Chapter Thirteen

Adam was unusually quiet and had been so for the entire journey out of Conway Springs. He wasn't even reading Twilight. Sam had tried to make conversation once or twice, but had given up after a while and was now sleeping with his head against his window.

Dean pulled up at a gas station and asked, "Anything you need?"

"Nah, I'm good," replied Adam dully. "Just... thinking?"

"About?"

"That guy Victor," Adam told him. "He killed their families just so they could get into hunting?" When Dean didn't respond, he went on, "That's fucked up."

"I know," Dean said. "Is that what's worrying you?"

Adam was thoughtful for some time, before saying, tone hesitant, "Dean, was Dad... was our dad like that?"

"No he wasn't," Dean answered at once. "He wasn't exactly Parent of the Year, I'll give you this much, but he cared, Adam, and he never would have done what Victor did just to make hunters out of us."

"We didn't have a typical childhood," came Sam's voice, as he raised his head and turned to look at Adam, fully alert, "but that doesn't mean our father was a monster, Adam. He did all he could to protect us."

Adam looked somewhat reassured as he said, "So it's okay now, right, for those three? They're going to fine?"

"Absolutely," said Dean with conviction. "Have you seen Krissy? Any monster would be an idiot to mess with her." Sam nodded in agreement.

"If you say so," Adam said, and then picked up Twilight.

"You know," Dean said some time later, as the Impala rolled out of the gas station, "I'm beginning to worry about you, Adam."

"Why?" asked Adam absently, not looking up from the book.

"You're reading that book way too much," Dean pointed out. "Every free moment you get, you're reading it." When Adam didn't answer, Dean asked, "Are you even listening to me, Small Fry?"

"Hold on just a second," was the reply. "There's a tracker called James after Bella."

Dean sighed and gave up.

That Night

Sam's phone rang, and he switched the radio off before picking it up. "Hello?"

"Sam, it's me, Kevin," came the harried voice from the other end. "I'm scared, Sam."

"Why, is everything all right?" asked Sam, tensing up at once.

"No," Kevin answered, sounding like he'd done a thousand push-ups. "I'm scared, Sam, I think Crowley's after me."

"Relax, Kevin," Sam said. "He doesn't know where you are."

"That's the thing, I think he does!" Kevin said desperately. "Please, you've got to help me!"

"Okay, Kevin, we'll be right over," Sam said. "You take care, you hear me?"

"Yeah. You too." Kevin hung up.

"What's up?" asked Dean at once.

"He thinks Crowley might know where he is," Sam explained. "He's scared out of his wits."

"That's not possible," Dean denied. "We've got the place warded."

"We can't be too careful, Dean," argued Sam. "Let's go."

"You sure?" asked Dean, raising an eyebrow at Sam.

"Positive," Sam answered tersely.

"You know," Adam spoke up, "I think I should know how to defend myself. I don't even know how to shoot."

"Where'd this come up from?" said Dean, pausing in the act of turning the radio back on.

"I'm just sayin'," said Adam. "Since I'm already in this life, I should know how to look after myself. I've been on just one case, and even that you made me sit on the sidelines. I could even help you out, the next time one of you gets tied to a chair."

Sam made a bitchface at the memory, but Dean looked thoughtful. "Kid's got a point," he finally said to Sam.

"We don't have much time right now, Dean," Sam said. "We've got to get to Kevin as fast as possible."

"I know, Sammy," Dean answered. "But this is important."

Sam scrunched his face up in thought, while Adam watched hopefully. Then he said, "All right, tell you what. Next motel we stop at, we'll teach him a little. Train him bit by bit."

"That sounds good," Dean said approvingly.

Adam grinned. "HELL YEAH!" he yelled, causing Dean to glare and Sam to wince at the sheer volume of it.

"All right, kid," Dean said, once all three of them had been fed and watered. "Let's start with a devil's trap and salt lines."

"No shooting?" asked Adam, looking disappointed.

"Later," Sam said. "When we've got more time."

Adam looked a little let down, but that look went away when Dean said, "Get the salt and the can of red spray paint from my bag."

"Why do you have red spray paint in your bag?" asked Adam as he unzipped Dean's duffel.

"To make devil's traps, genius," answered Dean, rolling his eyes at Sam. "Bring it here."

