Dancing With the Devil
by Minx
October 1997
Danville, Kentucky
Amy Mitchell could make Dean hard just by walking down the hall to her locker in between classes. He couldn’t help but stare hungrily at her muscled legs, lean, bare and climbing all the way up to her short plaid mini skirt that just managed to cover what Dean could only describe as the sweetest, firmest ass he’d ever seen. Which, of course, Dean concluded with a little groan of appreciation, complemented ever so nicely the perky rack Miss Mitchell sported in front.
He loved the way her long, dark blonde hair glinted like strands of burnished gold in the light, swaying against the back of her tight little knit top when she walked. And she didn’t just walk, she strutted like she owned the place. Because she kinda did, Dean thought, not without a little admiration. She was a newcomer to the tight-knit senior class, Danville being one of those places where there wasn’t a lot of movement and you ended up marrying your cousin right out of highschool, and yet, Amy had pretty much taken over the school with her sultry smile, charming nature and smokin’ hot looks.
Yeah, Dean thought with a hint of a smirk climbing onto his lips, she was one tasty babe. And despite the posh Ken-dolls who were lining up to carry her books, Amy Mitchell had picked Dean, hoisting him immediately up the high school food chain. The two of them had clicked instantly when they’d been assigned as lab partners in chemistry, both having the same wild streak, smug confidence, and sarcastic attitude that earned them glares and detention slips from Mr. Connors, their chemistry teacher, and sighs of admiration from their classmates.
If ever there was a girl for Dean Winchester, a girl that was his total complement in every way, it was definitely Amy. There was just one tiny problem...Amy Mitchell was possessed.
Lunchbox Café
Corner of Main and 3rd
“Okay...so tell me again why you think your girlfriend’s a demon?” Sam asked warily.
The fourteen-year-old reached across the scratched formica table of the half-empty diner, his long fingers snagging a few of the french-fries from his older brother’s plate as he waited for Dean to answer his question. He’d scarfed down his own meal already, but was still hungry, a by-product of his recent growth spurt no doubt.
Dean and Sam were sitting at their usual booth in the rear of the Lunchbox Café, a tiny downtown establishment in the bucolic southern town of Danville, Kentucky where John had settled them to finish out Dean’s last semester of high school. The late afternoon sunlight slanting through the open blinds of the café window where the two sat was muted, filtering in through a slow-moving contingent of dusky, grey autumn clouds that threatened rain.
Sam stuffed the stolen fries into his mouth all at once, munching on them, and quirked a pensive eyebrow at Dean who took another big bite of his cheeseburger, noisily sucking up a loose piece of onion that had tried to escape from his mouth. Sam crinkled his nose in disgust at the wet, slurping sound. Why did Dean have to be so gross all the time? he silently wondered. And he just had to order extra onions again, didn’t he? ‘Cause yeah, Sam thought bitterly, who would be paying for that later? There were definite disadvantages to sharing a room with an eighteen-year-old slob. Sam shut his eyes, trying to ignore Dean’s sloppy eating to focus on the more important issue at hand.
Dean had driven them to the diner straight from school, hissing to Sam that they needed to “talk.” Sam had been reluctant at first. He had a lot of homework to do, besides their usual chores and training. But one look at Dean’s face, and Sam could tell this was something big. He just hadn’t realized how big.
“Sam, I’ve already explained it to you. She’s a demon. Trust me on this,” Dean stated around a mouthful of burger.
Sam licked his lips, frowning. “Yeah, but how sure are you?”
“Pretty sure,” Dean replied, growing slightly annoyed at Sam’s continued skepticism.
“Okay, you gotta be more than ‘pretty’ sure, Dean. I mean, you’re talking about doing an exorcism…” Sam’s voice faded off, his face carrying an almost pained expression, showing how badly he wanted to believe his brother but, still….
“I’m REALLY pretty sure,” Dean insisted, rolling his eyes and dropping his half-eaten burger back onto his plate, his lips thinning in irritation.
“Look, I wish it wasn’t true, believe me,” he said. “But all signs point to demon possession, Sam.” He grabbed a napkin up from the stack of them on the table and swiped at the dab of ketchup clinging to the corner of his mouth, then crumpled the paper napkin up and tossed it onto the table next to his plate.
Dean spread his arms wide on the table in front of him, leaning in close, the front of his jacket almost dipping over onto his plate, and fixed a serious look on Sam. “I mean, totally hot chick shows up out of nowhere and instantly becomes the hit of the school…no one knows where she transferred from or anything about her and, get this, no one evens seems to really care either, besides me.”
“Yeah, and let’s not forget the fact that she’s all into you. That’s a sure sign of evil possession,” Sam quipped, grinning and pulling back when Dean reached across the table to take a swipe at him.
Dean scowled at his little brother. “Real funny, Captain Zit-face,” he retorted. “I’m serious here, Sammy. I did some checking on her after she kept refusing to let me come in whenever I picked her up or dropped her off at her house.”
“Yeah, ‘cause there couldn’t be any other reason she’d want to keep you out of her bedroom.”
“Shut up,” Dean said, glaring. “Turns out nobody’s living there.”
“What?” Sam leaned in again, eyes glinting with interest.
Dean nodded. “Yeah, empty house, dude. The place has been on the sale block for the past six months.”
Sam thought for a moment, forehead wrinkling underneath his long, shaggy bangs. He chewed on his bottom lip before looking up and speaking. “Okay…that’s kinda weird, I’ll give you that, but it’s still not necessarily demonic, Dean.” Sam shrugged. “Maybe she’s a runaway or something?”
“Sam, how many runaways stop off somewhere to enroll themselves in school?” Dean asked, tilting his head and lifting a skeptical eyebrow at the teen.
“Good point,” Sam conceded quietly. He took a drink of his soda, and gave a little stubborn shake of his head, glancing back up at Dean. “I’m still not ready to tie Amy up and start throwing holy water at her.”
Dean sighed, shooting an exasperated look at Sam. Little Sammy, the voice of reason – never could just believe. Always had to do a full inquisition before committing to anything. No wonder Dad always wanted to kick his ass these days, Dean thought wearily.
“Did you try saying Christo?” Sam offered. He tried to snag a few more fries off Dean’s plate, but Dean smacked his hand, giving him a warning glare as if to say ‘get your own’.
“No, I didn’t try Christo, Sam,” Dean tiredly snapped, shoving his plate of fries across the table to his brother with a loud sigh after Sam gave him his sad puppy look. “I don’t want to tip her off. Last thing I need is for her to have the advantage, you know?”
Sam munched on the french fries in silence, listening as Dean continued his story.
“So, me and Amy were down by the football field after class yesterday –”
“Making out,” Sam said around a mouthful of fries, grinning.
Dean paused to glare, but otherwise ignored the little smartass. “And like this big black cat was over hanging out by the dumpster near the bleachers, right? So, as we pass by, the thing goes nuts. I mean like full on bat shit. Starts hissing and yowling…the whole arched back thing – totally freaked me out.”
Sam stopped chewing, his mouth going slack as he sat up straighter in the booth, eyes riveted on Dean now. Dean panned around the diner, checking to make sure no one was nearby, eavesdropping. His voice fell to a low, serious whisper.
“So, here I am, wondering what the hell’s got the cat all spooked and wishing I had one of Dad’s guns, and I look over at Amy, you know, to see if she’s all right. And, Amy, she just has this kinda, I don’t know, creepy smile on her face. She glances at the cat over her shoulder as we walk by and all of a sudden, there’s like dead silence.” Dean paled a bit, the freckles across the bridge of his nose standing out in relief. “So, I turn around and the cat’s lying on the asphalt, stiff as a board – legs stuck out frozen.”
“It was dead?” Sam gasped, eyes going wide.
Dean nodded, his face broadcasting his unease. “Stone cold, dude,” he replied shakily which made Sam nervous. Dean never got scared.
“What’d you do?” Sam whispered.
“Well, I stood there a minute, thinking what the hell?” Dean said. He swallowed hard, goosebumps scattering across his bare arms as he continued. “I turn to Amy and...she’s kind of giggling. Totally creeped me out, you know? The hair on the back of my neck just stood up, Sammy. Seriously. It’s like that cat knew what Amy was and it freaked out, so Amy or whatever she is, just up and ganked it!”
“Holy crap,” Sam gaped.
“Yeah, that - only times a million,” Dean replied, taking a long deep draw of his soda to calm his nerves. “That wasn’t the end of it though,” he continued, eyes shadowed and full of unease. “She’s been dropping all these strange hints lately.”
“Like what kinda hints?” Sam puzzled.
Dean hesitated, not wanting to scare Sam, but knowing he needed to explain if he was ever going to get his brother to go along with his plan.
“Well, like we were in my car, listening to the radio, and she up and says with this nasty smirk how her favorite song is ‘Hells Bells’. Oh, and when Christy McDowell was wanting Amy and some other girls to come hear her sing in her church choir, Amy told her she wouldn’t set foot in a church, and when Christy asked why, Amy laughed and said she’d burn to a cinder if she tried. Yeah, everyone else just laughed at that, but Amy had this funny look in her eye, like she wasn’t kidding, you know?”
Sam nodded slowly, waiting for Dean to go on.
“But the absolute creepiest thing, Sammy,” Dean finally declared, “Is she keeps asking me what Dad does for a living, and if I’ll grow up to be just like him.” Dean cringed slightly at the memory. “She like looked right at me, into me, when she asked that. And just a bunch of other stuff,” Dean trailed off with a shudder.
Dean glanced up, surprised to see a whisper of a smirk on Sam’s face. He caught Sam’s eye, frowning a little, and Sam quickly looked down to the table top, lips quivering as if to keep from laughing.
“What?” Dean questioned, confused.
“I was just thinking…” Sam stated, amusement clearly in his voice.
“Sam, what?” Dean asked, eyes now glinting with impatience and a hint of irritation.
Sam flicked his eyes up to Dean, the smile that was threatening to show itself earlier now popping out on his face in full bloom. “Dude, you had demon tongue down your throat! Gross!”
Dean blinked, not expecting the reproof. “Well it’s not like I knew - ” he angrily retorted, but Sam cut him off, shaking his head, snorting and pointing.
“You’ve known for the past two days at least!”
“Okay, yeah, but…” Dean stuttered, blushing, unable to regain his composure under his brother’s accusatory assault. “I didn't know for sure!”
“Dean, demon tongue,” Sam uttered, emphasizing the words with a nasty curl to his lip.
“I know…but…she’s really hot…” he whined helplessly and then clamped his mouth shut, staring hard at the table top in front of him, feeling the heat slowly creeping across his neck and face as Sam continued to snicker.
“You know, Dean, every once in a while it’s okay to use your upstairs brain. Seriously. It’s prob’ly not gonna cause irreparable damage,” Sam offered innocently.
“Shut up!” Dean stormed, looking up to glower at his brother. He gave Sam the once over, snorting in disgust. “At least my downstairs brain gets used!”
Sam gaped, blinking, the tips of his ears flushing pink. “I use mine! I – ” he stopped, breathing hard, glaring at Dean, his bitchface out and ready to go. “You know what?” Sam said quietly, his voice calm but heated, “I’m not having this conversation with you, Dean. I’m just not.”
“Fine,” Dean snottily shot back. “So, back to Amy. I’m thinking we do a little exorcism on her and whammo!” Dean snapped his fingers. “No more demon. Just a normal hot chick.”
“Okay, so let’s tell Dad and – ”
Dean cut Sam off, hands going up in front of him in alarm as if he was waving off a charging bull. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. No telling Dad, Sammy.”
“What? Why?” Sam asked in agitation. He ran a hand through his long, thick locks, staring at Dean as if he were delirious and babbling incoherently. “Dean, we gotta tell Dad if you want him to perform the exorcism. I mean, unless you were thinking of calling Bobby?”
“No calling anyone. We do this ourselves,” Dean announced with smug assurance.
Sam let out a short incredulous bark of laughter, causing the waitress by the counter to turn and look at him. “Dude, are you nuts?!” Sam hissed, trying to keep his voice down despite his rising trepidation. “We’ve never done an exorcism on anybody before! Dad’s never even let us watch while he’s done one. He’s said it’s too dangerous. Dean –”
Dean put up a hand, stopping his brother in mid-rant. He shook his head firmly for emphasis. “We’re not telling anyone, Sam. I’m serious. Now you can help me or I’ll just do it alone.” Sam’s countenance fell at the look of determination on Dean’s face. “I don’t care either way,” Dean shrugged and went on, somewhat hurt by Sam’s lack of faith in him. “I just thought you’d like to lend me a hand, you know?”
