OK, it's been a long time since I've posted a story and this idea popped into my head the other night while re-watching Season 1. I KNOW Dean has kids out there somewhere LOL so I thought I would try and throw one of them into the mix. I named this one Christopher Riley Winchester cause I just love the name. Even though Dean ganked the Shtriga I'm pretending he didn't and because I hate death no one is dead in my story and all my favorite characters will pop up eventually (Bobby, Caleb, Pastor Jim, Ellen, etc. ) Please know John is my favorite so there will be loads of him and Dean and their relationship. Please be gentle with comments but truthful. Any suggestions you have regarding the direction of the story would be helpful too! I would love to incorporate some of your ideas/suggestions. Enjoy!

“Dad”

“Chris”

“DAD”

“CHRIS”

“DAD!!”

“CHRISTOPHER; PLEASE!!” I know how much you want to come; but it’s just as important that you stay here.”

“Aw that’s a bunch of crap and you know it” huffed the teen.

Dean sighed and placed the gun he had been cleaning down on the table. His usually clear emerald green eyes were now stormy as he frowned up at his brooding fourteen year old son.

“Excuse me?”

It was Chris’ turn to sigh. Rolling his eyes he dropped his shoulders in frustration. He looked exactly like Dean did at that age; except for the hair. His was longer than John had ever let Dean wear his and it was a shade lighter like Sam’s was at fourteen. Other than that Chris was Dean’s clone right down to the eyes which showed every emotion he was feeling at the time. They were Dean’s only window into the kid and he often stared deep into them as he struggled to get to know his son who out of the blue showed up on their doorstop a little less than two years ago.

Apparently Dean wasn’t as careful as he thought when he first started knocking boots at the ripe young age of fourteen. Chris was the product of a “first encounter” Dean had had with a seventeen year old babysitter John had hired to cook for the boys while he was on a job in a small town in Ohio.

Dean hadn’t told his old man that he and the babysitter “got jiggy with it” a few times after Sammy had fallen asleep but the twinkle in his eye and the new swagger in his eldest’s walk was a dead giveaway for John when he returned. From that point on the only babysitters he left the boys with were Pastor Jim, Bobby and when he was really, really desperate, Caleb.

Chris’s mother had been killed by a drunk driver. A week before the accident she had shared with him the story of his conception and his father’s uncle’s and grandfather’s name.

He was almost thirteen and had just noticed that girls weren’t as yucky as he originally thought; his curiosity and his hormones were starting to get the best of him. She had teased him about being just like his father and urged him to try and remember to use his “upstairs brain”. She lectured him that when it came to girls and sex he should be respectful, responsible and should wait until he was older joking with him that she thought twenty was a good age. It was the last real talk she had with him before she died and he remembered every word as if it were yesterday.

After his mother died, much like John, his maternal grandfather turned to liquor to drown his sorrows. He started drinking heavily on a regular basis and on more than one occasion, unlike John, took his frustrations and grief out on the boy. The last time he punched him so hard he couldn’t chew for two days and that was when Chris decided to leave and hunt down his father. He had shown up bruised, battered and scared as hell on their doorstop and the three Winchesters took him in and cared for him as if they had known him his entire life. They were one big, happy, dysfunctional family and none of them would have it any other way.

The battle between father and son regarding hunting wasn’t new to Dean except this time he was the father. The other difference was that unlike his father Dean didn’t want his kid involved in hunting. Knowing about monsters and things that go bump in the night, fine; doing research and helping them map out a plan, fine. Actually being on the front line and putting his life at risk, so not fine as far as Dean was concerned but his son wasn’t going to make this easy on him.

“Come on dude; you know what I mean.” Chris said hating the fact that he sounded like a whiney ten year old.

“No; I don’t…..dude.” His father mimicked back before turning serious.

“What I do know is that you’re being a monster pain in my ass right now and you had better reign in the attitude before I do it for you.” Dean cringed on the inside as soon as the words left his mouth; Christ; when the hell did I turn into Dad?

Teenage hormones once again got the best of Christopher Riley-Winchester.

“FINE” he hollered as he turned and stomped towards the bedroom. “I’ll just stay cooped up here in this two-bit, rat infested motel and watch the freakin paint peel off the walls while you, Sam and G. go and get to be hero’s. That will be a TERIFFIC use of my time” he yelled turning to face his father and uncle before slamming the door shut.

