Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8706301.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage, Rape/Non-Con
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Sam_Winchester/Other(s)
  Character:
      Sam_Winchester, Dean_Winchester, Castiel_(Supernatural), Ellen_Harvelle,
      Bobby_Singer
  Additional Tags:
      Angst, Established_Relationship, Abuse, Alternate_Universe, Hurt/Comfort
  Collections:
      Sinful_Desire
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-12-26 Words: 9583
****** Hold On Till Dawn ******
by insertcode11 [archived by sinfuldesire_archivist]
Summary
     In October of 2007 Castiel brings a case to Sam and Dean that takes
     them to Pike Creek, Delaware and in all appearances seems like a case
     that was never fully solved when they were in town in October of
     2000. They settle into the town and their cover roles easily enough,
     though the hunt itself is puzzling and elusive. However, Sam's edgy
     and secretive and Dean's not exactly thrilled to be back in the town
     where Sam first got it in his head to go to Stanford. At least they
     have the generous help of John's old Marine buddy and closest friend
     outside of the supernatural world--who Sam seems to have an
     inexplicable problem with. Dean will find, just as Sam did when he
     was sixteen, that the supernatural aren't the only horrifying things
     that stir in the coldest hours just before the dawn.
Notes
     Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally
     archived at Sinful-Desire.org. To preserve the archive, we began
     importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in
     November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted
     announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or
     know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on
     Sinful_Desire_collection_profile.
Chapter One
 
Dean wakes up feeling like he is strapped to a furnace.
 
He groans and shifts, finding it difficult to move freely. A long, pencil-point
thin strip of light shines where the thick curtains don't quite touch and
nearly blind him in the otherwise dark room. Gradually, his mind starts to
differentiate between awake and dreaming and he feels the weight of gravity and
awareness press on him, slowly waking him.
 
He also becomes aware of the hot temple and cheek cradles in the crook of his
left shoulder and chest. The weight there cuts off his circulation and his
fingers tingle uncomfortably. But there is also soft breath fanning across his
chest, whispering across his nipple and despite the blazing furnace he shivers.
A heavy arm was slings across his torso. Long, thin fingers hook into his right
hip like a lifeline. Sam’s naked thigh falls between his legs and rubs against
his crotch which explains the fire down there, at least.
 
Dean shifts again, whether to get more air or more friction even he isn’t
entirely sure. When he moves he feels the delicious silky smooth skin of Sam’s
upper thigh nudge his cock Dean grunts, bucks his hips once, twice, for more
leverage. Moving suddenly, he hooks his hands beneath Sam’s arms and pulls and
tugs him until his little brother is sprawled on top of him. Dean huffs under
the weight, but doesn't mind it. The weight of Sam on top of him is somehow
sweeter and more liberating than sleep and dreaming.
 
Sam grunts discontentedly during the upheaval but immediately falls back
asleep, his nose and lips pressed against Dean’s neck. Grinning now, Dean
reaches and cups Sam’s head with both hands, pulling on him until Dean could
reach Sam’s lips with his own. Sam’s mouth is parted in his sleep so Dean
enters like it's an open invitation. He lazily explores Sam’s mouth, taking
special care to tease the roof of it. Sam grumbles into Dean’s mouth, lazily
meets his brother’s tongue, sighs and brings up his left hand, pushing his palm
into Dean’s face and lifting up from Dean’s lips. Sam lurches over until his
face is buried into the pillow to the right of Dean’s neck. Sam pats his face
indulgently and Dean has to shut his eyes to avoid long, errant fingers.
 
“Thas’ nice, D’n. Wanna sleep.” Sam commands and snuffles further into the
pillow as he lets his hand slip off of Dean’s face.
 
Dean huffs, torn between annoyance and amusement. Still, he won't be deterred.
He begins licking and nibbling at the long stretch of neck exposed to him. He
runs his hands up and down muscled sides and digs the pads of his fingers into
a tapered waist. He moves to Sam’s ass, kneading the flesh there. He moans when
the pressure forces Sam’s hips to grind against his own. He lifts his hips
again, creating slow friction. He pushes and pulls Sam’s flesh, slipping a
finger along the base of Sam’s spine. Sam moans and his hips stutter and Dean
grins in triumph. Gyrating slowly, Dean continues to let his finger stroke up
and down the cleft of Sam’s ass. Dean could feel Sam’s shiver in his own soul
and can't help but to move a little harder and faster, desperate now to crawl
into Sam and never leave.
 
Sam finally, finally, moves. One of Sam’s hands grip Dean’s hair, pulling him
off of Sam’s neck. Dean sees Sam’s head move before he feels wet, hot on his
right nipple. Dean can't see Sam’s face very clearly because of the dark, but
he feels the flutter of eyelashes and knows that Sam’s eyes are closed,
relishing in his work. Sam suckles and nips, lavishing careful attention and
exploration that they hadn’t indulged in what seemed like years. Dean was
almost unaware of his hips thrusting faster, seeking more contact, more heat,
more Sam.
 
“C’mere, babe.” Dean says as he leans forward, tugging Sam until their chapped
lips crash.
 
“Don’ call me tha’.” Sam mumbles into his mouth but Dean can feel a sweet smile
painted across his lips.
 
“You know you love it.” Dean rumbles. His hands, which haven’t faltered their
busy teasing, pull at Sam’s cheeks, that one daring finger skimming over Sam’s
hole once, twice, before circling it. Sam moans and gasps and grinds into Dean
in encouragement.
 
Sam rides Dean in the dark. They go slow, enjoying the build-up. Dean eases
into velvet tight heat. He teases with nudges, then opens Sam up with
excruciatingly slow with shallow thrusts. When Sam is seated he only tilts his
head back and rolls his hips, and Dean lets him enjoy the feeling of fullness
because though he burns to move he also basks in the feeling of home and here
and never going to leave you. Dean watches as the thin strip of light the heavy
dark curtains failed to cut off slip-slides and rolls over Sam’s skin like dawn
so that Sam is the only thing in the dark room that shines.
 
Sam lifts and falls, slow and short for only a minute before it’s too much for
both of them and Sam falls faster and Dean lifts harder. Dean sees Sam’s abs
flutter and heave, sees Sam’s breaths becoming shorter and faster. Sam moans
loudly sitting up and in the light while Dean grunts quietly down in the bed in
the dark. Dean grips Sam’s hips harder, wanting to leave his fingerprints.
 