“This has got to be the craziest thing you’ve ever done,” Sam mumbled, shoulders slumped in resignation. “And you’ve done some pretty wild things, Dean,” he added as an afterthought, fixing Dean with a rather pissy glare. Not that it would change his brother’s mind. Sam sighed heavily, and gave a reluctant nod. “Okay, all right, I’ll do it. But we’re gonna need to do some research before we start this.”
“Sounds good,” Dean grinned wide, knowing he’d won Sam over. He reached for his wallet, grabbing a few dollars out and throwing them onto the table. “You go research, geek boy, and I’ll keep an eye on Amy.”
Sam slid out of the booth, following his brother, still having trouble believing he’d just agreed to perform an exorcism on the most popular girl in their high school.
“Just remember, she’s a demon, okay?” Sam admonished, a hint of desperation in his voice. He knew Dean and his weakness for pretty girls. Sam stuck a finger in his brother’s back, his voice scolding. “No matter how hot she is, Dean, you’d be getting it on with hellspawn and that’s just...beyond wrong, man.”
“So, you admit she’s hot,” Dean said with a grin.
“I just don’t want any demon spawn nieces and nephews, Dean!”
“Keep you’re voice down,” Dean admonished, scowling as he unlocked the Impala. He turned to Sam, eyes narrowing. “I’ll try to resist the temptation. Now, zip it or you’re walking to the library, Samantha, ‘cause he who has the car keys, calls the shots.”
“Whatever, jerk,” Sam huffed, getting into the car.
“Right back at ya, bitch,” Dean replied as he started the car and pulled out into the late afternoon traffic.
Doherty Library
Centre College
“What d’ya got, Einstein?” Dean asked, peering over Sam’s shoulder as the younger teen hunched over the keyboard of one of the rows of computers in the college library.
Although a small town, Danville was home to a rather impressive liberal arts college, which gave Sam and Dean access to not only a wider selection of books on the occult, but also a computer with internet access. Sam had quickly rejected the limited resources of the local public library in favor of the cushier set-up, Dean came to keep an eye on Sam and chat up the college girls.
Sam ran the mouse over the tabletop, clicking on an icon onscreen and sat back, gazing up past his shoulder to Dean. “I checked the missing persons database, and - ”
“You hacked into a national database?” Dean raised his brows, sounding impressed. He swatted Sam once on the shoulder, smiling. “Way to go, Sammy! I knew your lack of a social life was worth the sacrifice.”
Sam glared up at Dean, mouth pursed in annoyance. “Shut up!” he said defensively. “Do you want to hear what I found or not?”
Dean chuckled at his little brother’s injured tone, but backed off. “Yeah, okay, go ahead,” he softly encouraged.
Sam uncrossed his arms, fingers flying over the keyboard with practiced ease as he called up several screens on the computer monitor. “Okay, so I checked missing persons and got a hit.” Sam pointed to the screen. “Amy Mitchell. Seventeen years old. She was on her way to school in Flint, Michigan, three months ago...and never made it. Nobody’s seen her since.”
Dean stared at Amy’s picture on the computer screen, his blood running cold. It was one thing to suspect his girlfriend was a demon. It was totally another to actually have solid confirmation of that fact. Dean blew a ragged breath from between his lips, giving Sam a dejected sidelong glance as he sighed heavily.
“Well, guess getting to third base with her is kind of a no go, huh?” Dean derisively concluded.
Sam huffed and rolled his eyes in disbelief. “Dude, this isn’t funny. We have to tell Dad. This thing may be after you,” Sam said, the concern in his voice apparent.
“We don’t know that, Sammy,” Dean challenged, his brows scrunching together, waving a hand as if to dismiss that notion all together. “I mean, maybe she just has good taste in men...” That sounded lame even to him, Dean concluded. Sam was totally unconvinced.
“Dean, why would a demon hijack a body in Michigan and then come all the way down here to Kentucky to enroll in high school?” Sam heatedly questioned his brother. “She’s obviously after something... and you’re not that attractive!” He said, cutting Dean off before he could answer.
Dean chewed his bottom lip. He didn’t like where this conversation was going.
“Look, you were right, okay? I’m sorry I doubted you,” Sam said. He gazed up at Dean, a look of determination adding a glint of fire to his emerald eyes. “This demon is here for a reason, Dean. And it just seems to me that you could be in real danger!”
Sam gave his brother a pleading look, his eyes searching Dean’s for confirmation. Dean offered none. Instead, Dean’s features hardened, his hazel eyes becoming unreadable as the familiar wall of aloofness went up around him.
“Holy crap, do I need to break out the Midol?” Dean snapped, straightening up and folding his arms across his chest. “What’s with the emo, hold me, I’m all scared for you bullshit, all of a sudden, Sam?” Dean’s entire demeanor now radiated an indignant defensiveness that Sam knew all too well and hated.
“Maybe she’s not after me at all,” Dean sullenly declared, his jaw tightening as he leaned up against the side of the table next to Sam.
“Yeah, she could be using you to get to someone else. Like Dad, maybe,” Sam said worriedly.
Dean’s features softened a tad when he caught the sulky frown his brusque tone had put on Sam’s face. “Yeah, maybe,” he agreed, reluctantly. “And if that’s the case, Sam, then we can’t tell dad anything ‘cause that’ll just put him at risk.” Dean shook his head, an expression of certainty coming over him. “No, we do this alone.”
Sam remained silent, looking down at his lap, but he nodded once to indicate he’d go along with Dean’s wishes. For now.
Donnie’s Auto Repair Three days later...
John Winchester wiped his grease-stained hands on the rag he kept tucked into the pocket of his work coveralls before grabbing up his ringing cell phone, flipping it open and bringing it up to his ear.
“Yeah?” John inquired, absently reaching up to wipe a bead of sweat from the side of his face near his temple.
“Hey, Johnny, how’s the deep south treatin’ ya?” Bobby Singer’s hard-scrabble twang came over the line, sounding both familiar and strange at the same time to John.
John let a tired smile play over his stubbled face, almost wishing he’d just let his voice mail pick up the call. Not that he didn’t want to talk with Bobby, but he was at work and couldn’t afford to get fired for goofing off. Dean still had a few more months before he graduated. After that, John could tell his shit-head boss to fuck off and he could pack up his family and get the hell out of Dodge and back to chasing down the son of a bitch that had killed Mary.
“I’m making do as usual,” John said in his quiet, deep tone. “You got a reason for calling me, Singer, other than to shoot the shit?”
Bobby chuckled. “Don’t I always?” he said.
“Gotta job for me?”
“Maybe,” Bobby replied, hesitant. “But, you might wanna be asking your youngest about that rather than me.”
John’s smile disappeared. “What’s going on Bobby?” he demanded, making it sound more like a threat than a request.
“Got an interesting call from Sammy…” Bobby said suggestively, “he asked me some pretty specific questions about demons and how to exorcise ‘em.”
John’s face became stonier, his eyes darkening with concern and anger. “He wouldn’t…”
“Yeah, well, he asked me not to tell you, so I thought I’d better give you the head’s up.”
“If Dean and Sam are trying to go after a demon by themselves, I’m going to kill those two,” John intoned darkly.
“May have to get in line, John,” Bobby replied. “If there is a demon, and I’m thinking there is, then it sounds like it’s already got a head start. I did some checking after Sam’s call and found a few things...”
“Fuck,” John seethed, shutting his eyes in fury, his jaw muscles clenching so hard his teeth hurt.
Goggin Lane
11:58PM
“Jesus friggin’Christ!” Dean complained in a loud whisper, staring unhappily at the incantation written in his dad’s journal. “This is like three pages of...not English!”
He and Sam crouched in the dirt amidst the neatly trimmed magnolia bushes flanking the colonnaded front porch of the house where Amy Mitchell, or more accurately, the demon who was possessing her, had been squatting. The moon, not quite full yet, cast wavering shadows along the dewy expanse of lawn and up the side of the two-story house.
“Well of course it’s not English,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. He was amazed at how his older brother could sometimes be so self-assured and yet so naïve at the same time. Sam leaned over, adjusting the flashlight Dean held so that it pointed at the top of the first page. “It’s the Rituale Romanum, Dean. Romanum, meaning Roman? As in Latin. What did you expect?”
“I expect you to shut up,” Dean dryly commented, shoving the scuffed leather-bound journal into Sam’s hands. “Here, you’re better at speaking this stuff than me. I’ll handle the holy water and the bondage part.” Dean held up the coil of rope they’d brought with them.
“Jeez, you make it sound kinky,” Sam said, wincing uncomfortably.
Dean just chuckled, the laugh low and dirty. “Heh, wait’ll you get a little older, Sammy. You’ll appreciate –”
Both boys froze as a shadowy form passed by the curtained window above them.
“What was that?” Sam gulped in a high-pitched squeak.
“It ain’t Santa Claus,” Dean wryly muttered under his breath, earning him a disenchanted chuff of annoyance from Sam.
The corners of his mouth quirked up at that, and Dean patted Sam on the back, as if apologizing for the ill-timed comment. He slowly rose to peer inside the darkened window where the figure had so recently stood.
“I don’t see anyone,” Dean whispered over his shoulder to Sam. “But, there’s a light on in one of the rooms across the way.” He groped for the utility knife he always kept in his pocket and pulled it out, opening the blade in one smooth flick. “C’mon, Shaggy, Scooby may be in trouble and we need to go investigate.”
“Yeah, okay, Daphne” Sam said with an eye roll.
Dean ignored him. He was too busy wiggling the blade of his knife up between the sill and window frame, disengaging the simple metal latching mechanism to unlock the window. Dean snapped his knife shut, stuffed it back in his pocket and carefully lifted the window up, making sure to go slow so as to make as little noise as possible. Window now open, Dean turned toward Sam, bending low and lacing his fingers together to make a foothold for his brother.
“C’mon, Sam, alley oop.”
Sam hastily tucked his father’s journal into the waistband of his baggy hand-me-down jeans and stuck his foot into Dean’s hands, grabbing hold of the window ledge as Dean boosted him up toward it. With a tiny grunt, Sam hoisted himself up and over the window ledge, falling with a soft thud onto the dirty wooden floor of the room. Turning, he watched as Dean’s head and torso came through the window, followed by his scissoring legs. Dean slid to the floor in a pile next to Sam, all grins.
“Not bad, eh Velma?” Dean commented. He stood up, brushing off his jeans, inspecting the room which appeared to be a side parlor, empty save for a few cobwebs in the corners and some long forgotten dust bunnies scattered around here and there.
Dean motioned for Sam to follow. They silently made their way across the small, unfurnished room to the open archway that led out into the main hallway and the rest of the silent house. Dean stopped to peer around the doorway, scoping down the long hall and up the staircase at the rear of the house. His left arm automatically reached behind him to stop Sam’s forward motion with a hand across the younger teen’s chest.
“Dude, don’t soccer mom me!” Sam angrily hissed, batting Dean’s hand away in irritation. “I’m not a little kid anymore!”
“Sorry,” Dean said, appearing chagrined. “Old habit.”
Satisfied that there was no one on the first floor, both boys silently glided across the darkened hallway and into the room opposite from the one they’d been in. Sam’s jaw fell open and Dean let out a low whistle.
The room, a comfortable-sized paneled study, was lined on two walls with rows of sturdy mahogany bookshelves. On the third wall, opposite them was a fireplace that was almost large enough for Dean to stand up inside. The room was lit with the flickering glow of black pillar candles, dozens of them. They lined the mantelpiece of the fireplace, their drippings forming grayish wax stalactites that depended from the marble mantel. More candles sat on some of the bookshelves, flickering and popping as if alive. They threw off a heat and an eerie glow around the room, making Sam uneasy.
In the dead center of the room, facing the fireplace was an old wooden card table. Two large red tapers in heavy brass candlesticks and an ornate silver chalice sat atop it. The chalice was full of some dark nasty smelling liquid that Dean didn’t even want to guess at.
He took a closer look at the table and noticed that there were symbols drawn all over the table top using that same liquid, or so it appeared. More symbols were scrawled over the wall above the fireplace as well. Scattered over the mantelpiece, in and among the candles, were small bones, clumps of what appeared to be hair or fur and a couple other odd bits neither boy could make out for sure.
Dean gazed in morbid fascination for a long moment, trying to file away all the details and information for later. “Wow, Amy’s got the whole demonic fondue thing going on here,” he said thoughtfully.
“Feng shui,” Sam quietly corrected him.
“What?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s feng shui, Dean. Not fondue. Fondue is something you eat.”
“Whatever,” Dean replied absently, his attention still on the makeshift altar in front of him. “This place is decked out for a black sabbath, Sammy, and I don’t mean Ozzy and the gang.”
“Actually it’s a ritualistic altar for summoning,” came a familiar voice from behind them.
