Red in Tooth and Claw

Sooo it's been a while, but I'm still here, still fangirling, reading, and writing :) I've been meaning to write a case-fic forever, and finally the muse struck, yay! This is a multichapter piece, with new chapters being posted on weekends (probably?). It's set pre-series in the summer of 2000. Sam 17, Dean 21. I drew some inspiration from an episode, but I'm gonna reveal later which one as not to spoil anything. BAMF Winchesters and whump ahead. Beta-ed by the incredibly talented and amazing shadowhuntingdauntlessdemigod - all remaining mistakes are mine.

Supernatural, as always, doesn't belong to me.

Enjoy!

100 °F. Felt more like freaking 1,000.

It was one of those summers that was too hot to do anything. Well, anything other than lethargically enduring the day in an air-conditioned but otherwise ugly-ass trailer, when going outside was only bearable at night. Podunk, New Mexico, crammed in the middle of nowhere between Las Cruces and El Paso, was torrid this time of the year. It could barely be called home, much less a vacation spot. Let's just say it was the place the Winchesters were staying these days.

Sam could only guess how most of his classmates spent their summer before senior year. Probably doing fun stuff, going out with friends, maybe traveling. Sam, on the other hand, was so done with traveling. He'd been doing it all his life, and not the fun kind. They had spent the past two weeks in Mexico, following Dad on his endless crusade because he thought he might have a lead on the thing that killed Mom (which he'd claimed about a million times before, but of course it always turned out to be something else). Sam was tired of it, so, so tired. Now, Dad had benched both his sons to sit this one out north of the border and stay out of trouble while he finished up with Bobby. It's gonna be a few days max, Dad had said. A few days, however, had already turned into a week. Of freaking course.

Honestly, Sam alternated between being furious about being left behind again and being grateful for finally getting a break from hunting. Dean, though, obviously leaned towards the former, shoving his displeasure about the whole situation in Sam's face whenever he got the chance.

"I could be helping Dad out right now, doing something useful, anything. Instead, I'm stuck being your freaking babysitter," Dean complained, flicking another wad of paper in the general direction of his brother. Sam knew he didn't mean that. He sat hunched over the tiny kitchen table in their rented trailer and tried to concentrate on the book in front of him despite the paper missiles near-constantly pelting him.

"I didn't ask you to stay," Sam responded, not even acknowledging Dean's presence, who was very obviously trying to get Sam's attention from all the way over on the couch. "Dad did."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean retorted, clearly annoyed. "But there's nothing to do in this one-horse town." When Sam kept ignoring him, Dean continued to grumble, "You'd think a man could finally enjoy the perks of being an adult, like, officially, but this place doesn't even have a casino or—or a strip club. It's atrocious."

"Gambling and spending money on a striptease, Dean? You've done those things before," Sam finally interjected his older brother's waffling. Not that he particularly cared about the hedonistic lifestyle Dean indulged in. He'd been reading the same sentence in his book for the fifth time now, not at all grasping its meaning what with Dean doing his best to distract him. It wasn't likely he'd get any further than that, so he looked up and shot his brother a look.

Obviously, that was exactly the reaction Dean craved. He grinned. "Yeah, duh. But now it's legal."

"For you."

It wasn't as if Sam had never had a beer in his life (or been to a strip club, but he'd rather forget about that particular experience), quite the opposite, but unlike Dean, he wasn't keen on adopting his father's unhealthy drinking habits.

Dean snickered and flipped another paper ball at his brother's head, this time hitting his target. Sam swatted at the projectile, rolling his eyes. "Aw, little brother, only four more years. Until then, you've got all these other nice things you can do… like… reading books all day."

Sam did not miss the gagging noises his brother made, who was apparently permanently stuck in puberty despite having turned 21 earlier this year. Adult my ass. Never mind that Dean himself was quite the bookworm when it came to researching for a hunt. Admittedly, poring over lore books wasn't his favorite part of the job, but Dean did it methodically and meticulously, nonetheless, like a true hunter. Even outside of hunting, Sam had caught Dean with books that weren't comics several times before. Dean wasn't dumb, not at all. Why on earth he tried so hard to keep up the 'GED with a give 'em hell attitude' swagger eluded Sam.