When they’re close—and Dean knows when because Sam’s nails are digging deeper
into Dean’s arms and Dean can’t seem to breathe though all he hears is his
breathing—Dean begins to stroke Sam’s dick. He’s not sure because he can’t
think right now but a few strokes are meant to be teasing—slow pull and flick
across his slit. But soon Dean is pulling and twisting hard and fast and Sam
lets go of Dean and arches back, free-falling through orgasm, coating Dean’s
hand with his warmth. Dean shoves hard into Sam again and groans through his
own release and shutters through the weightlessness.
 
When Dean opens his eyes again, not knowing that he closed them, he has a
second to see Sam riding through the remnants, his throat stretched back and
Adam’s apple bobbing.
 
When they’re breathing again, Dean helps Sam pull up. Sam collapses full-body
onto Dean who’s unprepared and loses his breath.
 
“Gettin’ heavy there, darlin’.” Dean drawls as Sam seems to gather enough
strength to slide off of him and back onto the bed.
 
“Shut up, Dean. Sleep now.” Sam says as if he exchanged sex for more sleep. But
then Sam opens his eyes and Dean can clearly see hazel for the first time that
morning, but Sam's eyes are the only thing he can half way make out. Sam smiles
and Dean only knows this because his fingers are over Sam’s lips.
 
It’s moments before Sam’s breathing evens out and by that time Dean’s pretty
much decided that they’re not leaving bed for the rest of the day. He kisses
Sam’s forehead and pulls and shifts until Sam is on his side facing Dean and
Dean’s arm is locked around Sam’s waist and their legs are tangled.
 
“Cuddler.” Sam accuses though he snuffles and wiggles until he’s comfortable.
 
“’M so not.” Retorts, trying for indignant. “You flail and kick in your sleep.
Just tryin’ to protect myself.” Sleep’s coaxing his eyelids and sound keeps on
fading in and out as he starts to go under.
 
“’Kay, Dee.”
 
In rumpled sheets and sweaty skin, Dean goes to sleep to the feeling of
eyelashes sighing against his collarbone.
 
***
 
Dean is yanked out of sleep a second time by Sam’s indignant squawk and one of
his flailing limbs connecting with Dean’s chest. Dean has fast reactions, but
before he can even open his eyes Sam’s already jumped so hard he rolls off the
bed, landing with a hard oomph! in the space between the bed and the wall.
 
Dean jabbed his hand under the pillow, coming out with one of Sam’s knives as
he jackknifes into a sitting position. He has just a split second for his brain
to register Cas before he came face to face literally with the angel. Pain
sparks white behind Dean’s eyes and he drops back to the bed, knife cast aside
as he clutches at his nose and forehead.
 
“Holy shit, Cas!” He yells at the angel who remains unmoved except for a slight
tilt of his head, except Dean’s sinuses are already swelling with the impact so
it comes out “’Oly thit, Cath!”
 
Castiel merely looks puzzled at the spectacle, either unsure as to why Dean was
wriggling in pain or not quite understanding the extreme reaction of the
Winchester brothers.
 
Sam’s long, thin hands appear over the edge of the bed, scrambling for purchase
in the sheets to haul himself back up. As Dean writhes pitifully Sam regards
the angel who perches cross-legged in the middle of the bed, staring at them
both with his head cocked slightly to the side. His “tax accountant” outfit was
rumpled and the tie loose from where Castiel has no real concept (yet, Dean's
working on it) of self-image.
 
“What the hell?” Sam did not squeak. He yanks the comforter and pulls it around
his nakedness before throwing the sheet over Dean, who was too busy cursing and
nursing his face to notice that he was splayed and nude before an Angel of the
Lord. “Cas. I thought we talked about these surprise drop-ins?”
 
Cool blue eyes turn from their serious contemplation of Dean’s antics to Sam,
who looks highly embarrassed and a little panicked. Apparently, Castiel had
startled the brothers. However, he had only wanted to get their attention. He
lets his gaze take in the nakedness of his charges, admiring his Father’s work.
“I was waiting for you to wake up.” Castiel answers simply. Sam knew that the
twitch at the angel’s lips meant that he was smiling fondly at them. However,
Sam didn’t feel particularly grateful for the angel's intense attention this
morning, his heart still racing from the scare of waking up to someone leaning
over him.
 
Sam rolls his eyes. “Cas. Personal space? Not to mention watching us sleep is
kind of creepy. Why didn’t you just wake us up?”
 
Cas sways a little and it is as close to a shrug as they were going to get. “I
did not want to be rude.” Sam scoffs at the irony.
 
“Oh my God.” Dean moaned from the bed. “What are you made out of? Granite?!” He
slowly lifted his hand from his face and turned to Sam, his eyes watery and
big. “’M I bleedin’?”
 
Sam shakes his head and Dean frowns. “Maybe just a little?” Sam rolls his eyes
again and Dean pouts. “It still hurts.” Dean whines and lifts his eyebrows so
suggestively that him actually saying ‘kiss it better’ would be more subtle.
 
“You’re shameless.” Sam declares and fails completely to hide his affectionate
smile when Dean beams proudly at him.
 
“Actually.” Castiel feels the need to explain because despite the Winchester’s
occasional surprising amount of knowledge and ingenuity, they seem to be
clueless about most things. “Angels are not made of granite, but rather the
Grace of Heaven. I am made of an impenetrable light.”
 
Sam seems vaguely interested while Dean sports a blank look. “Oh. That’s.
Enlightening.” Sam tries to grasp for words when it becomes apparent Castiel is
waiting for some kind of response.
 
“Why are you two without clothes together?” Cas asks and Sam makes this painful
sound that immediately concerns the angel.
 
“You know…” Dean waves a hand around vaguely. “We’ve had this talk, Cas.”
 
Puzzled at Dean’s non-answer (it was incredibly hard for humans to talk
directly, it seemed) Castiel made to make further inquiries when Sam
interrupts. “What’s up, Cas? Why are you here?” Sam asks, trying to steer Cas
towards the reason behind the rude interruption (which was more important than
giving the angel “the talk” in Sam’s book). Sam stands up, wincing a little at
the lingering burn in his backside.
 
“There’s a hunt—“ Cas begins but is cut off when Dean groans and kicks his legs
childishly against the bed.
 
