No sooner did he sit back up when Dean was struck by a familiar swirling
sensation inside his brain; it eradicated all the dispiriting thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him several minutes before. 'It was an ambush!' he told himself then softly chuckled at his odd response, concluding with a lopsided grin, 'I'm still such a lightweight...still.'
Dean had his first taste of whiskey the night of his eighteenth birthday but approximately one planetary revolution around the sun later, two shots of the amber liquor hardly delivered the same numbing effect. Therefore, he reached down into his backpack to grab his dated walkman, acquired three years ago from a donation box.
Already inside this walkman was an Aerosmith tape that, though not his favorite, remained ready to be played for times when he just needed a break from the outside world, albeit temporary. As far as Dean was concerned, family always came first and so allowed himself the occasional reprieve. He remembered John telling him once, "you're no good to us burned out."
Feeling even better for having positioned the head set, Dean sprawled out along the back seat. He was now relaxed enough to imagine himself floating weightless on a calm body of water. He soaked up the feeling and sighed contentedly.
All that was left to do was to press play and close his eyes. The tune of 'Dream On' trickled into his ears and Dean's smile grew. He succumbed to the melody, breathing in and out at a slower and steady rate...
000000000000
The darkness was divided by the flashlight in hand, directed downward. Sitting in the passenger seat, John's head was bent over his journal positioned on his lap; it was essentially the center of his attention but it did not take long before his ears picked up on Dean's deepened respirations.
It was then that the words began to blur. After a moment he rationalized, 'I must be tired, too.' Annoyed at his limitations, John squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to make them to work again.
Suddenly, he remembered having asked Sam to buy some food and opened his eyes to see the bag there in the space separating them. He picked it up but with one peak inside, his stomach protested, realized he was just too agitated to eat.
John then glanced at his younger son. But for his arms raised, controlling the steering wheel, Sam sat unmoving. Though it was not John's personality to try and drag anything out of his son, he felt compelled to break the silence. Despite having a good idea what Sam's answer would be, he held up the bag and asked, "Do you want this?"
Sam had been agonizing over what happened at the rest stop earlier; it was like sticking a finger into his own wound and twisting. Though he heard his father's question, it had little effect on stopping the damnable thoughts.
It took all his willpower to not whirl around and scream, 'Dad! You had said, "there's plenty of people around so there shouldn't be any trouble"...well there was trouble!...there's a man murdered because of me and no matter how hard I try, I can't explain it!' Instead, Sam shifted to his left, trying to create more distance between them.
"Sam?" John repeated, louder this time.
"No thanks, Dad...not hungry," Sam replied in a tight voice, keeping his eyes forward.
Never sure how to relate to Sam, it was even more daunting lately to handle a Sam who was trying to grow up. John closed the bag and set it down. "Well, it's here if you change your mind."
In his periphery, Sam watched his father blink then bend back over his journal. His father was going back to being aloof and he could handle that just fine.
But John could not get his tired eyes to cooperate. He flipped through a couple of pages before giving in to the realization that he couldn't think about Lincoln anymore. 'Fuck it! Who am I kidding? There aren't any more clues here...not about Lincoln...not about that thing that killed Mary,' he raged to himself. 'Like I said before, I know it's past time to start searching elsewhere.'
John grimaced, took another gulp of whiskey and once again, then slammed the journal shut. He caught sight of Sam flinching as he tossed it onto the dashboard.
Instantly, John was hit with a sense of dread. Sam's reaction just now coupled with his recent refusal of food was an echo of a time, years ago; he had seen this before and it wasn't hard to figure out when.
To John's dismay, he realized it was a recollection connected to the events Dean brought up at their last stop. Ever since that discussion, this memory was like a snake circling the foundation of a house, looking for a crack to slither into. He leaned back, closed his eyes and sighed, then allowed it to enter.
He was reading the Sunday Times and just finished another article about the suspicious disappearances two states over. He then folded the newspaper and flung it down upon the table, hard. His young son flinched at the unexpected noise and dropped his fork which clattered when it hit the floor. He turned his full attention to Sam and sighed, "Sam, why aren't you eating?"
Dean looked up. "Yeah, you love spaghetti."
Sam kept his head down and replied, "sorry...you can have it. I'm just tired...I'm gonna go to bed."
