All Pam wanted to do was sleep.
Sleep and cry. Sleep and try to forget the sight of her lover, dead by her own hand.
Forget the fact that he'd used her, betrayed her.
Forget that she'd been blind and stupid and so damned wrong about who he'd been.
Forget that she'd loved the bastard.
Though the living room was stuffy and warm, the curtains drawn tight against the weather and a fire burning in the fireplace, she felt cold. Probably shock, Pam thought dimly. She pulled the edges of the blanket around her and pressed deeper into the couch, trying to still her shaking.
She was halfway between waking and sleep when she was roused by the sound of soft footsteps approaching the couch. Startled, she rolled over, hand groping for the handgun under her pillow.
"Hey, babe." A streak of black earth across his cheek, Jack Morrissey crouched down beside her. "Don't shoot me, okay?"
Pam slid the gun back under the pillow. "Is it done?"
He nodded. "All done, baby girl. Cleared out all his stuff, too. Nothing left."
"Nothing left." She felt another flood of tears and struggled to keep them back, tried to smile. "I'm an idiot, huh?"
His grey eyes were sad. "Not even a little bit."
They were quiet for a few minutes.
"It's not like I didn't know something was wrong," she said finally in a small voice. "It's been wrong for a long time. Ever since he got kicked off the force, he's been – he was just so angry. At me, at the department, his friends. Even his parents."
Jack nodded, didn't say anything.
"I kept thinking if I just hang on, give him time, he'll pull out of it. Things will get better. I'll have Jesse – my Jesse – back." She lost her battle as the tears finally spilled down her cheeks. "Jack, how could he do that?"
He shook his head and pulled a mostly-clean bandana out of his pocket, mopped up her tears with it.
Another quiet few minutes.
"He wanted to kill me. I could see it in his eyes. But just as I pulled the trigger he moved and – " she drew in a ragged breath. "I didn't mean to kill him. I was trying to stop him, just stop him." She closed her eyes, shook her head disbelievingly.
"Jack, I tried. I tried so hard to help him."
"Nobody could've tried harder than you, Pam. Some people just won't be helped." Jack smoothed the hair back from her face, smiled into her lovely eyes.
She looked up at him forlornly, smiled a little through her tears. "Oh, Jack, why couldn't I have fallen in love with you?"
Jack's eyes lightened and he chuckled. "Well, since I'm gayer than springtime, sweetheart, that probably wouldn't have worked out too well."
Despite herself, Pam laughed, then winced. "Ow, don't make me laugh. My head is killing me."
"You want something for it?"
She shook her head. "Not yet. Not until after he's come and gone."
Jack looked at his watch. "It's been a while. You sure he's coming?"
There was a sharp two-note whistle from outside and a moment later they both heard the rumble of a heavy diesel engine.
"Guess that answers that question." Pam was pale, but she sat up and let Jack help her to her feet.
Not liking her looks, he asked, "You sure you're up for this?"
"Yeah," she said, a little reluctantly. "I have to be."
"It's your show, babe." He put an arm around her waist and she leaned against him heavily as they walked to the front door.
When he reached for the doorknob, she put a restraining hand on his forearm. "Remember what I told you, Jack. This man is dangerous and I'm pretty sure he's crazy."
"I've heard about him before. Don't worry. It's like I told you: Cheech has got eyes on him from the roof and Bob is at the corner of the house with his carbine. This guy's not gonna get a chance to do anything."
"I just don't want to lose anyone else today."
"Me neither. You ready?"
Pam nodded. She straightened her posture, keeping just a light hand on his supporting arm, to try and hide from their visitor just how badly she was hurting. "Let's do it."
John Winchester was standing in the driveway, at the side of his big truck, when Jack and Pam came out onto the front porch.
Pam's first thought when she saw him was that she could see where his sons got their good looks.
Her second thought, when she looked into his dark eyes, was that this was one of the most dangerous men she'd ever seen.
