Fire. Heat. Screams. Sam woke with a start and blinked in dark, trying to bring his heart rate back under control. He moved his hand over, and felt Jesse at his side, still asleep. Good, must mean he hadn't been thrashing around. Would these freakin' nightmares ever leave him?

Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and hoped for sleep. Then he heard it, a creaking sound. Listening harder, he heard another creak. That did it, it wasn't his imagination or a left over from his dream.

Quickly hopping out of bed, he pulled the bedroom door shut behind him and padded barefooted down the hall. The moon light streaming through filmy white curtains allowed him to see his way around and he managed to quietly open the hall closet and get a baseball bat.

He felt a breeze where there should be none… open window. Hell, someone was really in here. Scanning the room, he started to walk until he heard the creaking again and pinpointed it to the kitchen.

Calculating in his mind the burglar's entry point and route to the kitchen, Sam went around the other side. Gripping the bat, he waited until a shadow lengthened in front of him, and then he swung.

It was dark and utterly silent in the apartment.

Nothing had stirred when the utter silence was broken by the soft turning of the lock on the window, easily slid open with the point of the knife. The window making not a sound as he opened it and easily slipped inside.

The only light spilling like liquid silver from the moon through the fluttering drapes of the now open window. Cold white light mingling with deep shadows, dancing eerily across every surface. The lacy gauzy material swaying like a ghost's shroud gently in the cool night breeze.

It was late. Well past midnight. There had been no car parked out front, but that meant little when practically everywhere on the campus could be reached by either foot, bike, or by public bus. Even as late as it was, that was no guarantee anyone was home. When even the most disciplined student might take advantage of one of the many parties going on around campus celebrating Halloween.

It was almost too easy getting into the apartment, and the man couldn't help the slight twinge of disappointment that flashed across his shadowed face before he pushed the feeling aside roughly. Making his way through the empty living room, his eyes taking in every detail in the darkness.

There were few knickknacks, or other personal items sitting on shelves or tables, that didn't really surprise him. Though there were a few photos sitting in plain picture frames that he examined a moment before moving on. There was a plain couch and television. A desk sat in one corner of the room, papers and books neatly arranged, and a laptop sitting closed on top of it. Through one door he could see a small but immaculately clean kitchen. Down the opposite hallway he assumed was where the bedrooms and bathroom was.

Deciding to make certain that this part of the house was truly empty before searching the rest, he made his way carefully towards the kitchen. As he thought, it was empty, save for a few unwashed dishes in the sink. Though as he turned to leave, a quickly moving shadow forced him to duck without warning.

John Winchester might be in his late forties, but that didn't mean his reflexes were dulled in the slightest. A good thing. Because if he had moved any slower the swinging baseball bat would have probably taken his head off his shoulders rather than just making a big hole in the wall where he ducked beneath it.

In spite of the slight irritation he felt at the unexpected attack, he couldn't help but feel a flash of pride that his son had still managed to almost sneak up on him even after two years of being a 'civilian'. Unfortunately he didn't really have time to voice that pride, or even offer a proper greeting, as he caught the younger man's arm before Sam could recover. Twisting the younger man's wrist just enough to force him to release his weapon before he could strike again.

"Sam, stop!" John's voice was pitched low in the darkness, but still seemed overly loud because of the previous silence. He knew his son would recognize his voice, however he did not know if that would make the younger man stop fighting, or take another swing at him.

The last time they had seen each other saying they had not parted on the best terms would be a great understatement… But he didn't have time to think, or regret, about that right now. For the same reason he'd broken into his son's apartment, because they didn't have time to have this 'family reunion' in the morning. They barely had time for him to explain why he'd come at all.

Because Dean didn't have time…

"We need to talk, Sam. It's about Dean…"

As the bat fell from his hand, Sam cursed under his breath. Jerking his arm back, he started to strike out with everything he had, but that soft command had the crack of a whip. He’d heard it so often, and learned to stop on a dime.

