Part Two

Dean rifled through the drawers searching for aspirin. Suddenly there was a groan from behind him.

"Ugh, well I feel like death warmed up. Bloody banshee. Wait, where are?"

John grumbled his voice husky from sleep.

"Sammy's"

Dean answered, unable to withhold a grin as he pulled back one of the dreary curtains. Boy did they need to redecorate.

"Dammit Dean." John glared at him as the light flooded the room.

"Did no one tell you to respect your elders?" He moaned angrily.

"Anyone would think you were hungover. Anyway, I'm a big fan of ignoring anything that comes out of my 'elder's' mouth. Dean winked.

"You may have the charms and good luck of the devil but you're not too old to lay over my knee."

"Haha," Dean laughed and John quirked an eyebrow at him.

"You'll have to catch me first, old man!" He yelled gleefully.

"I would if I thought it would solve your insolence,"

Dean smirked back at him.

"Like that's likely." John sighed.

"What time's it?" John ran a hand through his hair, attempting to smooth it down.

"About fiveish,"

"Dammit Dean, why am I awake?"

"Blame Sam, he's the one gallivanting the earth at this ungodly hour!"

"The 'ungodly' hour that you stayed with that blonde until, last week?"

"I was just trying out a new word. And you have to admit dad, she was fine,"

"Save it for show and tell, and leave me out of it! Where's Sammy running off to at this time anyway?"

"Work…apparently. Who works at this time."

"Apparently Sammy."

"Yeah, well…" Dean's voice trailed off.

The cupboard Dean was rooting through was practically empty, other than a couple of wheetos and a few breakfast bars he'd found nothing edible. So far he'd found nothing to eat.

"Found my coffee yet?" Dean grunted in response. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to push away the new wave of dull pain.

"Ungh." He groaned.

Where did Sammy used to keep the painkillers?

He reached over to the side of the bed - looking on the small table for the aspirin that were permanently placed. There was nothing there.

"Dad, I think something's wrong."

The gap of ski between John's eyebrows pinched together.

"Now why'd you say that?"

"I've just got a feeling."

John gave a small laugh.

"Yeah and I had a feeling that me and that banshee were going to get something on but it never happened. Something will be wrong if you don't get me my coffee. You know the rules. You wake me up, you get the drinks."

"That's what I mean Dad. Normally Sam's sipping the triple shot by the gallon and there's not a drop of caffeine in this place. Look around, can't you see anything wrong with this place." Dean had ignored his retort, that's when John knew he should take him seriously. As he looked around he noticed that the room looked barely inhabited. But that wasn't strange; Sam was always a neat kid.

"Sam's never been messy if that's what you mean, at least, not since he was eight."

"Yeah, sure Dad, cos Sam was so tidy that he never ate anything!"

"What do you mean?"

"Well seeing as the only food I found was wheetos and two breakfast bars I take it he's not doing to well."

John scowled.

"No, he'd tell us if he needed help." He said shaking his head.

"Would he? Dad you told him to stay gone, he's a stubborn sonuvabitch as it is, never mind if he's being proud."

"Well then, I guess we better fix that."