Sam jumped, startled, eyes widening in fright as he whirled about with a whimper to face their unknown assailant. Dean, on the other hand, instantly recognized the deep, whisky-warm voice. Shoulders slumping, Dean very slowly pivoted around to offer up a weak smile to his father.
“Hey, Dad,” Dean greeted casually, giving his father a little cavalier nod as if the trio had just happened upon each other at the park or some other innocuous place instead of a demon’s lair.
Sam just stood blinking rapidly, as if he were communicating in Morse code, and tried to remember to breathe in and out.
“Boys,” John quietly replied, his voice so calm and even you could have balanced a level on it. His gaze flicked down to the book still stuffed in the front of Sam’s pants, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. He fixed a hard stare on his youngest child. “That my journal, Samuel?” John asked carefully.
Sam’s jaw worked up and down, but no sounds came out of his mouth. Sensing his little brother might be in need of assistance, Dean patted Sam’s shoulder and cleared his suddenly dry throat. “Uh, yes sir, we sorta, ah, borrowed it, for this...project...and um - ”
“Cut the crap, Dean!” John barked, making Dean flinch. “You disobeyed a direct order to never touch my journal, thinking you’d find something in it to help you perform an exorcism on your little girlfriend, didn’t you?”
Dean stood, utterly cowed by his dad’s statement. It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered if his dad perhaps had some hidden psychic talent because how the hell did he know all that? John studied the look of stunned admiration on Dean’s face with a sense of grim satisfaction. If Dean had been paying any attention, he’d have been able to figure it out. All he had to do was take one look at Sam’s downcast, shifty gaze and the way the kid was furiously chewing on his bottom lip.
“Got an interesting phone call this afternoon,” John stated as he ambled over closer to the boys. Sam moaned, and Dean frowned, glancing over at him in puzzlement. John continued. “Seems someone was digging around pretty hard for information on demonic signs of possession and exorcism rituals.”
Dean stiffened, realization flooding into his mind. He rounded on Sam, eyes blazing. “Are you shitting me, dude? You called Dad?” Dean glared at Sam in disbelief.
“I didn’t call Dad,” Sam replied defensively, squirming under Dean’s intense scrutiny. “I called Bobby...”
“Well, terrific, Sammy! ‘Cause that’s gonna earn you extra points for cleverness,” Dean angrily shot back. “You totally suck at the whole stealth thing!”
“Hey!” John snapped, raising his voice a little. “You wanna start pointing fingers, smart ass, I suggest you start with yourself,” John advised firmly, demonstrating by leveling a threatening forefinger at Dean’s chest. “Now, it’s late, and I’m tired and we still have a lot to discuss,” John went on, the simmering wrath coming through in his tone, making both boys wince. “So if you’re done making your little brother feel like crap for no reason, Dean, then you’d best get your butt on out to the car and wait for me there.”
Dean dropped his head in shame and complied immediately. Sam risked a glance up to watch his brother trudging dejectedly out toward the hallway and foyer before looking over to his father.
“What about Amy?” Sam quietly asked. “I mean she’s still out there, and –”
“Amy’s been taken care of,” John firmly stated, and left it at that. There was no need to go into the ugly details of the exorcism he had performed earlier, especially since the girl hadn’t made it through alive. “Get out to the car and tell Dean to head home,” John commanded. “I’ll follow the two of you in my truck after I destroy the altar here.”
Sam nodded, his chest tightening painfully as he made his way toward the door. John grabbed Sam’s shoulder as he passed by, stopping him. He reached down, wordless, and liberated his journal from Sam’s pants with a stern reproachful scowl. With his other hand, John turned his kid sideways and then rapped the book down on the seat of Sam’s jeans hard, once, to show his disapproval. It wasn’t meant to hurt, Sam knew, so much as to provide a foreshadowing of what was to come in the very near future. Sam gulped in fear, slinking miserably off to join Dean outside.
Shadow Pine Apartments
Apartment 28C
Dean sat quietly next to Sam on the stained chintz couch in the living room, biting a thumbnail in a sort of calm dread as he held his breath, waiting for the inevitable. And it wasn’t long in coming either. John had worked up a full head of steam on the drive back to the apartment, his battered journal on the front seat beside him, reminding him over and over again of how close to danger his sons had been tonight. By the time he strode into the small sparsely furnished apartment and slammed the door shut, John was ready to draw and quarter both of them.
“You get a lead on a demon or anything else even remotely paranormal, you tell me!” John seethed, his furious glare boring into both teens as he paced up and down the threadbare carpet of the living room. “What you absolutely do NOT do, is try to go after it yourselves!”
“Yes, sir,” Dean and Sam replied in tandem.
John stopped pacing, rounding on his sons. “How long have you known that that girl was possessed?”
Ooh, Sam thought with an inward wince. This was one interrogation tactic Dad used when he didn’t think he’d get a straight answer from either him or Dean. What seemed like a perfectly innocent inquiry, usually ended up so loaded there was no way you could answer without completely screwing yourself.
“About a week, I guess,” Dean replied unexpectedly.
Sam was pretty flabbergasted at Dean’s honesty. He wasn’t sure if it was because Dean was still reeling from the fact that they’d been busted, or whether Dad’s stern, commanding tone just automatically brought out obedience in his brother. Guess it didn’t really matter at this point. The shit had already hit the fan.
Sam braced himself just in time for John’s explosion.
“A week?!” John said, absolutely livid. “What the hell were you thinking, Dean? Or maybe that’s the problem. You weren’t thinking because you were you too busy trying to get into goldilock’s pants!”
“Well, she was pretty smokin’,” Dean smirked.
John was stunned. “You think this is funny, Dean?” he snapped, reaching down to grab a fistful of Dean’s shirtfront, yanking the eighteen-year-old to his feet. “Maybe after I get done roasting your behind, you won’t think so!”
Dean met his father’s fiery glare, with a ballsy one of his own, his hazel eyes holding steady despite the quaking he felt in his stomach.
“That threat might still work for Sammy, Dad, but c’mon, a spanking?”
Sam wanted to be offended, but hell yeah, it still worked on him. He couldn’t believe Dean’s nerve.
“Jeez, I’m eighteen! A senior in high school! What’s next, you gonna give me a time out?” Dean’s tone crossed the line, and he knew it.
John’s grip on Dean’s shirt tightened, his knuckles going white. His chest heaved in anger, the controlled rage flowing off him in waves.
“You’ve been getting a little too bold with that mouth of yours lately, pal” John commented, a nasty, calculated tone etched in his voice as he eyed the teen dangerously. “And, you know, it’s been a while since you’ve been over my knee, Dean. My mistake.”
John’s eyes narrowed, making Dean falter a little. “I’m thinking a sore butt might just be the refresher you need to remind you who gives the orders around here.”
“Really?” Dean asked, trying hard to remain impassive.
“You think your old man can’t lay down some heat anymore?” John challenged, raising a brow.
“No, sir,” Dean calmly replied. “I’m just thinking that after being clawed by a hell hound, knifed by a zombie and almost decapitated and eaten by a really pissed off vetala…well, a sore butt isn’t really that big a deal anymore, you know? I get bruises all the time now. I really don’t think your hand on my ass is gonna do much for me.”
John’s smile was positively glacial, his voice low and threatening, carrying a note of apocalyptic measure to it. “Yeah? Well, how ‘bout we test that theory, son?”
His eyes never leaving Dean’s defiant countenance, John addressed his youngest, who was still huddled on the couch, green eyes wide with alarm. “Samuel. Bedroom. Now.”
Sam was a blur as he vaulted off the couch and flew down the short hallway to his room.
John waited until he heard the bedroom door click shut before letting go of Dean with a rough shove. He stood back, flexing his broad shoulders and hard muscled biceps, letting his dominant posture speak for itself. Because he’d be goddamned if he was going to let his punk-ass, snot-nosed, eighteen-year-old think he was cock of the roost.
Dean squared his shoulders, chin jutting, ready to accept his spanking. He chuckled to himself at that. A spanking, for crying out loud. Yeah, like that was going to do anything. He watched in mild curiosity as John’s hands dropped to his waist, fingers clamping around his belt buckle and fingering it purposefully. What the hell?
“Since you seem to think my hand’s not hard enough to make much of an impression on you anymore, smart ass, I guess I’ll just have to use something with a little more sting,” John intoned darkly as he threaded his heavy leather belt out of the loops in his jeans.
Dean’s jaw fell open, a strangled choke filtering from his mouth. Son of a bitch, he thought with growing horror. Dad was going to use his freaking belt! In all of Dean’s eighteen years, John had never taken his belt to either him or Sam. His hand? Sure, in fact that seemed to be his dad’s preferred implement of torture. A hairbrush? Eh, a couple times when they were younger and had stayed at Bobby’s place. His belt? Nada, nope, nuh uh, never. Crap.
“Dean James,” John spoke his name like a drill sergeant doing roll call, and Dean’s head instantly snapped up to attention, although his face showed a certain amount of frustration at being totally outmaneuvered by his dad.
John sat down on one of the wide arms of the sofa and patted his lap, motioned Dean over to him with a sinister smile that would have made Freddie Kreuger tremble. “Let’s go, over the lap. You know the drill.”
The sting of his dad’s condescending tone proved a hard pill to swallow, and Dean once again felt compelled to parry the blow with a caustic one of his own, just to let John know he hadn’t necessarily scored a direct hit. Dean let fly as he was bending over his father’s lap, throwing an eye roll in for good measure.
“You know, this is so not gonna be the big demonstration you think it will be, Dad,” Dean bluffed snarkily. “I mean, you raised us to be tough, to be warriors. Some kid’s punishment is not going to make me cry.”
Jesus fuck me, John thought in utter confoundment. The little idiot just didn’t know when to quit! He remembered back to when he was Dean’s age and sighed. Yeah, that was about the same time he had started getting lippy and arrogant, thinking he was an adult who didn’t need to listen to the rules, that he knew more than his old man. The marine corp had trained that right of out him, though. But, John had no inclination to ship his eldest off to basic training, especially not when he could provide his own version of hell week right here and now.
John stopped Dean’s forward motion with a hand to the scruff of Dean’s neck, pulling the teenager back upright but not letting go, forcing Dean to hunch over uncomfortably.
“You’re right. I did raise you to be tough. And, hell, I wouldn’t want you to feel any less of a man, Dean-o,” John sarcastically said, patting the side of his son’s pants leg with his free hand. “So, you can just drop trou, kiddo. We’re gonna do this on the bare. Think that’ll be tough enough for you?”
Dean suddenly froze, feeling all of five years old as his legs began to shake in fearful anticipation of what his stupidity and mouthiness had wrought. Dad’s belt…on his bare, as in totally unprotected, SO-not-tough ass…um, not looking too optimistic about the outcome here, Roger…
“You need some help losing the jeans?” John warned, a glint in his eye.
“No, sir,” Dean quickly chimed. Things had gotten bad enough, he didn’t need his pissed off dad undressing him like he was a toddler!
Dean unbuckled his belt, hating the feel of the leather under his shaking fingers, knowing its cousin would soon be reaching out and touching him a very extra special way. He winced at that thought and continued on, popping the button on his bootcut Levi’s and peeling down the zipper, cringing at how loud it sounded in the heavy silence of the room. With a rueful glance over to his dad, Dean shoved his jeans and boxer briefs down to his knees, in one fluid move and straightened back up, blushing.
“Let’s go, Mr. Man,” John scolded.
He reached out to help guide Dean face down over his lap, positioning the teen so that Dean’s exposed butt was presented in all its glory and his torso was draped over the far side of the sofa arm. Dean braced himself and let his head drop to touch the couch cushion, nestling between his outstretched arms.
Not seeing any sense in prolonging the inevitable, John brought his belt down hard, nailing Dean across the center of both upturned cheeks, the leather wrapping a little to lick against Dean’s hip as well. Dean bit back a hiss of pain, stiffening and waiting for the next lick. He didn’t have long to wait. John swung down again, this time leaving a searing line of pain that criss-crossed the first one, and Dean actually flinched, but still maintained his silence, although his breathing became a bit louder.
John sighed inwardly, both admiring and despising Dean’s stoic attitude. Kid had balls, always had, but this was not the time to be brandishing them. This was going to get ugly if he didn’t do something quick, John decided. He tightened his hold on Dean, hugging the teen up closer to his body in preparation for the struggle he knew was coming.
Dean felt his father pause and then he let out a startled whoof of air as John pinned Dean down rather snugly. Dean was about to comment on the excessive intimacy when he heard the whistle of the belt and then a split second later, felt ared-hot brand of fire shoot across his upper thighs. Dean didn’t have time to react other than to go wide-eyed, because John followed that little zinger with a procession of caustic licks across his sit spot that instantly loosened Dean’s vocal cords right up. He hollered in pain, legs kicking as much as his crumpled jeans would allow.
