Episode Twenty-One: Sins of the Father

By Tracer

Part Two

A smirk crossed John Winchester’s face as the father rose from his seat, eyeing his stunned boys. Dean gaped, clearly in disbelief but relief evident in his expression. That didn’t surprise John at all: Dean usually was happy to see him. After Mary had died, Dean had clung to him, and Sam had clung to Dean, which explained the less than thrilled, near skeptical look Sam’s face held.

That boy could be sensitive when it came to emotional scars his older brother bore, and seeing as Sam usually blamed John for most of them that had created a rift. Add in the fact that he had just left them months back without so much as a good bye to the mix and John wasn’t sure where to tread with his youngest some days.

“Y’all gonna stand there all day, or come tell your old man hi?” John’s whiskey deep voice echoed through the small diner, landing on the Winchester sons who might as well have been statues as the father’s question stirred neither one of them to react. “I don’t look that old, do I? Tell me you can still recognize this face through all the gray?”

The joke proved its worth and a laugh punctuated the air as Dean started down the narrow aisle toward the back table. “Well, Sam uses Just for Men. You might want to try that one.”

Sam scoffed as his long legs conquered the tile behind Dean. He watched in silence as the son and father embraced fiercely and waited until Dean sunk down in the booth, before hugging his father and then proceeding to rub Dean’s hair playfully, “It smells better than the Rogaine you use.”

John barked a laugh, settling down across from his sons and motioning for the waitress to bring coffee and lots of it. “So I take it you two are getting along as usual?”

“When Dean acts his age,” Sam quipped, giving his brother’s shin a loving kick under the table.

The father’s eyes sparkled in amusement and he seized the opportunity Sam had given him. Yeah, their relationship was alright. “So, almost never then.”

“HEY!” Dean interjected through his family’s laughter, turning a glare that would make Satan cower to Sam then his father and back to Sam.

“No need to get upset, son,” John patronized, nodding to the waitress’s confused look as she studied the family and dropped off the coffee.

Dean gave the lady a winning come-hither smile, although the sound of John overly clearing his throat brought his focus back to the issue at hand. Making Sam pay for the little remark. “Besides, Sam’s the one that put up a personal ad. He got lots of phone calls too. I tell ya, dad. I don’t know what I’m gonna do with him.”

Sam’s face adopted a fish out of water expression, his eyes blown wide. He seemed to remember that the ad was Dean’s idea of payback after their last little prank war, not his own search for love. His father’s patient, questioning glance wasn’t helping either. “Dean put that in! He was trying to get me back!”

John raised his hands in mock surrender. “Now, Sammy, I know every man has needs, but we’re not gonna have to go through another one of those ‘talks’ are we?”

Sam’s jaw looked like it had come positively unhinged and Dean’s loud guffaw had all two other people in the small diner twisting in their seats to stare menacingly at the three Winchester men. The older son ducked down a bit in the seat, shifting his eyes toward Sam. “See, you got us in trouble. Way to go college boy.”

“Shut up,” the dark-haired brother clipped, sulking in his seat. “Don’t we have anything business related to talk about?”

“Very true there, son,” John answered, reaching a hand under the table and bringing a fraying manila folder filled to the max with loose papers from the bench seat into view and letting it fall to the table with a thud. “The Tucker house, everything you’d ever want to know and nothing that helps us.”

Dean pulled the file toward him, flipping it open and staring at the top article, a picture of an old dilapidated house filling the first page. “Then that paper—you sent that right?”

“Yeah,” John drawled lazily, rubbing his stubble-laden jaw.

Sam shifted in the seat, tilting his head to peer over Dean’s shoulder only to have his older brother smirk at him and bow his body further over the folder, effectively shutting down Sam’s rubbernecking. Sighing in irritation, Sam locked eyes with his father. “Why didn’t you just call?”

John cleared his throat. He wasn’t stupid, and knew without a doubt that question was in reference to the weeks, not just the hotel. “I lost my phone.”

“Really,” Sam stated in a monotone, and Dean visibly bristled.

“What happened?” the older brother questioned, his eyes still scanning the pages sprawled out before him.

“Poltergeist threw me up against a wall,” John replied with a chuckle, hand unconsciously moving to his neck as if rubbing a sore spot. Both boys’ heads jerked upward in concern, but the father waved them off. “Note to the wise, never put your phone in your back pocket.”