Sighing, Sam shut the book on Aztec culture and glared at his brother. With Dean besieging him like that, he couldn't focus anyway. Also, two could play this game.

"It's called educating oneself, Dean. You could try it sometime."

"Psh. Geek."

Their bickering went on for a good ten minutes, naturally escalating at some point before their argument ended in a sparring match on the floor.

"Okay, okay, truce!" Dean yelled breathlessly when Sam had him successfully pinned.

Sam smirked. Ever since a long awaited growth spurt hit last winter, he finally matched Dean in height. If he stretched his spine and wiggled his back a little, he might even have half an inch on his brother now, which was more than a little satisfying after years and years of dwarfism jokes. His body was still on the lean side, and he didn't have nearly as much muscle mass as Dean, but what he lacked in strength, he made up for with speed. For the first time in his life, he was actually capable of beating Dean in a fight. Sometimes, at least. He let up, grinning broadly, and allowed Dean to get off the floor.

"You started this."

"Don't get cocky, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"Whatever."

The AC was rattling, a background noise the boys had almost gotten used to by now, its jolts and stutters sounding like the rusty thing would fall off the side of their trailer any minute. But it was still doing its job, which was their only real relief from the unrelenting heat. Even so, by the end of their unplanned training session, both boys were sweating through their t-shirts.

"Man, I wish this place had a swimming pool." Sam wiped his forehead and plopped down on the couch.

Dean slouched next to him, smelled his own armpit, and grimaced. "Yeah."

"We should've brought summer clothes."

"Dude, I don't do shorts."

Sam rolled his eyes, again, thinking to himself that he would gladly 'do shorts' in this weather from hell – if he possessed any, that was. As it was, money was tight, as always, so he couldn't just go out and buy some for himself. Last time they had made a stop at a thrift shop outside of Sioux Falls sometime in February to replace some of the rags they called clothes, there hadn't been any summer wear in stock. No surprise there. Usually, that wouldn't be much of a problem. The Winchesters mostly stuck to colder climes in the Midwest. Most of their allies – Bobby, Caleb, Pastor Jim – had their home bases in the northern part of the country, which made hunting in those states a little more convenient for the ever-transient Winchesters. They were used to layers, lots of them. The desert heat? Not so much. And then there was Dad, paranoid about the protective side of clothing, which was one more reason why none of the Winchesters possessed short pants.

So, Sam made do with what he had, which were Dean's hand-me-downs as per usual – a worn Metallica shirt with a hole just above the t, frayed jeans that only stayed where they belonged with the help of a belt, and sneakers that had probably been white a long, long time ago. Dean himself had (despite his macho behavior) for once shucked off his pants and sat on the couch in only his boxers and a Black Sabbath t-shirt that had seen better days.

All in all, the boys were overheated, annoyed, and bored stiff. In one word: miserable.

They got marginally better when the sun finally set, taking with it the pervasive heat of the day. Along with the temperature drop of about twenty degrees, Dean got more fidgety again and peeled himself off the couch.

"C'mon, Sam, let's go."

"Where?"

Dean had already slipped into his jeans and shoes. "Outside, dummy. I'm climbing the walls in this dump."

They were out of their trailer exactly thirty seconds later, Dean stomping off and Sam following begrudgingly. Where a clear, baby-blue sky had met a golden desert landscape before, the sky was now a deep purple blanket with white speckles, only vague outlines on the horizon marking the transition between air and soil as flat as a pancake. A mild breeze was a nice contrast to the day's infernal heat, even though the air still smelled of aridity and dust. As usual, Sam and Dean passed by their landlady, a stocky woman in her fifties with leathery skin and a salt-and-pepper-colored ponytail. She was lounging around in a plastic chair on the front lawn of her own trailer, also as usual, a cigarette hanging from her thin lips. Her wrinkled face was illuminated by the blue UV light of a bug zapper hanging from the awning. A sharp fizzling indicated death by electrocution for yet another mosquito, which left her completely unfazed. Erin, as she had introduced herself upon their arrival, peered at the boys, wary-eyed.