“FINE” Dean very immaturely shouted back.

“AND WHILE YOU’RE AT IT; GO TO YOUR ROOM…..or our room…or whatever” he muttered as the windows rattled from the force. He let out a breath of frustration before casting his eyes on Sam who; at the moment; was sitting on the couch watching the family drama unfold. He hadn’t intervened; which surprised the crap out of Dean. Sammy always had something to say and Dean couldn’t remember a family fight that Sam didn’t either start or stick his nose into.

“Well, OK then; that went well.” Dean stated bluntly as he tried to lighten the mood a bit. Damn he needed a beer.

Sam scoffed. “Yeah….Way to Go Dad!” he said giving Dean his best bitch face and hoisting two very obnoxious “thumbs- up” in his direction.

Dean made a face back “Hey Sammy? Bite me.” Glancing quickly and suspiciously around the room he shivered.

“Dude; you really think there are rats in here? Ugh, man; I HATE those beady-eyed little bastards, with their freaky tails and the little yellow gnarly teeth…..”

Sam let out his own breath of frustration and hoisted himself off the musty old couch. “Dean; come on, can we please focus here?”

“On what?” his brother asked sharply; as if he didn’t know where this was headed already. He grabbed the oil rag and went back to the task at hand; this time focusing on the barrel of the gun.

“On Chris.” Sammy said coming to a stop just in front of the table.

“What about him?” Dean started rubbing the rag harder than necessary over the gun metal; pretending to be fully absorbed in the chore.

His brother’s display of behavior to avoid talking about topics that made him uncomfortable was very familiar to Sam. He knew he had to keep him focused on the conversation before he shut down completely.

“Dean; come on man; Chris; the hunt……………. Chris coming ON the hunt. Dude; can’t we talk about this?”

“No.”

“No what? We can’t talk about it?? It’s real easy Dean. First I say something then you respond then I respond…..”

“Sam” Dean warned.

“What Dean; we need him and you know it. You’re just being too pig-headed and stubborn to admit that Dad and I are right on this one.” Sam kicked his brother’s boot trying to gain his full attention and emphasize his point.

And his full attention he got. Before Sam could register what was happening Dean stood suddenly knocking the chair over on his way up. The abrupt, aggressive movement caused Sam to take an involuntary step back. He’d seen that look in his brother’s eyes before and it was usually right before he cleaned somebody’s clock. Dean slammed his hand on the table.

“He’s not going; end of discussion! I mean it Sammy; BACK-OFF.”

Sam tried to soften his tone and body language in an attempt to defuse Dean. “What’s the problem here Dean; it’s not like this is the kids first time out. An you, me, Dad we’ll be right there with him the entire time. Nothing’s going to happen to him Dean; I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep Sammy. You know as well as I do that nothing is ever for certain in this business. This is one crazy ass son-of-a-bitch we’re huntin and Chris is NOT gonna be a part of it. I’m not going through this again. Not when I couldn’t…….” Dean’s voice drifted off.

“Couldn’t what Dean?” Sam asked laying a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder knowing damn well what he was going to say.

“Sam.” the one word held so much meaning.

It had been almost twenty years since the Shtriga incident and Dean had never forgiven himself for going out to play video games and not being there to protect Sam. If their father hadn’t arrived when he did and shot the thing Sammy would be dead right now. Just the memory of it sent a cold shiver through this body. He wasn’t going to expose his son to that kid feeding monster. No way, no how; not ever.

“Dean, look; what happened in Fort Douglas wasn’t your fault. You were just a kid Dean and look” he said placing his two hands flat on his chest. “I’m right here and I’m fine. Nothing happened to me Dean and nothing’s going to happen to Chris either.”

“You’re right Sammy; you’re fine cause dad saved both our asses and nothin’s gonna happened to Chris cause he’s NOT GONNA BE THERE!” He threw the oil rag at the wall just as John opened the door.

Instinctively pulling his head to the right John faintly missed being beamed in the face by the oil soaked rag.

He had heard the boys yelling from the driveway and could only assume that the argument had something to do with Chris and their latest hunt. Dean and Sam rarely fought at this level and lately when they did Chris was usually the route cause.