John smiled when he saw her, though she could sense his confusion at her obvious injuries. "Miss Barnes?
Pam nodded. "There's nothing here for you, Mr. Winchester," she said baldly. "The boys left here not long after you spoke with Jesse."
He looked a little taken aback. "Do you know where they went?"
"If I did, I wouldn't tell you. But, as it happens, I don't."
"They're my sons, Miss Barnes," he said gently. "I have the right to know where they are."
She didn't answer and his face shut down. After a moment, he asked, "Is Jesse here?"
"No," she said, forcing back the swell of grief that threatened to swallow her. "And he won't be."
Something flickered in his eyes. On impulse, Pam sent out her inner sense and caught a glimpse of a blackness so dark, so deep, it almost took her breath away.
The shock of what she'd seen sent her staggering against her protector. "Jack!"
In less than a heartbeat, Jack had shoved her behind him and his pistol was out of his jacket and pointing at the hunter. In the next beat, Bob had his carbine on John and they could all hear the racking of a shotgun from the roof.
"Whoa!" John raised his hands and took a step back. "Hold on now!"
"Don't move, you fucker, or I'll spread you all over the driveway!" Cheech shouted from above.
John froze.
For a long moment, no one moved.
"Jack," Bob growled, carbine unwaveringly fixed on John. "What's goin' on?"
"Gimme a minute," Jack called back. He fixed John with a hard eye. "Stay right there."
"You got it," John said calmly.
Jack watched him narrowly for a moment longer, then, keeping one eye on John, turned to Pam. "You okay? What's going on?"
Pam, still overwhelmed by the darkness she'd so briefly touched, laid a trembling hand on his back. "He needs to go, Jack," she whispered. "He needs to go right now."
"You sure? Cause we can end it right here if you want."
John heard him. Didn't blink.
"Pam?" Jack said urgently. "Come on, girl, get it together."
Tightening her hold on her friend, Pam took an iron grip on herself and slammed down her inner vision. She took a half-step around Jack and spoke to John, with a great effort managing to keep her voice level. "You need to go. There's nothing for you here."
"I need to find my boys," John said. He smiled at her. He may have meant it to be reassuring. It was anything but.
Pam shook her head. "I don't know where they are. I didn't let them tell me because I didn't want to lie." She could see him read the truth of that in her face. Nodding, careful to keep his hands still, John backed up around the front of his truck and got in, keeping his eyes on Pam's face.
She managed to stay in place next to Jack until John's truck was out of the yard and moving down the driveway. As soon as it was out of sight, Pam said urgently, "Keep your eyes open, Jack. If he comes back, we're all dead."
She went back into the house, moving swiftly, pushing through the pain, through the fear and shock that threatened to engulf her. She grabbed up the phone and dialed a number, waiting with baited breath for an answer.
A man answered at the other end.
"What the hell did you get me into, Bobby Singer!" Pam hissed.
"Pam?"
She rode over his confusion. "John Winchester was just here and damn it to hell, Bobby, he's not human!"
SUPNSUNSUPN
The boys found two tracking devices. One in the trunk, one in the wheel well on the front right tire.
Dean was rabid. He destroyed the devices, then stuck his brother back in the car and drove another two hundred miles before pulling over and searching the car again.
And then again.
He refused to let Sam help with the second search. Whoever had placed the trackers on Dean's car had touched his pride at the most basic level and he was determined to do this particular job himself. Because if he couldn't make himself believe that the Impala was clean, safe, he'd have to leave her.
And, besides Sam, she was the one thing he had left in the world that he simply couldn't bear the thought of losing.
Dean found no bugs on the second search.
Mostly silent – even after their rest the night before, they were both still exhausted – the brothers drove on, crossing over into Texas in the early hours of the next morning.
In a shabby diner on the side of a secondary highway, they ate a mediocre breakfast; Sam mostly ignoring his plate of runny eggs and toast; Dean morosely pushing a slice of greasy bacon around his plate.