Adam obeyed, shuffling over. "What do I do now?"

"Sit," Dean said, gesturing towards the chair next to his. Adam sat, looking somewhat apprehensive. "Do you know what salt is used for?"

Adam shook his head.

"Haven't you ever wondered why we carry so much of it around?" asked Sam, a shadow of a smile on his face.

Adam shrugged. "I figured you just really liked salty food."

Sam and Dean both laughed, and Adam flushed. "Stop laughing," he muttered.

Sam sobered down. "Right, sorry," he said. "Okay, so a salt line on windows and doors keeps supernatural creatures out. Demons, spirits... anything. It's the most basic defense."

"It may seem easy to overlook, but it can save lives," put in Dean. "It's the most useful thing ever." He handed Adam the salt. "Go on, make the salt lines."

Adam accepted it and stood, making his way over to the window somewhat uncertainly. He began to put down a salt line as his brothers watched. Since it was an easy task, his confidence grew and in no time at all there were thick, unbroken lines of salt at the door and window.

"Great job," praised Sam as Adam came back to sit again. The boy smiled in pride.

"Yeah, nice job," said Dean, nodding. "Time for Level Two."

"Here," Sam said, handing Adam a piece of motel stationery with a devil's trap drawn on it. "This is a devil's trap."

"What does it do?" asked Adam, squinting at the drawing and trying to memorize the squiggly lines.

"It holds demons," Dean answered. "Once they're inside, they can't get out. Basically they're powerless."

Adam nodded, showing he understood. Then he asked, "Don't demons see it before stepping into it?"

"No, because we hide them," Sam said. "Usually under a rug, or on the ceiling where a demon's less likely to look." He looked around, before his gaze settled on a circular rug just in front of the door. "There, see. Like that one."

"Why don't you draw one for us tonight?" said Dean, handing Adam the spray paint. "We'll help if you need it."

"All right," said Adam, giving the drawing one last look and getting up. "Do we do this all the time?"

"Yep," answered Sam. "You never know when a demon's gonna drop by. Gotta be prepared."

"How come I've never seen you do it?" asked Adam, bending to roll the rug aside.

"Because you drop dead into bed the minute we enter a motel, that's why," replied Dean. Sam, who was sitting in Adam's vacated space, grinned.

"It's true."

Adam scowled, before shaking the can of spray paint and uncapping it. "All righty," he muttered to himself, making the beginning of a circle, hands trembling from the effort of holding the nozzle down.

"Why red?" he asked, as he completed a rather wobbly circle around himself.

"It's nice and bright," Dean answered. "Besides, it kinda rubs it in the demon's face that it's our bitch."

"That doesn't make sense," Adam argued, stepping outside the circle. "Purple or orange would do the same thing."

"But it would look horrible," Dean said. "Red is much better."

"Why not black?" Adam began on the pentagram.

"We do use black occasionally," Sam said. "But we've run out of black spray paint."

Adam just shook his head at the response, and finished his pentagram in silence. "That doesn't look half-bad," commented Dean, nodding at the slightly crooked lines.

Adam growled in frustration. "They're all wobbly!" he exclaimed angrily.

"It's okay," said Sam quickly, hoping to calm Adam down. "It doesn't matter, as long as the lines are all connected."

"You'll get better with practice, kid," Dean said encouragingly. Adam nodded at both of them, offered them a small smile and then went back to work.

Sam didn't miss the way Dean watched Adam attentively, and he recognized the spark in his big brother's eyes. Dean was secretly proud of Adam, at how far the boy had come, and how fast he was learning. He would never admit it but he'd gotten quite attached to Adam, especially after having been reassured that he wasn't being replaced. Every achievement of Adam's made Dean happy. It was heartwarming.

"I'm done," said Adam, snapping Sam out of his thoughts. He blinked and looked at the trap on the floor. It was a mess of squiggly lines and misshapen symbols, but it was definitely functional, and that in itself was a feat.

"Well done!" he praised, smiling at Adam. "It's very good."

"It's awesome," declared Dean. "You got it down perfectly correct the first time. Good job, Small Fry."

Adam flushed in embarrassment and muttered something under his breath, but he looked perfectly happy and there was a shine to his eyes. It felt good to finally be useful to his brothers.