“No. Oh no no, no! This is our vacation! We aren't even supposed to get out of
bed today!” From the floor Sam raises an eyebrow because he hadn’t been part of
that plan—not that he didn’t mind it. In fact, it sounds a hell of a lot better
than heading straight for the Roadhouse only to listen to Dad and Ellen’s
creepy, angry old-people flirting. Sam had actually been thinking of trying to
get Dean to go to a beach somewhere before it got too cold.
 
“Then we were gonna go to the Roadhouse!” Now Dean was full on pouting and
Castiel looks stunned and slightly uncomfortable by the behavior while Sam
shoots the angel a commiserating and sympathetic glance. Dean normally doesn't
refuse a hunt Cas gets for them and usually wants the angel to help. However,
they had hunted almost non-stop for the past several weeks thanks to Cas’s
“help” and they were tired. So, Dean was pouting and dragging his feet on this
one because they really needed a break.
 
“What is the point of spending all day naked in bed?” Castiel muses.
 
“Forgot you are a three-millennia-year-old virgin.” Dean deadpans.
 
Castiel frowns. “The opportunity never presented itself, I told you. And you
did not answer.”
 
“Yes, I did.” Dean insists as a dismissal and swivels his pitiful face to Sam.
“Granite-Face gave me a headache.”
 
Sam makes a show of sighing laboriously before wandering to the first aid kit.
 
Castiel’s lips thin out. “The medieval Persians used a mix of opium, cannabis,
and the oil from the willow tree to remedy the headache, I believe.” Castiel
shifts. “I shall go get these for you.”
 
“Wait!” Sam exclaims and places his hand on Castiel’s shoulder before the angel
could disappear. “Thanks, Cas. But I have aspirin.” He gives the bottle a shake
for emphasis. “It’ll do just fine.”
 
Castiel nods, studying the bottle in Sam’s hands, figuring this must be the
current remedy for headaches. He looks up and Sam smiles kindly at him before
moving to tend his brother.
 
“What is it? The hunt?” Sam asks as he hands Dean the aspirin and a cup of
water.
 
“I’m not sure.” Castiel says, something like a rueful look floating to Sam. “I
just know that a few people are already dead. When I went there the air
was…heavy with something negative.”
 
Dean looks at Cas from beneath the hand that shields his eyes from the light
Sam just flipped on and Sam pauses in his rummaging through his duffle bag.
“You wanna be a little more vague, Cas?” Dean asked.
 
“Negative. Not necessarily evil, but something...malcontent. It permeates the
entire town. Whatever this is, it is serious.” Castiel attempts to explain.
 
“Hell, that’s not ominous at all.” Dean snarks around his water. “Look. Cas.
I’m glad you’re helping us out with hunts and everything, really. But last
night was the first time we had more than a four hours night sleep in days. We
haven’t had a decent meal in just as long. And we’re going to go to wherever
because your Spidey-sense tells us to?”
 
“I do not understand that reference.”
 
“Please get dressed, Dean.” Sam murmurs as he sets out clean clothes on the
dresser for after his shower. “It just looks like foreplay when you’re arguing
with an angel that's in your bed without clothes on.”
 
“I do not see why it matters." Castiel says with genuinely curious glance
towards Sam. "Dean has a masculine body that is pleasing to the eye and is a
supreme example of my Father’s work.”
 
Dean grins and sits up in bed, leaning against the headboard and inspects his
own muscular body. “Hear that, Sammy?” He looks up. “I’m a work of God-art. I’m
the poster boy for perfection.” He preens as he folds his hands behind his
head. “It’s all natural, too. Don’t have to work on it at all.”
 
Sam rolls his eyes. “Poster boy for humility, you mean.” But Sam really can’t
help but run an appreciative eye over Dean’s exposed body. Broad shoulders and
chest, strong stomach and abs. Dean was all hard, strong planes that could hold
Sam down and—Sam swallows, his eyes widening. He was getting an erection with
Castiel in the room. He was getting an erection in front of an angel of the
Lord—practically in front of God!
 
Cas continues over Sam’s side comment. “However, Sam is more aesthetically
appealing and proportional, most likely because he is taller than you, Dean.”
 
Sam freezes and Dean’s eyes fly wide. “What?” Dean cries, wounded. Sam
scrambles for the discarded jeans from last night, not wanting his body to be
the subject of further conversation. “Well, I mean, yeah Sammy’s pretty hot.”
Dean ammends his exclamation because it is hard to fight Cas on this because
while Dean knew he was a sexy piece of perfection Dean kinda also thought that
his Sammy was beautiful. Not that he would admit to that in any situation
besides the brink of orgasm. First of all, it was kinda girly. Also, Sam might
kill him. “I-I’m more masculine, right?” Dean asks instead, hopeful.
 
Sam throws Dean’s boxers in his face before Castiel can answer. Dean pouts a
little at him but Sammy’s back is turned as he buttons his jeans so Dean gets
distracted. He throws aside the covers to put the boxers on, not really caring
if Cas saw him naked because it wouldn’t be the first time. However, Cas
popping in on them both naked and in bed together was new.
 
Two months after Cas rescued them, he had popped in on them kissing. Sam and
Dean were still heavily injured at the time and could barely move but were
finally both awake and reunited. It wasn’t much of a make-out session since it
was hard for Sam to move his upper body and Dean’s left leg was still in a
brace. Sam had been incredibly demure around the angel back then, so Dean with
his caustic attitude had asked if Castiel had a problem with his charges being
involved in a homosexual and incestuous relationship.
 
Castiel had responded simply and honestly that he believed that God was just
happy that the two had found love. The point of Christ’s sacrifice, after all,
had been to redirect the Old Testament’s laws and reestablish love and free
will as the basis of Christianity and all of God’s creation. Also, Castiel had
pointed out, laws against incest originated in ancient Babylon with the Code of
Hammurabi and was established in order to keep genetic lines pure and strong in
order to have a strong empire. In fact, the Jews had not had written laws or
history until their captivity in Babylon and many of the Babylonians laws and
customs were included in Scripture, including “eye for an eye, tooth for a
tooth” and laws against incest.
 
And so Castiel had glided right past the heavy moral issues of Sam and Dean’s
relationship and got right to the awkward questions like how did two males have
sex with each other, anyway? Sam suspected that while Castiel was curious about
sex as an act itself, he was more interested in the concept of a romantic
relationship since the only relationship he had experienced in Heaven was the
one of brotherhood between him and other angels.
 