“JESUS FUCKING A!” Dean swore, eyes tearing up at the intense throbbing burn now setting up home across his ass.
“That’s extra for swearing, Dean,” John curtly reported.
Well of course it is, Dean thought regretfully, yelping and flinching now with every strike of the belt. Because, hey, me and my mouth said we were big bad-asses and we could take it…big, stupid, dumb-ass mouth. He must have been out of his mind, or no, possessed, to have ever thought for one second that his dad couldn’t teach him a lesson with an old-fashioned butt whipping.
John spanked Dean’s cherry red backside, putting a little more swing into it to emphasize his point. At that point, Dean didn’t even try to stop the tears as they began to fall. Screw that, it fucking HURT!
“Dad, please!” Dean finally cried out, turning his head to look over his shoulder. “I get it, I do! You’re the dad and I’m the kid! And I totally screwed up!”
John stopped, laying the belt down on the sofa arm beside him. “You ready to lose the mouthy attitude?” he asked.
Dean nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir! I’m sorry! I’m sorry I was a snot and I’m sorry for not telling you about Amy and for dragging Sammy into this mess and for taking your journal without permission. And I’m REAL sorry for saying I was tougher than you!”
John let a smirk pass over his lips. Ah, the moment of realization every teenager comes to one way or another. “Okay, Dean, I think you and I are on the same page now. So, we’ll just get your extra swats for cursing out of the way, and we’ll be done here.”
“What?!” Dean groaned, but didn’t have time to complain further.
John smacked his son’s flaming rear end with his hand half a dozen times, causing Dean to grunt in pain. Then John stopped, just as quickly as he’d begun, and let Dean compose himself over his lap, waiting until Dean’s breathing evened out and the wet sniffles died away. With gentle hands, John helped Dean get up from his lap, averting his eyes as Dean bent down to pull up his pants, stifling a groan as the fabric brushed across his aching butt. He couldn’t help reaching back and gingerly rubbing at his tenderized rear.
Dean stood, head down, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his other hand as John quietly studied his firstborn.
“I’m sorry too,” John softly said, and Dean looked up, frowning in mild surprise. “I’m sorry it had to come to this,” John elaborated.
He stood up and placed a warm hand on the back of Dean’s tanned neck, squeezing. “You’re eighteen, Dean. Pretty much a man,” Dean blushed, not feeling very much like a man. “Hell, I was out in the jungle fighting the Vietcong when I was not much older than you.”
John moved his hand from his son’s neck to his jaw, raising Dean’s head so the two could look at one another eye to eye. “But man or not, you are still my son. Times like tonight, when you let your cockiness and stubbornness get the better of you, that isn’t ever going to be okay with me. It could have cost you your life…and Sammy’s.”
Dean paled, a look of fear crossing his face. “Dad, I’d never let anything happen to Sam, I swear.”
“I know you wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to him, Dean, and that you’d do everything in your power to protect your little brother, but what exactly did you think you’d be able to do against a full blown demon?”
“I…I don’t know,” Dean’s voice faltered. “I mean, I’ve killed a werewolf before, and I help you all the time on hunts. I guess I just figured this wouldn’t be any different.”
“All those other times, son, I was there with you. I had your back, making sure you were safe and following procedures,” John affirmed. “What did you think? That I’d leave you out to dry this time?”
“No, Dad, I…I just wanted to do it myself…” Dean whispered, pulling away from his dad’s hand, a sad frown on his face.
John nodded and reached out to pat his son gently on the back, rubbing slow circles over his spine. “I understand,” he said. “And when the time is right, champ, you’ll get plenty of opportunities to go on solo hunts and show me what you can do. I have no doubt that you’ll end up being twice the hunter that I am.” Dean looked up, a faint smile of awe on his lips. “But,” John added, grabbing Dean’s shoulder and giving it a little shake, “That time isn’t now. You have school to finish first, because I fully expect you to apply yourself and graduate, kiddo.”
It was Dean’s turn to nod. “Got it, sir.”
“So, we clear on the rules?” John questioned and Dean nodded. “Got your attitude under control and your mouth on lock down?” Dean gave a soft snort but nodded once more. “Good, then hit the shower, buddy. I need to go see a ninth grader about a certain journal he pilfered and remind him of the rules about lying, stealing and recklessness.”
John started to turn away, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Hey, Dad, go easy on Sammy,” Dean urged, giving John a pleading look. “I was the one that talked him into tonight. He really wanted to tell you, but he didn’t want to be disloyal and rat me out, you know? He doesn’t deserve the belt for this.”
“Not unless he decides to get smart ass with me,” John smirked, feeling the need to lighten the mood some. “You didn’t talk him into trying that, did you?”
John grinned at Dean’s suffering groan, and then pushed his son down the hallway in front of him. “Go on. A long hot shower will do you some good and give you time to think on what we just talked about. And Dean?”
“Yes, sir?”
“The next girl you wanna get hot and heavy with? You might want to try whispering Christo into her ear first, just to see what happens,” John suggested with a hint of wryness.
Dean gave John a brief embarrassed smile and veered off into the bathroom, still rubbing his aching behind. He shut the door behind him as John continued on down the hall to the boys’ bedroom.
“Had some time to think about what happened tonight?” John asked his youngest son as he strode into the bedroom, frowning at the messy piles of clothes all over the floor and the clutter of books, soda cans and empty take out cartons decorating the dresser, desk and windowsill.
“I thought I told you to pick up in here, Samuel,” John’s voice was stern and full of censure.
Sam blinked. He wasn’t expecting a reprimand about that, at least not right now. He grimaced as he glanced frantically about the room at the mess. “I was going to do it right after school, honest, but, we uh…we…you know,” Sam’s voice trailed off in defeat. “Guess I’ll be doing it first thing in the morning,” he mumbled.
“You got that right,” John stated as he stepped around a mound of tennis shoes coming to stand directly in front of Sam. “Apparently you’re having trouble remembering a lot of my orders lately.”
Sam cringed at that. He’d heard Dean’s yells and the loud cracks of something other than his dad’s hand on his brother’s bare bottom, and knew things weren’t boding well for him.
“What do you have to say for yourself, Samuel?” John demanded.
“I should have come told you what Dean was planning,” Sam confided sadly, eyes on his kneecaps. “I should have tried harder to talk him out of it, and I shouldn’t have helped him.”
John sighed deeply. “It’s not wrong to want to help your brother, Sammy. I expect you and Dean to watch out for one another and to have each other’s back. But, you’re still a couple of inexperienced rookies, and what you tried to do tonight was just plain reckless and could have gotten you both killed.”
“I know,” Sam replied tearfully.
“You want to help Dean? Be his conscience when he needs it,” John advised. “You’re smart, Samuel, and your brother listens to you sometimes even when he won’t listen to me. And when Dean won’t listen? You come to me, okay?”
Sam nodded, crying silently now. John swallowed hard. He hated how small and lost his youngest looked right now.
“Don’t ever feel like you’re being a turncoat by not keeping a secret when that secret can endanger your life or Dean’s,” John gently stated, reaching down to squeeze one of Sam’s shoulders. “Now, about my journal,” he warned, and Sam sighed, knowing what was coming. “If I ever catch you with it again without my permission, I will wear my belt out on your little butt until you can forget about ever sitting down in your lifetime again. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Sam choked, swallowing hard. His dad had never threatened to spank him with his belt!
John grunted and motioned for Sam to stand up. He took a seat on the bed where Sam had been, giving his teenager a surly frown.
“I guess you know what’s coming now, Samuel,” John growled. “I want the jeans and briefs down and you over my lap by the count of five.”
Sam scrambled to comply and was in position by three-and-a-half. He stared hard at the lint balls covering the blanket of his bed, then shut his eyes tightly when he felt his dad tensing up in preparation for the first swat. It cracked down on Sam’s naked bottom, causing him to clench up from the sharp sting, which slowly evaporated into an uncomfortable, prickly warmth.
John paddled Sam firmly with his hand, covering the teen’s ass from top to bottom with a continuous succession of smarting swats, each one harder and more painful than the last. Sam began to make little, desperate ‘ow’ noises which then escalated into full blown howls after a dozen more smacks. He jerked and kicked as the spanking continued, his butt now feeling as if someone was pressing it up against the side of a blast furnace.
“Have I made myself clear about what I expect from you?” John asked, his arm rising and falling in a swift cadence.
“Yes, sir!” Sam bawled in misery. “Don’t keep secrets from you, and don’t touch your journal or other important stuff.”
“That’s right,” John encouraged, slowing the spanking down, getting ready to finish up. “Am I going to be getting any more calls from family friends telling me my youngest kid is up to something he shouldn’t be?”
“Huh uh! No, sir,” Sam promised, eyes sparkling with tears.
“Okay, then, looks like we’re done here,” John stated firmly and dropped his hand, finishing the spanking.
He gave Sam a few gentle pats on the back, murmuring soothing words as the boy quietly sobbed and then reached up to stroke the teen’s soft, chestnut-colored hair, threading his fingers through the long strands at the nape of his neck.
Sam seemed to relax at his father’s comforting touch and he managed to bring his emotions under control, his chest still hitching now and again, but the tears now only dried streaks on his face which he scrubbed away with his sleeve. John carefully pulled Sam’s jeans and briefs up to just below his sore, glowing bottom, letting the boy grab them and adjust them the rest of the way as he got up from John’s lap.
“M’sorry, Dad,” Sam sniffled, casting a remorseful pout at John as he tried to rub the sting out of his backside with little success. “I won’t ever do something that stupid again, I promise.”
John bit back an amused grin, knowing very well that a thoroughly spanked bottom could bring out a veritable litany of outlandish and unkeepable promises. He also knew that Sam was at the age where he was beginning to question everything and everyone, testing the waters and stretching his wings in a bid for independence and adulthood. But, for right now, John had his baby boy who still needed him, if not as often as before, at least enough to keep John feeling like he was still a necessary part of Sam’s life.
“Just follow orders and use your head, Sam, and hopefully we won’t have to replay this little scene again, got it?”
Sam nodded his assurance, and then smiled thankfully when John held his arms open, giving his son a warm, heartfelt smile. Sam sank into the comforting safety of his father’s hug, his body relaxing as he clamped his arms around John’s neck tightly.
“Get some sleep, Sam I Am,” John whispered, using the old nickname he’d given Sam when he was still in diapers. “Your brother’ll be in after he gets out of the shower. And I want the both of you to hit the sack, lights out.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam said, speaking against the side of his dad’s neck.
John let Sam go and watched as he picked up a pair of what he hoped were clean sweat pants from the mass of clothing on the floor. “Night, kiddo,” John softly said.
“Night, Dad,” Sam answered back, busy trying to slide the sweat pants on without actually having the fabric touch his butt until it had to.
Apartment 28C
Living room
“No, I didn’t tell them. I took the body out behind the house and salted and burned it after they left,” John spoke into his cell phone, his voice carrying a weary, melancholy note to it. “She was already missing anyway, so I guess she’ll stay missing. Look, I appreciate the heads up, Bobby. This could have turned into the second worst night of my life if you hadn’t called.”
“That’s what friends are for John,” Bobby replied. “Hell, you know as well as I do, that your boys are the closest thing I’ll ever have to my own set of young’uns.”
“You want ‘em? I’ll sell ‘em to you cheap,” John quipped.
Bobby chuckled. “I’m not sure who’d be getting the shorter end of that deal,” he mused. “You still planning on packing up and coming to visit for a spell?”
“If you don’t mind,” John replied.
“Nope, you and the boys are always welcome here.”
“Thanks, Bobby,” John said. “I figure by the time we get everything loaded and head out, it’ll be after nightfall before we hit your place. That work for you?”
“I’ll leave the porch light on and there’ll be a fresh pot of caffeine waiting for ya,” Bobby declared. “See you tomorrow night then, John.”
“Will do,” John confirmed and ended the call. He sat back, leaning his head against the top of the sofa, staring into the silence of the darkened living room.
He hadn’t told Dean or Sam yet that they were leaving, but he assumed they knew. That was the usual drill. Something bad goes down in a town they are staying in, and the Winchesters pack up and move out within twenty-four hours afterwards.
They were safer that way, never setting down permanent roots. But there was also the loneliness and instability and a rushed sense of desperation to this life, John reluctantly admitted. Even so, he was willing to give up almost anything to keep his family protected. They may not have much, but he, Dean and Sam had one another and that was at the top of John’s list of priorities and always would be.
