Another Sunday, another chapter. Here's the third chapter. Thank you for the overwhelming response to chapter 2. I'm really glad you're enjoying this. I hope you enjoy this chapter too. It went in a different direction than what I was initially planning, but I think it works.

Chapter 3

Sam was quiet and subdued when they got back. John looked questioningly at Dean, but Dean shook his head. Finally, Sam said he was going to the library and did not need to be babysat – he could go alone. John made a mental reminder to tell Sam the spoiled brat look really wasn't good on him.

"What's wrong with your brother?" John asked Dean when they were alone. "And don't you dare tell me nothing."

Dean shrugged but would not meet John's eye.

"You know how he is. He'll get over it. A little one-on-one time with his books and he'll be his sunny cheerful self again."

John hummed.

"So…" Dean began hesitantly. "What did you find out?"

John froze. What was he supposed to say? He had told himself Dean would not react well if he found out it was Sam John was looking into.

"Nothing yet," he finally said.

Dean looked disappointed.

"The General's witch not what he's cracked up to be?" he asked.

John remembered Godfrey's laughter as he was walking out the door. He dearly wished he could agree with Dean, but he was committed, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had left Mary's picture with Godfrey – it was too late for him to change his mind now.

"It's just gonna take more time," he said. "That's all. You should focus on the case."

Dean seemed to hesitate, then shrugged.

"Sam can smell a rat, you know," he said. "He's sure you're hiding something."

John's chest tightened.

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised, he was always too sharp for his own good."

Dean frowned.

"Maybe you should tell him that once in a while. A little praise never hurt anyone."

John had often wondered himself why it was easier to praise Dean than Sam. After all, Sam had his own set of skills, and they were impressive, for his age. Now, he was not sure if it was about making sure the praise did not go to Sam's head, making him slack off or because of the thing in Sam's room that had taken Mary.

The guilt brought by Dean's observation – and by the thoughts he did not want to admit to himself – was not something he wanted to focus on. As usual, he turned it into irritation.

"Look, champ, I'd appreciated if I wasn't given parenting lessons by my eighteen-year-old son."

Dean straightened his shoulders, defiance in his eyes. Dean was rarely defiant – except when it came to Sam.

"I'm just saying," Dean insisted. "Look, I'm the one who's gonna have to put up with him in the desert. If he's in a bitchy mood…"

John snorted.

"He's a teenager, Dean. Being in a bitchy mood is part of his personality at this age. It comes as naturally as breathing for them."

Dean shook his head.

"Fine," he muttered. "Have it your way."

He made to leave, then turned to inspect John, assessingly.

"Hey, Dad," he began, "How well do you know Arthur Croydon?"

John felt slightly taken aback by the question.

"What do you mean? We were in a war together, son. I'd trust him with my life."

Dean smiled tightly.

"Bobby Singer says foxhole friendships don't really hold water during peace time."

John scoffed.

"And what does Bobby Singer knows about war?"

Dean stared at him levelly.

"He's been fighting our kind of war for longer than us," he pointed out. "Hasn't he?"

It dawned on John then that Dean, too, was growing. And the older he got, the more he would insist on asserting his independence. He did not know what to feel about that.

"I trust he wants us to find what happened to his daughter," John said. "What else should I trust him about?"

"Well, if Elizabeth was targeted for some reason, I want to know what skeletons he has in his closet that might have sicced a supernatural creature on his daughter," Dean said, feigning casualness. "That kind of thing."

John really could not fault Dean for refusing to leave stones unturned.

"I'll have another talk to him. Meanwhile, try and find out if there was anything we should worry about Elizabeth through other means."

Dean smirked.

"You know how I love to sneak into young girls' bedrooms, Dad."

John rolled his eyes.

"Too well. At least this time I don't have to worry about the angry father chasing you with a shotgun."

Dean pretended to look disappointed.

"That's the best part," he said cheekily.

XXXxxxxXXX

When Sam got back from the library, he was in a better mood. He had no idea where Dean was, but he found John with Croydon in the study.

"Well?" John asked.

Sam nodded.

"Based on the location Benny gave us, I narrowed down the area where the town could be."

Croydon frowned.