The day before, he told his sons that they had forty-eight hours before moving on and was still surprised that Sam didn't complain in his normal fashion; instead, Sam was withdrawn...had been this way for about a week. He remained subdued while packing his few belongings. Sam pointedly avoided them, so he and Dean kept their distance as well.
His glare followed Sam as he got up and shuffled to the bathroom. This behavior was something new and John was starting to feel bothered.
Dean started to rise from his chair. "You're not getting sick are you?"
Without looking back, Sam replied, "no...I just have a lot to do tomorrow."
"Just let him go, Dean," he had said. He was determined not to be swayed by this new tactic of his younger son.
The following Monday morning, Dean had cut school and the two of them kept busy with finding out what they could about the next job, making living arrangements, and checking the car. Despite everything, he found himself often thinking about Sam. He was finding it difficult to focus and was thankful Dean was there to help with what had to be done.
When Sam returned from an abbreviated school day, his head was still down, hair hanging over his eyes. Though skeptical, he asked, "ready?"
Sam looked up, his mouth twitched with a small smile.
Surprised, he blinked and drew back. He then regarded his son's eyes, was relieved to see they were bright.
"I'm all set, let's go," Sam said.
"Well then,..." he stammered but recovered quickly "...you boys go to your room and make one last sweep...I'll warm up the car."
As soon as he stepped outside, he beheld a white rectangle placed deliberately under one of the Impala's windshield wipers. Like the flip of a switch, his good mood was tarnished; annoyance rippled through him for an unknown person had dared touch his car. He spun his head around but whoever did it was long gone.
He looked back at the paper then strode over to his car and grabbed what turned out to be an envelope. Ripping it open revealed a short letter in perfect writing.
'The soccer coach was a fucking chimo. He made one attempt to defile your son and I have it on good authority he was going to try again. I took care of him and you're welcome. Mr. Bensman.'
The world started spinning and the blood drained from his face. In shock, he reread the words again and again until the reality sunk in. He then dropped his hand down, still clutching the note. His heart took over, started racing...he suddenly found it hard to breath.
John gasped and his eyes flew open, stinging with unshed tears. 'I'm sorry, Sam...I'm sorry. I believed you were just upset about leaving,' he thought. The years certainly didn't lessen his rage and guilt over this nightmare experience.
While forcing his breath to even out, his hands patted around him in search of the whiskey. Two seconds later, the smooth glass bottle touched his skin and he hastily uncapped it then took a substantial swallow. He was mindful of how Sam quickly glanced over at him, said nothing, then went back to watching the road.
John shook his head. Sam would not allow him pass the threshold, then or now.
John swiped his hand across his mouth and turned to scrutinize his now fifteen year old son. The look on Sam's face didn't match with the one he remembered of seven or eight years ago, prior to his learning the truth about hunting.
'Sam, this whole business breaks my heart...I'd end this all now if I could...but I can't...sorry, I just can't.'
John tilted the bottle up to his mouth once more.
000000000000000000000000000
'That man who came into the restroom died because of me...we should have stayed to see the police arrive to take care of that fucking pervert...but "no, we can't...we have to avoid attention"...all because of Dad and his crusade!' Sam thought bitterly.
There were a couple of times he became so enraged, he could not see straight and Sam caught himself before he lost control of the car.
Sam then decided it was more important to get to Henderson in one piece. He fought to maintain enough presence of mind to keep the car's speed slightly above the limit, just enough so; anything faster or slower might attract unwanted attention. His anger subsided as he tricked his mind into making driving the number one priority and focused on how important it was not to alert suspicion. Every time an occasional car approached, thinking 'I am a licensed driver' over and over pushed aside his other worries.
Ever since Sam was allowed behind the wheel, he developed that little game, even though it had always been dark all around. But Sam didn't care if he was acting superstitious - he'd rather err on the side of caution. Though he knew, if his brother found out, he would get laughed at, Sam didn't think something that helped his driving performance to be that foolish.
Sam relaxed after yet another pass by occurred without incident but suddenly he could detect his father's eyes boring in to him. He kept his focus straight ahead of him - on the white broken lane lines, to watch out for potholes, on the sporadic road kill - anything to avoid his father's searching gaze.
There was a long silence thick with uneasiness. Many minutes went by and Sam started when John cleared his throat unexpectedly. "I'm glad we're out of Kansas."