“All I’m saying is that we’re already on our way to the Roadhouse. We’re tired.
And you’re not even sure that there is a hunt.” Dean returns to the main topic.
 
“But I am sure.” Castiel insists while rising to his feet. “I said that there
was a hunt.”
 
“You’re a lousy guardian angel, making us work all the time.” Dean insists
petulantly. The sigh Castiel lets out is nothing short of explosive. The
Winchesters, particularly Dean, had a talent for pushing Castiel’s patience.
And Castiel gets a little defensive when they depict him as a cherub-like angel
on their shoulder—a habit that they have failed to grow out of despite
Castiel’s best efforts. He liked protecting the Winchesters. Dean was a good
man, a protector, courageous, and unfailingly loyal. Sam was also a good man,
righteous, kind, and pure despite many tragedies and Azazel’s influence. As
much as he liked them, however, they seemed to go out of their way to vex him.
Sam had once explained it as “teasing” and that it was a sign of affection.
Though they could be frustrating, this “teasing” was an improvement from their
initial reactions to the truth that angels really did exist. Sam had always
believed in God and angels, but he had been intimidated and self-conscious
around Castiel at first and still was on occasion. Dean had been almost
impossible. Angry, sarcastic, almost cruel to Castiel (not that it mattered to
the angel at the time). It had taken time, but eventually Castiel had
determined that Dean was so angry because he couldn’t believe that angels and
God were real and didn’t do anything to save their mother, or Sam’s girlfriend
Jessica, or victims of demons and other supernatural creatures. Castiel had
uselessly endeavored to explain to Dean. Sam had intervened then, talking to
the angel alone face to face for the first time to tell him he just had to give
Dean time and he would adjust on his own.
 
“I’m not a guardian angel. I’m a warrior of the Lord.” He corrects primly.
“This isn’t like you to turn down a hunt. I said that this could be bad. What’s
really keeping you?”
 
“Fine!” Dean declares, throwing his arms out. “Me and Sam haven’t had sex in
forever!”
 
“Dean!” That came from Sam, who had moved to finish cleaning and oiling the
weapons they had set out last night. Dean did have a point. They had been so
busy lately that they didn’t do much more than rush through getting each other
off so they could collapse into bed and exhausted rest as soon as possible.
 
“Well it’s true!” Was all Dean could offer. He rubs the back of his head, only
a little embarrassed about the way he blurted it. Overall, Dean wasn’t really
shy about sex—especially sex with Sam because it was fucking hot and he wasn’t
ashamed of it.
 
“You and Sam copulated just last night.” Castiel offers, confused. “And this
morning.”
 
“Oh. My. God. How do you know that?” Sam asks, mortified. Yes, he realized that
there would be no such things as secrets or privacy with Cas, but he wasn’t
ready for this conversation, damn it!
 
“It’s sex, Cas. Copulation is the biggest turn-off word ever.” Dean interjects.
“Besides. I mean, yeah, we had sex yesterday, but not near enough to make up
for the past week. I’ve got needs Cas. I’m a young, hot gu-”
 
“Shut up about sex! Tell us about the hunt!” Sam interrupts desperately. He
turns to Dean, his expression tired and a little regretful. “Dean. People are
dying. We can take an extended vacation after this one.”
 
Dean slumps but looks resigned. “Yeah, I know. So. The deaths? There a
pattern?”
 
Castiel frowns, his brows furrowing in something like concentration and
consternation. “I do not see a pattern as of yet. Two adults are dead, but four
students from the local high school have also died. I went in there, to the
school. That’s where that malicious feeling is heaviest.”
 
Dean frowns, leaning forward. Sam’s body sags as he picks up the other
flashlight and the extra set of batteries, as if he could feel the weight of
the deaths on his shoulders.
 
“Kids?” Dean croaks. “No idea what’s happening?” Castiel just shakes his head,
his face grim.
 
Any death was tragic, of course. But kids—children to teens—really bothered Sam
and Dean. They just seemed more vulnerable and when they died it seemed that
they were robbed of so much life and potential. Maybe Sam and Dean felt more
protective of kids than adults and so their loss was felt on a deeper moral
level.
 
“How old? What’s the cause of death?” Sam asks softly.
 
“Teenagers.” Cas answers gruffly. “So far one adult’s charred remains were
found in his house—which was untouched by the flames.”
 
Dean looks sick. “The kids are dying that way?”
 
Castiel purses his lips. “No. The other deaths have varied. Hanging. Slit
wrists. One fell out of the top story window of his house and broke his neck.
One girl was hit by a car. They’re ruling those as suicides. The other adult
was stabbed in the abdomen. I’m not sure what authorities are saying about that
one.”
 
Sam frowns. “How do you know it’s not suicides?”
 
Blue eyes blink slowly. “I do not know. I only looked into the hanging. The boy
supposedly hung himself from the rafters in his foyer.”
 
“What’s so suspicious about that?” Dean asked with a shrug.
 
“It was a high ceiling. There was no way to get up there. There wasn’t a ladder
found at the crime scene. And the boy was restricted to a wheel chair.”
 
Sam swallows past the lump in his throat and grimaces at the bad taste the hunt
was already leaving in his mouth. “And the body that was burnt in a house that
didn’t burn? How are they explaining that?”
 
“To my knowledge the authorities are claiming something called ‘spontaneous
combustion’.”
 
Sam shoots Dean an incredulous look and picks up a shot gun and an oil rag to
clean it.
 
“Spontaneous combustion?” Dean snaps. “Really? Fuckin’ insane.”
 
Castiel shifted his weight. “I am certain that they are mistaken about the
cause of death.”
 
“Of course they are! It’s amazing what people will cook up to explain away
things like this.” Dean agrees.
 
“Actually.” Sam feels the need to throw in. “Many biologists believe that
spontaneous combustion is entirely possible under certain circumstances—“ He is
cut off when a pillow is thrown into his back. He shoots a glare at Dean over
his shoulder.
 
“Don’t start, Geek Boy.”
 
Sam huffs but turned back to the shot gun. “We need to hurry and get packed
then. With the pattern so unpredictable, we don’t know when the next death will
be.”
 
Dean runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah. We’ll get food on the way. Let’s
finish here and pack up.” He sighs and sways to his feet from the bed,
stretching out sore muscles though the tension was already settled deep in his
bones. “Where’s this place anyway? Please don’t tell me it’s another hick town
in the Mid West? Don’t know how much more I can take of the backwoods.”
 