"From now on, you can make the devil's traps," decided Dean. "You'll get better with practice," he repeated for encouragement.

Adam checked to see if it was dry (it was), and then rolled the rug back over it. "Am I awesome, or what?" he crowed happily, throwing the spray paint to Dean.

"Don't flatter yourself," Dean said, hiding a grin. "Soon I'm going to have to pop your ego with a pin."

"Oh please," scoffed Adam. "You're jealous of me and my perfect devil's traps. And my looks."

"Let's not go there," Sam intervened. "Adam, it's late. Get into bed."

Adam looked outraged. "I'm 23! You can't order me into bed."

"I'm 29, and I can," retorted Sam. "Bed, now."

Adam turned to Dean, looking for support, but it was futile. "You'd better listen to him," Dean said, not trying to hide his grin anymore. "He can be quite dangerous."

"You two are unbelievable," grumbled Adam, glaring at them before going into the bathroom to change into his PJs.

"He'll be all right," Dean said to Sam once the door had closed behind Adam. "He's learning fast."

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he said thoughtfully. "Let's hope he'll be just fine."

It was dark, and there were shadows everywhere as Dean stood still, watching, waiting and tense. Time held no meaning in this place and yet even Dean could tell this was an unusual time for anything to be prowling. He raised his crude, handmade machete and held it chest-high, arms tensed and muscles wound up, ready to go at the slightest provocation. He was all alone, it seemed, and yet the heavy breathing that wasn't his was audible.

A rustle of leaves to his right – his head whipped in that direction, heartbeat accelerating. Whatever it was lacked stealth, clearly, but if its breathing and the size of the shadows it cast were anything to go by, it was huge. Uneasily Dean wondered if it was a werewolf or a Wendigo – there was nothing else it could be.

He spotted a darting movement out of the corner of his eye and turned in that direction, senses on high alert. He almost wished it would attack already, whatever it was. Anything was better than the constant waiting and the infinite tension.

Suddenly there was a growl and something large and heavy rammed into him from behind, taking him by surprise despite his alertness. He felt hot breath on his neck, and a low growl, before a claw dug into his back–

He woke up, panting and acutely aware of the sweat running down his back and soaking his shirt. A sigh of relief escaped his lips when he realized he was in his hotel room and no longer in that Godforsaken place, and he ran his hands over his face, taking a minute to recover and let his heart slow down.

When he felt sufficiently back in his senses, he took a look around. Next to him Sam was still sleeping peacefully, hands fisted tightly into the blanket and hair all over the pillow. Dean took a moment just to take in Sam's face, wishing he could have that sort of serenity in his sleep. He knew Sam suffered from the occasional nightmare too, but tonight he was sound asleep and Dean, while wishing it for himself, was also immensely glad for it.

He brushed some of Sam's hair away from his forehead, and a small smile grew on his face when Sam unconsciously leaned into the touch. His heartbeat was steadily returning to normal, the last vestiges of the nightmare slowly draining away. He looked to the other bed to see Adam stretched out and snoring. Satisfied that both his brothers were all right, he lay back down.

A few minutes later he became aware of a small, hot presence at his neck. His heartbeat jumped again, not completely recovered from the adrenaline his dream had provided, after all. He fumbled at his neck, cursing under his breath. It was growing steadily hotter, and he was sure it was going to leave a mark, whatever it was.

His hand closed around his amulet, and immediately he let go, hissing. It was burning. He sat up in bed again and groped around the side-table for the lamp, switching it on when he found it. He took his amulet off from around his neck and held it up to eye-level by the leather strap, squinting at it in the dim light the lamp emitted. There was something off about it–

It had changed, Dean realized with a jolt, his mind going back to the day when he'd found it in Sam's bag. It had looked different that day too, but Dean had dismissed it as a trick of the light. Now, however, there was no mistaking it – the tiny face was twisted with... if Dean didn't know better, he'd say it was fear.

But he really didn't know better. For years he'd cherished it as one of his most prized possessions, but had always thought it was just an amulet, with no special feature except, of course, that it was from Sam. Now he wondered uneasily if there really was something about it, something they didn't know.

He gave it one last look – the expression didn't change – and then put it aside on the table, unwilling to put it back on for fear of it branding his skin as he slept. He switched the lamp off and lay back down, but try as he might he couldn't get his brain to shut off.