Sam let that ride for a moment. He sighed when he suddenly realized he was tired of not talking. "I...I know you didn't want to have to stop there."
"Son, listen...I want you to put everything that happened today behind you. Anything that happens among people, criminal or otherwise, is for the authorities and doesn't concern us whatsoever. I know you are capable of that."
'Who are you saying this for, me or you?' Sam thought bitterly but merely said, "Yes, sir."
Sam's tone was a little too sarcastic for John's liking but he opted to respond by raising the whiskey bottle once again; he had done so enough times that the aroma of it wafted about.
Sam finally spared a closer look over to his dad with a raised eyebrow. "You're planning on hunting tomorrow, right?"
"I know my limits," John growled. "I'll be fine."
"It's just..."
John turned to face his son. "What? Just spit it out."
"You've been drinking more," Sam said in a raised voice.
The elder Winchester narrowed his eyes. "You watch..."
Sam knew what his father was about to say; he became more angry and could no longer hold back his emotions. "Are you even focused on this case?" he snapped.
John blinked at the interruption. In a moment of clarity, he realized that Sam sounded just like him and did not like how it made him feel. In the back of his mind, he Dean's voice say, "next thing you know, he'll run off..."
John instantly curbed his temper. "Tell you what...if you are so set a witch is doing this, first thing Dean and I will do is talk with the family, distract them while you can search the house for hex bags."
Sam's jaw clenched and he ground out, "yes, sir."
With that, both turned away from each other, without saying any more. The only sounds present were the running engine and the faint music of Dean's cassette.
00000000000000000000000000
Two hours passed, Dean's music had long since stopped. John was dozing lightly but roused when moaning started to be heard. Coming from the back seat, they were soft at first - Sam and John could ignore them; but gradually, they became more pronounced.
Upon hearing Dean murmur, "Heather," Sam and John cleared their throats simultaneously. Another loud moan escaped from the back and Sam started to squirm with embarrassment. He reached for the radio but before he could switch it on, John said, "so about tomorrow..."
0000000000000000000
They broke off their kiss and he noticed they were standing next to her bed. He was wearing nothing and so reached to lift up her shirt. She stopped him with one hand and whispered, "I'll do it myself."
Next, he looked down to see Heather lying on the bed, now undressed; her long blond hair spread about, covering only her bare shoulders...he was hard instantly.
She was waiting for him; when their eyes met, hers were half-closed with lust. Without delay he vaulted onto the bed and positioned himself over her.
She pulled him down and her kiss was generous. All the longing and pent-up desire that he had felt from the moment he'd first seen her rushed passed his mind and coursed through his veins; his entire body vibrated with need.
She groaned and he instinctively pulled away slightly...he knew he had to force himself to calm down...'she's so light, I might crush her,' he thought. In one fluid move, he swung her around so that she was now on top.
He angled his neck up and kissed her once again. His lips were closed at first...but she pressed her body fully against his and went limp so that her whole weight was in his arms, inviting him to open his mouth. When his tongue touched hers, she gave a little sigh of pleasure that sent the blood coursing through his body even faster. He couldn't hold back the sound that came from the back of his throat.
They moved again, this time only slightly, so that they were lying on their sides. He stretched out beside her, his kiss deepened and her body became even more pliant. Her leg went over his hips...'she's ready,' he realized but was not one to rush the process. His hand went up her bare thigh then over her round bottom.
"Heather," he murmured as he kissed her neck, her cheeks...all the places on her beautiful face that he had so longed to touch.
"Yes," she said. She moved her body even closer to his. "Do with me what you will."
He moaned again…her words reached places in him he never before knew existed.
"Make love to me tonight and tomorrow we'll start the interviews with the family of the first vic."
'Mmmm' was all he could say as her lips moved down over his chest, and her soft hands made their way to his swollen organ. Electricity jolted through him...he threw his head back and he couldn't think clearly, but somehow, a word made its way to his brain. 'Interview?'
"Do you think the family will be willing to meet with reporters so soon after losing a loved one?" he heard Sam question from somewhere.
He furrowed his eyebrows and thought, 'Sam's here?' He moved a little to the side but didn't find his brother anywhere. That move consequently plucked him out of the pool of ecstasy he'd been in and he realized she was no longer beside him.