Sam snorts because as much as Dean said he hated them he seemed the most at
home in those “hick towns”. Sam himself preferred small towns because Sam
always thought he felt loneliness and isolation more profoundly in heavily
populated cities.
 
“Pike Creek, Delaware.”
 
Before Dean could voice his recognition a loud crash from the table startles
them both (though Castiel doesn't even jump, the bastard). Sam had dropped the
shotgun, which had hit the edge of the table before clattering to the floor.
The oil rag had fluttered to rest on top of Sam’s bare foot.
 
“What the hell, Sam?” Dean couldn’t stop himself from barking out. “You could
have killed yourself if it was loaded!”
 
Sam doesn’t flinch at Dean’s reprimand, or jump on the defensive. Sam hates
being told what to do or chastised for a way he did things. So when Sam doesn’t
even turn around to face Dean or immediately snap back, Dean frowns. Castiel
cocks his head thoughtfully, also seeing Sam’s unusual behavioral pattern.
 
“W-we…” Sam starts and stops and his hands clench at his sides. He turns and
faces them but fails to meet their eyes. “I-I.” He swallows and stalks to the
dresser and snatches his clothes. His face is pale but otherwise unreadable,
like even Sam doesn’t know what to think. “I’m going to take a shower now.”
 
He rushes past the angel and his brother and closes the bathroom door so
quietly behind him that they can all hear the lock click in place.
 
Dean’s eyes are wide when he turns his head away from where Sam disappeared
into the bathroom and stares at Cas. “What the hell?”
 
Castiel takes an uncertain step towards the bathroom and frowns and Dean
interprets that as worried. “Sam seems… disconcerted.” He turns to Dean, eyes
snapping like lightening. The angel had only sensed vague confusion and a
notion of panic from the youngest Winchester. He was concerned and turned to
Dean for an answer.
 
Dean shrugs, forgetting to be defensive in his confusion. “I don’t know. I
mean. We went to Pike Creek once on a hunt. Sam was in high school then. I
don’t know. Sam and Dad fought really bad back then, but it seemed they fought
all the time after that, right until Sam left for Stanford.” Dean sighs
helplessly and goes to the bathroom door and knocks, putting his ear to the
door to hear the shower running. He thinks about trying to pick the door but
decides that he doesn’t want to overreact.
 
“Sammy. You OK?” Dean asks. When Sam didn’t answer Dean practically shouts to
be heard over the running water.
 
“I’m fine.” Sam calls but his voice has a thin quality to it that makes Dean
frown. “You know. Obviously we didn’t get whatever it was the first time
around.”
 
Sam remembers that things were stressful with Dad in Pike Creek last time, and
Sam might not have happy memories. Also, it was frustrating to realize that
they might not have taken care of a hunt properly and now people are dying
because of their mistakes. Sam had always felt things on a deeper level than
Dean, taken on blame that never belonged to him, so Dean could accept that Sam
was acting this way because he was upset and felt guilty. Deciding to try and
lighten the mood, Dean leers at the door. “Y’know, baby. We could go faster if
we shower together.”
 
“Get us packed, Dean.” It was a deadpanned dismissal if Dean’s ever heard one.
 
Dean frowns. Sam never turns down shower sex (and who would, really?). And he
never let one of Dean’s pet names go without the cursory ‘Don’t call me that,
Dean’ which really meant he liked it. Dean’s only slightly annoyed but Cas is
still here and maybe Sam just needs some space to deal with his guilt. It
wasn’t unheard of although Sam did usually tend to prefer physical contact to
drag him out of his headspace.
 
“What is wrong with Sam? He is upset.” Cas observes. It’s his job to keep the
Winchesters protected physically and to keep them out of the clutches of Hell.
However, about four months into his protection detail, Castiel had discovered
that sometimes he needed to protect the hearts and minds of the brothers as
well. Sam had told him it was because Castiel saw them as friends.
 
Dean shrugs and walks over to the table to finish up the weapons and pack them.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because we obviously didn’t finish the hunt the first
time? He probably blames himself for these recent deaths.” Dean decides to
leave out the part where he was also blaming himself. If kids had died because
they had been careless… Dean takes Castiel’s interested stare as cue to
continue.
 
“Well. There were fires in Pike Creek. Dad went thinking it might have been
Azazel, the demon that killed Mom—or well, maybe Dad knew back then that it was
probably a demon of some kind, but we didn’t know until the shit hit the fan a
year and a half ago.” Dean explain.
 
“So we got there and it wasn’t the demon. It wasn’t the same MO. People were
found in the houses or in the woods burned to a crisp but the surrounding area
untouched by these fires.”
 
Cas nods. “Like the adult this time around.”
 
“Right. But the other deaths? The stabbing and the supposed suicides? That’s
new.”
 
“What did they say about the burnt bodies last time?”
 
Dean smirks. “Definitely not spontaneous combustion, though the theory back
then wasn’t much better. The best they had was that someone was burning the
bodies somewhere else and dropping the remains in the woods or in their
houses.” Dean loads the weapons in the duffle to dump in the trunk later and
moves to set aside new clothes and to pack his and Sam’s bags.
 
“What was it?”
 
“It was a who not a what, but he was using something supernatural.” Dean sats
with a frown. “Apparently, there was this psycho teacher several years
back—colonial times, I think. She burned the school--well, it doubled as a
church back then--with the kids in it. The town was small back then, it was a
massacre. Anyway, her body was burned so we couldn’t salt and burn her. But the
townspeople made her casket out of the burnt bricks of the school. Her spirit
must have attached itself to them. There was this one guy, into black magic and
stuff. He dug up the grave and stole one of the bricks. Apparently, it had the
power to incinerate anything it touched. He must have cast some spell in order
to touch it without being burnt himself. Maybe he’s the one that attached her
spirit to thing. So he was going around town burning people he had a beef with.
No kids were killed back then.”
 
“It sounds like someone else has gotten their hands on one of these bricks.”
 