Dean scoffed and Sam returned the sentiment, although raising his eyebrows curiously as his father sipped his coffee. “Was there a payphone in your pocket too?”

John semi-choked on the hot brew, recovering quickly under Dean’s amused glance and Sam’s expectant one. “No, uh…I’m sorry I didn’t call, Sammy. I know I said I would,” the father apologized softly, taking the brothers aback a bit, but his tone quickly turned back to the military one they held so dear. “But there are a lot of things going down now, and I’ve been tied up which is why I had Nathan get you guys up here.”

“So what do you think is going on?” Dean questioned slowly, his gaze scrutinizing as he held up a piece of paper for his father to study. “Beatings? That seems more--”

“Human? Yeah.” John stated with a sigh, snatching the paper from Dean. “’Cept they were more like bashings. Insides turned to mush, like they got hit by a truck.”

“We read the article. Ten people so far?” Sam asked curiously, resting his elbows on the mica table top and yanking the folder out from under Dean with a smug smile when the older man leaned forward, ignoring the silently mouthed comment from his brother’s lips.

John nodded, placing the paper down on the table and tapping his finger on the picture over the upper level of the house. “Supposedly, the locals have a legend about what happened up there, but I interviewed a few people and got nothing.”

“But the attacks were in the back forest right?” Sam clarified, his brow scrunched in thought as he read through the mass of papers.

“Well, four of them,” Dean chimed in, reaching over and pulling out a page he’d scanned earlier. “Two were in the house, and the others were in or around the porch.”

“What?” Sam slammed his hand on the table, shaking his head. “Dad, this is insane.”

“I know, I know,” John muttered with a clench of his jaw. “Spirits have patterns and this doesn’t seem to fit. But something is killing these people, boys, and I can’t stay and figure it out, so who better but my sons.”

“Yeah, Sam,” Dean replied, taunting slightly, although his face fell when all his father’s words registered. “Wait…you’re not staying?”

John bowed his head, taking in a calming breath before facing his sons’ questioning and anxious stares. “No.”

“Unbelievable,” Sam muttered, sinking down in the seat and rubbing his jaw as he mulled the situation over. “Friggen’ unbelievable.”

Dean shifted nervously, preparing to chide his brother into silence. “Sam--.”

“No, c’mon, Dean,” Sam responded angrily. “If some crazy ass case that doesn’t make any sense isn’t making Dad stay then something else is up and he doesn’t want us in it.”

The sandy-haired Winchester pondered the accusation for a second, but quickly intervened with a defense. “Sam, I don’t think--”

“Is this about the demon? It is isn’t it?” Sam pressed, leaning forwards, long body half over the table as he stared down his father. “What, you think you can give us some little job to entertain us?”

“Stop!” Dean ordered with a yell, placing a firm hand on his brother’s shoulder and yanking Sam back into a sit on the bench before turning to John. “Dad?”

“That’s not it,” John replied, shaking his head. “I thought you knew me better than that. I got another case up further north. I owe this guy one. He kind of saved my ass once.”

“Kind of?” Dean repeated, trying his best not to sound skeptical, and keep Sam seated at the same time.

“Job went bad. He took a good couple hits for me,” John clarified, staring off at the large restaurant window and the people scattered beyond the pane. “Look, I just really need you two to handle this for me,” he turned back to face his sons, his gaze locked on Sam. “And you will handle it, understood?”

Sam grit his teeth and let out a slow breath. “Fine, but Dad…this demon,” he paused, head already reaching a bass drum rhythm and the events of the past few weeks rushing back. “I need to be a part of that. He’s toyed with me enough. Dean too.”

“I get that, Sammy,” John responded softly, “Don’t worry. I’ll call and wait if it comes to it. But this job has nothing to do with the demon. Not in the least.”

“Okay,” Sam breathed, face adopting a smile as he sought to ease the tension. “So when are you heading out?”

“Yeah,” Dean cut in, closing the folder. “Got time to find a seedy establishment in the wonderful city of Mayberry?”

“Sorry, son,” John replied with a laugh. “As much as I would love to watch you hit on cheap woman and Sam here nurse a beer, I told my contact I’d be there by tomorrow.”

