does this look like black coffee to you?" Rick questioned furiously.
Sam obediently looked at the java, wilting and gulping nervously when he saw the coffee clearly had milk or cream in it.
"You know I hate anything in my coffee!" Rick yelled, narrowing his oval eyes at his younger sibling as though he thought Sam was trying to poison him.
"I — I'm sorry." Sam apologized quietly, his eyes casting downward. "It was an accident." He swallowed again, heart hammering rapidly against his ribs and his gut squeezing with fear.
"Oh, it was an accident." Rick smiled viciously. "Well, that changes everything."
The older Wesson brother stood up, hand still gripping the cup and Sam was suddenly afraid his brother was going to throw the hot coffee at him again, because it was exactly what he did the last time such an incident happened.
But instead, he walked over to Sam's duffel bag and poured the coffee over the unzipped bag.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Sam." Rick apologized mockingly. "It slipped."
Rick tossed the cup in the garbage can and sat back down. He looked steadily into his younger sibling's hazel eyes for a moment, as if daring Sam to say something, waiting for his head to duck down in defeat, before going back to his breakfast.
He was almost finished with his food when the phone rang throughout the whole room, causing Sam's head snap up at the sound. Cursing, Rick brushed his hands together and then dug into his pockets for his phone, pulling it out and pressing it to his ear with one hand. "What?" He snapped irritably, causing Sam to flinch slightly at the sharpness of his tone, the same tone that had been used on him his whole life, never once spoken to with gentleness.
"What's got your panties in a wad so early in the morning?" Bobby's gruff voice greeted him from the other line.
"Oh, hey Bobby. Sorry about that by the way." Rick apologized, grinning slightly.
"Yeah sure, whatever." Bobby brushed off the apology, and Rick could just imagine the older hunter waving vaguely as he said it. "So me and a couple of good friends of mine need some help on a hunt in Auburn Hills, Michigan. It's a black dog. Turns out there were two of them instead'a one, and that's why I've called you two idjits for this one. You up for it?"
"Sure, why not?" Rick replied, shrugging casually. "We'll be there."
"Good." Bobby replied gruffly on the other line. "I'll text ya the location."
"Yeah okay, bye."
"Bye, and take care of yerselves."
"Will do." Rick answered, and hung up the phone.
Sam was already packing his and his brother's bags as he knew Rick didn't like wasting his time.
SNSNSNSNSN
Dean, for a split moment, felt deeply saddened by the word 'brothers' as it reminded him explicitly of his own baby brother, but quickly pushed those agonizing emotions and reminders into the back of his mind. John seemingly noticed the pain flashing across his older son's face at the word, but said nothing, all the while ignoring his own sorrow.
It's funny how such a simple word can actually cause so much heartache.
"So, uh — what are their names?" Dean asked casually.
Bobby came back with three beer bottles in his hand, handing one to John and one to Dean, keeping the last one for himself as he sat down on the chair, facing the two Winchesters sitting on the foot of their beds. "Well, the older one's twenty-five, Rick Wesson is his name — and the younger one, Sam, is only seventeen."
Please review. :) They're like sugar to me, gets me high and writing!
Oh and it seemed there were some people who were quite confused by their ages. It's 2000 here so...that would make Sam seventeen (Since it's March, he's still sixteen and a half), Dean would be twenty-one, Adam's (Yup, the one from Season 4/5) five years younger than Dean so that would make him sixteen, Rick's eight years older than Sam so that would make him twenty-five.
No flamers allowed here.