Dean snorts. “It’s what it sounds like but it’s gonna be hard to be sure, man.
We dug up every single one of those damn things and dumped them in the bottom
of the nearest lake. God, that job was awful. And smelly.” Dean’s brow
wrinkled. “And Sammy was being a teenage drama queen and he wasn’t there to
help. Some school project or whatever.” There was no real bite in the words,
though Dean would always look back at those last years before Stanford with Sam
and Dad fighting all the time with weariness. He only got really bitter
whenever he thought of the “Stanford Years” too much. It bothered Dean how
easily Sam could have left his family, left him, and not even contact them.
Dean understood, kind of, why Sam wouldn’t contact Dad. But Dean had snapped
out of his stupor and chased Sam down the street with his car on That Night. He
had tried to talk Sam out of it and when his efforts were met with silence he
had driven Sam to the bus station. Then Dean had called repeatedly the first
week to make sure Sam got to Stanford. Sam wouldn’t answer the phone but he
would answer texts. And then he didn’t even answer those after a few weeks in
his new life in California.
 
Sam’s leaving was a betrayal to their family. Sam’s bid for “normal” was really
him taking all the years Dean had sacrificed everything for his brother and
throwing it in Dean’s face. And Sam hadn’t even apologized. Sam’s here now and
so Dean tries not to really think of the past. Sam’s here now and promises that
he won’t leave Dean but Dean can’t help but doubt him because Sam never
apologized for leaving, for wanting “normal” (and, God, that word grated like
sandpaper on his skin). Obviously, Sam still wants those things. If his little
brother left before, what’s to stop him from leaving again? Though this time
they were lovers instead of just brothers, but Dean tries not to think about
that because it just meant it would hurt Dean all the more when it happened.
 
Dean shakes his head, trying to ward off his doubts and lingering pain of
betrayal. He sets all of the packed gear on the table and chair and shrugs his
soldiers at Castiel. “Anyway. Like I said, those other deaths didn’t happen
last time. And yeah, that burnt body seems suspicious, but it doesn’t add up.
Can’t say it’s related yet.”
 
Castiel purses his lips, nods and looks so unsettled for an angel that Dean
feels compelled to reassure them both. “I’m sure Sammy and his geeky little
head will have it figured out before someone else dies.” Sam was the best he’d
seen with research, even outpacing Dad’s ability to track demons in the past
year. Dean knew that with Cas the three of them were an incredibly efficient
hunting team, sometimes blowing through cases in half the time it would have
taken them two years ago.
 
Castiel did not voice the concern that was shadowing his mind. Sam’s emotions
were a new mix—panic, fear, confusion, and doubt. Sam felt all of these things
at some point during a hard hunt, but almost never at the same time and never
before the hunt. Castiel contemplated going in the bathroom and confronting his
charge, or at least telling Dean his concern but decides that he would wait and
talk to Sam later after he gathers more information.
 
Inside the bathroom, Sam stands tall and still underneath the lukewarm spray
and wishes.
 
***
 
“You’re doing it wrong.” Ellen snaps at John, only sparing him a glance as she
flips the stools and chairs off the bars and tables.
 
“I think I know—“
 
“Hey, Mom!” Jo calls as she bursts into the Roadhouse.
 
“Hey Joanna.” Ellen grunts and Jo raises her brows and looks to John who was
scowling at her mother with glasses in his hands.
 
“Right. I’m just gonna go… talk to Ash.” She mutters and eases in the back
where she peeks into Ash’s open door.
 
“They flirting again?” Ash asks without looking up from his computer. Ash had
felt mildly protective of Ellen when John first arrived, but as soon as he saw
the rampant sexual tension between the two he had backed off, not wanting to
get in the middle of that. Though it was fun to watch from afar.
 
Jo nods miserably. “It's creepy as hell.”
 
After the car crash John was volleyed from the Singer house to the Roadhouse
because he was whiny and bullheaded and restless. John had gotten on Bobby's
nerves, and Bobby's on his, and the bickering had gotten so violent that one
day Sam and Dean had walked into Bobby's house to see the two men waving shot
guns at each other. After that, a move was really just a matter of getting
packed and convincing John that he wouldn't be a burden on Ellen. John had been
so ill and troublesome at first because he couldn’t stand being out of the
hunting game or having his sons out there alone looking for Azazel. Now that
all of it was over it was easier for him to accept his new limitations and
settle down at the Roadhouse. Jo didn’t mind having John Winchester around. His
fame as a hunter actually attracted patrons. He picked up arms trafficking
after Caleb was killed by the demon Meg and now provided hunters with
specialized materials and weapons. That also attracted a lot of business to the
Roadhouse.
 
The flirting with Mom didn’t really bother Jo—besides the fact that it was
creepy. The bickering had first started because Mom still blamed John for Dad’s
death and because John refused to be bossed around. The heat from their arguing
seemed to have melted the ice between them. John never asked for forgiveness
and Mom never asked for an apology or details of the hunt that killed Dad. But
somehow their bickering had less bite and more flirtation. Jo didn’t really
mind it. She harbored no bitterness towards John and his presence redirected
Mom’s nagging to someone else besides Jo. John’s presence was a good thing
because now Jo was running her own bar without her mother’s constant managerial
“advice”.
 
She sends a smile at Ash and nods towards his computer. “What are you working
on now?”
 
In the main part, John is still shooting death over his shoulder at the bar’s
matron. “I think I know how to stack the damn glasses, Ellen.”
 
“Obviously you don’t. The way you’re going you’re not gonna to fit half of them
back there.”
 
John slams two glasses down on the bar, gritting his teeth. “You do it then if
you know so much.”
 
“And let you keep freeloading? You gotta earn your keep around here. This ain’t
no halfway house.”
 
“You don’t make the boys work! And I earn my keep!”
 
“The boys help out with repairs when they’re here. Besides, they need time to
rest.” Ellen corrects. “You sleep all day and play with guns every once in a
while!” John’s business brought a lot of customers and profits to the
Roadhouse, and while Ellen was thankful for it she was never going to admit
that part to John.
 
“You know my weapon business has expanded your business!”
 
“Yes, it has, and now we need even more help and I can’t afford to hire anyone
so you get to do it and I want you to do it right!”
 
“And there’s nothing wrong with how I’m stacking the damn glasses!”
 
“Sure there is.” Ellen says as she puts the last chair down. “So re-do it. And
when you’re done do the dishes from last night.”
 
John groans. “Are you kidding me? What did I do to piss you off this time?”
 