Sam nodded in understanding. “It was nice to see you, Dad.”

“Good to see you too,” John returned with a sad smile and internally braced himself for the response to the bomb he was about to drop next. “You know it’s going to be a while before I can contact you, right?”

“Have Johnny Halen buy a phone,” Sam assuaged easily.

“Or get change for a dollar.” Dean quipped, fighting the reestablishing tension. “It is still less than a dollar ain’t it?”

John pursed his lips. “I would hope so, and it’s not--”

“Yeah, Dad,” Dean intervened with a reassuring smile to John’s grateful one. “We get it.” He rolled his head toward Sam with a smirk. “Guess it’s you and me tonight, Tonto.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, taking the folder off the table and gesturing for Dean to move so he could exit the booth. Dean nodded, moving out to further his brother’s escape, and John rose to a stand as well. Sam gave a small smile and met his father’s eyes. “Be careful.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, kiddo,” John stated, reaching out a hand and ruffling Sam’s hair playfully to which the boy—man—narrowed his eyes and tried to stifle the smile tugging at his lips. “Damn. Dean, your new assignment is to buzz cut that mop.”

“Lucky he can still see, ain’t it?” Dean teased, tilting his head as if studying the brown locks. “I’ll have to do it while he sleeps though, else he might lose an ear.”

Sam placed a hand protectively over his hair. “No! I like my hair thank you. You wish yours looked this good.”

Dean and John burst out in laughter and Sam joined in after realizing just how lame his comeback really was. “Alright, alright, fine, laugh it up, but I’m not responsible for what I do if Dean makes any move toward me with clippers.”

“I’m okay with that,” John answered, grabbing his jacket off the bench.

John rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze lingering on his oldest son. Dean and Sam exchanged glances and the older brother waited for Sam to get the hint. When the dark-haired brother’s eyes widened, Dean nodded silently and Sam swiped the check off the table. “I got this. Well, Sam Jackson does anyway. Meet you at the car, Dean, and Dad, hopefully see you soon.”

“Back at ya,” John returned, watching his youngest son retreat to the counter before focusing his attention on Dean. “I need you to make sure you finish this job. No matter how long it takes. It’s important.”

“Yeah, we always do. But why this?” Dean side-stepped coyly although taking to clearing his throat when John merely issued a fatherly ‘I know everything’ stare.

John’s stare pierced through his son, and if Dean hadn’t been trained under it for so long, he would’ve lost his nerve. “What?”

“Why this? Why now?” Dean repeated tersely.

“I already told you,” John snapped, face taking on a reddish tint as anger at being questioned took its hold.

Dean swallowed thickly, clenching his hands nervously. He had to know, he just had to. “And that’s the only reason?”

John sighed, nearly kicking himself for not seeing Dean’s desperation sooner. But then again he was out of practice. “Yeah, son, the only reason.”

“I—okay,” Dean resigned, straightening his shoulders and meeting his dad’s eye line again.

“What?”

Dean shifted anxiously, “Why, uh…why a fake bullet, dad?”

“It was my call,” the father replied bluntly. “And I thought it was a good one at the time.”

Dean scratched the back of his head, casting a look toward Sam as the diner’s bells signaled his exit. “Still think so?”

“Yeah,” John answered without hesitation, patting his son’s back as they moved toward the door. “Yeah, I do.”

* * * *

Sam wondered if the phrase ‘silent as the grave’ would be adequate to describe the current state of the Impala’s interior, discarding, of course, the fact that their jobs revolved around very loud and destructive graves. But with that out of the picture, it made sense. No loud metal blared from the speakers, the steady hum of the tires seemed to have faded—to Sam it was as if the car itself was dying under the silent pressure and one glance over at Dean determined that the older man looked as if he wanted to play in afternoon traffic, the sooner the better.

“So,” the dark-haired brother drawled, cracking his knuckles anxiously as he was about to tread dangerous territory. “What, uh, did you and Dad talk about?”

Dean’s knuckles turned stark white as tightened his grip on the wheel. “Nothing. Just told me he was serious about your Farrah Fawcett hair style.”