His grandson’s existence didn’t surprise John all that much and there was no doubt just by looking at the boy that the kid was a Winchester. Based on what he’d seen and heard about Dean he wouldn’t be surprised if there were hundreds of little Winchesters scattered across the states. His eldest was one randy character and he sure did have a way with the ladies.

Even at twenty-nine and twenty-five John still looked at both his boys as if they were still kids themselves and it was hard to watch his oldest struggling with his newfound fatherhood. There had been more than one occasion when John had to step in and lay down the law with his grandson both verbally and/or physically when his son couldn’t and it was truly warranted. Dean would learn eventually that he couldn’t be both a father and brother to the boy but that was going to take some time and Dean still had some growing up and adjusting to do himself. For that matter so did John. He had to learn to step back and not insert himself every time he saw Dean handling things differently than he would when Chris acted out. He had to remember that he was the grandfather; not the father this go around.

Where John would address a cranky, smart-mouth teenager with either a sharp crack on the ass or a grueling day of physical training Dean opted to try and reason with him and talk things out; give him his space.

When John tossed out an “or else” threat he carried through on it while Dean tended to be more talk and less action. It was no wonder that Sammy turned out to be as well rounded as he did. For John now saw that he grew up having both a father and a mother figure around.

Just as he had been and still was to some extent with Sam; Dean was fiercely protective of his boy and he was trying everything in his power to keep him out of Supernatural’s harms way. But by doing so John knew that he was really putting the boy at risk by not training him to defend himself and teaching him about all the true evils out in the world. Chris was almost fifteen and wanted to hunt side by side with his family. He had witnessed the arguing between the two of them more than once and had to bite his tongue when Dean put his foot down and ordered the kid to stay put. John knew he would have to patiently wait this one out until he could make Dean see that they would all be better off in the long run if Chris was trained to be a hunter.

Until then, John had no problem continuing his duty of teaching, protecting and raising his boys; all of them, including his grandson.

“Boys.” John said slowly entering and expertly surveying the room.

“Hey” Dean nodded. “Sorry.” he noted sheepishly knowing that he was the cause of his father almost eating the cleaning rag.

“Where’s Chris?” John asked casually noting the turned over chair and the slanted pictures on the wall that were usually the result of a door slamming.

“In the other room having a “Sammy-fit” since I told him he couldn’t come tonight.” Dean said moving towards the kitchen to fetch himself that much needed cold beer and a new rag.

John raised his eyebrows at Sam searching for more information. Sam shook his head and pursed his lips letting John know that things had not gone well while he was gone and that he hadn’t been able to change Dean’s mind regarding Chris’s involvement in the hunt. He turned away knowing that he disappointed his father once more.

John walked towards the kitchen and placed the bag he’d been holding down on the counter. Dean’s ass was sticking out of the fridge as he routed for his beer and John resisted the urge to smack it.

Finding the drink of his desire Dean stood, lifted the cap off with his ring and expertly flipped it into the sink. Halfway through draining the cool refreshing liquid he noticed John watching him.

“What? He asked with the slightest hint of irritation in his voice. “It’s not enough that I’ve already gone two rounds with the kid and Dr. Phil in there; you want a go at me to?”

John shot him a knowing look.

“Dean” he said trying to choose his words carefully. “You know as well as I do that tonight’s important; that Chris can help us nail this thing once and for all.”

Dean chose to remain silent. To be honest he didn’t really have the energy to go round three especially; with his father. He took another slug of his beer before placing it on the counter and rubbing a hand down his tired face. Placing both his hands behind his back on the counter he waited to see what else the old man had to say. He knew John thought he was being weak and too protective of Chris. He could see it in his eyes every time he said no. However with the three of them constantly ganging up on him twenty-four seven he had to admit his resolve was beginning to waiver.

“Look son, I know you’re worried but trust me; if I thought he was in any sort of danger I wouldn’t let him come. You gotta know that, right? You gotta know that I would never put any of you boys in a situation I didn’t think you couldn’t handle. We can do this Dean and rid the world of that son-of-a-bitch once and for all.”

John saw the muscles in Dean’s jaw twitch as he clenched his teeth together. A habit he had done all his life when he was unsure of how to respond or act. He placed a strong, fatherly hand on his son’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. His eyes locked with his sons and in four single words he wrapped up the conversation.