"Of course...I see people talking on camera all the time just after losing a family member."
'Dad?'
Dean reached down for a sheet to cover himself but for some reason, was unable to grab onto it. He tried again...
...and the feeling of empty air registered. Dean's eyes flew open and saw nothing but pitch darkness, found himself lying on the back seat.
'No!' He howled to himself. 'It was just a dream...damn it! Just before we got to the good part!'
He suddenly felt cold - everywhere but between his thighs. He started to sit up, the friction of his jeans caused his groin to throb uncomfortably, and he threw himself back down. "Aw, shit," he spat.
John looked over his shoulder and said, "you say something, Brad?" Dean didn't need to see to visualize the smirk on his dad's face.
"No, sir," Dean lied. Speaking just then made him aware that his ears were still covered by headphones. He held up his walkman and deduced the obvious – the cassette had reached it's end and clicked off automatically. "How long did I sleep?"
"About two hours," John replied. "Sam, pull over; Dean and I will switch places."
As Sam complied, Dean suddenly became aware of the fact that his brother had not uttered a single word since he woke up. 'If Dad could hear me dreaming, so could Sammy...why no "I almost lost control and nearly crashed" from him?...unless…' Then it dawned on him. 'Of course...they must be at it again...'
John consumed the last of his whiskey before he pushed open his door then veered away, staggering several paces to relieve himself. A minute later, Dean was still rubbing his eyes when John had returned, knocked on the window, and yanked open the back door.
Dean climbed out and as they crossed paths, he could sense his dad's anger rolling off him in waves.
"What is it?" Dean whispered.
"See if you can do something about your brother," John growled in a low voice then jumped into to the back of the car. He unfolded himself along the seat and, after a matter of seconds, passed out.
000000000000000000000
During this exchange, Sam still had not stirred; however, once Dean got situated, he turned to check the highway over his left shoulder and steered back out onto the unpopulated highway.
Sam had heard the brief conversation between his dad and brother and was worried Dean might be upset as well for he was often called upon to take care of his little brother; He thought it wise to let Dean make the first move. Sam feigned distraction by frequently checking the left mirror for any oncoming traffic, more so than required.
Dean nodded his head toward their father. "Now we really have to look out for each other," he scoffed.
Sam replied in a flat voice, "it's not funny."
"I'm not laughing...it's on me to make sure he doesn't stop breathing." Dean turned to face his brother and said, "by the way, how're ya doin', Sammy?"
"It's Sam..." he snapped with a quick return glance. "...and I'm fine."
"I caught some of your conversation just now," Dean said, unperturbed. "I'll show you how to shave...you are starting to show some fuzz..." Dean reached out to touch Sam's chin and Sam jerked away "...I bet if you shave it soon, a few hours later stubble will return and it'll look like you've been shaving for years."
While still facing forward, Sam said, "fuck off."
Just then, Dean was grateful for the darkness around them - his eyes might have expressed a brief flash of annoyance but he did not let Sam hear it in his voice. "What's with you?"
Sam hunched his shoulders slightly. "Sorry Dean. It's just...you mean you're gonna look out for us. That's what you're already doing...you always have."
"Yes, I am an awesome brother...I have always looked out for you." Dean's smile faded and eyes narrowed with suspicion. "That's never bothered you before..."
Sam sighed deeply. "I'm to be looking for hex bags tomorrow. It seems nothing has changed...I'm gonna take a back seat to this case as well."
Dean was silent for a moment then asked, "and you blame me? No, don't answer that." He brought his left leg up and turned to better face his brother. His voice was soft, tinged with unease. "Listen, maybe he's giving you the chance to prove your theory...sounds to me like he's taking you seriously."
The headlights from a passing car illuminated Sam's face as he merely rolled his eyes, unconvinced.
"Come on Sam! That's the standard way to see if we have a fucking witch on our hands...looking for hex bags is a major step...one person distracts the family while the other person searches. If you were 'behind the scenes', he'd have you in a room somewhere watching Lost In Space reruns."
When Sam did not reply, Dean added as an afterthought, "God, I loved that show...but always felt bad for Penny and Will." Dean paused to allow for Sam's reply but there was nothing. He sighed, "you're supposed to ask, 'why did you feel bad for them?'"
Sam began to blink his eyes briskly.
