Disclaimer: See chapter one.
Author Notes: DON'T shoot me over this chapter. I promise that before the summer is over, or at least the year, I will have the next chapter or two up...just remember that reviews make me keep insterest in writing this faster. And also, I'm starting to get lost in G.I. Joe comics--specifically Snake-Eyes (if he were real my husband would be in trouble!) Enjoy.
p.s. Mind the swearing.
"You call Missouri again?" Dean Winchester asked his younger brother closing the door to the Impala with a little less care than he usually took—frustration at the feeling something wasn't right and wondering what their dad was up to
"Yeah," Sam said giving his door a lighter treatment than Dean had given his. "She's still not home. I left her another message. You all right, Dean?"
"Yeah," he murmured, leading the way from the car to the individual cabin style motel rooms. He could feel the heat of Sam's questioning glance, as the youngest Winchester fell into step beside him. Keeping his green eyes glued to the faded peeling blue paint covering the small building, Dean ignored the look and the questions attached to it. He wasn't all right by a long shot; he knew that Sam knew he wasn't, but he was going to be damned if he admitted as much. He wasn't entirely sure what he was feeling—relief at having finally found or at least caught up to their dad. That was overshadowed by the fact that it had been their father to tell them where in the hell he was; and the man just had to pick the one town, place, on the entire planet Dean went out of his way to avoid getting even close to. No, Dean Winchester was far from all right, or even sure what to do—let alone understand or even begin to explain the tight ball of trepidation taking up space in the pit of his stomach since the first text message from their father. The only thing he was certain of at the moment was that their father awaited them behind door number seven of the Cozy Comfort Motor Lodge.
"Dean?" He stopped just short of the faded door with the weather-beaten brass number seven adorning the top center. It hadn't been a plea, a whine or even a demand to answer the damn question. Dean wasn't sure what Sam wanted with the question of his name- wasn't so sure that Sam'd actually meant it as a question- but the look accompanying the word Sam had spoken told Dean all he needed to know. Sam had his own doubts about their father actually being there. And that Sam had his own gut feeling to the situation laying itself out before them.
Belaying an answer to Sam's unintentional question, Dean brought a tight fist to the wooden door and let the knuckles fall heavy against it. The sound reverberated through the mid-morning air and empty parking lot sharply.
"Dad?" Sam asked loudly through the wooden door, when light scraping and the shuffling of locks could be heard in response to Dean's knock.
With the final scrape of the chain lock the aging door flew inward, catching the young hunters off guard. Shock registered in their minds long before it should have as they stared at the shadow of the man who was their father. The man filling the doorway before them was tired and ragged. His salt and peppered beard had grown in fully and was longer than when they'd seen him last. His usually calculating brown eyes, stared out at them from sunken sockets with large bags settled in on the bottom. Even his normally buzz cut brown hair was allowed to grow. Neither brother could believe his eyes as they stared at their father.
Recovering slower than he liked or was used to Dean opened his mouth to make sure the man standing before them was really their father- his father. As the words began to form in his head and the signal was sent to his throat to make the necessary sounds, the wilder version of John Winchester reached a strong hand out to tangle his fingers into Sam's double layers of tee shirts. Without so much as a grunt of exertion John pulled the taller boy into the small room.
"Dad?" Sam asked, panic raising his voice above its usual quite tone. He'd never before seen the look his father had in his eye at that moment. He would never deny that he'd angered the man plenty while he was growing up. Isn't that what kids are supposed to do? But the look of tormented anger was one that Sam had never seen…not aimed at them anyway. "What's going on?"
Fear shot through Sam anew when John kept his hand firmly twisted in his shirts as he slammed the thinning door shut with his free hand. "Sam!" He heard Dean shout through the door-their father's hand redoing the locks with practiced ease. "Dad?!" Dean's fist pounded on the door, shaking it in the frail looking frame. "Open the door! Sam!"
"It'll be all right, son," John murmured, pushing his youngest- much taller- son through the small room to the smaller still bathroom.
Barely keeping himself from tripping over his own feet as he was shoved twenty feet or so backwards into the bathroom, Sam attempted to form some kind of protest at his father's actions. All his shocked mind would allow his body to do was weakly grab at the older man's wrist, in futile attempts to wretch it free of his shirts. His vocal chords seemed to lack the ability to form anything other than soft grunts and attempted half stammers of why.
"Don't worry," his father's thick voice said quietly as his strong grip unraveled itself from Sam's layers of shirts-giving the younger man one last shove before breaking contact completely.
The sorrow filled look that occupied his father's amber-brown eyes and the resolved look on his wary bearded face broke through Sam's shock as he tumbled backwards-colliding solidly with the back wall of the bathroom. A grunt bit past his lips when the towel rack connected harshly with the back of his hip. Flattening his hands against the rough floral print paper lining the wall, Sam caught himself - his knee crashing into the lip of the toilet seat. Gritting his teeth against the piercing shards of pain, Sam pushed away from the wall and tumbled his way to the thin wooden door.
"It'll be over soon," John's tired whisper stopped the charging form of his youngest son dead. A light smile ghosted across the older hunter's face as he closed the door, leaving Sam standing a couple feet from the door staring in stilled shock once more.