Well not this time, he decided. He wasn’t under this man’s thumb anymore. He’d fought to get out, and he’d done it… with no help, no support, nothing. Instead of hitting him, he gripped his leather jacket with two hands and dragged him toward a window, where he could see his face even in the dark. He hadn't aged a day and looked as tough as ever, like someone who thought he had all the answers and no one could tell him otherwise, but Sam thought he looked a bit pale... it was probably due to the moonlight.

Just like that, all the memories he’d been trying to forget tumbled back. All the drills, all the training, all the head shaking when he didn’t do things the way his father thought they ought to be done. And Dean, just taking it, like their father was God and knew everything. Dammit, he'd put all that behind him as well as he could.

“Dad? What the hell are you doing here?” Sam’s eyes were unusually hard, his teeth clenching together as he spoke. “What about Dean?” He shook the older man. “If he’s hurt… it’s on you…” Oh, he’d have a lot more to say if Dean was in some hospital, or if this was some sort of trick to get Sam back into the family business. He wouldn’t put that past his dad, he really wouldn’t.

When Sam suddenly grabbed him, and quite literally dragged him over to the window, into the light, it took John Winchester a little by surprise. That was the only reason the younger man got away with it.

Or so, John’s sense of pride told him. Though a part of him, perhaps, still saw his younger son as the young boy that he used to be. Despite the fact that his son had towered over him by a few inches for the last several years, and now had the muscle mass to back up his height advantage.

Now Sam was using that height to try to intimidate his father. His hands still gripping his jacket roughly. His eyes and voice hard as he spoke. And for a moment the older man couldn’t help but think just where had the boy he raised, the boy who had left him, gone and who was this man who had replaced him?

Maybe he was more tired than he thought.

His elder son’s name, not to mention Sam’s incredibly disrespectful tone he never would have gotten away with if he were still living under his roof, snapped John out of his momentarily paralysis and he quickly broke Sam’s hold on him. Effectively shoving his younger son out of his personal space with a scowl, straightening his jacket.

Sam might have been taller, might have even had weight and strength advantage over him, but he had still taught the boy everything he’d known, and Sam still had plenty to learn.

He ignored the jab of pain in his gut when Sam said that if Dean was hurt it was on his head, which was a rather low blow if you asked him. Not that Sam had asked him for anything, especially in the last few years. No, now it was John’s turn to ask something from Sam. If it wasn’t for his elder son’s sake, he never would have come to ask in the first place.

“Dean is missing. I need your help to find him.” The elder man finally said.

There it was… that look of disapproval again. It made Sam so mad he just wanted to order his dad out of his house. Because he could. And because that look had caused so much hurt in the past. Even now, a soft voice whispered in his head, but he wasn’t listening to it.

But the louder voice that filled his head was shouting about his brother having gone missing. Suddenly, everything else paled in importance. His gaze locked with his fathers. “When, how?” he demanded, fingers of fear curling low in his belly. A part of him hoped Dean was in some bar, or enjoying some girl like he always did, but he knew deep down that if it were anything like that, his father wouldn’t be here. “Dad?”

John resisted the urge to sigh, because he’d known this question would be coming sooner or later, and he’d be forced to answer, even if he didn’t want to. Because he didn’t have time for Sam’s anger at him that would no doubt follow. They needed to leave, and they needed to leave now, to save Dean if it wasn’t already too late.

But he needed Sam, he simply couldn’t do this alone, and he needed to convince the younger man to come with him. If that meant suffering his younger son’s wrath first, if Sam agreed to come with him after, then that’s what he would do.

“Six months. He’d been working a hunt alone, and didn’t check in. By the time I got there, there was no trace of him. I got a call yesterday, from one of my contacts, they think they’ve found him. And if what they said was true, then we need to go, now. We only have until the full moon…”

If Dean isn’t dead already… He didn’t say aloud, but he had the feeling he didn’t need to.

"What?!" Sam felt like he'd been sucker punched right in the gut. "Six months… SIX… What the f…" Infuriated, he balled his hands at his sides, clenching and unclenching them as he strove to find words. Then they came. "What the hell were you thinking? Where were you all that time? You let him just go off like that, and you don't even start to look for six months?"