Sam waved awkwardly. "Good evening, ma'am."

Her hawk eyes followed them, lingered on Dean for a second. "Don't you be getting yourself into trouble, boys," she warned, her voice husky from decades of smoking. Looking past her rough exterior and her gruff attitude, Sam heard the genuine kindness underneath her words. She'd seen the brothers come and go for a week, knowing all too well that they were on their own. Obviously, she'd recognized Sam as a minor from the get-go, and whenever she looked at him, her features softened ever so slightly. He pressed his lips together and averted his eyes.

"We'd never!" Dean sent her a charming smile, then ushered Sam to leave.

She mumbled something under her breath, clearly containing the words old man and rent, as the boys hurried away, quickly shutting the gate in the chain-link fence behind them.

"Dude," Dean hissed quietly. "Move your ass or Ms. Ashtray is gonna start petting you like a dog."

Sam huffed out an exasperated breath when they crossed the street. He didn't say anything, didn't even ask where they were headed because he already knew. Dean was so predictable. And of course, it was Dean who set the agenda for tonight like every night. Obviously, getting out of the trailer was preferable to stewing in their own juices in the same four walls all day long, but Sam was so sick of being pushed around. Sometimes it seemed his whole life revolved around orders.

Stick with your brother. Focus! Drop! Get up! And most importantly, Suck it up, soldier.

If Dad had any say in the matter (and he did, he always did), Sam was supposed to obey. Obey, obey, obey, and nothing else. Dad was calling the shots in the Winchester family. And whenever he wasn't around, which, over the years, had happened far more often and for longer periods of time than strictly legal with two young kids, he handed the reins over to his oldest son. Sam was never allowed to make any decision on his own. Even now, at 17, everyone treated him like the baby of the family. In a way, it was as if time had stopped on November 2nd, 1983, and in the eyes of his family Sam had never grown older.

It sucked.

Still, at least Dean wasn't leaving Sam behind, like Dad did all the time. So, Sam sucked it up and shuffled along.

Like a handful of times before, the boys ended up in the only place in town that could be considered a bar, well, more or less. It was more of a hole-in-the-wall family-run diner. The Chicken Coop, a tacky neon sign said. Pool table, a few round tables with checkered cloths, two booths, that was it. That, and they had beer served by a cheeky waitress, which had been just about enough for Dean to declare this place their go-to hang-out location for as long as they were stuck in this dump.

When Dean was done flirting with Marla – that's what her name tag said – and headed off to hustle some local kids playing pool, Sam edged away towards a corner of the room and claimed one of the empty booths. Sipping on a diet coke and occasionally nibbling on a greasy burger his brother had ordered for him, he studied Dean's charade.

Dean was good. Really good.

With their stomachs full, a hundred bucks extra cash filling their pockets, and a satisfied grin plastered across Dean's face, they left in the early hours of the morning. Sam found himself entertaining the idea that, maybe, he could actually buy some proper summer clothes for himself after all but didn't dare to ask. The way things were looking, they'd need the money for food and rent anyway. Dad hadn't exactly left them an abundance of money. They'd soon run out. Great.

Even though Sam was more than capable of taking care of himself – he'd had the best teachers, after all – something in the back of his mind told him he shouldn't constantly have to worry about how to put food on the table or how to get his hands on appropriate clothing. And neither should Dean, but he'd been providing for them both since way before middle school. Sam was grateful for that, for Dean. So yes, it could be worse. Much worse. Sam knew in his heart that there were families out there that struggled more. But then again, for many kids, worrying about things such as food and rent was not even on their radar. They had parents who took care of these things. They didn't think much about them until they moved out and went to college.