"Sam?"
"That guy at the rest stop…" Sam took a shaky breath "...why me?"
"That's what's really bothering you?" Dean shuddered, the pervert's image in his mind.
"He cleared everyone out for me...why?"
"I don't know, Sammy. Maybe you were his target type...serial offenders sometimes have a type...seeing a certain kind of person is a trigger that causes them to kidnap, rape, murder...whatever the crime."
"Maybe."
After a minute of silence, Sam gave his brother a sidelong glance. "Dean, did you tell Dad yet? About...you know...when I was nine?"
Dean narrowed his eyes and briefly pursed his lips; again, he was thankful for the mask of darkness. "No. I changed my mind…I decided not to say anything after all."
"Oh...good. Thanks." Sam sounded genuinely relieved.
Dean glanced out his window, only to see his faint reflection. 'Don't thank me, Sammy. There's nothing to thank me for.' Eager to change the subject, Dean turned back to his left and asked, "which state are we in now?"
"Colorado...we're almost to Utah."
Dean nodded. "Utah...your favorite state."
The right corner of Sam's mouth twitched upward. "Mmmhmm.."
"Are we gonna drive through Salt Lake City?"
"No, we'll miss that one. I'll be turning off well south of it." Sam visibly hesitated, then added, "you know...the population of Salt Lake City is seventy percent Mormon."
It was Dean's turn to roll his eyes. "Now I know you're feeling better."
"It's just interesting...the city leaders are allowing religion to infiltrate public places. The Mormon church is trying to acquire downtown land, especially around the temple."
"Utah, man...with their watered down beer, friggin' booze regulations."
"Utah leads the nation in ice cream consumption."
Dean's mouth fell open, eyebrows raised in amazement. "How do you know this stuff?"
Sam shrugged. "I just read it somewhere."
They were quiet once more; only the gentle snoring was heard coming from behind the brothers.
Dean leaned back and exhaled. "I was having the most amazing dream..."
"Heather?"
"Yeah..." Suddenly, Dean whipped around and could tell Sam was teasing him but he went along. "How'd you know?"
"I'm psychic."
Dean looked up to the ceiling and let out a drawn out sigh. "I could write a fuckin' romance novel...boy rolls into town, saves the girl, girl is grateful..."
"God...you think you're such a stud."
Dean squirmed. "Fuck! I got so much pent up energy...if I don't gank some fugly soon it'll be all over for me...I'm gonna fucking explode."
Sam laughed. "Dude, you are not...but I will let you take the first shower."
"Whatever." Dean said absently, thinking. "Hey Sammy, since you're so nice to me now, I'm going to help you with your one of your problems."
Sam turned toward his brother, a single eyebrow raised.
"I've noticed...it's impossible not to...your voice has done changing, there's sometimes a black curly hair on the soap, the wet spots on the sheets sometimes, and sometimes…in the morning, you can't hide your..."
"Dean! Shut up!"
Dean burst out. "Sam, it's okay! You know I went through all of that, too."
"Still are and more," Sam said under his breath.
Dean reached out and smacked Sam lightly upside the head.
"Watch it! I'm driving," Sam complained.
"My point is...now you need to know how to catch a girl's interest in the least amount of time, our life being what it is...I've decided when we're done in Henderson, we're going to Vegas…you may not be ready to give it up yet, but…"
"Really?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah, Dad is going to dump us somewhere and go to Bobby's for a while."
"For what? How do you know?"
"I don't know why. He just told me back in Amherst, just before we left…you were still sleeping." Instantly, Dean recalled that morning - he had noticed Sam looked like he just woke up from a nightmare.
Dean looked down, drew one hand along his face then focused back up to his brother. "Sam, help me understand something..."
"What?"
"Why all this drive to hunt recently?"
"Back to this subject again," Sam balked.
"Last time I ask, promise. I just want to know where your head's at...what caused you to suddenly want to train harder?"
"I'm just doing what Dad wants...it's time for me to step up more...pull my own weight, that's all."
"That's all, huh?...target practice at four in the morning?"
Sam's profile revealed a sheepish expression. "I thought you guys where asleep that time."
Dean sighed, "Sam, that's not an answer."
"Okay...I couldn't sleep..."
"You had another nightmare."