Sam walked away, then turned and stared at his father. "If you say it's a werewolf…" His dad's hard expression had him cursing again. "Dammit dad…"

The wooden floor squeaked behind him, and he turned to see Jess pad in. Her long hair was in her eyes and she was wearing hardly anything, and he'd just bet his father wouldn't approve of that, of her, either. "Hey."

"What's going on?" She asked, leaning to take a look at the man Sam had been talking to. He looked vaguely familiar.

"This is my… dad." He gave his father a look that said he sometimes wished otherwise. "This is Jess, my girlfriend. Come," he took her hand and started to pull her away but she tugged her hand back. "Hi. Nice to meet the face in the picture," she said, nodding toward the photograph that Sam kept of his parents.

It was time for John’s eyes to turn hard now, and his jaw clenched so tight it was a wonder that Sam couldn’t hear his teeth creaking together under the strain.

Of course he’d been looking for Dean. He’d been looking for his elder son since the day that Dean hadn’t checked in when he was supposed to. He’d exhausted every favor he had, and then some, to get help from other hunters to track down his son. Practically tearing apart inch by inch the town Dean had last been seen in before he’d disappeared, finally finding the impala abandoned in the woods, the windshield broken, and the drivers seat covered in blood...

The last trace he’d found of his son, and that had been four months ago, but he hadn’t stopped looking. Refusing to believe that Dean was dead, or simply dropped off the face of the earth.

It was only now that he’d received this new information on Dean’s possible location, the first in months, and though he might not have liked what his contact had told him, he wasn’t going to let the chance to get his son back slip away.

Did Sam really think he cared so little about Dean? About him? He had plenty of things to say to Sam’s outburst, many of them unkind, and more than one of them probably enough to convince the younger man not to come with him to save his brother, and that was something John couldn’t risk. No matter how much Sam’s words might have hurt, or angered him. He needed Sam’s help.

He didn’t get the chance to answer at all however, when the soft creak of a floorboard drew both their attention. The first thought to form in his mind, surprisingly, how much this girl looked like Mary. His wife, Sam and Dean’s mother… and he felt an unexpected lump form in his throat. One that only grew larger it seemed when she directed his attention to the photograph the elder man hadn’t noticed until now. Of him and his wife when they’d been younger, before even having Dean. He had no idea that Sam had even kept it.

John sighed softly as he shoved his anger down, at least enough so it wouldn’t show on his face as he politely answered the girl. No matter what Sam might have thought of him, he was capable of being civil.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jess. I’m John.” He said as he stepped closer and held out his hand in greeting. “I apologize for the late visit without notice, but I needed to speak to my son right away. Something of a family emergency…”

She shook his hand and smiled, even as the air around them crackled with tension. Sam hadn’t said much, but she knew his family situation wasn’t ideal. “Would you like some coffee? You can talk in the—“

“Jess, there’s no time. Dean’s missing.” Bet his father wanted to kill him for telling her that, but he wasn’t about to go off in the middle of the night without giving her a reason. A good one. That’s what normal people did... explain things to their girlfriends. They didn’t go disappearing into the night, or for six months for that matter. “I’m gonna change.” Giving her a look and hoping she’d come with him, he left.

So much for hoping.

“I’m sorry. About Dean,” she said to John, looking worried. “I’ve heard a lot about him. Is... do you think he’s alright?” She wanted to ask what happened, but there was something forbidding in his expression that stopped her.

Despite the situation, John couldn't help but return the girl's warm smile slightly. She seemed like a nice girl. Lack of clothing aside, though he had just woken her from a sound sleep, most likely, with his late arrival, so he could forgive that.

Though unfortunately he didn't have time to accept her offer of coffee, tempting though it was, he frowned at his younger son when Sam didn't even give him a chance to refuse.

He said nothing however, perhaps because from what he gathered that was Sam's 'agreement' to come with him to find his brother. And he would have plenty of time to say what he wanted, about a few things, once they were alone in the truck together. He wasn't going to argue with Sam, especially about family business, in front of his girlfriend.