“We need him Dean.” And with that Dean knew that John wasn’t really asking for his permission or approval anymore. It was more of a “you do this or I will without you” subliminal order.

The two stared at each other for a moment before Dean gave his Dad a short nod of his head in agreement.

“That’s my boy” John said giving his face a soft tap of approval. It often amazed Dean how the same hands that could dole out the mother of all punishments could also be so gentle and loving at times. He soaked in his father’s praise like a dry sponge to water.

Heaving himself off the counter he made his way into the living room. “Hey mini-me” he yelled towards the bedroom door. “Get you ass out here; we need to talk.”

ooohhhh yay...I like it. Great idea with Dean as a father and of a teenager no less. I love John so him being around will be so great. I hope you keep it up can't wait to see the adventures or misadventures coming up.

I wrote a story a while back where Dean was a dad to a son, but he was older and trying to live the normal life...yeah right. His sons name was Braden, cause the letters dean are in there.

So I'm excited to read another rendition of daddy Dean :D
:skip

OK, I see a few people have hit on this story and only one reply. Thanks Superboys, this short update is for you. More to come if the interest level goes up. Thanks for reading!


Heaving himself off the counter he made his way into the living room. “Hey mini-me” he yelled towards the bedroom door. “Get you ass out here; we need to talk.”
******************************************************************************************
“No.” came the muffled reply from behind the doors. “I’m not talking to you.”

Dean threw his hands up in the air and turned towards his father and brother; his green eyes wide with disbelief.

“Un-freakin-believable! One minute he’s screamin and yellin at me and now he’s not talking? Jesus; I thought I was done with all this teenage, mood-swing, crap last week after Sammy here finally past puberty.”

“Oh you’re hilarious Dean.” Sam said shooting him his ha, ha, very funny look. “Jerk.”

“Yeah, I am aren’t I; Bitch.” “Chris!!” Dean bellowed pounding his fist against the door. “Get your scrawny, little butt out here before I kick it into next week!”

Nice, real nice dad “What part of LEAVE. ME. ALONE don’t you get??!!”

Closing his eyes, Dean took a calming breath; walked away from the door, rolled his eyes to the ceiling, cracked his neck, turned around and walked back. Taking another breath he knocked on the door again this time with only one knuckle.

John took a seat on the couch and rolled his eyes at Sam. At this rate they were going to be here all night. Come on Dean; focus; take control of the situation boy.

“Chris. Come on bud; open up.”

“Get bent.”

“CHRIS! I mean it……” Dean started.

John swore under his breath and after making what he thought was a valiant effort to show some restraint he rose up from the couch. Crossing the room in three strides he pushed past his son, placed his hand on the knob and bashed the door open using his shoulder. After hearing a surprised yelp from the boy; Dean heard evidence of a slight scuffle; more like a body being lifted up and then dragged and within seconds his father emerged propelling his disgruntled grandson out in front of him.

“Make it quick.” he said flatly to Dean bumping his son’s shoulder roughly as he walked by. “We got work to do.”

“Ow, G.” Chris complained rubbing his arm where John had grabbed him. “What the hell? My beef’s not with you!”

Chris had taken to calling John “G” rather than Grandpa or Pops which was just fine with John. He was too damn young to be having a fourteen year old running around calling him Grandpa. Most of the time people just assumed Chris was his son and not Dean’s.

“Hey” Dean snapped at his kid’s blatant disrespect towards John; something he never tolerated; from anyone. “How bout you show a little respect; m’ember who you’re talkin to.” He admonished.

Chris said nothing as he gazed up defiantly at his father, eyebrows now drawn into a frown as he continued rubbing the sting of his grandfather’s grip out of his upper arm.

“Ok, listen up.” Dean said placing a hand on the young man’s shoulder and leveling him with his best it’s in your ass’s best interest to hang on my every word look. “B’out tonight; how would you feel bout coming with us?”

Chris continued to stare up at Dean his face now bearing a look of complete disbelief. What the hell kind of stupid ass question is that?? Are all people over 25 morons or is it just my family? How would I feel about going on the hunt? Freaking AWESOME that’s how I’d feel. That’s what I’ve been asking for for the past three days!!! Dude; get a clue already!