"...so I decided to do something productive. I ran the three miles and practiced a few shots. I figured, with your late night out and Dad passing out, you guys wouldn't wake up for a while...wait, did you follow me?"
"Dad was furious...apparently he saw you weren't there and yelled, he woke me up...the only way I could calm him down was to say I'd watch after you."
The brothers exchanged glances, Dean's clearly conveyed one of 'I know there's more to the story.'
A story Sam did not want to tell for many reasons. He could not lie to himself, he was afraid of his dad and brother's reaction if he confessed everything about the situation that triggered his nightmares, that he let a kitsune escape. So much time went by that he knew they would be more furious that he never told them to begin with. But deep down, above it all, Sam had not changed his mind about not giving Dean more to worry about. "Let's just...I...it's just that for the first time, I get what's really out there and I want to be more prepared. That's it."
"That's it..." Dean said with searching eyes, a matter of fact but disbelieving tone "...really."
Dean..." Sam turned back to the road, opened his mouth to speak more but his mouth suddenly became to dry. 'I feel like...I don't know...a target...like no matter what I do, evil is following me around and it will strike no matter what, it's just a matter of when.'
After a moment, Dean persisted. "What?"
Sam swallowed. "You know we'll be there in a few hours...I say you should rest more in case Dad can't drive later."
Dean glared at his brother for a minute but Sam's expression remained stoic. Dean then turned, leaned on to his right and closed his eyes. "Fine. You know to stop when the sun starts coming up."
Sam gave a long suffering sigh. "Yes, I know. Now shut up, will you?"
Dean's eyes remained closed when he replied in a fading voice, "I know you know…just testing you."
"Dean you baby me too much."
"You still should shave."
Sam wordlessly shook his head, amused once again and thought affectionately, 'jerk.' He stared at Dean, his back now to him and added, 'if I am a target, fine. I'll fight but I can accept my fate...but it'll be over my dead body before I let anything happen to you.'
000000000000000000
A chair was scraping across her kitchen floor. Susan's eyes shot open, she held her breath and stilled herself to detect if anymore sounds would come. Then she saw light, muted by the distance, come through when the downstairs switch was turned on.
"Well come on…I haven't got all night," a female voice said, low-pitched.
Susan let out a large sigh and lay there for another moment before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. With trepidation, she stepped lightly down the stairs and made her way to the lit room. The overhead bulb started to flicker and confirmed what she believed she was dealing with.
It never got easier, witnessing their ghastly faces. Susan steeled herself to be able to look at it directly, so as not to offend. She held back her gasp as she turned the corner; there it was, beneath a poor woman with dark curly hair falling down past her shoulders and smooth olive skin. She swallowed then recovered. "You demons...you always take the good looking ones."
"That's not entirely true," the intruder answered, with an earnest expression. Then the female tilted her head, glanced around and smiled. "Nice kitchen, Susie."
"It's Susan." She grabbed a chair and sat down across from the intruder. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"
"Good to meet you too. My name is not important...I was never here."
"Look, I did what I was told...now what do…aaahhh!" Susan was heaved up from her chair by an invisible force, thrown against a wall and pinned there.
The demon stood up and her eyes turned black, her expression became cruel; she was no longer beautiful on the outside. "Let me finish," she said in a cold, hard voice. Then the smile returned but formed into a twisted sneer. "Azazel owns your soul...you will show respect."
Susan could not even move to nod.
The demon held Susan's eyes transfixed as she walked slowly toward her. "There is a fifteen year old boy by the name of Sam Winchester...he will be arriving into Henderson shortly, with his father and brother, to investigate the deaths you caused." Susan's gaze was released when the demon presented a picture of Sam in front of her face.
Susan looked at the image and immediately thought, 'he reminds me of my long dead son.' She blinked and in that split second, the photo was dropped to the floor and Susan gasped in shock to see it's face an inch from hers. Susan grunted as the demon grabbed her left breast with one hand and reached down to her crotch with the other.
"What the hell..." she uttered angrily through pressed together lips.
The demon leaned closer, her icy breath tickled Susan's ear when she spoke next. "Your next assignment is to bring me his semen."
In all her years as a witch, she had never needed something like that to work her spells. Susan narrowed her eyes with suspicion. "Why?" she spat, trying to squirm out of the demon's perverted hold.
The female demon stepped back, shrugged and turned away.