John nodded slightly, acknowledging her worry, though he was surprised to hear that Sam had apparently talked 'a lot' about his brother. He didn't know why that surprised him. Perhaps, the way Sam had left his family, he simply hadn't expected his younger son would even acknowledge he had one much less speak about them. That was one reason he was so surprised by the photograph. Though Sam's relationship with his brother had always been much better than with his father.

He almost didn't know how to answer the girl's seemingly genuine concern about his elder son, and he felt more than a slight irritation with Sam for saying so much in front of her. But the elder man decided to answer as truthfully as he could.

"Dean has the tendency to get himself into trouble, but I'm sure he'll be fine. Once we find him…"

He could only hope his words were true.

“Good.” Somehow she believed him. Sam had to have his reasons for his estrangement, but that didn’t mean she could ignore the confidence his father exuded.

Hearing sounds from the bedroom, she smiled. “Maybe coffee for the road. He gets cranky when he’s sleepy.” Also, she suddenly realized she had very little on and this being her boyfriend’s father, it made her a bit self-conscious.

Making her way to the electric kettle, she turned it on and grabbed two of their travel cups. It would have to be instant coffee.

Sam walked into the room, and was still shrugging his green jacket. The sight of his father standing there still shocked him. Why was he even surprised? “Jess.” He grabbed his computer bag off a table and turned when she spoke.

“Right here.” She’d made the two coffees, offered the cups to the men. “Sugar’s over here,” she told John.

They headed to the door and Sam nodded for his father to walk down the front stairs and give him a moment. The fact that he had to hint was irritating. The minute the older Winchester left them, he turned to Jess.

“I’ll keep you posted.” Leaning down, he kissed her.

“You do that. You’ll find him,” she said, giving him a smile and squeezing his arm.

She watched as he followed his father and got into a monster of a truck. Maybe this was good, maybe they’d find a way to get close. It would be nice if all three men came back together.

In the car, Sam gave his father the stink-eye. “So what have you found out? Exactly?”

John smiled more genuinely when his son's girlfriend offered to make them coffee for the road, and the reason why.

"Thank you." He replied, nodding again, though he did not follow her into the kitchen area. Instead deciding to wait where he was in the living room for his son to return. It didn't take long for Sam to return, and if possible the younger man looked even less pleased to see him.

Sam didn't speak to him, so neither did he. Though when Jess appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room with offered cups and John took his with another smile and nod.

Usually he took his coffee black, but the added sugar would help keep him awake and alert during the long drive. Not to mention what would come after.

Once they were in the truck together, the tension sparking between them barely kept in check in front of the girl multiplied about ten fold. John ignored the dirty looks his younger son was giving him as he pulled the truck onto the road that would take them to the highway. Heading north.

"Another hunter called me from the Wenatchee forest area in Washington. He said he saw a young man, with Dean's description, while he was working a job up that way. He's going to meet us when we get there, if what he says is true, he's going to need our help as much as we need his." John finally said, giving his son a brief glance before turning his attention back to the road.

"He was hunting a pack of werewolves that had been moving around in that area. He says there are at least a dozen, maybe more. They're the ones who have Dean."

Hearing the numbers, Sam leaned his head back against the headrest and audibly blew out a breath of air. “What the hell are they keeping him for?” Turning his head, he looked at his father. For once, it seemed the man had no answer.

“You think they’re playing some sick games with him? Or they’re gonna eat...” Maybe they were gonna feed their pups. As each dark thought filtered through his mind, Sam felt the urge to shout at his dad to step on it. Only they were already burning up the tires and going as fast as they could.

Needing air, he rolled down the window. What the hell did he remember about werewolves? Not much, other than they were as tough as hell and hard to kill. “Silver... silver works, right? And if he’s not bitten...”

And if he is bitten... that was the question that stuck in his throat. If he knew his father, he wouldn’t like the answer. Not one bit.

John found himself again briefly glancing at his younger son at Sam’s soft question, their eyes meeting for a second before the elder Winchester turned his attention back to the road. Stepping on the gas pedal a little harder unconsciously, though he knew he couldn’t drive much faster than he was, even if he wanted to. Since they wouldn’t be any good to Dean if they were arrested, or something, for speeding.