Sam rolled his eyes, tugging idly at the flipped strands of hair behind his ears. “You know if this hunting thing ever comes to an end, you should get a job where they pay you to deflect the issue. I think it’s your hidden talent, bro.”

“Sam,” Dean warned, tone steady and ominous. “Just because you want to talk about something doesn’t mean I have to. You got that?”

“Just ‘cause you don’t doesn’t mean you shouldn’t,” Sam shot back, his gaze lingering on his brother for a bit longer as the silence took hold again and the younger brother turned his head to stare dully at the passing suburbia. “We’re in this together you know.”

“God!” Dean exclaimed, twisting to lock eyes with his startled brother. “Is this your new idea of payback or something? You’re gonna guilt trip me now?”

Sam sighed, rubbing his eyes before answering. “No, but talking to Dad, hell, seeing the man in general, has me on edge but you, dude, you look like you’re about to take something out. I thought we covered the whole ‘I’m your brother, trust me to be honest’ thing, so what’d he say to you?”

“Sam, just drop it,” Dean stated authoritatively, although the resonating plea behind the words was not lost on the younger brother.

Sam shook his head vehemently. “No, I’m not going to just drop it, Dean. I almost…well I thought I was gonna end up killing you last time because I thought you were holding out on me. It’s not happening. Spill.”

Dean straightened in the seat, jaw set firm as he blatantly ignored Sam’s command. Sam’s eyes bugged wide at his brother’s disregard and slammed his hand against the passenger door in irritation, letting out a startled and bewildered puff of air when he saw the familiar Victorian Bed and Breakfast fly by his window.

“Dean,” Sam stated firmly, but big brother merely clenched his jaw, although Sam wasn’t sure how much tighter he could get the bone. “DEAN!”

“What?!?”

“You passed the Bed and Breakfast,” Sam clarified, his tone losing its harshness.

“That’s cause we’re not going back yet, Oprah,” Dean replied with a smirk. “We’re going to the house.”

“Alright,” Sam muttered, crossing his arms with a sigh. “Dean…c’mon man, what did Dad want?”

“It’s not…” Dean breathed. “I don’t get why he thinks he has to pull rank on me. I swear, the man could be bleeding to death and we wouldn’t be able to staunch the flow ‘cause he’d order us to clean the guns or something.”

A smirk flicked across Sam’s lips before he wisely blanked his face. “Dad has his reasons right? That’s what you always say. Oh…Christ.”

Dean snapped his attention to Sam. “What?”

“You asked about the bullet, didn’t you?” Sam pressed, eye narrowing as he waited for Dean’s nervous roll of the shoulders and shift in the driver’s seat to produce an answer to his question. “Dean, I thought you were okay with th--”

“I am.” Dean interjected, his voice so low Sam had to strain to hear it. “I just wanted to know if there was another reason he came back.”

Sam frowned sympathetically, knowing exactly what his brother wanted from their father, hell, he wanted it to. “I don’t think it’s ever gonna be just for us, Dean. Not for a while anyways.”

Dean blinked rapidly, swallowing visibly and shook his head. “That’s not what I meant, Sammy.”

“Right,” Sam murmured, clearing his throat and grabbing the discarded file off the Impala floor. “So, this job is gonna be a bitch, huh?”

A small laugh from Dean brought a smile to Sam’s face. “Yeah, well, they usually are. But Sam? No getting choked this time, okay?”

Sam laughed and shook his head. “Only if you don’t drown.”

“Deal.”

* * * *

John watched his boys get into the Impala, returning Sam and Dean’s goodbye wave. The tires spun out a nice cloud of dirt and dust and the father waited until the unmistakable black peeled out of the parking lot, completely leaving his view, before stalking over to his mammoth truck.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, the older hunter pulled out a battered cell phone, punching in the seven digits he’d memorized over the past few months and waiting for the signifying three rings before the ringing stopped and a deep voice came across the line.

“Yeah,” John answered, scratching his chin. “Don’t worry, there’s nothing to postpone me anymore…Doesn’t matter what it was, I took care of it…I’ll be there by morning. Yeah…yeah, I know the danger.”

With a heavy heart and a lingering glance over his shoulder to the tarmac his sons had cruised down moments before, John ended his call and climbed into his truck, taking solace in the fact that he was doing what he had to do. The boys would understand. They had to, there was no other choice.

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