“’k; if that’s what you want.” the kid responded, shrugging his shoulders now seemingly bored by the concept.

“Okay??” Dean was sure he was going to throttle him before the night ended. Placing his hands on his hips to keep them from going around the teen’s throat he leaned in; getting a little bit into his son’s personal space. He could have sworn he heard John snicker. What comes around goes around son; paybacks a bitch boy.

“Dude; what?” Chris said trying to back up. Dean tightened his grip on his shoulder preventing him from moving back any farther. He voice was level and sounded a little dangerous.

“You mean to tell me that you’ve been up in my grill for the past three days about comin on this hunt and I finally give in and tell you you can come and all you got to say is OK!!???”

And to confirm what John had known for years; that teenage boys have no common sense whatsoever Chris replied.

“Well, what the hell do you want me to do; throw a freakin party; I’m a hunter this is what I’m supposed to do!”

Dean blinked momentarily lost for words and then he lost it completely.

“NO, you’re NOT a hunter!” He yelled. “WE’RE hunters” he said motioning to himself, his father and his brother. “You’re just a pain in the ass little kid who doesn’t know when to keep his smart yap shut!”

Dean grabbed him by his collar and shoved him hard onto one of the wooden chairs at the table. “Now sit you ass down and LISTEN. One more peep out of you and so help me God you’ll be spending the rest of the evening trying to remove my boot from your ass!”

Now that they were all in agreement and the kid was quiet; at least for the moment; the four Winchesters started planning and mapping out the evening. As the plan grew before his eyes so did Dean’s fear, that he had once again made the wrong choice.

Alright, i was thrilled to see an update. Love Grandpa John lol...all that testosterone flying around. Dean getting some of his own medicine and John enjoying every minute of it. Please keep going...please....loving the conflict.
:hi5
Thank you for update :thumbsup

I admit this chapter isn't the greatest but the I promise the next one will be better if you hang with me.


“I’ve got the weirdest yet coolest family every.” Chris thought to himself as he sat and listened to the three older men talk about the Shtriga and their master plan to trap it and kill it. “monsters are real and this time I’m finally going get to play a main role in ganking one; who’da thunk?”

His earlier “altercation” with Dean had passed and it was as if nothing had ever happened. That seemed to be the way it was with the three of them. No one ever seemed to hold a grudge or belabor past events. crap happened and they moved on; it was “the Winchester way” his grandfather once told him. At least that’s the way it was most of the time. On occasion it looked to him as though his Uncle Sam was holding a bit of a grudge or had a chip on his shoulder for some reason or another but the more Chris got to know his new family, their history and their lifestyle the more he understood why Sam might be the way he was.

He himself was still trying to get a grip and learn the lay of the land. For a teenage boy it was hard to just “let it go” after you’ve been told “no” a million times, yelled orders at or worse, manhandled by a Winchester; especially G. He had to admit that his dad had been pretty reasonable and easy on him regarding everything other than hunting. That was the one topic that could have the two of them at each others throat in a heartbeat and it usually ended with Chris grounded in some room, or cleaning guns and/or Dean storming out of the place they were calling “home” at the time to the nearest bar to cool off; most of the time all three occurred simultaneously.

To say the past year and a half had been a little rough and a huge adjustment for him and Dean would be an understatement. He’d lost his mom, was abused by his grandfather, run away and lived on the streets alone for almost a month before he found his father and his new family. Once he did find him he was immediately introduced to the lifestyle of a hunter and the unknown world of the Supernatural. He was sure as crap glad, after he knew the truth, that he was a Winchester and on their side.

And for Dean, finding out that he was a father to a then thirteen year old boy really seemed to throw him into a temporary tailspin. It was another heavy responsibility he’d have to bear and another person he found himself loving instantly, unconditionally and whom he found himself worrying about losing; constantly.

Chris thought it was cool the way Dean and the rest of the family didn’t even question the fact that he was his son; just took him in with open arms as one might a stray puppy. It probably didn’t hurt that when John first opened the door he thought he had been somehow transported back to the year when Dean was thirteen and it was his “from the past son” not his grandson standing in the threshold.

He had been lost in the memory of that day when he heard his father ask

“Any questions?”