He had no answers for his son. He’d been asking those questions to himself, in fact, almost every second he had heard the news from Jacob. Why were they keeping Dean? What were they doing with him? To him? Had they been holding his son this whole time, or had Dean simply ended up in their hands recently? If it was the former, he had no idea how Dean could have possibly survived his time with them for six months… unless…

John clenched his jaw, and his fingers were clutching the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles began to turn white. He couldn’t think about that possibility. Not now. He just couldn’t…

He nodded slightly to Sam’s more ‘practical’ question. Though a part of him wanted to chastise the younger man for having to ask in the first place. Sam hadn’t been out of the game for that long to have forgotten something so simple…

“Silver. We have plenty of bullets. Aim for the head or the heart. I hope you’ve been practicing.” John found himself saying, even though he knew most likely his younger son hadn’t been keeping up with his training in any way. He’d been so eager to get away from his family, away from hunting. Well, whatever his son had forgotten, he better remember it again really damn quick.

John sighed heavily.

“You should try to get some more sleep. It’s a long drive. We’ll know more once we get there.”

There it was again. That reproachful tone. The subtle hint that if he’d not practiced, then he was a failure. Yeah, like what else was new. He really should shut up, but he couldn’t help himself. “No because normal people don’t go shooting between chemistry and poli sci… they study or maybe catch a game or a movie… but you wouldn’t get that,” he said, practically under his breath. He'd just bet his university tee shirt was pissing his father off too, and possibly that's why he didn't change out of it before leaving the house.

Maybe sleeping was a good idea, then everything his father said couldn’t get him riled. Two years, they hadn’t seen each other for two years, and nothing had changed. Nothing. Sam didn’t even know what he’d expected to change, or what it would be like the first time they met up. Guess it wasn’t something you could prepare for.

Setting his coffee cup into the mug holder, he slid down on the seat. Sleep was unlikely, but he could rest, or pretend. It would make things easier. Unless he started thinking about why Dean was even in this situation. If their dad hadn’t been shoving him in the face of evil all his life, he’d be safe… at home somewhere, and not in a den of werewolves. God… only a Winchester could think that word without laughing.

Those soft muttered words were the proverbial straws that broke the horse’s back. John Winchester had held his tongue through his son’s acid dripping remarks the entire time he’d been in his son’s home. He’d taken his disrespectful attitude in front of his girlfriend without so much as a lifted eyebrow in reply. Keeping his growing temper in check through force of will as it was stretched to the limit. But now they were here, alone together, and he sure as hell was not going to take it from his son any longer.

John slammed on the brakes so hard the tires shrieked like a banshee’s wail in protest. Throwing him roughly forward in his seatbelt, even as he yanked the wheel angrily to the side, pulling them off the road and onto the shoulder, followed by a small chorus of angry honking horns from other cars still traveling the roads this late.

The elder man wasted no time once they were stopped, reaching over, grabbing his son by the front of his t-shirt just as roughly as the boy had grabbed him earlier, and yanking him closer. Making sure the younger man saw his thunderous expression even in the nearly pitch black of the truck, lit only by another car’s headlights briefly every time one passed.

“Are we really going to start up this old argument now of all times, Sam! Fine. You hate me. You despise everything about me, and my life. Our life. You’ve made it clear. So, now that you’ve got it out of your system, are you going to start acting like my son or do you really want to keep wasting time on this when your brother is suffering god knows what with a pack of werewolves!”

The elder man spat out, his voice practically shaking with rage. There weren’t many times he’d yelled like this at his son’s. He wasn’t a violent man, despite the life they’d lived. He didn’t discipline his boys by screaming at them or, god forbid, beating them. But the few times he did yell, it was either when one of his boys had made a stupid mistake on a hunt that could have gotten them killed... or like now. When Sam managed to push his buttons in just the right way, something his younger son excelled at so much it was practically an art form.

“I asked you a perfectly legitimate question! Whether or not you were going to actually be useful with a gun when I need you, or not, and if the answer is not then you might as well just get out of the truck right the fuck now and walk back to your fucking apple pie normal life. Because I need a hunter with me right now, not a spoiled brat college boy!”