What if…? A tiny voice whispered in his mind. It had been there for a while, small and tentative but there, nonetheless.

No, Sam had never been like most kids. Why would it be any different in that department?

Tomorrow would be another day. Yet another day that was the same as all the rest of them. Which was reason enough for Sam's mood to take a nose-dive.

The return to the tiny trailer park felt nothing like coming home to Sam. Two rows of six wooden houses on wheels sat segregated from the rest of the small town, behind them only the flat desert, and a few barely visible hills and rock formations a long, long distance away. Erin's plastic chair in front of the trailer closest to the entrance was abandoned, her bug zapper turned off. Sam and Dean shuffled over to the outermost trailer facing the endless sands.

"Home sweet home," Dean announced as he opened the door.

Sam couldn't help himself and scoffed.

Dean, half-way through the entrance, gave Sam a side-eye. "You know, you could be a little more grateful. I just earned us enough money to last us another week."

"Uh-huh, that's great." Even Sam heard the snark in his own voice and regretted it instantly. Dean really did his best to make this crappy situation a little more bearable.

"Sam," Dean warned.

Screw it. Sam was both too tired to argue and too proud to apologize. He squeezed past his older brother towards the narrow bunk bed in the backmost corner of the single-room trailer. "I just wanna get some sleep," Sam said. Then, a little ruefully, "And… thanks."

Dean let it slide for tonight, if only because he didn't want to fight either.

Sam closed the flimsy curtain around the lower bunk, his only barrier between himself and his brother.

"So, you do read."

Dean looked up from the newspaper in his lap, chewing on a heavenly glazed donut. He had not expected his brother to say anything at all over breakfast. The little shit had been damn quiet these past days, and whenever he did find it in himself to talk to Dean, it was usually to bitch about one thing or another. Man, he missed those days when Sammy was small and would look up to him with those big eyes, sweet and curious and damn near cute. Now, though, his pubertal fits set Dean's teeth on edge almost on a daily basis. It wasn't only annoying antics though. There was an animosity in Sam's behavior these days, especially towards Dad. Whatever the man said or didn't say, Sam seemed to pick a fight, even when Dad wasn't around. It was almost like he wanted Dad to push him away. Like he wanted to be as far away from him, and by extension Dean, as possible. Slowly, the kid was moving in a direction Dean feared he couldn't follow. Almost nothing scared him, or so he told himself, but the thought of losing his little brother sure did the trick. He wiped it from his mind as quickly as he could.

"I wo, 'martass" Dean said, not even bothering to swallow his donut first. To his delight, Sam, predictably, writhed with disgust. "Actually foun' sumthin'. Check this out."

Sam quirked an eyebrow, making it disappear behind his bangs. Which reminded Dean that he'd definitely give the kid a haircut sometime soon, maybe when he was asleep and couldn't whine about it. "What'd you find?"

Pleased that he'd piqued his brother's natural sense of curiosity, Dean handed over the newspaper. Sam, who hadn't taken a bite of his own donut, grabbed it eagerly, his eyes quickly roaming the article Dean had pointed out.

"So?" Dean asked, finally having finished his second donut.

"So what?"

"Don't you see that? Cattle mutilations around here? Three days ago?" The article had described a dozen or so cows and other livestock having been found dead.

"So? There are predators out here, Dean."

"Like what?"

"Uh, Mexican gray wolves, for example."

Dean scoffed. Sam was trying really hard. "Look who did his homework." He fetched the paper from Sam, then snickered. "Too bad I did mine too. Yeah well, that's an endangered species, practically extinct. C'mon, don't you think this could be our kind of thing? Cattle mutilations can point to a number of supernatural creatures."

Sam looked skeptical, as he did so often these days, no matter the subject.

"Okay, sure, maybe it's nothing," Dean admitted. "But maybe there is something. Let's dig around some, see what we can find out. It's not far."

"You want us to work a case?"