"Dad?!" Sam shouted through the door, shock being forgotten, pounding a hand flat against the door. A light scraping sound accompanied a slight jiggle of the flimsy gold knob. Sam could guess what his father had done to lock him in, and it wasn't going to be easy to break through.
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"Dad!" Dean's voice boomed through the locked front door, fists still pounding and shaking the door. "Open the damn door! Sam!" Taking a half step back, he squared his shoulders and forced one into the surprisingly solid door, sending flecks of light blue paint over the shoulder and arm of his dark jacket. Heat radiated smoothly throughout his shoulder and his other hand came up absently to rub at it. Damn it, he thought pulling away from the door again. "I'm coming in," he warned through the door, taking another step back.
Leaning his weight into one leg, Dean brought the other one up ready to wedge it into the door next to worn knob. If his dad wasn't going to let him in, then damn it he was just going to have to let himself in. Whispering a small prayer in the back of his head that Sam was all right and their dad hadn't abos-freakin-lutely lost his mind, Dean let his raised leg fly….
The floor pulled open.
Damn it. He cursed as his mind registered the information before he could stop the momentum the move required. A sick feeling of hitting nothing hard poured through him as his body pitched forward, his foot crashing harshly with the worn tan carpeting of the room taking his balance with it.
"Oufff," the sound forced its way from him as the air in his lungs rushed out when his shoulder connected with the hard flooring beneath the carpeting. Rolling quickly onto his back, Dean grunted in frustrated pain as he stared up at his father. Oh hell, he thought, willing his aching body to roll in the opposite direction of his father's now raised foot.
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"Where is he?" John Winchester snarled at the young man laying in a sprawled heap at his feet. Bringing back a booted foot, he aimed for the man's chest. A cracked rib ought to help loosen his tongue, John reasoned allowing the boot heavy foot to fall rapidly at its target.
"The hell?" Dean thought, forcing his body to roll hard in the opposite direction as the thick soled boot came fast and hard at his chest. Using his rolled momentum, Dean sprang to his feet before the crazed man that was his father. "Dad?" he asked deflecting the coming fist with a soft grunt. This wasn't right. This was some kind of trick. Maybe even a shape shifter. Had to be.
"Where. Is. My. Son?" John growled, low and slow as he stalked toward Dean. The grunted question tore through the small room, pulling Dean's mind back to the here and now. The older man's body was crouched low as he stalked toward the younger man.
"Dean!" a voice thick with fear and worry shouted through the bathroom door and the door shook violently in its frame.
Daring a glance away from the being that was trying to be his father- that he hoped wasn't his father-Dean looked at the bathroom door. His heart sank when he saw the fairly sturdy motel chair jammed beneath the knob, preventing Sam from pulling the door open. Bastard. Eyes hardened and watching the older man's every move he waited. "Sam's in the bathroom, dad," he said calmly to answer the question that'd gone unanswered for too long.
"I know," John said, his voice coming in a thick, raspy hush. Stalking closer to the prepared and waiting young man John closed more of the space between them. He could feel the younger man's muscles tense in anticipation of what assault my come next. The younger man's green eyes shifted to the bathroom door behind John as the caged boy inside slammed relentlessly into it screaming for Dean and his father. John sneered at the man. It really cared for his son. It really seemed concerned for Sam and his well being. "Tell me where Dean is."
"What?" He couldn't hide the shock that'd taken over is voice at his father's words. "Dad…"
"Enough!" The shout filled the room, bringing quiet and shocked stillness to the madness that'd inhabited the room only seconds ago. Balling an age thickened hand into a fist John rushed the young man poised for attack before him. The fingers of his other hand wrapped tautly around the man's neck and he used both surprise and his angered momentum to drive them toward the wall behind the main door to the room. With a hard thud their entangled bodies connected with the wall, shaking the door and the paintings on the wall.
A small gasp escaped the younger man and his eyes glassed over slightly when his head collided with the wall. "Dad," he breathed, trying to pull in oxygen rich air around the fingers encasing his neck.
Nails bit and marked the soft skin of his neck as his father squeezed harder. His breath came in wheezing gasps and he forced the spots dancing before his eyes to go away. "Why?" he bit out. He could barely hear Sam screaming and pounding on the bathroom door in desperate attempts to get free.
Bending his arm at the elbow, ignoring the slackening grip at his wrist, John drove the younger man's head back into the wall…once, twice…four times before he stopped and allowed the semi-conscious man to slip down the wall in a small smear of blood. Reaching to his boot John retrieved a concealed hunting knife.
"W-what's going on, dad?" he asked, slowly slipping a hand to the back of his and the trickle of blood making its way from the stinging gash on his scalp. Smearing the fresh blood on his hand, Dean pulled his hand back around and stared at the crimson adorning his thin fingers. Shit. he thought flicking his green eyes up from his hand to his father. What the hell was going on? "Dad?" he gasped out as the older hunter suddenly had him by his already abused throat.
"Don't call me that," John ground out from clenched teeth, his fingers pushing in harder on the younger hunter's throat.