One minute he’d been preparing to rest up, the next, he thought they were in an accident. Before there was time for his heart to stop knocking against his chest, he found himself hauled up and in his father’s face. His father’s very angry face.

Almost as if in self preservation, Sam gripped his father’s wrists, trying to prevent him from pulling him any closer. His nostril’s flared as the fury in his eyes matched and clashed with his father’s.

His chest rose and fell. Words tumbled through his mind, aching... fighting to get out, to call John Winchester out on all his shortcomings. He held them back, all of them, because if there was one truth, it was that if anyone could get Dean back, it was their father. Second truth... Sam wanted to be there. All those times Dean had been there for him, all the times he'd gotten him out of bad situations... well it was his turn now. He couldn't lose his brother, and he needed to be there for Dean. Risking getting left on the road wasn’t the way to go about it.

Forcing himself to calm down, he finally answered. “Yes sir, I’m a hunter... and I know how to shoot. I’m going in there with you, and I’m getting my brother out. Nothing’s gonna stop me. I won’t let it.” And that included his father.

The elder man couldn’t say he was ‘happy’ with his son’s reply, but at least he was satisfied by it. Enough to let go of the younger man and sit back in the driver’s seat with a curt, “Good.” And nothing more.

Checking the lanes in the rearview mirror before pulling the truck back onto the highway. Stepping on the gas perhaps a little harder than he needed to, partly from frustration, and partly to make up the time they’d just lost with their brief ‘stop’.

Nice going, Winchester. A bitter voice whispered in his thoughts, and John sighed heavily. As though there wasn’t already a rift between him and his younger son the size of the Grand Canyon, he had to go and rip it even wider.

But that was always the way it had been between them, hadn’t it? At least, ever since before Sam had hit puberty. Sam would question him. Argue with him. He would get frustrated, then angry, and his volume would rise. Sam matching him step for step until they were screaming at each other. Then there would be nothing said between them for days, sometimes weeks, until Dean finally managed to smooth both of their ruffled feathers enough they could be civil with each other again.

Only Dean wasn’t here this time, and they couldn’t afford to be at each others throats this time. Not when Dean’s life depended on the two of them being able to cooperate effectively together.

John sighed again.

“Jess seems like a nice girl. I’m glad I got the chance to meet her.” He finally said softly after a long time. Hoping his son would take his words at face value as the peace offering they were.

Sam automatically pulled his bunched up shirt straight and sat back. Some things never changed, and this was definitely one of them. Their ability to piss each other off and get into shouting matches that sometimes got physical… guess it wasn’t something that was gonna go away.

Course there was also their ability to sit and fume in silence. It was something they both had a lot of practice in.

Then there was the guilt. At least on his end. He’d sit there and replay the conversation in his mind, trying to figure out if he’d said something wrong, and even if he hadn’t… why did Dean’s voice always boom loudly in his head? He’s your father, that was always Dean’s answer to everything, his answer to why he thought Sam should just take whatever dad dished out.

He was surprised as hell, not only that another word passed through his father’s mouth before they got to their destination, but that he’d brought up Jessica. Turning his head, he scrutinized his father’s face, looking for signs of sarcasm or a double meaning in there. A hint that what he really meant was that girlfriends were not meant for the likes of us.

Finding none, but still unsure, he answered. “Yeah. She really is. I got lucky.” He licked his lips, undecided on whether he was glad his father had met her or not. Well, he hadn’t embarrassed him or ordered him around in front of her, there was at least that. “She doesn’t know. About any of this…” This life, he was trying so freakin’ hard to leave behind.

John nodded carefully. Feeling almost as though he were walking on eggshells… or perhaps more accurately, trying to across a minefield without a map. Where any wrong step could almost literally blow up in his face.

Why was it so difficult just to talk to his son?

It was not as though he’d never just sat down and just talked with his son. But those times were so few and far between he barely remembered them, and for some reason those times always felt more awkward than when they were screaming at each other at the top of their lungs. He didn’t know why.