Dean suppressed an exasperated duh. This might not be a high stakes case – no humans had been harmed after all. But it, whatever this was, had the potential to be exactly the kind of thing that would get Sam out of his funk – and while they were at it, maybe Dean would finally get some action other than watching the paint dry in this deadly dull town, too.

"Hell yeah."

Once again, Sam had that pout on his face, telling Dean exactly what he thought of this. It hadn't escaped Dean's attention that Sam wasn't as into hunting as he used to be. When they were younger, Sam had virtually begged Dad to be allowed to come along, to prove how strong and useful he was. The older he got, it seemed, Sam was losing interest in hunting. Sure, the research part of it came easy to Dean's geek of a brother, but being in the field, killing evil things? Sam more and more seemed to loathe it. Admittedly, all the training Dad put them through was tough, and moving from town to town wasn't always easy either. They both had to switch schools almost as often as their underwear. Thank God Dean had finally left that chapter of his life behind. Sam, well, he would still be in school for another year, and from the looks of it, he was really trying to accomplish something – straight As, his teachers praising him everywhere they went. The kid had ambitions, Dean wasn't blind. But this was the family business, saving people, hunting things. And Dean wasn't only pretty damn good at it, he loved it. Hunting was his purpose. But was it Sam's?

After a moment of silence, Dean settled on, "There's not much else we can do here. Come on, it'll be fun."

Cue broody Sam. "Fun, right." He slumped in the kitchen chair, propping up his elbows on the table as he supported his head with one hand. "Dad said to stay put."

Midway to his mouth, Dean dropped his third donut on his plate. "Now you wanna listen to what Dad says?"

Sam sighed dramatically, his eyes dark. Dean knew that he'd struck a nerve. "He said he wanted to keep us safe, that's why we're here," Sam said. "Hunting without him, that doesn't seem very safe to me."

"Well go ahead then," Dean challenged. "Call him and ask for permission."

That, as Dean also knew, had been the wrong thing to say, or, in this case, the perfect thing. There wasn't much Sam hated more than asking Dad for permission. That, and Dad not being here like he was so often these days, was the whole damn point. After a glaring duel of ten seconds, Sam relented. "Fine. We'll check it out."

Dean grinned.

00000

An hour later, the boys found themselves headed over to the farm where the alleged killings had taken place. The air alone was scorching, as were the car's leather seats, and it wasn't like the Impala had sophisticated AC. Touching her steering wheel almost burned Dean's fingerprints off. His back was drenched with sweat two minutes into the drive, but anything was better than spending another day in that claustrophobia-inducing trailer with a teenage brother.

"What do you think happened?" Dean asked when farmer Hank Mendez agreed to talk to them about the incident. They'd dished up some story about how their father had recently bought some farmland nearby and was worried about the same thing happening to his cattle. "We'd just really like to know how to protect our farm."

Mendez, a slender man with a black mustache and glasses, leaned against the door frame, the screen door between him and the two brothers on his porch. "At first, I thought it was heat stroke. It happens. I mean, two of my cows and three goats just droppin' like this," he said, shaking his head. "It's been crazy hot lately."

Dean canted his head. "What are you thinking now?"

The man in his fifties fidgeted with his hands, looking over his shoulder before he faced the boys again. "Those animals, they didn't just drop dead. If you'd seen 'em… they were mauled. I've never seen anything like it."

"What? Guts hanging out, head ripped off, that kinda mauled?"

An elbow to his back made Dean briefly glower at Sam, but he schooled his expression and gave the farmer, who looked slightly freaked out, a sympathetic smile. Maybe he was being insensitive, but he needed to know. The carcasses had been quickly taken care of, after all, so he and Sam couldn't exactly inspect them themselves.

"Uh, I mean, what happened?" Dean asked.

"Well," Mendez sighed. "You're not that far off, son. The animals, they were ripped wide open, organs torn out. Some were bled dry. It was awful."

Dean nodded, shooting Sam a knowing look. "Any bite marks?"