Suddenly she felt it hard to breathe; Beth's ribs were straining against a greater pressure, pushing her deeper into the wall. Just before she was sure one of her bones was about to break, the feeling disappeared. It was a warning.
Susan was not easily intimidated. "Why me? Why can't you do it, you bitch? You're wearing a pretty woman."
Now leaning against a counter, the demon replied, "I would love to be the one but…all you need to know is Sam is special...this is a delicate matter."
"Bullshit!"
"Fine! You need to know? I'll tell you! Stealth is vital and I still sometimes make lights flicker. The father didn't notice last time but if he sees it a again, he might get suspicious."
'That's it? That's the reason?' Susan saw the truth in that but it seemed so insignificant."Why not just kill them and take Sam yourself."
"I have orders not to..." Then the demon gave a sarcastic smile. "Not bad, Susie...I've already said too much."
Instead of thinking what that could mean, she envisioned her son at that age. Susan bent her head down. "I just don't think I can do this," she whispered.
She looked up when she heard the demon murmur, "time for plan B." Susan squeezed her eyes shut when she saw a knife suddenly flying right toward her.
oooooooooooooooooooooooo
Having driven about six hours straight - on a virtually empty highway, which left him with way too much time to think - Sam breathed a sigh of relief when the sun started to show itself on the horizon. Though he did not know why, he felt cured of the nightmares about Amy and was looking forward to the next time he could sleep.
At approximately five-thirty in the morning, Sam spotted a service station with no other car in sight. 'This looks like a good place to switch,' he thought. His dad and brother started to stir as he slowed the Impala and pulled off the road.
They were now along the route 15 junction; it was the final major road that would take them directly to Henderson. He was grateful to be able to report, "from this point we should be at Caleb's around nine o'clock."
"Yeah, okay," his dad mumbled from the back, face still down.
Sam took a moment to check the surroundings. Beneath the muted sky, the topography was flat and he could see for miles. At this hour, the ground was grey and blended into light purple the further away he looked. The cool colors were deceptive for when Sam inhaled, the air was already very warm.
The car door creaked, announcing Sam's exit and Dean opened his eyes all the way just in time to catch a glimpse of his brother disappearing behind the restroom door.
With a loud moan, Dean stepped out of the car himself and stretched as did John not far behind.
Dean grimaced. "The sun just came up and it is already friggin' hot! This case is gonna be a bitch!"
It was as if the heat was almost visible. Each man was discouraged by it, counteracted the ever brightening sunshine with gloomy silence. While Dean continued to straighten his back, he watched as John walked off toward a random point then halt after a minute and pull out his phone.
Sam had since returned and started to uncap the gas tank. Dean circled around then gestured to a building up the road. "I see a place where we can get coffee and food."
Sam nodded as he stood by, fueling the car. "Sounds good."
"I'll go over now...when the car is ready, meet me there."
It was not long before John was back, waiting by the driver's door. Sam saw an odd look on his face when he turned around, having replaced the hose on the pump.
"What is it?" asked Sam.
"Caleb said there's a third death, same circumstances, just last evening...get in, we can't waste any more time."
00000000000000000000
"Nevada's population is almost 2 million," Sam commented from the back seat as they crossed the state border. "Las Vegas has 400-500 thousand... I don't know about Henderson."
"I'm just gonna say it...you are such a geek," Dean quipped. "Lesson number one, Sam. Don't ever let a girl think you are smarter than her."
'I want a girl who likes me the way I am...I'll never be something I'm not,' Sam thought in response but nothing more was spoken out loud for the remainder of the drive
Sparse desert landscapes were a blur to the eye as John sped along with single minded determination. They made the city limits in just over three hours.
John guided the car off the highway and on to route 168. About twenty minutes later, they turned left onto a small secondary road and observed a small neighborhood before them with only a handful of houses. In front of a two story Spanish style structure stood a man watching them - Caleb. He was of medium build with blond thinning hair.
As they pulled into the driveway, Caleb moved from close to the door along the front yard, just off to the left of the Impala once it came to rest.
He nodded to each as John stepped out of the car, followed by Sam and Dean.
"Hey, Caleb," John said with a smile, arm extended.
Caleb shook his hand. "Glad to see you finally made it." He turned to Sam and said with a wink, "you must be Dean."