THE END
Danville, Kentucky
Amy Mitchell could make Dean hard just by walking down the hall to her locker in between classes. He couldn’t help but stare hungrily at her muscled legs, lean, bare and climbing all the way up to her short plaid mini skirt that just managed to cover what Dean could only describe as the sweetest, firmest ass he’d ever seen. Which, of course, Dean concluded with a little groan of appreciation, complemented ever so nicely the perky rack Miss Mitchell sported in front.
He loved the way her long, dark blonde hair glinted like strands of burnished gold in the light, swaying against the back of her tight little knit top when she walked. And she didn’t just walk, she strutted like she owned the place. Because she kinda did, Dean thought, not without a little admiration. She was a newcomer to the tight-knit senior class, Danville being one of those places where there wasn’t a lot of movement and you ended up marrying your cousin right out of highschool, and yet, Amy had pretty much taken over the school with her sultry smile, charming nature and smokin’ hot looks.
Yeah, Dean thought with a hint of a smirk climbing onto his lips, she was one tasty babe. And despite the posh Ken-dolls who were lining up to carry her books, Amy Mitchell had picked Dean, hoisting him immediately up the high school food chain. The two of them had clicked instantly when they’d been assigned as lab partners in chemistry, both having the same wild streak, smug confidence, and sarcastic attitude that earned them glares and detention slips from Mr. Connors, their chemistry teacher, and sighs of admiration from their classmates.
If ever there was a girl for Dean Winchester, a girl that was his total complement in every way, it was definitely Amy. There was just one tiny problem...Amy Mitchell was possessed.
Lunchbox Café
Corner of Main and 3rd
“Okay...so tell me again why you think your girlfriend’s a demon?” Sam asked warily.
The fourteen-year-old reached across the scratched formica table of the half-empty diner, his long fingers snagging a few of the french-fries from his older brother’s plate as he waited for Dean to answer his question. He’d scarfed down his own meal already, but was still hungry, a by-product of his recent growth spurt no doubt.
Dean and Sam were sitting at their usual booth in the rear of the Lunchbox Café, a tiny downtown establishment in the bucolic southern town of Danville, Kentucky where John had settled them to finish out Dean’s last semester of high school. The late afternoon sunlight slanting through the open blinds of the café window where the two sat was muted, filtering in through a slow-moving contingent of dusky, grey autumn clouds that threatened rain.
Sam stuffed the stolen fries into his mouth all at once, munching on them, and quirked a pensive eyebrow at Dean who took another big bite of his cheeseburger, noisily sucking up a loose piece of onion that had tried to escape from his mouth. Sam crinkled his nose in disgust at the wet, slurping sound. Why did Dean have to be so gross all the time? he silently wondered. And he just had to order extra onions again, didn’t he? ‘Cause yeah, Sam thought bitterly, who would be paying for that later? There were definite disadvantages to sharing a room with an eighteen-year-old slob. Sam shut his eyes, trying to ignore Dean’s sloppy eating to focus on the more important issue at hand.
Dean had driven them to the diner straight from school, hissing to Sam that they needed to “talk.” Sam had been reluctant at first. He had a lot of homework to do, besides their usual chores and training. But one look at Dean’s face, and Sam could tell this was something big. He just hadn’t realized how big.
“Sam, I’ve already explained it to you. She’s a demon. Trust me on this,” Dean stated around a mouthful of burger.
Sam licked his lips, frowning. “Yeah, but how sure are you?”
“Pretty sure,” Dean replied, growing slightly annoyed at Sam’s continued skepticism.
“Okay, you gotta be more than ‘pretty’ sure, Dean. I mean, you’re talking about doing an exorcism…” Sam’s voice faded off, his face carrying an almost pained expression, showing how badly he wanted to believe his brother but, still….
“I’m REALLY pretty sure,” Dean insisted, rolling his eyes and dropping his half-eaten burger back onto his plate, his lips thinning in irritation.
“Look, I wish it wasn’t true, believe me,” he said. “But all signs point to demon possession, Sam.” He grabbed a napkin up from the stack of them on the table and swiped at the dab of ketchup clinging to the corner of his mouth, then crumpled the paper napkin up and tossed it onto the table next to his plate.
Dean spread his arms wide on the table in front of him, leaning in close, the front of his jacket almost dipping over onto his plate, and fixed a serious look on Sam. “I mean, totally hot chick shows up out of nowhere and instantly becomes the hit of the school…no one knows where she transferred from or anything about her and, get this, no one evens seems to really care either, besides me.”
“Yeah, and let’s not forget the fact that she’s all into you. That’s a sure sign of evil possession,” Sam quipped, grinning and pulling back when Dean reached across the table to take a swipe at him.
Dean scowled at his little brother. “Real funny, Captain Zit-face,” he retorted. “I’m serious here, Sammy. I did some checking on her after she kept refusing to let me come in whenever I picked her up or dropped her off at her house.”
“Yeah, ‘cause there couldn’t be any other reason she’d want to keep you out of her bedroom.”
“Shut up,” Dean said, glaring. “Turns out nobody’s living there.”
“What?” Sam leaned in again, eyes glinting with interest.
Dean nodded. “Yeah, empty house, dude. The place has been on the sale block for the past six months.”
Sam thought for a moment, forehead wrinkling underneath his long, shaggy bangs. He chewed on his bottom lip before looking up and speaking. “Okay…that’s kinda weird, I’ll give you that, but it’s still not necessarily demonic, Dean.” Sam shrugged. “Maybe she’s a runaway or something?”
“Sam, how many runaways stop off somewhere to enroll themselves in school?” Dean asked, tilting his head and lifting a skeptical eyebrow at the teen.
“Good point,” Sam conceded quietly. He took a drink of his soda, and gave a little stubborn shake of his head, glancing back up at Dean. “I’m still not ready to tie Amy up and start throwing holy water at her.”
Dean sighed, shooting an exasperated look at Sam. Little Sammy, the voice of reason – never could just believe. Always had to do a full inquisition before committing to anything. No wonder Dad always wanted to kick his ass these days, Dean thought wearily.
“Did you try saying Christo?” Sam offered. He tried to snag a few more fries off Dean’s plate, but Dean smacked his hand, giving him a warning glare as if to say ‘get your own’.
“No, I didn’t try Christo, Sam,” Dean tiredly snapped, shoving his plate of fries across the table to his brother with a loud sigh after Sam gave him his sad puppy look. “I don’t want to tip her off. Last thing I need is for her to have the advantage, you know?”
Sam munched on the french fries in silence, listening as Dean continued his story.
“So, me and Amy were down by the football field after class yesterday –”
“Making out,” Sam said around a mouthful of fries, grinning.
Dean paused to glare, but otherwise ignored the little smartass. “And like this big black cat was over hanging out by the dumpster near the bleachers, right? So, as we pass by, the thing goes nuts. I mean like full on bat shit. Starts hissing and yowling…the whole arched back thing – totally freaked me out.”
Sam stopped chewing, his mouth going slack as he sat up straighter in the booth, eyes riveted on Dean now. Dean panned around the diner, checking to make sure no one was nearby, eavesdropping. His voice fell to a low, serious whisper.
“So, here I am, wondering what the hell’s got the cat all spooked and wishing I had one of Dad’s guns, and I look over at Amy, you know, to see if she’s all right. And, Amy, she just has this kinda, I don’t know, creepy smile on her face. She glances at the cat over her shoulder as we walk by and all of a sudden, there’s like dead silence.” Dean paled a bit, the freckles across the bridge of his nose standing out in relief. “So, I turn around and the cat’s lying on the asphalt, stiff as a board – legs stuck out frozen.”
“It was dead?” Sam gasped, eyes going wide.
Dean nodded, his face broadcasting his unease. “Stone cold, dude,” he replied shakily which made Sam nervous. Dean never got scared.
“What’d you do?” Sam whispered.
“Well, I stood there a minute, thinking what the hell?” Dean said. He swallowed hard, goosebumps scattering across his bare arms as he continued. “I turn to Amy and...she’s kind of giggling. Totally creeped me out, you know? The hair on the back of my neck just stood up, Sammy. Seriously. It’s like that cat knew what Amy was and it freaked out, so Amy or whatever she is, just up and ganked it!”
“Holy crap,” Sam gaped.
“Yeah, that - only times a million,” Dean replied, taking a long deep draw of his soda to calm his nerves. “That wasn’t the end of it though,” he continued, eyes shadowed and full of unease. “She’s been dropping all these strange hints lately.”
“Like what kinda hints?” Sam puzzled.
Dean hesitated, not wanting to scare Sam, but knowing he needed to explain if he was ever going to get his brother to go along with his plan.
“Well, like we were in my car, listening to the radio, and she up and says with this nasty smirk how her favorite song is ‘Hells Bells’. Oh, and when Christy McDowell was wanting Amy and some other girls to come hear her sing in her church choir, Amy told her she wouldn’t set foot in a church, and when Christy asked why, Amy laughed and said she’d burn to a cinder if she tried. Yeah, everyone else just laughed at that, but Amy had this funny look in her eye, like she wasn’t kidding, you know?”
Sam nodded slowly, waiting for Dean to go on.
“But the absolute creepiest thing, Sammy,” Dean finally declared, “Is she keeps asking me what Dad does for a living, and if I’ll grow up to be just like him.” Dean cringed slightly at the memory. “She like looked right at me, into me, when she asked that. And just a bunch of other stuff,” Dean trailed off with a shudder.
Dean glanced up, surprised to see a whisper of a smirk on Sam’s face. He caught Sam’s eye, frowning a little, and Sam quickly looked down to the table top, lips quivering as if to keep from laughing.
“What?” Dean questioned, confused.
“I was just thinking…” Sam stated, amusement clearly in his voice.
“Sam, what?” Dean asked, eyes now glinting with impatience and a hint of irritation.
Sam flicked his eyes up to Dean, the smile that was threatening to show itself earlier now popping out on his face in full bloom. “Dude, you had demon tongue down your throat! Gross!”
Dean blinked, not expecting the reproof. “Well it’s not like I knew - ” he angrily retorted, but Sam cut him off, shaking his head, snorting and pointing.
“You’ve known for the past two days at least!”
“Okay, yeah, but…” Dean stuttered, blushing, unable to regain his composure under his brother’s accusatory assault. “I didn't know for sure!”
“Dean, demon tongue,” Sam uttered, emphasizing the words with a nasty curl to his lip.
“I know…but…she’s really hot…” he whined helplessly and then clamped his mouth shut, staring hard at the table top in front of him, feeling the heat slowly creeping across his neck and face as Sam continued to snicker.
“You know, Dean, every once in a while it’s okay to use your upstairs brain. Seriously. It’s prob’ly not gonna cause irreparable damage,” Sam offered innocently.
“Shut up!” Dean stormed, looking up to glower at his brother. He gave Sam the once over, snorting in disgust. “At least my downstairs brain gets used!”
Sam gaped, blinking, the tips of his ears flushing pink. “I use mine! I – ” he stopped, breathing hard, glaring at Dean, his bitchface out and ready to go. “You know what?” Sam said quietly, his voice calm but heated, “I’m not having this conversation with you, Dean. I’m just not.”
“Fine,” Dean snottily shot back. “So, back to Amy. I’m thinking we do a little exorcism on her and whammo!” Dean snapped his fingers. “No more demon. Just a normal hot chick.”
“Okay, so let’s tell Dad and – ”
Dean cut Sam off, hands going up in front of him in alarm as if he was waving off a charging bull. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. No telling Dad, Sammy.”
“What? Why?” Sam asked in agitation. He ran a hand through his long, thick locks, staring at Dean as if he were delirious and babbling incoherently. “Dean, we gotta tell Dad if you want him to perform the exorcism. I mean, unless you were thinking of calling Bobby?”
“No calling anyone. We do this ourselves,” Dean announced with smug assurance.
Sam let out a short incredulous bark of laughter, causing the waitress by the counter to turn and look at him. “Dude, are you nuts?!” Sam hissed, trying to keep his voice down despite his rising trepidation. “We’ve never done an exorcism on anybody before! Dad’s never even let us watch while he’s done one. He’s said it’s too dangerous. Dean –”
Dean put up a hand, stopping his brother in mid-rant. He shook his head firmly for emphasis. “We’re not telling anyone, Sam. I’m serious. Now you can help me or I’ll just do it alone.” Sam’s countenance fell at the look of determination on Dean’s face. “I don’t care either way,” Dean shrugged and went on, somewhat hurt by Sam’s lack of faith in him. “I just thought you’d like to lend me a hand, you know?”