Ellen quirks her lips and shifts her weight, bringing up a hand to her hip, the
movement causing her breasts to slip further out of the stretched out black
tank top she was wearing beneath her jacket. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
 
John stares at her a beat before breaking into a smug smirk very similar to the
rakish and charming one his eldest son utilizes. "C’mon, Elle. You know you
love havin’ me around to feed the sexual tension.” She was hot, in an ornery
redneck housewife sort of way, and John wouldn’t be a man if he wasn’t
attracted to her. However, while things had cooled between them, they hadn’t
resolved the veil surrounding her husband’s death. And John didn’t want to
rehash the past with her. Besides, while John’s had his one-night stands (Dean
picked up that habit from him), John realizes on some level he had never
reconciled with Mary’s death. He had only repressed it and now that the Yellow-
Eyed son of a bitch was gone and his sons were safe with each other and their
guardian angel, now that he didn’t have to worry all the time, John misses Mary
more than he had in the days and months right after her death and he just
wasn't ready--would probably never be ready--to really move on.
 
Sam and Dean tease him endlessly about Ellen, however. Dean has a habit of
asking when the wedding is whenever he calls John and Sam promises that they
would be happy to chip in for the honeymoon and get Cas to teleport them so
they wouldn’t have to spend the money on airfare.
 
Ellen rolls her eyes and turns so the smug bastard couldn’t see her smile. “You
wish, Jackass. And don’t call me that.”
 
John laughs, makes a half-hearted attempt to rearrange the glasses. “Short on
comebacks today. Maybe I’m finally getting to you?”
 
“Maybe you need to shut your mouth and do your job.” Ellen bites back.
 
“Why can’t you do the dishes?” John doesn't whine.
 
“Because I gotta check the books and do inventory, which is on the computer.
Have your computer skills improved? Cause I got a busted one in the dumpster
that says otherwise.”
 
John’s scowl blackens and he turns to finish the glasses. Ellen grins at the
back of his head, relishing in yet another victory. John grumbles, wincing
already at the prospect of dirty dishes. Ellen has a quip about him pruning his
delicate hands on the tip of her tongue when John's cell phone starts to ring
shrilly from one of the tables. John grunts in dread at moving and Ellen moves
to get it for him but John petulantly waves her off.
 
 
“I got it.” He says, already moving, his shoulders dipping drastically as he
limps from behind the bar. “Probably just the boys.”
 
Ellen nods, watching as John struggles on his mangled leg. Though the angel
Castiel now protected the steps of the younger Winchesters, he was too late to
save John from his fate. John’s legs were mangled in the car crash. The right
knee had wrenched, snapping all the ligaments. They had reconstructed the
ligaments but there was no way John could do more than walk on it ever again.
His right femur had suffered a break and a blood clot post-surgery, which in
turn caused nerve and tissue damage. It was so bad that the doctors had wanted
to amputate but John had refused, thinking that he could somehow overcome it,
needing to overcome it because the demon was still out there and his boys
needed him. There was some nerve damage in his left hip and lower back so that
he often experienced the “dead leg” sensation that alternated with painful
spasms. His right leg was almost completely useless and his left side its bad
days.
 
 
John really couldn’t walk any distance, and most days he should be restricted
to a wheelchair. However, John was a stubborn son of a bitch and stuck to the
cane no matter how much pain he was in, which was why he was always so damned
grouchy. John had been more stubborn and bitter about the injury when Azazel
was still alive. Now it frustrated him most days but he was learning to live
with it. The arms dealing for hunters helped him out, made him feel useful. And
it felt good to be home base for his boys, like he was making up for all the
years he had robbed from them. As a result his relationship with Sammy was
totally renewed. Without the hunt and forced to be still and stable John seemed
to have rediscovered how to be a father. Dean and especially Sam now turned to
John for advice, for help, and just to talk in a way that neither had done
since they were small children. The injury was the bane of his existence, but
it was also his saving grace.
 
Mostly he was just grateful. After all, while he had lain mangled and
unconscious in the crushed Impala, trapped in by the fire started by the
eighteen-wheeler, his baby boys had laid mangled and dead. Castiel had appeared
and raised his two sons from the dead, leaving behind a hand print on Dean’s
shoulder and a hand print on Sam’s back. Castiel had only been given the power
to raise the two Winchesters from the dead and pull the three of them from the
wreckage in time for the paramedics. Dean had remained in a long coma, Sam in a
medically induced coma while they sewed up his chest and fought bleeds and
infections. John had lain awake, practically paralyzed, and utterly helpless.
 
Ellen made her way to the bar, pulling out her laptop and opening up the books,
keeping half an ear on John’s conversation. It was a shame that a hunter like
John Winchester was out of the game. However, hunting wasn’t everything and a
part of Ellen was relieved that John had been forced out of the life. The pain
was excruciating some days and Ellen didn’t wish that on him, but she had never
seen John so peaceful before. She never regretted inviting him to stay at the
Roadhouse, though everything in her at the time had screamed against it. No
matter what had happened on that hunt all those years ago, John hadn’t wanted
Bill to die, and Bill would have been upset with her for taking out her grief
on John, especially when he was down after the crash.
 
John answers gruffly. “Yeah?” The sound of his oldest son’s laughter was a
relief. He hadn’t heard from his boys in almost two weeks. It was nothing like
the month gaps of radio silence that used to be between them. Two weeks tended
to be the longest the boys didn’t call, and it usually meant that they were
bogged down with hunts and exhausted.
 
“Gee, Dad. Don’t sound so happy to talk to me.”
 
John rolls his eyes, fighting a smile. “I’m going to get enough of you in a few
days anyway.”
 
“Yeah. About that.” Dean sighs and John picks up the tension in his voice. “Cas
got us a pretty urgent hunt. Something crazy is going down in Pike Creek,
Delaware.”
 
John frowns, easing himself down in a chair, grunting at the pain that shoots
up and burns his body. And he was actually disappointed that his boys weren’t
coming, he had been looking forward to seeing them. “Pike Creek?”
 
“Yeah. We’ve been there before, remember the—“
 
“Fires.” John nods though Dean couldn’t see him. “There more fires?”
 
Dean was silent for a moment. “There’s been one fire like the one from last
time. There’s other deaths now. Hanging. Slit wrists. Stabbing. We don’t really
have a pattern right now but there’s been six deaths already. Four of them were
high school kids, Dad.”
 
John closes his eyes, bringing a hand up to rub his forehead. “Jesus.”
 
“…Yeah.” Dean agrees softly. There was a long pause and John could pick up some
murmuring in the background.
 
“That angel of yours with you?”
 