"So, you believe there was a town."

Sam shrugged.

"Unless Benny suffered an elaborate hallucination, then yes, there was a town, and it was probably deserted."

Croydon sat down heavily.

"And he left Elizabeth there."

Sam sympathized, but he knew it was more complicated than Croydon made it out to be.

"Was Elizabeth allergic to anything?" he asked.

Both John and Croydon eyed him warily.

"Why do you ask?" Croydon said sharply.

Sam took a deep breath.

"According to Benny, your daughter was sick that morning. She was complaining of a sting. Could she have been stung or bitten by something she was allergic to?"

Croydon hesitated.

"She used to have a mild allergy to insect bites when she was little," he admitted. "But that was gone in time, and anyway, it was never serious, she just broke into hives a few times, that was all. What are you getting at? Why is her allergy relevant anyway?"

Sam felt his heart beating faster. He realized he was intimidated by Croydon. Maybe it was normal. He was only fourteen. John should have been the one having this conversation with Croydon, not him. Still, John was there, and he was looking at him expectantly, and Sam wanted to make him proud for once. He took a deep breath, telling himself not to be an idiot. After all, it wasn't as if Croydon could do anything to him.

"We are trying to figure out if what happened to Elizabeth…well, if she was deliberately chosen."

As soon as he finished, Croydon was out of his seat and marching towards him.

"Are you saying my daughter had it coming, young man?" he barked.

Sam opened his mouth to defuse the situation, but it wasn't necessary. In a flash, John stood between him and Croydon.

"Sam, go to your room," he said tightly.

Sam was about to protest, but John looked as if he was thinking of wringing Croydon's neck if he so much as looked at Sam wrong. He nodded, curtly, feeling as if he had failed some test.

Once outside, he found himself leaning against the wall. His hands were shaking. Sam frowned, annoyed with himself. He had faced ghosts and werewolves and shifters for crying out loud. Why was he so shaken about an antagonizing power-hungry bully? But he was fourteen, he told himself, he was fourteen and there was supposed to be at least some place where he could feel completely safe. Where he did not have to face threats on a regular basis. Frustration welled up inside him and he found himself annoyingly close to crying.

Sam took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Nothing had happened, he reminded himself. John had seemed willing to take care of it, after all. That should tell Sam something.

Finally, he straightened his shoulders and tried to look normal. He did not want Dean to see him so affected.

xxxXXXXxxxx

Croydon suddenly found himself facing John. It was a different John, though, than the one he knew. This John was looking at him like he was the enemy, eyes cold, face set in stone. There was a hint of dangerous steel in him that was no longer hidden.

"You keep away from my sons," John said.

Croydon shook his head. He wanted to protest – wanted to say that it was one of his sons, after all, that was making unfounded accusations against his daughter, but he found himself unable to speak.

"I'm warning you," John added, voice still deceptively calm. "You make another move like that towards Sam or Dean again, and you won't be able to imagine the things I'm going to do to you."

He meant every word, Croydon could see that. He had been in a war, after all. He knew the look on people's faces when they were ready to kill. He could see that look on John's face as well. He took a step back.

"Right," he said. "Of course. I'm sorry. I overstepped. It won't happen again."

John shook his head.

"We're trying to help you – and we will," he said. "Sam was trying to help you."

Croydon looked away.

"I suppose that's easy to forget. This situation is new to me, after all."

John said nothing but went back to his seat. Croydon could see he had not let his guard down.

"You have no idea what we've been through," John finally said, not trying to justify himself, simply pointing it out to Croydon. "You never will. But don't test me, General. There are lines you really, really do not want to cross when it comes to me."

Croydon understood then. John had killed for his boys – and he would again. Human or supernatural creature, he would eliminate the threat without any hesitation whatsoever. He wondered what he had gotten himself into.

xxxXXXXxxx

Dean looked up as Sam walked into the room. Immediately, he felt himself frowning. Sam had that look he got whenever he was trying to hide that something had upset him.

"What is it?" he asked quickly and with a bit too much sharpness. "What's wrong?"

Sam schooled his features even more.

"Why would anything be wrong?" he asked airily.

