theron09

Chapter Six

Dean brought his bike to a halt and only just managed to miss hitting the curb. He swung his leg over the bike and stood, pulling his helmet off as he did so. The parking lot was busy and he glanced towards the motel reception, hoping that there would still be a room available. If not, he’d have to keep riding until he found someplace else. He secured the bike and headed inside, glad of the cool air that hit him as soon as he walked through the door.

Behind the desk, a woman was talking into her cell in hushed tones. He stepped back and waited for her to finish. She smiled at him and wandered off to somewhere in the back. Minutes later, an older man walked out, stubbed his cigarette out before he spoke.

“Sorry for the wait, son. You after a single?”

He nodded, “Yeah, or anything that you’ve got, really.”

“Alright.” He checked the books, “I’ve got a single.”

“That’ll be great.” Anything would have been fine, anything to avoid more miles on the road right now. All he needed was a place to rest for a few days before he set off again, somewhere that was nothing like Calver Ridge.

The room looked exactly the same as the last one he’d stayed in – empty walls, an out-dated carpet – and he wondered how many of these places Sam had stayed in over the years. How many he would have stayed in if he hadn’t been taken away from his family.

His family. Over the short time that he had known Sam – and later, John – he’d become closer to them that he’d ever been to his parents. Maybe it was instinct; something in his blood that had recognized Sam. Maybe that was why he couldn’t stop missing him, wanting to be near him, wanting to be held by him. It didn’t make any fucking sense.

Sam was his brother. He knew that now. But he still couldn’t stop thinking about him in ways that were wrong – so fucking wrong.

There was another missed call from Stanford, another text from Jess asking him where the hell he was. There was nothing from Dean.

He turned his cell off; Stanford could wait, and so could Jess. The motel door slammed shut after his Dad as he walked through the door. They’d left Calver Ridge – after a quick stop at Karl’s – and had moved onto the next town, and then the next, in search of Dean.

So far, he was doing a great job of avoiding them.

John shook his head, tossed his keys down onto the bed, “Boy would make a damn good hunter, the way he’s covered his tracks.”

“He is your son.”

“He hasn’t been trained.”

“He will be, though. When we find him.” It was the only way to keep Dean safe, training him to be able to fight properly.

“If we find him, he might not want to come with us, Sam.”

“He will.” He had to. “I can convince him. I know I can.”

John sank down onto the bed, “Maybe you shouldn’t. He doesn’t have to be a part of this life.”

“He already is. He knows all about it now.”

“Sam, he’s safer without us.”

“But he’d be happier with us.” He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, turning back to look at his Dad, “I’m going to go and ask around.”

“I’ve just done that.”

“You might have missed something. I’ll be back later.” He closed the door and headed across the parking lot. There was no way he was going to give up on Dean.

The mattress was too lumpy, the pillows too hard, but there was nowhere else to sit. Dean wasn’t sure what was on TV, just knew that watching it was about the only thing he had to occupy his time. It was still the middle of the night and he couldn’t get to sleep, had tossed and turned for hours before giving up and pulling himself upright, his back against the headboard. He’d always struggled to sleep in strange places, had hated sleepovers when he was younger because he liked his own bed, liked to recognize the shadows on the wall instead of being surrounded by strange ones.

And now he knew that, sometimes, the shadows really were dangerous. It didn’t help, knowing that there were creatures out there that could kill him, could kill his friends and the people who used to be his family.

His cell began to ring and he ignored it; it would be Sam, again. He didn’t want to hear Sam’s – his brother’s- voice, wasn’t sure that he’d be able to refuse if Sam asked him to go home. His parents, or at least the people he’d thought were his parents, hadn’t bothered to call. The ringing didn’t stop and he cursed, grabbed it off the table.

“Yeah?”

“Dean?”

He closed his eyes, “Karl.”

“Oh, so you do remember who I am. You could have kept in touch.”

“I’m sorry,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “It’s just-”

“I know. It’s hard. But you’re still my family, Dean. Blood don’t count for nothing as far as I’m concerned.”

But blood did matter. Blood meant that he couldn’t be with Sam. “Thanks.”

“I’ve got bad news.”

“Is it Sam? Is he alright? Is-”

“It’s not Sam and it’s not John, either. It’s Mrs Holden.”

“What about her?”

“She was found dead this morning.”

He let out a breath, “Dead?”

“Murdered.”

She’s always been so kind, had stuck more band aids on him growing up than his own mom had.

“Dean?”

“How do they think it happened?”

“The lock on one of her windows wasn’t working properly, they think that’s where the bastard got in. Though, how anyone but a kid could have fit through that window, I don’t know.”

The window he’d been meant to fix for her. He’d promised he would go back but he’d been too caught up in his own problems to even think about her as he’d hurried out of town. “Fuck.”

He jumped up out of the bed, began to pace up and down. It didn’t make sense; it wasn’t like the shop carried a lot of money, and it wasn’t like she had made a habit of making enemies. And Karl was right, the window at the back had been tiny.

“Dean-”

Dean stopped walking; there had been demons in town just hours before she must have been killed. Maybe there had been more. Maybe there had been another monster there. Or maybe it had just been a callous murder. Either way, he had to know.

“I’m coming back.”

“What?”

“For her funeral. I’m leaving right now.”

“Maybe you should wait until-”

“Right now. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He hung up, waited until his hands had stopped shaking before finding his keys and leaving.

“He’s going back.”

“What?” Sam continued to search through the pages in front of him.

John closed the door behind him, smiling widely, “Dean. He’s going back to Calver Ridge.”

He stood up straight, “We need to leave. Now.” They needed to get back there; he couldn’t risk missing him, not after everything. If Dean was going back, maybe he’d changed his mind, maybe he’d be easier to convince.

“I know. Hey,” he caught the keys that Sam threw at him, “A friend of his died – that’s why he’s going back. Things might not have changed.”

“Oh.” He bit his lip. “No, something has changed. This time, I’m not letting him leave.”

Chapter Seven