“Cas, Dad.” Dean corrected automatically. “Yeah. He’s riding in the backseat.”
John could hear his grin. “He’s such a backseat driver, too.”
 
John hears a deep voice but couldn’t make out the words. “I know I’m the one
driving. That’s not what I mean, Cas.” Was Dean’s overly patient response.
 
John smiles a little at hearing the exasperation toward the angel. John could
have reacted like Dean when he first met Castiel. He could have moaned about
how if angels and God existed then how could they have allowed Mary and Jess
die horrible deaths. He could have railed about how angels and God had allowed
a demon to play sick games with Sammy and the other children. He could have
chosen to be angry and sarcastic, he had wanted to, but he didn’t. In the end
Castiel, God, had chosen to interfere and save his babies’ lives. Not only
that, but Castiel was here to prevent the Winchesters from becoming the
playthings of Hell.
 
John could admit to himself that sometimes he felt threatened by Cas, like the
angel was taking his place as protector, caregiver, partner, father. John had
reneged on his fatherly duty for over twenty years, so if that was the case
then he really had no right to reclaim his place when Cas was doing such a
better job. All he could do was be patient and be there for his boys in all the
ways he could.
 
“Dean.” John says to remind his eldest that he was on the phone.
 
“Right. So. We’re calling cause we obviously can’t use fake aliases. We were
there for a couple of months, people will remember us. Especially Sam.”
 
John frowns. “Sam?”
 
“Yeah. One of the two adults killed was the guidance counselor at the school.
She was the one that was burned, actually. Since four kids were killed we
decided that if we could get Sam in as the new guidance counselor we could keep
an eye on pretty much all the students. Students have been the main victims, so
whatever this thing is might be in the school.”
 
John nods. “Good idea. Yeah. I’ll get Ash to whip up a resume and make sure it
gets noticed. Should be set up by the time you get there. What else?”
 
“Well.” Dean drawls out, a bit rueful. “My, uh, record.”
 
John rolls his eyes, remembering what the boys told him of that encounter with
the shape shifter in St. Louis. Shape shifters were easy enough to kill but a
bitch to catch. Also, Dean’s record as serial killer made it hard for them to
work closely with the police. Ash had been meaning to fix that.
 
“We’re gonna be using our real names.” Dean reminds and rushes on. “And the
other adult killed was the local sheriff. The deputy’s been temporarily
promoted, but they’re still looking for a new sheriff to come to town.”
 
John distinctly hears Sam’s derisive snort from the other end and couldn’t help
but smile. Still, having to use real names was a pain—and painfully expensive
since they couldn’t use credit fraud.
 
“Well, I’ll see what Ash can do.”
 
“I just don’t want a background check to bite us in the ass. Also, I kinda need
sheriff credentials. You know, other than the fact that I look fine in
uniform—Ow! Sammy!”
 
John chuckles. “Well, boys. I’ll see what I can do.”
 
“What Ash can do. You’re crap with computers, Dad.”
 
John scowls, shooting a dark look at Ellen as if the last comment was her
fault.
 
“Like you’re any better.”
 
“Hey. Sammy told me to say that. Don’t take it out on me.”
 
John rolls his eyes. “If Sam’s so smart then have him do it.”
 
Dean snorts. “Little bitch is too scared that he’ll mess up and alert the
Feds.” He says like it wasn’t one of the worst possible things that could ever
happen. John couldn’t hear words but he could hear the sarcasm just oozing in
his youngest son’s voice as he snarks back at Dean.
 
“Yeah, yeah. But you better have a backup plan, Dean. Not sure if Ash can swing
erasing criminal records without red flags popping up.”
 
“Yeah, whatever. There’s this youth center that three of the kids went to. But
since it’s mostly kids that are being killed, me and Sam have a feeling that
sheriff might’ve been on to something and got killed for it. Guidance
counselor, too.”
 
John nods. “Fair guess. Be careful, both of you boys, don’t go off half cocked.
I’ll look and see if there are any omens in the area.” And then a thought
occurs to him. “I’ll see if I can get in touch with Nathan. Maybe he’ll find
you boys a house or apartment. Can’t work as a sheriff and counselor out of a
motel room.”
 
“Who?” Dean asks.
 
“Nathan Schneider. Old Marine buddy of mine? He was there that time we were
hunting in Pike Creek. Sammy’s gym coach. Anyway, he’s still at that school Sam
went to. Just a reminder, he doesn’t know anything about what we do and what we
hunt, so keep things quiet, but he’s a reliable guy, a good guy. Maybe he could
help get you boys set up with some living arrangements. Maybe we can get him to
do a recommendation for both your cover jobs. Last time I checked, that little
Marine grunt turned into an upstanding, fine member of the community.”
 
“Sounds good.” Dean agrees, sounding distracted. Either Dean’s short attention
span was kicking in or he was actually interested in whatever debate Sam and
Castiel were engaged in. It was most likely the former.
 
“Make sure you check in.”
 
“OK, Dad, but we have a handy guardian angel now.”
 
“Humor me, Dean.” John sighs.
 
“Yeah, yeah.” Dean repeats, but sounds more serious.
 
“Be careful.” And then, because it was weird for him but he wanted to do it all
the same, he adds, “tell Sam I said hey.”
 
Dean was silent for a moment. “Sure.” He seems surprised, but pleased with the
request still unused to the renewed bond between John and Sam. “Hey Dad-” And
John could picture the leer forming on his eldest son’s lips. “If you and Ellen
actually decide to skip on the foreplay, don’t forget protection—“ This time
John distinctly hears the slap to the back of Dean’s head and Sam’s startled
“gross, Dean!”
 
“Right.” Dean sounds appropriately cowed by his brother’s reprimand. John
couldn’t help but laugh. Both of his boys were proud and fiercely independent.
Sam seemed to be the only one that could reprimand Dean and get away with it.
Sam was also the only one that could make Dean shy or rueful. Really, Sam was
the only one that was Dean’s everything so it wasn’t a surprise Sam held so
much power and influence over his big brother.
 
“Call you later.” Dean promises and hangs up.
 
John closes his phone, chuckling fondly as he pictures his boys having a slap
fight i the front seat, shooting childish insults back and forth while an angel
of the Lord looks on curiously from the backseat.
 
“John?” Ellen calls as she picks up the phone to call in more orders. “Dishes.
Now.”
 
John curses all the way to the kitchen and vows to break at least two plates,
just for the hell of it.
 
TBC
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