He supposed it was normal to feel a little awkward now, however. Considering they hadn’t spoken to each other literally in years, and these few words were the most civil to pass between them even longer than that.

“Probably a good idea.” The elder man finally said. Though he might not have agreed with it personally. After all, knowing what was out there was better than being clueless.

If he had known the truth all those years ago, maybe, just maybe, Mary would still be alive… but in the end it was Sam’s decision whether or not to tell her. Most people, ‘normal’ people, as Sam dubbed them, couldn’t or simply wouldn’t believe what was really out there. At least not until the truth literally reared up and slapped them in the face.

There were other things John wanted to ask. Such as, if it was really serious between Sam and his girlfriend? It certainly seemed serious since they were living together. He wanted to ask how Sam had been? How was he doing in school? Was he happy? But all of that suddenly seemed far too… personal… when the truth was they were little better than strangers.

“You should get some sleep.” John finally repeated tiredly. Taking a sip from his coffee that was still warm at least thanks to the travel mugs. The elder man settled in for what would most likely be a silent fifteen hour drive.

So that was it. The extent of his father’s interest in his life, and in his girlfriend. No, that wasn’t disappointment balling up in his chest. It couldn’t be because he hadn’t expected anything different. Mouth flattening into a thin line, he nodded. “You’re right.”

Putting one arm behind his head and turning sideways toward the passenger window, Sam stared outside for a while. For hours they went past suburbs and city limits. He mentally read exit signs for a while until he finally dropped off to sleep. Oddly, he fell into a very deep and dreamless sleep. All the voices in his head quieted, the anger in him stilled, and even the worry about his brother that was constantly smoldering beneath the surface dissipated.

*
Sam woke and was a bit disoriented. Sitting up suddenly, he looked around from inside the truck. They’d made a stop at a gas station somewhere in the boonies. Yawning, he looked at his watch and opened his door just as his father was coming back from paying for gas, he guessed. The steaming cups of coffee in his hands were a welcome sight.

“Mornin’” he mumbled, searching his father’s face. It was so weird, just seeing him. “Any news?” He put his hand out for the keys, “I’ll drive, so you can rest.”

John Winchester pulled the truck off the highway into a little run down gas station a couple of hours after dawn. Though he really didn’t want to make a stop at all, they weren’t going to be going anywhere without gas. Not to mention he wasn’t going to be able to drive for much longer without more caffeine. He’d been up almost thirty six hours already, and though he’d gone a lot longer without sleep before, he wasn’t as young as he used to be.

Not that he was going to be admitting that aloud any time soon.

He left his son sleeping in the cab of the truck, knowing Sam had only just fallen asleep a few hours ago and not wanting to wake him so soon, while he filled it up and then went to pay for the gas and get them coffee. While waiting in line, he made a call to Jacobs. Frowning when the call went straight to voicemail. He left a quick message, asking the other hunter to call him back as soon as possible, then he left the small convenience store. Not all that surprised to see Sam awake and waiting for him.

“Morning.” The elder man replied as he handed his son the steaming Styrofoam cup, taking a grateful sip of his own, then raising an eyebrow as the younger man asked for the keys to the truck. He hesitated only for a moment before handing them over and then answering his son’s other question.

“Nothing new. We should reach Wenatchee in another six hours or so.”

Sam gave a lopsided grin as his hand closed around the keys. You’d think his dad had just relinquished his throne or something. Yeah, that was something dad and Dean had in common, their love of cars, and the driver’s seat.

“No news is good news, right?” Okay, he’d said it because the alternative was just too horrible to think about. In the morning light, his father looked tired and strained. Suddenly, Sam felt bad about telling him anything that happened to Dean was his fault. “We’ll find him. You know… he’s hard to kill,” he said, patting the older man on the back. “We’ll get him.”

He walked around to the driver’s side, and hopped in. Fixing the mirrors and letting the seat go back a little to accommodate his legs, he looked at his father, before he started up and made a U-turn back onto the highway.