"Think so, but I couldn't see much."

"What did they look like?"

"Dunno, two small holes? It was pretty dark when I found them. Kinda like a coyote's bite, maybe…"

The brothers exchanged a look. "Can't rule anything out."

"Sir, what about sounds?" Sam piped up, coming up next to his brother. "Did you hear anything that night?"

Dean gave Sam an approving nod. Smart question.

"As a matter of fact, I did." Mendez bobbed his head. "Didn't think anything of it though until I found the cattle the next day. It was…" he hesitated, twirling his mustache between two fingers. "Like growling. And scratching. I don't know. Not like any animal I've ever heard."

"That's interesting… and very helpful, sir," Sam said and gave the man a smile. "One more thing. Has something like this ever happened before? To yours or other farms in the area?"

Tilting his head in thought, the farmer replied, "Now that you're asking, yeah, I think it has. A few months ago, a few of my buddy Howie's chickens died in a similar way. And if I remember correctly, a friend of my dad's, Juan, he lost half his flock o' sheep a few years back."

After that, Sam and Dean exchanged another few pleasantries with the farmer before politely taking their leave.

"See?" Dean said, wiggling his eyebrows.

Sam slid into the passenger seat. "See what?"

"This is fun, don't ya think? And you're good at it. Interviewing witnesses."

"It wasn't… horrible," was all Sam said, but Dean read his brother like an open book. Sam was having fun investigating and basking in his big brother's praise, whether or not he wanted to admit it.

Dean grinned and started the car. "If you ask me, heat stroke is BS. So is a coyote, they wouldn't leave their prey."

"Yeah, but maybe they would if they caught mange or something?" Sam suggested.

"Hmm, maybe," Dean agreed while fumbling with the radio. "Let's do some more research."

And that, Dean knew, was the magic word for his geek brother.

00000

They spent the rest of the day in their trailer, cooling down with some sodas and poring over what exactly they might be dealing with. Dean was aware that it could, in fact, be natural causes. Even so, he enjoyed tossing ideas back and forth with his brother, discussing different possibilities, talking monster lore. They were good at it, they always had been. Honestly, this was easier with Sam than with Dad, sometimes. While Sam always acknowledged Dean's opinions and – yeah, even as his annoying teenage self – appreciated his advice, Dad usually didn't. Working a case with Dad was like receiving orders from a drill sergeant. Dad usually figured out on his own what they were hunting, he mapped out a strategy, and both Sam and Dean were mere foot soldiers following along. It was this whole marine thing. No matter how much Dean admired his father, he had to admit to himself that hunting with the old man could be a challenge, to put it mildly.

With Sam, things were on equal footing (more or less) – even if Sam would obviously disagree. Of course, Dean had a responsibility to watch out for his little brother, and that sometimes meant taking away from Sam's autonomy for his own good. The kid was still so young, for Christ's sake, and it was ingrained in Dean to protect him. And not only when Dad wasn't around. But that didn't mean Dean didn't trust Sam to stand his ground. When push came to shove, he could always count on Sam to have his back. He trusted his little brother just as much as his father.

"Werewolves?" Dean proposed, adding another book to the ones already strewn across the kitchen table. They had raided the local library on their way home, but their haul didn't really give them much more intel than the stuff they already knew.

Sam chewed on a pencil, frowning. "Don't they typically live further up north? Besides, they always go for the heart – human, ideally."

Dean huffed, propping his feet on the small table in the only spot that wasn't covered with books or papers. "Well, then what is it?"

"Black dog, maybe?"

"Invisible attacker, leaves no traces, hmm. They don't have a physical body though, you really think they could cause this kind of damage?"

"Ghosts aren't corporeal either and can still kill."

"Smart ass," Dean grumbled. His little brother, who had gotten way too tall for his liking, sure liked big words. "Yeah, but I don't think a black dog would attack cattle. Why would it? There's no motive. You heard the farmer, some of the animals were bled dry. Maybe…" Dean leaned forward and lowered his voice as if sharing a conspiracy theory. "Maybe it's a vampire."