Dean reached out and pushed Sam to sit down on the bed beside him. Sam did not protest, although he did glare at Dean, pretending to be upset about the manhandling.

"Sammy," Dean began firmly. "You know you can't hide things from me."

Anger flashed in Sam's eyes.

"Oh, like you and dad can?"

Dean closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Sam was upset, he told himself. He wasn't being a brat on purpose, something had caused him to get like this. Something more than their spat earlier in the car.

"That's different, Sam," he said soberly. "We're adults."

Sam snorted, springing up.

"Well, me not being an adult did not seem to matter when I was the one who had to ask the General questions about his daughter that could've set him off. Dad stood there and let me talk. He didn't offer to talk in my place."

Dean's eyes narrowed. He was getting close to what bothered Sam, and he did not like it one bit.

"Did he hurt you?" he asked tightly.

If that pompous has-been had laid a hand on Sam, Dean was going to make sure he had nightmares for the rest of his miserable life. And what the hell was their dad thinking, leaving Sam to fend for himself like that?

To his relief, Sam shook his head.

"What? Of course not. Dad put a stop to it. In fact, I'm not even sure the General's even alive right now," he joked weakly.

Dean nodded satisfied.

"I'll have to settle for carving into his rotten carcass, then," he quipped.

Sam looked a cross between horrified and impressed. Sam always brightened when Dean showed him he was on his side. Remembering their argument in the car, Dean regretted he could not be on Sam's side more often.

Sam sat back down, chewing his lip.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Dean sat down next to him, bumping his shoulder.

"What for? It's not like you asked him to be an asshole."

Sam snorted.

"He's not an asshole, he's a grieving parent."

"Who had no right to take it out on someone else's kid," Dean said firmly. "You've got nothing to be sorry for, got it?"

Sam still looked dejected, and Dean grabbed his shoulder, shaking him slightly.

"Hey, what's this about, anyway?"

Sam took a deep breath. He looked flushed.

"I don't even know why I got scared. I mean, he's not the worst thing I've faced…I should have stood my ground."

Sometimes, John and Dean forgot that Sam was only fourteen. Sometimes, Sam seemed to forget it as well.

"Look," Dean said. "Cut yourself some slack. I've seen you stand against stuff that would have made people older than you piss their pants and run screaming like little girls."

Sam snorted, not really convinced. Dean reached out and squeezed his shoulder briefly.

"But you're still…" He remembered Sam got angry whenever someone called him a kid and decided to phrase the words carefully. "Sam, you're gonna be really tough and badass when you grown, you know. The real kind of tough not the postulating crap Croydon's got going."

Sam glanced at him and gave him one of his usual shy smiles, the one that he did not direct at anyone but Dean, the one that made Dean feel like he could do anything. Dean had to look away.

"Besides," he added. "We're leaving tomorrow. We'll be out of the General's hair. Probably won't have to see him again after that. Dad can deal with him all he wants."

Sam's eyes moved to the notebook on the bedside table.

"What's that?" he asked frowning. "It's not yours."

Dean chuckled.

"What gave it away? You think pink and sparkles don't suit me, Sammy?"

"I don't know," Sam said innocently. "Do they?"

Dean inwardly cheered. At least he was managing to make Sam less upset and get his mind away from his confrontation with Croydon.

"It's Elizabeth's diary," he said.

Sam sat up, eyes shining with curiosity.

"You didn't tell me you were going to get her diary."

Dean shrugged.

"Well, I thought you'd get all bent out of shape if I told you I was gonna go through a possibly-dead girl's underwear drawer."

He had already anticipated Sam's blush.

"Dean, you didn't!" Sam asked horrified.

Dean smirked. He always knew how to distract Sam. He had become a master at it. Or he just knew Sam that well.

"I was thinking, if Elizabeth was keeping a diary, she might not have wanted dear old dad to discover it. but Croydon's the type of guy who would snoop even inside his adult daughter's bedroom – although he'd be creeped out to look through her underwear."

Sam huffed.

"Good thinking," he congratulated. "What did you find out?"

Dean took the diary and handed it to Sam.

"One, Elizabeth was planning to move as far away from Dad's sphere of influence as possible, all the way to South Korea where she got a teaching post. Two, I don't think her plans included Benny. Three, she was pregnant."