"Dean?" came Sam's soft voice, and Dean turned to see a pair of green brown eyes blinking at him sleepily. "You all right?"

"I'm okay, Sammy," Dean replied, voice low. "Go back to sleep, kiddo."

Sam looked uncertain. "Are you sure, Dean?"

Dean offered a reassuring smile. "Positive, Sammy. Come on now – sleep."

The kid looked like he wanted to argue, but decided to acquiesce instead and nodded. "Okay, Dean," he said with a yawn. Dean waited until Sam's eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and even again, before turning on his side and closing his own eyes in an attempt to get some rest.

He woke to sunlight streaming in through the window and falling on his face, birds chirping cheerfully somewhere in the distance and the sounds of Adam and Sam talking. He sat up and rubbed his eyes open, before asking, "What time is it?"

"It's 8," answered Sam. "Come on, hurry up. We need to get to Kevin."

The events that had unfolded the day before came back to Dean, and he nodded, getting out of bed, amulet already in hand. It was cool to the touch, and Dean wondered if he'd only imagined it burning. Putting it off to contemplate later, he slipped it back around his neck, unnoticed by his talking brothers. "You two ready?" he asked.

"Yeah," said Adam, pausing in his conversation with Sam (it was about Disney classics). "We're good to go, as soon as we have some breakfast."

Dean threw the Impala's keys to Sam. "Why don't you get something while I shower? Small Fry, you pack our bags and clear the salt lines."

"What about the devil's trap?" asked Adam, glancing towards the rug that covered his handiwork.

"Let it stay there," decided Dean, heading towards the bathroom. "Any demon that enters can have a nice little surprise."

Adam nodded, and went towards the window. Sam left a moment later, closing the door behind him.

Dean closed his eyes as the warm water from the shower ran over him. It felt nice and relaxing, and he wished it could wash away his nightmares and cleanse him. Last night's dream was still fresh in his head, made all the more worse because it wasn't just a dream – it had happened.

It hadn't been either a werewolf or a Wendigo – it had been a large black dog. He'd managed to kill it after a brief but exhausting struggle, but the gashes in his back had taken weeks to heal, leaving behind faint scars.

He sighed and opened his eyes, reaching for the soap.

"All right, let's roll," said Dean, finishing off his burger. "Let's move."

He stood and shouldered his bag, Sam mirroring his movements. They walked towards the door, Adam behind them. Dean was already out the door, with Sam right behind him, when Adam cried out.

Sam and Dean turned around on their heels, looking for any source of danger – but they were all alone in the motel room. "What's wrong?" Dean asked Adam, a gun already in his hand.

Adam was standing on the rug with the devil's trap beneath it, his face pale and eyes wide. He lifted a foot and tried to walk off the rug, but seemed to hit an invisible wall. "Guys," he choked, his voice barely leaving this throat, "I can't get out."

Guys, am I doing something wrong?

My number of reviews per chapter has gone down over the last two chapters or so, and it's sorta upsetting. Is there something I'm doing wrong, or is the story getting boring? Please do let me know if you have any issues or feedback.

A gigantic thank you to those lovely folks that have faithfully been reviewing every chapter :)

Summer holidays are going great, though there's nothing much to do. I've been making chalk drawings on my wardrobe door out of sheer boredom, and I'm thinking of painting my chest of drawers. I also made some Adam fanart, you can check it out at my tumblr or my deviantART (links to both on my profile).

Speaking of, there's an Adam Fanbook project going on over at tumblr. Here's the link - calicokat-spn . tumblr dotcom / post / 50937907543 / the-adam-fanbook-guidelines

All you have to do is scan your art, writing or meta and send it over to the email address given in the post, and it'll be made into a handmade book which will then be sent to Carver and Edlund, with a note to pass it on to Adam. Please show some love for the boy and submit something :)

I have another feedback-related question for today, in addition to the one right at the beginning of this A/N - do you think I should make the chapters a little shorter, or is the chapter length fine? I'm aware I tend to publish over 4000 words in one go, and I also know it's sometimes inconvenient and tedious to read through something that long. So please do send in your thoughts, peasants.

Have a lovely week, dear peasants, and do remember to sing my praises in that little box below :)

Czar out.

-Peace x