“This has got to be the craziest thing you’ve ever done,” Sam mumbled, shoulders slumped in resignation. “And you’ve done some pretty wild things, Dean,” he added as an afterthought, fixing Dean with a rather pissy glare. Not that it would change his brother’s mind. Sam sighed heavily, and gave a reluctant nod. “Okay, all right, I’ll do it. But we’re gonna need to do some research before we start this.”
“Sounds good,” Dean grinned wide, knowing he’d won Sam over. He reached for his wallet, grabbing a few dollars out and throwing them onto the table. “You go research, geek boy, and I’ll keep an eye on Amy.”
Sam slid out of the booth, following his brother, still having trouble believing he’d just agreed to perform an exorcism on the most popular girl in their high school.
“Just remember, she’s a demon, okay?” Sam admonished, a hint of desperation in his voice. He knew Dean and his weakness for pretty girls. Sam stuck a finger in his brother’s back, his voice scolding. “No matter how hot she is, Dean, you’d be getting it on with hellspawn and that’s just...beyond wrong, man.”
“So, you admit she’s hot,” Dean said with a grin.
“I just don’t want any demon spawn nieces and nephews, Dean!”
“Keep you’re voice down,” Dean admonished, scowling as he unlocked the Impala. He turned to Sam, eyes narrowing. “I’ll try to resist the temptation. Now, zip it or you’re walking to the library, Samantha, ‘cause he who has the car keys, calls the shots.”
“Whatever, jerk,” Sam huffed, getting into the car.
“Right back at ya, bitch,” Dean replied as he started the car and pulled out into the late afternoon traffic.
Doherty Library
Centre College
“What d’ya got, Einstein?” Dean asked, peering over Sam’s shoulder as the younger teen hunched over the keyboard of one of the rows of computers in the college library.
Although a small town, Danville was home to a rather impressive liberal arts college, which gave Sam and Dean access to not only a wider selection of books on the occult, but also a computer with internet access. Sam had quickly rejected the limited resources of the local public library in favor of the cushier set-up, Dean came to keep an eye on Sam and chat up the college girls.
Sam ran the mouse over the tabletop, clicking on an icon onscreen and sat back, gazing up past his shoulder to Dean. “I checked the missing persons database, and - ”
“You hacked into a national database?” Dean raised his brows, sounding impressed. He swatted Sam once on the shoulder, smiling. “Way to go, Sammy! I knew your lack of a social life was worth the sacrifice.”
Sam glared up at Dean, mouth pursed in annoyance. “Shut up!” he said defensively. “Do you want to hear what I found or not?”
Dean chuckled at his little brother’s injured tone, but backed off. “Yeah, okay, go ahead,” he softly encouraged.
Sam uncrossed his arms, fingers flying over the keyboard with practiced ease as he called up several screens on the computer monitor. “Okay, so I checked missing persons and got a hit.” Sam pointed to the screen. “Amy Mitchell. Seventeen years old. She was on her way to school in Flint, Michigan, three months ago...and never made it. Nobody’s seen her since.”
Dean stared at Amy’s picture on the computer screen, his blood running cold. It was one thing to suspect his girlfriend was a demon. It was totally another to actually have solid confirmation of that fact. Dean blew a ragged breath from between his lips, giving Sam a dejected sidelong glance as he sighed heavily.
“Well, guess getting to third base with her is kind of a no go, huh?” Dean derisively concluded.
Sam huffed and rolled his eyes in disbelief. “Dude, this isn’t funny. We have to tell Dad. This thing may be after you,” Sam said, the concern in his voice apparent.
“We don’t know that, Sammy,” Dean challenged, his brows scrunching together, waving a hand as if to dismiss that notion all together. “I mean, maybe she just has good taste in men...” That sounded lame even to him, Dean concluded. Sam was totally unconvinced.
“Dean, why would a demon hijack a body in Michigan and then come all the way down here to Kentucky to enroll in high school?” Sam heatedly questioned his brother. “She’s obviously after something... and you’re not that attractive!” He said, cutting Dean off before he could answer.
Dean chewed his bottom lip. He didn’t like where this conversation was going.
“Look, you were right, okay? I’m sorry I doubted you,” Sam said. He gazed up at Dean, a look of determination adding a glint of fire to his emerald eyes. “This demon is here for a reason, Dean. And it just seems to me that you could be in real danger!”
Sam gave his brother a pleading look, his eyes searching Dean’s for confirmation. Dean offered none. Instead, Dean’s features hardened, his hazel eyes becoming unreadable as the familiar wall of aloofness went up around him.
“Holy crap, do I need to break out the Midol?” Dean snapped, straightening up and folding his arms across his chest. “What’s with the emo, hold me, I’m all scared for you bullshit, all of a sudden, Sam?” Dean’s entire demeanor now radiated an indignant defensiveness that Sam knew all too well and hated.
“Maybe she’s not after me at all,” Dean sullenly declared, his jaw tightening as he leaned up against the side of the table next to Sam.
“Yeah, she could be using you to get to someone else. Like Dad, maybe,” Sam said worriedly.
Dean’s features softened a tad when he caught the sulky frown his brusque tone had put on Sam’s face. “Yeah, maybe,” he agreed, reluctantly. “And if that’s the case, Sam, then we can’t tell dad anything ‘cause that’ll just put him at risk.” Dean shook his head, an expression of certainty coming over him. “No, we do this alone.”
Sam remained silent, looking down at his lap, but he nodded once to indicate he’d go along with Dean’s wishes. For now.
Donnie’s Auto Repair Three days later...
John Winchester wiped his grease-stained hands on the rag he kept tucked into the pocket of his work coveralls before grabbing up his ringing cell phone, flipping it open and bringing it up to his ear.
“Yeah?” John inquired, absently reaching up to wipe a bead of sweat from the side of his face near his temple.
“Hey, Johnny, how’s the deep south treatin’ ya?” Bobby Singer’s hard-scrabble twang came over the line, sounding both familiar and strange at the same time to John.
John let a tired smile play over his stubbled face, almost wishing he’d just let his voice mail pick up the call. Not that he didn’t want to talk with Bobby, but he was at work and couldn’t afford to get fired for goofing off. Dean still had a few more months before he graduated. After that, John could tell his shit-head boss to fuck off and he could pack up his family and get the hell out of Dodge and back to chasing down the son of a bitch that had killed Mary.
“I’m making do as usual,” John said in his quiet, deep tone. “You got a reason for calling me, Singer, other than to shoot the shit?”
Bobby chuckled. “Don’t I always?” he said.
“Gotta job for me?”
“Maybe,” Bobby replied, hesitant. “But, you might wanna be asking your youngest about that rather than me.”
John’s smile disappeared. “What’s going on Bobby?” he demanded, making it sound more like a threat than a request.
“Got an interesting call from Sammy…” Bobby said suggestively, “he asked me some pretty specific questions about demons and how to exorcise ‘em.”
John’s face became stonier, his eyes darkening with concern and anger. “He wouldn’t…”
“Yeah, well, he asked me not to tell you, so I thought I’d better give you the head’s up.”
“If Dean and Sam are trying to go after a demon by themselves, I’m going to kill those two,” John intoned darkly.
“May have to get in line, John,” Bobby replied. “If there is a demon, and I’m thinking there is, then it sounds like it’s already got a head start. I did some checking after Sam’s call and found a few things...”
“Fuck,” John seethed, shutting his eyes in fury, his jaw muscles clenching so hard his teeth hurt.
Goggin Lane
11:58PM
“Jesus friggin’Christ!” Dean complained in a loud whisper, staring unhappily at the incantation written in his dad’s journal. “This is like three pages of...not English!”
He and Sam crouched in the dirt amidst the neatly trimmed magnolia bushes flanking the colonnaded front porch of the house where Amy Mitchell, or more accurately, the demon who was possessing her, had been squatting. The moon, not quite full yet, cast wavering shadows along the dewy expanse of lawn and up the side of the two-story house.
“Well of course it’s not English,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. He was amazed at how his older brother could sometimes be so self-assured and yet so naïve at the same time. Sam leaned over, adjusting the flashlight Dean held so that it pointed at the top of the first page. “It’s the Rituale Romanum, Dean. Romanum, meaning Roman? As in Latin. What did you expect?”
“I expect you to shut up,” Dean dryly commented, shoving the scuffed leather-bound journal into Sam’s hands. “Here, you’re better at speaking this stuff than me. I’ll handle the holy water and the bondage part.” Dean held up the coil of rope they’d brought with them.
“Jeez, you make it sound kinky,” Sam said, wincing uncomfortably.
Dean just chuckled, the laugh low and dirty. “Heh, wait’ll you get a little older, Sammy. You’ll appreciate –”
Both boys froze as a shadowy form passed by the curtained window above them.
“What was that?” Sam gulped in a high-pitched squeak.
“It ain’t Santa Claus,” Dean wryly muttered under his breath, earning him a disenchanted chuff of annoyance from Sam.
The corners of his mouth quirked up at that, and Dean patted Sam on the back, as if apologizing for the ill-timed comment. He slowly rose to peer inside the darkened window where the figure had so recently stood.
“I don’t see anyone,” Dean whispered over his shoulder to Sam. “But, there’s a light on in one of the rooms across the way.” He groped for the utility knife he always kept in his pocket and pulled it out, opening the blade in one smooth flick. “C’mon, Shaggy, Scooby may be in trouble and we need to go investigate.”
“Yeah, okay, Daphne” Sam said with an eye roll.
Dean ignored him. He was too busy wiggling the blade of his knife up between the sill and window frame, disengaging the simple metal latching mechanism to unlock the window. Dean snapped his knife shut, stuffed it back in his pocket and carefully lifted the window up, making sure to go slow so as to make as little noise as possible. Window now open, Dean turned toward Sam, bending low and lacing his fingers together to make a foothold for his brother.
“C’mon, Sam, alley oop.”
Sam hastily tucked his father’s journal into the waistband of his baggy hand-me-down jeans and stuck his foot into Dean’s hands, grabbing hold of the window ledge as Dean boosted him up toward it. With a tiny grunt, Sam hoisted himself up and over the window ledge, falling with a soft thud onto the dirty wooden floor of the room. Turning, he watched as Dean’s head and torso came through the window, followed by his scissoring legs. Dean slid to the floor in a pile next to Sam, all grins.
“Not bad, eh Velma?” Dean commented. He stood up, brushing off his jeans, inspecting the room which appeared to be a side parlor, empty save for a few cobwebs in the corners and some long forgotten dust bunnies scattered around here and there.
Dean motioned for Sam to follow. They silently made their way across the small, unfurnished room to the open archway that led out into the main hallway and the rest of the silent house. Dean stopped to peer around the doorway, scoping down the long hall and up the staircase at the rear of the house. His left arm automatically reached behind him to stop Sam’s forward motion with a hand across the younger teen’s chest.
“Dude, don’t soccer mom me!” Sam angrily hissed, batting Dean’s hand away in irritation. “I’m not a little kid anymore!”
“Sorry,” Dean said, appearing chagrined. “Old habit.”
Satisfied that there was no one on the first floor, both boys silently glided across the darkened hallway and into the room opposite from the one they’d been in. Sam’s jaw fell open and Dean let out a low whistle.
The room, a comfortable-sized paneled study, was lined on two walls with rows of sturdy mahogany bookshelves. On the third wall, opposite them was a fireplace that was almost large enough for Dean to stand up inside. The room was lit with the flickering glow of black pillar candles, dozens of them. They lined the mantelpiece of the fireplace, their drippings forming grayish wax stalactites that depended from the marble mantel. More candles sat on some of the bookshelves, flickering and popping as if alive. They threw off a heat and an eerie glow around the room, making Sam uneasy.
In the dead center of the room, facing the fireplace was an old wooden card table. Two large red tapers in heavy brass candlesticks and an ornate silver chalice sat atop it. The chalice was full of some dark nasty smelling liquid that Dean didn’t even want to guess at.
He took a closer look at the table and noticed that there were symbols drawn all over the table top using that same liquid, or so it appeared. More symbols were scrawled over the wall above the fireplace as well. Scattered over the mantelpiece, in and among the candles, were small bones, clumps of what appeared to be hair or fur and a couple other odd bits neither boy could make out for sure.
Dean gazed in morbid fascination for a long moment, trying to file away all the details and information for later. “Wow, Amy’s got the whole demonic fondue thing going on here,” he said thoughtfully.
“Feng shui,” Sam quietly corrected him.
“What?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s feng shui, Dean. Not fondue. Fondue is something you eat.”
“Whatever,” Dean replied absently, his attention still on the makeshift altar in front of him. “This place is decked out for a black sabbath, Sammy, and I don’t mean Ozzy and the gang.”
“Actually it’s a ritualistic altar for summoning,” came a familiar voice from behind them.