Finally, pretty damn sure he knew exactly what was going on in his brother's guilt-wracked brain, Sam said. "No, Dean."
Startled, Dean looked up. "Huh?"
"We're not getting rid of the Impala." Sam smiled faintly at the expression on Dean's face. "What? You're not that hard to read, brother."
"Sammy, what if I didn't find all the bugs? I don't think we have a choice - " Dean pushed his plate away, feeling nauseous just at the thought of losing his beloved car.
"We have a choice," Sam interrupted. "We can dump the Impala and lose the only real home we've ever had – "
Dean winced.
"Or," Sam went on logically, "We can trust that we found all the bugs and move on."
His older brother stared at the table, face lined with unhappiness and indecision.
"Come on, Dean, you practically stripped her down to the frame. You found everything there was to find!"
"Sam – "
"I don't usually fight you, Dean. You're the oldest. I trust you to take care of us. But I'm sick of getting pushed around by these bastards. We're not giving her up."
Dean looked searchingly into Sam's eyes.
Apparently he found what he was looking for, because after a minute he snickered. "Bossy bottom."
Relieved, Sam leaned back in his chair. Taking a quick look around the room, he casually spread his legs. "Well, this bossy bottom is feeling a little neglected." He swiped his tongue teasingly across his lower lip and smirked when he saw Dean's eyes darken.
"Pushing your luck a little, aren't you? This is Texas, not San Francisco."
Sam lazily ran a hand up his thigh, just barely brushing against the bulge at his crotch. "You know you love it."
Dean leaned across the table. "Let's get a room and I'll show you how much I love it," he said in a low voice. "Nine inches worth, baby boy."
Sam froze, eyes fixed on Dean's.
Dean gestured to the elderly waitress for the check.
SUPNSUPNSUPN
There was a small motel next to the café. It was nothing much to look at from the outside, but the room more than made up for it by having a king-sized bed.
After they'd gotten their gear inside and warded the room, Dean asked, "You want first shower, Sammy?
Mouth dropping open in an exaggerated expression of shock and surprise, Sam cowered away. "Christo!"
Rolling his eyes, Dean smacked his brother on the head. "Smart ass. I wanna call Bobby, let him know we're okay. Make sure Pam's all right."
"That can wait a few minutes." Sam snaked an arm around Dean's waist and grabbed a handful of his ass, smirking at his gasp. "Come on. We can shower together." He nuzzled the side of Dean's throat, took a quick, exploratory lick. "Save water."
Dean wavered, then his common sense got the better of him. He gave Sam a quick, rough kiss and stepped back.
"Soon as I talk to Bobby, I'll be in. I don't let him know what's going on, he'll kick my ass for sure next time we see him."
Pouting a little, Sam gave in and walked to the bathroom, making sure to give his ass a little extra swing on the way. He had the added satisfaction of feeling his brother's eyes on him all the way.
((((()))))
Sam stuck his head under the spray, enjoying the rhythmic beat of the water, letting it rinse away the shampoo and watching through half-closed eyes as the suds swirled down the drain.
Hip shot and relaxed, nearly dozing, when the water started to cool, Sam realized he'd been in the shower for a lot longer than a phone call to Bobby should have taken. Unless something was wrong.
Pam?
Worried now, he turned off the water and cocked his head toward the bathroom door, listening.
Nothing. No sound of Dean's voice, or the television.
Moving fast, he wrapped a towel around his waist and went into the next room.
Dean sat on the side of the big bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. He looked up when Sam came in and to his confusion and horror, Sam realized that his brother was crying.
Shaken, he sat down on the bed beside him. "Dean, what's wrong?"
Dean shook his head, unable to speak.
Sam clasped the back of Dean's neck. "Dean, tell me." He felt tears pricking the back of his own eyes at the sight of his brother's distress. Dean didn't cry. Dean never cried.