Now it was Sam's turn to huff. "Vampires? Like Dracula? You serious?"

"I dunno, maybe."

Sam's eyebrows did that weird wiggling thing. "Are they even real?"

Dean shrugged. "Most of the things we see sound made-up."

"So, that's a no."

Dean glared at Sam. "Any better ideas?"

Sam leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. "The newspapers said it's probably… some satanic ritual mumbo jumbo," he said around air quotes. "Kids pranking the locals."

"Dude, humans?" Dean asked, baffled. "That's your take?"

"Well, no, not really. I don't know," Sam hesitated, averting his eyes. "But the only other thing I can think of is…"

"What?"

Sam took a deep breath. "Demons."

"Demons?" Dean almost fell from his chair.

Sam was visibly uncomfortable when he said, "Yeah, they're closely associated with cattle mutilations. There's lore about it all over the world."

Dean readjusted his position on the chair, pondering the thought for a moment. "I know the lore, man. But we've never actually seen one, right? This is big stuff, Sam. Demons want nothing but chaos and destruction." He was loath to admit it, but, "If this really is a demon, that's way above our pay grade."

Sam dropped his pencil, clearly uneasy. "I know."

They didn't get much further that night. Still unsure if there was anything supernatural in this town at all, their investigations were cut short when Dad called for his usual check-up he made every two days at ten pm. This time, it was Sam who snatched the phone.

"Dad?"

Dean studied his younger brother's face that went through a range of emotions within a few seconds.

"Uh-huh, all good." Contentment.

"Yessir." Irritation.

"Dean? Yeah, he's here." Frustration.

After not even ten seconds, Sam handed the phone over to Dean and wordlessly got up from his chair. Dean raised his eyebrows, his what's-up? expression, but Sam waved him off and moved to the couch. Pouting, Dean registered from the corner of his eye.

"Yeah?" Dean answered and turned away.

"You alright, son?"

"Frying in the heat, but all good here. What about you and Bobby?"

"We're closing in on the son of a bitch," Dad skipped right past the pleasantries. "But it's not… it."

"Huh," Dean breathed, not exactly surprised, but he couldn't help the pang of disappointment in his chest. "So, what is it?"

"Not sure yet, but we'll manage. You boys keeping out of trouble?"

Dean was strangely reminded of the walking ashtray that was their landlady. "Yes, sir."

"You're taking care of the car, Dean?"

"Always."

"Good. Shouldn't be much longer here. Couple days, tops."

He'd said the same thing last week, Dean realized with a sigh. "Okay, anything you want me to do?"

"No, just stay put. And Dean—"

"Watch out for Sammy, I know."

The phone clicked off.

Dean plopped down on the couch next to Sam and quirked an eyebrow.

"What?" Sam asked, his jaw set.

"What'd he say that has you all sulky?"

Sam scoffed, apparently his teenage go-to reaction Dean hoped the kid would soon grow out of. He folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not sulking."

Yeah, right.

Dean let it slide, again, knowing all too well that John Winchester wasn't overly fatherly these days, had never been, and it must have hurt Sam to be brushed off like this once again. It wasn't like Dad had said anything that made Sam so angry. It was more like Dad saying basically nothing to Sam, which caused the teen to see red. Dad always wanted to speak to Dean when he called, not Sam.

"Why didn't you tell him about the research we did?" Sam asked.

"As long as it's not a solid case, he wouldn't want to be bothered with it anyway."

Again, Sam looked skeptical. Dean ignored him. Instead, he made a grab for the remote and turned on their tiny TV set that broadcasted an astonishing four channels and zapped around until he found a decent action flick. Sam didn't complain (out loud, that was), so that was a win.

Two-thirds into Speed, Sam yawned beside him. "I'm gonna…" he said, standing up from the couch.

Dean peered after him as his brother went to bed.

To be continued...