Sam jumped, startled, eyes widening in fright as he whirled about with a whimper to face their unknown assailant. Dean, on the other hand, instantly recognized the deep, whisky-warm voice. Shoulders slumping, Dean very slowly pivoted around to offer up a weak smile to his father.
“Hey, Dad,” Dean greeted casually, giving his father a little cavalier nod as if the trio had just happened upon each other at the park or some other innocuous place instead of a demon’s lair.
Sam just stood blinking rapidly, as if he were communicating in Morse code, and tried to remember to breathe in and out.
“Boys,” John quietly replied, his voice so calm and even you could have balanced a level on it. His gaze flicked down to the book still stuffed in the front of Sam’s pants, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. He fixed a hard stare on his youngest child. “That my journal, Samuel?” John asked carefully.
Sam’s jaw worked up and down, but no sounds came out of his mouth. Sensing his little brother might be in need of assistance, Dean patted Sam’s shoulder and cleared his suddenly dry throat. “Uh, yes sir, we sorta, ah, borrowed it, for this...project...and um - ”
“Cut the crap, Dean!” John barked, making Dean flinch. “You disobeyed a direct order to never touch my journal, thinking you’d find something in it to help you perform an exorcism on your little girlfriend, didn’t you?”
Dean stood, utterly cowed by his dad’s statement. It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered if his dad perhaps had some hidden psychic talent because how the hell did he know all that? John studied the look of stunned admiration on Dean’s face with a sense of grim satisfaction. If Dean had been paying any attention, he’d have been able to figure it out. All he had to do was take one look at Sam’s downcast, shifty gaze and the way the kid was furiously chewing on his bottom lip.
“Got an interesting phone call this afternoon,” John stated as he ambled over closer to the boys. Sam moaned, and Dean frowned, glancing over at him in puzzlement. John continued. “Seems someone was digging around pretty hard for information on demonic signs of possession and exorcism rituals.”
Dean stiffened, realization flooding into his mind. He rounded on Sam, eyes blazing. “Are you shitting me, dude? You called Dad?” Dean glared at Sam in disbelief.
“I didn’t call Dad,” Sam replied defensively, squirming under Dean’s intense scrutiny. “I called Bobby...”
“Well, terrific, Sammy! ‘Cause that’s gonna earn you extra points for cleverness,” Dean angrily shot back. “You totally suck at the whole stealth thing!”
“Hey!” John snapped, raising his voice a little. “You wanna start pointing fingers, smart ass, I suggest you start with yourself,” John advised firmly, demonstrating by leveling a threatening forefinger at Dean’s chest. “Now, it’s late, and I’m tired and we still have a lot to discuss,” John went on, the simmering wrath coming through in his tone, making both boys wince. “So if you’re done making your little brother feel like crap for no reason, Dean, then you’d best get your butt on out to the car and wait for me there.”
Dean dropped his head in shame and complied immediately. Sam risked a glance up to watch his brother trudging dejectedly out toward the hallway and foyer before looking over to his father.
“What about Amy?” Sam quietly asked. “I mean she’s still out there, and –”
“Amy’s been taken care of,” John firmly stated, and left it at that. There was no need to go into the ugly details of the exorcism he had performed earlier, especially since the girl hadn’t made it through alive. “Get out to the car and tell Dean to head home,” John commanded. “I’ll follow the two of you in my truck after I destroy the altar here.”
Sam nodded, his chest tightening painfully as he made his way toward the door. John grabbed Sam’s shoulder as he passed by, stopping him. He reached down, wordless, and liberated his journal from Sam’s pants with a stern reproachful scowl. With his other hand, John turned his kid sideways and then rapped the book down on the seat of Sam’s jeans hard, once, to show his disapproval. It wasn’t meant to hurt, Sam knew, so much as to provide a foreshadowing of what was to come in the very near future. Sam gulped in fear, slinking miserably off to join Dean outside.
Shadow Pine Apartments
Apartment 28C
Dean sat quietly next to Sam on the stained chintz couch in the living room, biting a thumbnail in a sort of calm dread as he held his breath, waiting for the inevitable. And it wasn’t long in coming either. John had worked up a full head of steam on the drive back to the apartment, his battered journal on the front seat beside him, reminding him over and over again of how close to danger his sons had been tonight. By the time he strode into the small sparsely furnished apartment and slammed the door shut, John was ready to draw and quarter both of them.
“You get a lead on a demon or anything else even remotely paranormal, you tell me!” John seethed, his furious glare boring into both teens as he paced up and down the threadbare carpet of the living room. “What you absolutely do NOT do, is try to go after it yourselves!”
“Yes, sir,” Dean and Sam replied in tandem.
John stopped pacing, rounding on his sons. “How long have you known that that girl was possessed?”
Ooh, Sam thought with an inward wince. This was one interrogation tactic Dad used when he didn’t think he’d get a straight answer from either him or Dean. What seemed like a perfectly innocent inquiry, usually ended up so loaded there was no way you could answer without completely screwing yourself.
“About a week, I guess,” Dean replied unexpectedly.
Sam was pretty flabbergasted at Dean’s honesty. He wasn’t sure if it was because Dean was still reeling from the fact that they’d been busted, or whether Dad’s stern, commanding tone just automatically brought out obedience in his brother. Guess it didn’t really matter at this point. The shit had already hit the fan.
Sam braced himself just in time for John’s explosion.
“A week?!” John said, absolutely livid. “What the hell were you thinking, Dean? Or maybe that’s the problem. You weren’t thinking because you were you too busy trying to get into goldilock’s pants!”
“Well, she was pretty smokin’,” Dean smirked.
John was stunned. “You think this is funny, Dean?” he snapped, reaching down to grab a fistful of Dean’s shirtfront, yanking the eighteen-year-old to his feet. “Maybe after I get done roasting your behind, you won’t think so!”
Dean met his father’s fiery glare, with a ballsy one of his own, his hazel eyes holding steady despite the quaking he felt in his stomach.
“That threat might still work for Sammy, Dad, but c’mon, a spanking?”
Sam wanted to be offended, but hell yeah, it still worked on him. He couldn’t believe Dean’s nerve.
“Jeez, I’m eighteen! A senior in high school! What’s next, you gonna give me a time out?” Dean’s tone crossed the line, and he knew it.
John’s grip on Dean’s shirt tightened, his knuckles going white. His chest heaved in anger, the controlled rage flowing off him in waves.
“You’ve been getting a little too bold with that mouth of yours lately, pal” John commented, a nasty, calculated tone etched in his voice as he eyed the teen dangerously. “And, you know, it’s been a while since you’ve been over my knee, Dean. My mistake.”
John’s eyes narrowed, making Dean falter a little. “I’m thinking a sore butt might just be the refresher you need to remind you who gives the orders around here.”
“Really?” Dean asked, trying hard to remain impassive.
“You think your old man can’t lay down some heat anymore?” John challenged, raising a brow.
“No, sir,” Dean calmly replied. “I’m just thinking that after being clawed by a hell hound, knifed by a zombie and almost decapitated and eaten by a really pissed off vetala…well, a sore butt isn’t really that big a deal anymore, you know? I get bruises all the time now. I really don’t think your hand on my ass is gonna do much for me.”
John’s smile was positively glacial, his voice low and threatening, carrying a note of apocalyptic measure to it. “Yeah? Well, how ‘bout we test that theory, son?”
His eyes never leaving Dean’s defiant countenance, John addressed his youngest, who was still huddled on the couch, green eyes wide with alarm. “Samuel. Bedroom. Now.”
Sam was a blur as he vaulted off the couch and flew down the short hallway to his room.
John waited until he heard the bedroom door click shut before letting go of Dean with a rough shove. He stood back, flexing his broad shoulders and hard muscled biceps, letting his dominant posture speak for itself. Because he’d be goddamned if he was going to let his punk-ass, snot-nosed, eighteen-year-old think he was cock of the roost.
Dean squared his shoulders, chin jutting, ready to accept his spanking. He chuckled to himself at that. A spanking, for crying out loud. Yeah, like that was going to do anything. He watched in mild curiosity as John’s hands dropped to his waist, fingers clamping around his belt buckle and fingering it purposefully. What the hell?
“Since you seem to think my hand’s not hard enough to make much of an impression on you anymore, smart ass, I guess I’ll just have to use something with a little more sting,” John intoned darkly as he threaded his heavy leather belt out of the loops in his jeans.
Dean’s jaw fell open, a strangled choke filtering from his mouth. Son of a bitch, he thought with growing horror. Dad was going to use his freaking belt! In all of Dean’s eighteen years, John had never taken his belt to either him or Sam. His hand? Sure, in fact that seemed to be his dad’s preferred implement of torture. A hairbrush? Eh, a couple times when they were younger and had stayed at Bobby’s place. His belt? Nada, nope, nuh uh, never. Crap.
“Dean James,” John spoke his name like a drill sergeant doing roll call, and Dean’s head instantly snapped up to attention, although his face showed a certain amount of frustration at being totally outmaneuvered by his dad.
John sat down on one of the wide arms of the sofa and patted his lap, motioned Dean over to him with a sinister smile that would have made Freddie Kreuger tremble. “Let’s go, over the lap. You know the drill.”
The sting of his dad’s condescending tone proved a hard pill to swallow, and Dean once again felt compelled to parry the blow with a caustic one of his own, just to let John know he hadn’t necessarily scored a direct hit. Dean let fly as he was bending over his father’s lap, throwing an eye roll in for good measure.
“You know, this is so not gonna be the big demonstration you think it will be, Dad,” Dean bluffed snarkily. “I mean, you raised us to be tough, to be warriors. Some kid’s punishment is not going to make me cry.”
Jesus fuck me, John thought in utter confoundment. The little idiot just didn’t know when to quit! He remembered back to when he was Dean’s age and sighed. Yeah, that was about the same time he had started getting lippy and arrogant, thinking he was an adult who didn’t need to listen to the rules, that he knew more than his old man. The marine corp had trained that right of out him, though. But, John had no inclination to ship his eldest off to basic training, especially not when he could provide his own version of hell week right here and now.
John stopped Dean’s forward motion with a hand to the scruff of Dean’s neck, pulling the teenager back upright but not letting go, forcing Dean to hunch over uncomfortably.
“You’re right. I did raise you to be tough. And, hell, I wouldn’t want you to feel any less of a man, Dean-o,” John sarcastically said, patting the side of his son’s pants leg with his free hand. “So, you can just drop trou, kiddo. We’re gonna do this on the bare. Think that’ll be tough enough for you?”
Dean suddenly froze, feeling all of five years old as his legs began to shake in fearful anticipation of what his stupidity and mouthiness had wrought. Dad’s belt…on his bare, as in totally unprotected, SO-not-tough ass…um, not looking too optimistic about the outcome here, Roger…
“You need some help losing the jeans?” John warned, a glint in his eye.
“No, sir,” Dean quickly chimed. Things had gotten bad enough, he didn’t need his pissed off dad undressing him like he was a toddler!
Dean unbuckled his belt, hating the feel of the leather under his shaking fingers, knowing its cousin would soon be reaching out and touching him a very extra special way. He winced at that thought and continued on, popping the button on his bootcut Levi’s and peeling down the zipper, cringing at how loud it sounded in the heavy silence of the room. With a rueful glance over to his dad, Dean shoved his jeans and boxer briefs down to his knees, in one fluid move and straightened back up, blushing.
“Let’s go, Mr. Man,” John scolded.
He reached out to help guide Dean face down over his lap, positioning the teen so that Dean’s exposed butt was presented in all its glory and his torso was draped over the far side of the sofa arm. Dean braced himself and let his head drop to touch the couch cushion, nestling between his outstretched arms.
Not seeing any sense in prolonging the inevitable, John brought his belt down hard, nailing Dean across the center of both upturned cheeks, the leather wrapping a little to lick against Dean’s hip as well. Dean bit back a hiss of pain, stiffening and waiting for the next lick. He didn’t have long to wait. John swung down again, this time leaving a searing line of pain that criss-crossed the first one, and Dean actually flinched, but still maintained his silence, although his breathing became a bit louder.
John sighed inwardly, both admiring and despising Dean’s stoic attitude. Kid had balls, always had, but this was not the time to be brandishing them. This was going to get ugly if he didn’t do something quick, John decided. He tightened his hold on Dean, hugging the teen up closer to his body in preparation for the struggle he knew was coming.
Dean felt his father pause and then he let out a startled whoof of air as John pinned Dean down rather snugly. Dean was about to comment on the excessive intimacy when he heard the whistle of the belt and then a split second later, felt ared-hot brand of fire shoot across his upper thighs. Dean didn’t have time to react other than to go wide-eyed, because John followed that little zinger with a procession of caustic licks across his sit spot that instantly loosened Dean’s vocal cords right up. He hollered in pain, legs kicking as much as his crumpled jeans would allow.