Sam whistled.

"We do know some supernatural creatures target those with secrets and those who they think are deceiving someone close to then," he mused. "Maybe that's why the creature got to her."

Dean hoped not. Otherwise he would be in danger himself. He was keeping his own secrets from Sam, about what John was really doing while the two of them were looking into the case. He could not say any of that out loud, though.

"Maybe it's just random," he said.

Sam shook his head, a frustrated look on his face.

"If it's random, then why was Benny allowed to leave as soon as that creature got Elizabeth?"

Dean shrugged. The question was bothering him as well.

"Maybe it likes chicks," he speculated, then smirked. "That makes you a target, Samantha."

Sam did not hesitate to show just how much Dean's remark did not amuse him.

xxxxXXXXxxxx

"We've been driving for hours. Admit it. We're lost, mom!"

Beatrice glanced at her fifteen-year-old son. Peter had been in a bad mood for a long time. It was probably the divorce, she told herself, and the fact that the custody battle was more difficult than she had anticipated. This vacation was supposed to help them both relax and show them that they could still be a family, even in their current state. And yet, ever since they left home, not one single thing had gone according to plan.

The desert was all around them now. The setting sun blinded Beatrice. She shook her head. She did not know what had happened.

"I know I took the right turn," she said. "You were there, you saw me taking the right exit."

Peter shrugged.

"If you say so."

The listless words were not really surprising.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. "Still queasy?"

"I'm fine," Peter insisted.

Right, Beatrice thought. Why had she expected a different answer from a fifteen-year-old?

"Well, if you start feeling worse, let me know. There's things we can do to fix it."

Peter turned slowly to look at her, and Beatrice knew he was trying hard not to roll his eyes.

"Like what? It's not as if you can conjure a doctor out of thin air."

Beatrice frowned.

"We can stop in the nearest town," she said.

Peter sighed.

"Except we're lost."

Beatrice was about to assure him, yet again, that they were not lost at all when the car stopped abruptly.

"What happened?" Peter asked, a hint of panic in his voice.

"I am sure it's something easily fixed."

She was ready to step out of the car and check on the engine when Peter grabbed her arm.

"Don't go outside," he gasped. "Did you see that thing?"

Beatrice stared at the empty stretch of desert.

"There's nothing outside, honey," she said.

The sound of church bells came to her through the open window. She sighed heavily, relieved that they weren't in the middle of nowhere, as she had thought.

"I think there's a town nearby. Are you up to walking? They might help us with the car."

xxxxXXXXxxx

Sam and Dean left that morning. John helped them load the car and wished them good luck, with strict instructions to call and check in at regular intervals whenever they could.

The atmosphere between John and Arthur Croydon was polite, but tense. John always stood between the general and his sons until Sam and Dean's departure. Dean was no better, glaring at the general whenever he could. It made Sam flush with embarrassment, although he could not help feeling pleased. Dean being an aggressive mother hen always left him feeling a mixture of exasperation and warmth.

"So, what's the plan?" Sam asked, looking at the map Dean had slammed on his knees as soon as he got in the car.

"Like you said, we'll check out Benny and Elizabeth's last stop. Then we'll try to find the town. And whatever is in it."

Sam hummed in agreement. Suddenly, he looked up.

"What if it happens to us as well?" he asked. "What if we get stuck in there?"

Dean shook his head.

"We won't. We know what we're getting ourselves into."

Sam sighed. They never knew what they were getting themselves into. They thought they did, but the truth was, every hunt challenged them in some way. Every hunt took something from them in some way.

He felt Dean's eyes on him and tried to straighten up.

"You OK?" Dean asked sharply.

Sam nodded, almost mechanically.

"Yeah, sure," he said. 'Don't mind me."

But as they got closer to the desert and their hunt, he could not help feeling that everything was soon going to go very wrong.

I promise I'll actually get Sam and Dean inside the town in the next chapter. But I wanted a conflict with the General, and then I thought of how John would react to one, and how Sam himself would react, since he is probably struggling between having to grow up too soon and being annoyed whenever he still felt like a kid. So this chapter was born.

Thanks for reading and see you next Sunday.