"Dean!" Sam's yell came muffled through the door. Seconds later the door rattled in its frame and the chair jammed beneath the knob buckled slightly. "Dad!" Another loud jolt rattled the door, frame and wall.
"Sam," Dean forced weakly passed his lips as his brother screamed from his bathroom prison. His head was pounding in rhythm with his heart as he reached his hands up to his father's wrist. He wouldn't be able to force the grip off, he knew that.
Forcing his heavy arm to move, Dean brought a hand up to level with the older man's ear and slapped it hard and fast against it. Letting out a growled yell John dropped his taut grip on Dean's neck to cover his newly injured ear. Pulling in several deep breaths, Dean pushed himself away from the wall- room tilting and doing half turns as he moved. Stumbling forward he made his way to the chair that was holding his little brother against his will. He kept his eyes on the man hissing in pain by the main door to the room- knife still clenched tightly in his other hand- as he gripped the fairly sturdy wood chair and wrenched it from its place beneath the door handle. "Sam," he coughed at the closed door.
"No," John's voice rang through the small room again. Damn it all. he thought gripping the knife hilt tighter. Pulling himself to his full height, John crossed the room in four large strides- growling, "you stay away from him," as he moved.
"Dean!" Sam shouted as the bathroom door flew open and a hand clamped tightly down on the older boy's shoulder- hauling him backwards and spinning him around at the same time. "Dad?!"
"You stay the fuck away from him!" John was inches from Dean's shocked face as he yelled at the younger man.
"Dad?" Sam asked, the clam in his voice surprising him, as he moved slowly towards his father and brother. "What's going on?"
"Shhh, Sammy," John said not taking his eyes from the man he'd once again pinned to the wall of the room.
"Let him go, dad"
"No, Sam," John said using the tone that left no room for question or interpretation. "He's done something with Dean."
"What?" Sam choked out, halting his steps towards what was left of his family. "Dad, that's Dean. No one's done anything to him. I've been with him everyday for almost a year."
"He's lied to you," John spat turning the blade in his hand and shifting his grip in the younger man's shirt.
"No," Dean bit out sharply at his father.
"Shut the fuck up," he growled low, pulling back the hand holding the knife. "Where is Dean?"
"I am Dean."
"Liar!" John shouted bringing the knife in a quick and clean …
The blade sank with a soft hiss into the soft flesh of the younger man's side ending with a dull thud at the wall. A strangled cry broke from Dean's lips as his hands came up and wrapped around the hilt. "Dad?" he gasped, turning shocked eyes from the crazed man before him to the blade protruding from the side of his belly to Sam's terrified, shocked hazel eyes. "Sam…" His body sank heavily to the floor as his knees buckled- the tip of the blade scraping harshly down the wall as he went.
"Dean? Dad?" Sam willed his legs to move and push him passed his father to kneel beside his wounded older brother. "Dean?"
"You okay?" Dean asked looking up at his terrified younger brother. Unsure what their father would do next, he prayed that the man wouldn't hurt Sam.
"Fine." He looked down at the freely bleeding wound and the knife that rose and fell with every gasping, shuttering breath Dean drew in and released. This was all just so wrong. Dean shouldn't be leaning against the wall in a heap with a knife sticking out of his gut. Their father shouldn't have been the one to do it. And…it was just all wrong. "Dad, we have to call 911." He turned to the eldest Winchester and froze for just a moment.
John stood staring at the large smudge of blood that trailed the wall down to Dean. His dark eyes didn't blink. He wasn't smiling; wasn't reacting. Almost wasn't breathing-just staring a vacant look to his haunted eyes.
"Dad!" Sam yelled trying to get the man's attention. He didn't move just kept his eyes focused on the blood drying to the faded paint of the wall. Giving up Sam reached out for a bedspread. Wrapping the thick fabric around the knife, he applied pressure to the wound. "Dean?" He cupped his brother's chin softly turning his head to look Dean in the eyes. Dean's normally lively green eyes were cloudy and glossed over. Shit! Sam cursed and fumbled for the phone in his pocket. "Dean, I need you to keep pressure on this." He placed Dean's hands on the blood soaked cloth surrounding the knife and forced them to press down. Forcing his fingers to still their shaking, Sam punched in the three needed numbers.
"There's been a stabbing. He's going into shock," the calm in his voice almost shocked him from the task at hand—getting Dean help—"Cozy Comfort Motor Lodge, room seven." Telling the operator that he had to get back to the victim, Sam hit the end button, quietly slipping the phone back into his jacket pocket as he began to silently pray for Dean.
"Dad?" Sam turned to face his father.
"We have to leave." John gave a curt shake of his head—as though his mind had just cleared a sleep induced fog—as he spoke.
"What?!" Sam turned to look at Dean's nearly unconscious form and then back to their father. "No."
"Now." He grabbed Sam's arm in a crushing grip- bruises already forming beneath the finger tips. Pulling the shocked young man from the room, John headed for his truck parked out front.
"We can't just leave him like that, Dad." He struggled against his father's grip. He had to get back to Dean. They could deal with their dad's insane behavior after Dean was safe.
...TBC...