If you're looking for the new chapters, they're actually chapters 7 & 8 (because I wanted to make this confusing, evidently). I was just reading back through this story and felt it originally skipped too much time between this and the previous chapter. Anyway, they're not much, but I think they tie the story together better. As always, thanks for reading :)

January 11, 1995

He knew something was different.

Almost just as soon as his father walked through the door, he knew. At first, he assumed the hunt had turned sour. The ghoul had killed a civilian in front of him—someone he couldn't protect. It had happened before—in this job, it was inevitable. And when it had, John usually turned to the bottle.

Dean glanced back toward Sam, whose eyes flicked up to the door for only a few heartbeats, before his gaze shot back down to his textbook. He'd noticed it too, and with the slow and careful way he shaped each number as he wrote, it was startlingly clear he was trying to stay under the radar.

Dean turned back to his dad as the man sloughed his duffle bag onto the motel counter, and Dean watched—subtly, he hoped—as he stared at the wall, every muscle tense. Eventually, slowly, he turned to look at his boys. Immediately, Dean shifted his gaze elsewhere—Sam's history textbook, tossed haphazardly onto the bed once he'd finished with that assignment, had suddenly become very interesting. John didn't seem to notice; Dean felt his eyes slide across him and land on his younger brother. He thought Sam might feel it too—though his back was turned to their father, his eyes trailed upward from the page, and Dean could practically feel his unease from halfway across the room.

Then, without a word, John was out the door, carrying only his keys. Dean frowned faintly. John rarely left without parting instructions—finish your homework, fix the EMF reader, find us a case, research a monster—but this time he left without even a "watch your brother?" Surely… surely he'd be back soon. Shaking his head to clear away the thoughts, Dean turned his attention to Sam, "How's the Geometry coming?"

He huffed in response, then checked the door to ensure their father was truly gone, "What do you think happened?"

"Dunno." Dean paused, tossing the history textbook toward Sam's backpack, "I guess the hunt went bad."

A sigh. "Maybe he should've let us come; we've killed a ghoul before."

Dean agreed. At the very least, Dad should've let him come—he was fifteen, almost sixteen for crying out loud. But nonetheless, he defended, "He said he could handle it." He didn't even have to look to know what Sam's expression read: and? "Dad has his reasons; he knows what he's doing, Sam." Sam nodded, but like Dean, he was still uneasy—when their father was on edge like this, it was hard for them not to mirror the response. Living in the same room, mere feet apart at almost any time, did few favors.

Dean stood, ruffling Sam's hair, which caused him to lurch away and swat at his brother's hand. "Finish your homework. I'll try to find us some dinner."

On his way to check the fridge, he paused, his gaze lingering on the duffle bag left on the counter. The zipper wasn't closed completely. He frowned. With a glance back toward Sam—whose back was still turned—he slowly, quietly, drew the zipper apart. Salt and… holy water. But… wasn't Dad hunting a ghoul? Dean stared for several long seconds, before he carefully returned the bag to how he had found it.

He knew something was wrong. But at the time, he just didn't know what.