“JESUS FUCKING A!” Dean swore, eyes tearing up at the intense throbbing burn now setting up home across his ass.
“That’s extra for swearing, Dean,” John curtly reported.
Well of course it is, Dean thought regretfully, yelping and flinching now with every strike of the belt. Because, hey, me and my mouth said we were big bad-asses and we could take it…big, stupid, dumb-ass mouth. He must have been out of his mind, or no, possessed, to have ever thought for one second that his dad couldn’t teach him a lesson with an old-fashioned butt whipping.
John spanked Dean’s cherry red backside, putting a little more swing into it to emphasize his point. At that point, Dean didn’t even try to stop the tears as they began to fall. Screw that, it fucking HURT!
“Dad, please!” Dean finally cried out, turning his head to look over his shoulder. “I get it, I do! You’re the dad and I’m the kid! And I totally screwed up!”
John stopped, laying the belt down on the sofa arm beside him. “You ready to lose the mouthy attitude?” he asked.
Dean nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir! I’m sorry! I’m sorry I was a snot and I’m sorry for not telling you about Amy and for dragging Sammy into this mess and for taking your journal without permission. And I’m REAL sorry for saying I was tougher than you!”
John let a smirk pass over his lips. Ah, the moment of realization every teenager comes to one way or another. “Okay, Dean, I think you and I are on the same page now. So, we’ll just get your extra swats for cursing out of the way, and we’ll be done here.”
“What?!” Dean groaned, but didn’t have time to complain further.
John smacked his son’s flaming rear end with his hand half a dozen times, causing Dean to grunt in pain. Then John stopped, just as quickly as he’d begun, and let Dean compose himself over his lap, waiting until Dean’s breathing evened out and the wet sniffles died away. With gentle hands, John helped Dean get up from his lap, averting his eyes as Dean bent down to pull up his pants, stifling a groan as the fabric brushed across his aching butt. He couldn’t help reaching back and gingerly rubbing at his tenderized rear.
Dean stood, head down, wiping at his eyes with the heel of his other hand as John quietly studied his firstborn.
“I’m sorry too,” John softly said, and Dean looked up, frowning in mild surprise. “I’m sorry it had to come to this,” John elaborated.
He stood up and placed a warm hand on the back of Dean’s tanned neck, squeezing. “You’re eighteen, Dean. Pretty much a man,” Dean blushed, not feeling very much like a man. “Hell, I was out in the jungle fighting the Vietcong when I was not much older than you.”
John moved his hand from his son’s neck to his jaw, raising Dean’s head so the two could look at one another eye to eye. “But man or not, you are still my son. Times like tonight, when you let your cockiness and stubbornness get the better of you, that isn’t ever going to be okay with me. It could have cost you your life…and Sammy’s.”
Dean paled, a look of fear crossing his face. “Dad, I’d never let anything happen to Sam, I swear.”
“I know you wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to him, Dean, and that you’d do everything in your power to protect your little brother, but what exactly did you think you’d be able to do against a full blown demon?”
“I…I don’t know,” Dean’s voice faltered. “I mean, I’ve killed a werewolf before, and I help you all the time on hunts. I guess I just figured this wouldn’t be any different.”
“All those other times, son, I was there with you. I had your back, making sure you were safe and following procedures,” John affirmed. “What did you think? That I’d leave you out to dry this time?”
“No, Dad, I…I just wanted to do it myself…” Dean whispered, pulling away from his dad’s hand, a sad frown on his face.
John nodded and reached out to pat his son gently on the back, rubbing slow circles over his spine. “I understand,” he said. “And when the time is right, champ, you’ll get plenty of opportunities to go on solo hunts and show me what you can do. I have no doubt that you’ll end up being twice the hunter that I am.” Dean looked up, a faint smile of awe on his lips. “But,” John added, grabbing Dean’s shoulder and giving it a little shake, “That time isn’t now. You have school to finish first, because I fully expect you to apply yourself and graduate, kiddo.”
It was Dean’s turn to nod. “Got it, sir.”
“So, we clear on the rules?” John questioned and Dean nodded. “Got your attitude under control and your mouth on lock down?” Dean gave a soft snort but nodded once more. “Good, then hit the shower, buddy. I need to go see a ninth grader about a certain journal he pilfered and remind him of the rules about lying, stealing and recklessness.”
John started to turn away, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his arm.
“Hey, Dad, go easy on Sammy,” Dean urged, giving John a pleading look. “I was the one that talked him into tonight. He really wanted to tell you, but he didn’t want to be disloyal and rat me out, you know? He doesn’t deserve the belt for this.”
“Not unless he decides to get smart ass with me,” John smirked, feeling the need to lighten the mood some. “You didn’t talk him into trying that, did you?”
John grinned at Dean’s suffering groan, and then pushed his son down the hallway in front of him. “Go on. A long hot shower will do you some good and give you time to think on what we just talked about. And Dean?”
“Yes, sir?”
“The next girl you wanna get hot and heavy with? You might want to try whispering Christo into her ear first, just to see what happens,” John suggested with a hint of wryness.
Dean gave John a brief embarrassed smile and veered off into the bathroom, still rubbing his aching behind. He shut the door behind him as John continued on down the hall to the boys’ bedroom.
“Had some time to think about what happened tonight?” John asked his youngest son as he strode into the bedroom, frowning at the messy piles of clothes all over the floor and the clutter of books, soda cans and empty take out cartons decorating the dresser, desk and windowsill.
“I thought I told you to pick up in here, Samuel,” John’s voice was stern and full of censure.
Sam blinked. He wasn’t expecting a reprimand about that, at least not right now. He grimaced as he glanced frantically about the room at the mess. “I was going to do it right after school, honest, but, we uh…we…you know,” Sam’s voice trailed off in defeat. “Guess I’ll be doing it first thing in the morning,” he mumbled.
“You got that right,” John stated as he stepped around a mound of tennis shoes coming to stand directly in front of Sam. “Apparently you’re having trouble remembering a lot of my orders lately.”
Sam cringed at that. He’d heard Dean’s yells and the loud cracks of something other than his dad’s hand on his brother’s bare bottom, and knew things weren’t boding well for him.
“What do you have to say for yourself, Samuel?” John demanded.
“I should have come told you what Dean was planning,” Sam confided sadly, eyes on his kneecaps. “I should have tried harder to talk him out of it, and I shouldn’t have helped him.”
John sighed deeply. “It’s not wrong to want to help your brother, Sammy. I expect you and Dean to watch out for one another and to have each other’s back. But, you’re still a couple of inexperienced rookies, and what you tried to do tonight was just plain reckless and could have gotten you both killed.”
“I know,” Sam replied tearfully.
“You want to help Dean? Be his conscience when he needs it,” John advised. “You’re smart, Samuel, and your brother listens to you sometimes even when he won’t listen to me. And when Dean won’t listen? You come to me, okay?”
Sam nodded, crying silently now. John swallowed hard. He hated how small and lost his youngest looked right now.
“Don’t ever feel like you’re being a turncoat by not keeping a secret when that secret can endanger your life or Dean’s,” John gently stated, reaching down to squeeze one of Sam’s shoulders. “Now, about my journal,” he warned, and Sam sighed, knowing what was coming. “If I ever catch you with it again without my permission, I will wear my belt out on your little butt until you can forget about ever sitting down in your lifetime again. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Sam choked, swallowing hard. His dad had never threatened to spank him with his belt!
John grunted and motioned for Sam to stand up. He took a seat on the bed where Sam had been, giving his teenager a surly frown.
“I guess you know what’s coming now, Samuel,” John growled. “I want the jeans and briefs down and you over my lap by the count of five.”
Sam scrambled to comply and was in position by three-and-a-half. He stared hard at the lint balls covering the blanket of his bed, then shut his eyes tightly when he felt his dad tensing up in preparation for the first swat. It cracked down on Sam’s naked bottom, causing him to clench up from the sharp sting, which slowly evaporated into an uncomfortable, prickly warmth.
John paddled Sam firmly with his hand, covering the teen’s ass from top to bottom with a continuous succession of smarting swats, each one harder and more painful than the last. Sam began to make little, desperate ‘ow’ noises which then escalated into full blown howls after a dozen more smacks. He jerked and kicked as the spanking continued, his butt now feeling as if someone was pressing it up against the side of a blast furnace.
“Have I made myself clear about what I expect from you?” John asked, his arm rising and falling in a swift cadence.
“Yes, sir!” Sam bawled in misery. “Don’t keep secrets from you, and don’t touch your journal or other important stuff.”
“That’s right,” John encouraged, slowing the spanking down, getting ready to finish up. “Am I going to be getting any more calls from family friends telling me my youngest kid is up to something he shouldn’t be?”
“Huh uh! No, sir,” Sam promised, eyes sparkling with tears.
“Okay, then, looks like we’re done here,” John stated firmly and dropped his hand, finishing the spanking.
He gave Sam a few gentle pats on the back, murmuring soothing words as the boy quietly sobbed and then reached up to stroke the teen’s soft, chestnut-colored hair, threading his fingers through the long strands at the nape of his neck.
Sam seemed to relax at his father’s comforting touch and he managed to bring his emotions under control, his chest still hitching now and again, but the tears now only dried streaks on his face which he scrubbed away with his sleeve. John carefully pulled Sam’s jeans and briefs up to just below his sore, glowing bottom, letting the boy grab them and adjust them the rest of the way as he got up from John’s lap.
“M’sorry, Dad,” Sam sniffled, casting a remorseful pout at John as he tried to rub the sting out of his backside with little success. “I won’t ever do something that stupid again, I promise.”
John bit back an amused grin, knowing very well that a thoroughly spanked bottom could bring out a veritable litany of outlandish and unkeepable promises. He also knew that Sam was at the age where he was beginning to question everything and everyone, testing the waters and stretching his wings in a bid for independence and adulthood. But, for right now, John had his baby boy who still needed him, if not as often as before, at least enough to keep John feeling like he was still a necessary part of Sam’s life.
“Just follow orders and use your head, Sam, and hopefully we won’t have to replay this little scene again, got it?”
Sam nodded his assurance, and then smiled thankfully when John held his arms open, giving his son a warm, heartfelt smile. Sam sank into the comforting safety of his father’s hug, his body relaxing as he clamped his arms around John’s neck tightly.
“Get some sleep, Sam I Am,” John whispered, using the old nickname he’d given Sam when he was still in diapers. “Your brother’ll be in after he gets out of the shower. And I want the both of you to hit the sack, lights out.”
“Yes, sir,” Sam said, speaking against the side of his dad’s neck.
John let Sam go and watched as he picked up a pair of what he hoped were clean sweat pants from the mass of clothing on the floor. “Night, kiddo,” John softly said.
“Night, Dad,” Sam answered back, busy trying to slide the sweat pants on without actually having the fabric touch his butt until it had to.
Apartment 28C
Living room
“No, I didn’t tell them. I took the body out behind the house and salted and burned it after they left,” John spoke into his cell phone, his voice carrying a weary, melancholy note to it. “She was already missing anyway, so I guess she’ll stay missing. Look, I appreciate the heads up, Bobby. This could have turned into the second worst night of my life if you hadn’t called.”
“That’s what friends are for John,” Bobby replied. “Hell, you know as well as I do, that your boys are the closest thing I’ll ever have to my own set of young’uns.”
“You want ‘em? I’ll sell ‘em to you cheap,” John quipped.
Bobby chuckled. “I’m not sure who’d be getting the shorter end of that deal,” he mused. “You still planning on packing up and coming to visit for a spell?”
“If you don’t mind,” John replied.
“Nope, you and the boys are always welcome here.”
“Thanks, Bobby,” John said. “I figure by the time we get everything loaded and head out, it’ll be after nightfall before we hit your place. That work for you?”
“I’ll leave the porch light on and there’ll be a fresh pot of caffeine waiting for ya,” Bobby declared. “See you tomorrow night then, John.”
“Will do,” John confirmed and ended the call. He sat back, leaning his head against the top of the sofa, staring into the silence of the darkened living room.
He hadn’t told Dean or Sam yet that they were leaving, but he assumed they knew. That was the usual drill. Something bad goes down in a town they are staying in, and the Winchesters pack up and move out within twenty-four hours afterwards.
They were safer that way, never setting down permanent roots. But there was also the loneliness and instability and a rushed sense of desperation to this life, John reluctantly admitted. Even so, he was willing to give up almost anything to keep his family protected. They may not have much, but he, Dean and Sam had one another and that was at the top of John’s list of priorities and always would be.
THE END