A question was plaguing his mind. If his dad were asleep, he wouldn’t have asked, but the elder Winchester was still drinking his coffee. Sam opened his mouth, shut it, then tried again. “What if… what if they’ve turned him. Is there… is there a cure?” No, nothing like that had happened to Dean. This was a just in case, cause that’s how Sam’s mind worked. Back up plans. What ifs…

John found he had no reply to Sam’s observation that ‘no’ news was good news. In fact, in their line of work, usually the opposite was true. But he couldn’t think about that right now. Not without going completely mad with worry.

Loosing his boys… something happening to either of them, had always been his greatest fear. So much so he barely acknowledged it, because it was simply unthinkable. For six months he hadn’t known whether his eldest son was alive or dead… Now that he had finally been given hope that his boy was alive, he clung to it desperately.

He had to believe that Jacobs had simply turned his phone off for a good reason, and would call him back within an hour or two with news on his son. He had to believe that Dean was alive now, and would still be alive, when they found him. When they rescued him. They would rescue him.

So the elder man simply nodded to his younger son’s reassurances as he climbed into the passenger side of the truck. Refusing to believe anything else. Even though a part of him knew it should be him reassuring his son, and not the other way around.

He could practically hear the wheels in Sam’s head turning in the silence as his son pulled the truck back onto the highway, but he still wasn’t quite prepared for the question when it was asked. Or how his throat seemed to close up at the mere thought, even though of course the possibility had occurred to him before. He’d simply never dared to voice it aloud, because possibility his son might be turned was almost worse than if Dean were dead.

“Nothing that has ever been proven…” John practically whispered finally.

Icy cold fear bloomed in the pit of Sam’s stomach. It was caused both by what John Winchester said, and what he hadn’t said. There was no way Sam was going to ask what they’d do if Dean was turned. No way he’d ask, because there was only one answer. They’d turn the world over, but they’d find the damned cure.

Silence stretched between them. Sam turned the radio on low, and concentrated on one thing… getting there. His mind never wandered, not once, as the truck ate up miles and miles of highway. Hours later, they were in a forested area and passed a small chapel that had a stained glass window depicting an angel with its arms stretched up. Sam mentally said something as close to a prayer as any and let out a sigh.

His jaw ached. He didn’t realize he’d been clenching it that hard. Rubbing it, he opened and closed his mouth, trying to relax the ache. Then he saw the sign indicating they were almost in Wenatchee. “Dad…” he turned to see if his father was asleep, “twelve miles left.”

John had been dozing on and off for the last few hours. Sheer exhaustion winning out over stubbornness and worry of what they would find when they finally reached their destination.

Though it hadn't exactly been a restful sleep, plagued with nightmares. Vivid ones he'd rather not remember, but unfortunately he did. The last one, when Sam's soft words woken him, had been about Dean. He'd dreamt of his son, finding him beaten and bloody, barely alive. Then right before his eyes, Dean's eyes had turned gold and John found himself frozen in place as he watched the younger man lunged for his brother and ripped out Sam's throat with his teeth…

So, no, he wasn't all that upset to be woken up right at that moment. But at least he was a little more rested physically than he had been before, he conceded, as he sat up from his somewhat slouched position in the passenger's seat. Rubbing his eyes and stifling a yawn before turning his attention to Sam.

"Look for the Hillcrest Motel, it should be right off Route 2. That's where Jacobs said he would meet us. He should be staying there." John said as he took his cell phone out of his pocket and frowned at it. No missed calls, and no messages. The other hunter should have called him back by now.

"Okay." Shifting gears, Sam stepped on it. His father didn't have to say a word. His demeanor clued him in on the fact that he was worried about the lack of contact from the other hunter. Sam hoped the guy had a rough night and just hadn't been in any shape to make the call. They'd find him in the motel, and he'd... yeah, he'd lead them to Dean.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. If they'd done anything to Dean. If they'd so much as touched a hair on his head... between himself and his father, they'd tear those werewolves apart. Course even if they hadn't harmed Dean, their fate was already sealed.

Face grim, he turned off onto route 2, a narrow truck lane leading to the smallish town nestled in thickly forested rolling hills.