"Dean, please."
Dean straightened and sniffled. He wiped his face, not looking at his brother. "I should've known."
"You're scarin' me, man." Sam's voice was shaking. "Tell me."
Dean drew a shaky breath and raised his eyes to Sam's. Sam caught his breath at the look of utter desolation in his brother's eyes.
"It's Dad."
Sam's breath caught. "He – is he - ?"
"I talked to Bobby - Bobby said – " Dean stopped, pain and guilt burning through him. "Pam said that Dad's possessed."
Sam stumbled up, grabbing at the towel around his waist. "Wh – what?"
"Dad showed up at Pam's, looking for us. She read him with her psychic shit." Dean shook his head despairingly. "She said he's possessed. By a demon."
"But how?" Sam stammered incredulously. "When?"
"I dunno." Dean stood and went into the bathroom, Sam trailing after him, stunned.
Dean leaned over the sink and splashed some cold water into his face. "I should've known," he said in a low voice, guilt dripping from every syllable. "I should've known ."
"Dean – "
Face dripping, eyes wild, Dean turned to face his brother. "Sammy, we gotta save him."
Sam's mouth worked but nothing came out.
"Sam, don't you see?" Dean said desperately. "This must be why he tried to kill you, why he sent those hunters after you. Dad would never hurt you, or me. This has to be the answer. He was possessed by some fucking demon. Maybe the demon."
"But we don't – " Sam didn't want to say it, but it had to be said. "Dean, we don't know when the demon took him. It could have been when we were still with him, but –"
"But what?"
"What if that's not what's going on here? What if we find him and exorcise the demon and Dad still wants to kill me?"
"Don't you want it to be true?" Dean's face flushed with hurt and anger. "Don't you want Dad back?"
"Of course I do," Sam protested. He reached out and took Dean's hand, squeezed it. "I do." He nodded determinedly. "This is great news. All we have to do is find him. Bobby can help us get the demon out. I know he can."
Dean grabbed him in a huge hug, then broke away, laughing. "Damn, I guess we shouldn't have busted up those bugs, huh? Not if we want him finding us."
Sam laughed and if his laughter was a little half-hearted, Dean didn't notice. Almost glowing with relief, he said, "I'm gonna go call Bobby back. I hung up on him before."
At Sam's nod, he said, "Come on, Sammy, get dressed. I'll grab a shower after I call Bobby, then we'll get going."
He left the bathroom, closing the door behind him.
Unable to believe how fast, how completely, things had changed, Sam dropped down to sit on the toilet seat, hands clenched together on his thighs.
He was glad.
He really was.
Knowing that John hadn't tried to kill him willingly, knowing his father didn't want him dead?
This was a good thing.
The problem was, Dean hadn't followed the facts all the way through to their inevitable conclusion.
If John was possessed and they were able to get the demon out of him, did Dean think Dad would be okay with them being together? As a couple?
No way. He'd tell Dean they had to stop.
Despair filled him and he looked at the door that separated him from his brother.
Dean had tried to keep from Sam how much it had hurt him to leave John, but Sam knew. Underneath the rage and the fear and the horror over what John had done, Dean still loved him. Hell, worshipped him. With this new development, this opportunity to save his father and erase the horror of the past few months - that would be all Dean could see.
Dean loved Sam. Sam knew that, with every fiber of his being. But if this worked and Dean had to choose again between Sam and his father . . .
Dean banged abruptly on the door. "Come on, Sam, let's go!"
"Coming." Sam got up slowly and started to pull on his clothes.
Now wasn't the time to be thinking about this. He'd wait, see what happened.
It could take them weeks, months, to find their father.
And who knew if the exorcism would even work?
Sam was ashamed to find himself wishing, just a little, that John would stay gone.
SUPNSUPNSUPN
Any time you can use the words Sam and thigh in the same sentence, it's a good day.