“Huh?” he replied eyes going wide at the fact that he had day dreamed his way out of the last ten minutes of the conversation.

“I said; do you have any questions?” Dean repeated patiently. A look of concern crossed over his face. “You ok? You look a little out of it there bud. You don’t have to do this if you’re freaked out.”

“’m not freaked out” he said taking immediate defense. “Just thinking s’all.”

“’bout what?”

‘bout how the hell I’m going to get out of admitting that I wasn’t paying attention for the last ten minutes.

“’bout why you’re always treating me like a baby and askin me a hundred times if I get it. Dude, I get it!!” Attitude was now just oozing from ever pore of the boy. “We go in; I’m the midnight snack; she starts munchin on me and I shoot her sorry ass and send it blazin back to hell. Case closed.”

The three older hunters all reacted at the same time. Sam slumped in his chair and he threw the pencil he had been holding roughly bouncing it off the table. John skidded his chair out, obviously frustrated, and headed into the kitchen for another cup of coffee and Dean; well Dean just stood there looking at his offspring as if he were contemplating the quickest way to kill him without making too much of a mess.

It actually surprised Chris how controlled his old man’s voice was when he did actually get around to speaking.

“No, case NOT closed. Let’s get some things straight. #1 I’m not treating you like a baby, going through pre-hunt recon and makin sure everyone’s on the same page is part of the gig #2 she’s not gonna to get close enough to “munch on you” and #3 you’re not shootin anyone or anything because congratulations you’ve just one yourself a one way ticket to YOUR NOT COMIN AGAIN!!!!!!” He shouted that last part so loud and hard Chris actually felt his hair move.

“WHAT??” Chris stood up knocking his chair over. Sam mentally noted like father like son. “But you said I could!!?? What the hell Dad; you’re worse than a f***in woman with PMS changing your mind back and forth like this.”

Sam jumped to his feet, prepared to come to his nephew’s rescue as Dean took a threatening step towards his son.

“ENOUGH!!” John bellowed re-entering the room. The place got so quiet that you could hear the street lights humming outside.

“Sam” he continued all business; “Fill your nephew in on the last few details he missed while he had his head up his ass. Dean; kitchen; now!” He pointed a warning finger at his grandson. “Boy, you better listen to Sam and listen good young man. When I get back in here you better be able to recite this mission forwards, backwards and every other which way I might ask or I’m going to side with Dean and leave your sorry ass home tonight; understood?”

“yessir” Chris answered meekly knowing it was the only answer his grandfather wanted to hear.

“And if I EVER hear that “f” word coming from your mouth again my belts getting a workout. That goes for the two of you too.” he said rounding on his children. GOT IT?????”

“yessir” the three of them replied in unison, the two older ones in a bit of shock.

Damn, he must be seriously pissed. Dad hasn’t busted out the “belt threat” in years. What is it about that freakin word that sets him off so bad? Dean wondered to himself.

“Good”. John didn’t know what it was about the word “f***” that he hated so much but it didn’t matter; no one was going to use it in his presence without suffering the consequences. “Dean; move.”

His oldest stomped into the kitchen like a belligerent six year old. His father followed having instantly regained his composure. It always amazed Dean how easily he could do that.

“Ok, listen to me.” John started wearily, rubbing a calloused hand down his tired face. “He’s just a kid Dean, you gotta stop rising to the bait every time he tosses it out there. You boys were the same way at his age and if I reacted the way you are right now every time you or Sammy did something that pissed me off neither one of you would be standing here right now; trust me.”

“Exactly Dad, he’s just a kid. He shouldn’t be a part of this. It’s too dangerous and his heads not in it. He’s gonna get one of us hurt or better yet killed. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not!” John hissed in anger at the accusation. “He’s my grandson for God sakes; I’m not going to risk his life over something like this.”

“No you reserve that pleasure for your kids.” Dean venomously spit out before his brain caught up with his mouth.

John’s eyes narrowed as he nailed his son with a stare that could have instantly turned water into ice. He shook his head up and down slightly as he acknowledged Dean’s words as they sunk deep into the core of his being. So; finally; the truth comes out.

“Dad.. I’m sorry.” Dean said quickly his voice cracking, the plea for forgiveness evident in his tone. “I didn’t mean it; I…”

“s’ok Ace.” John said softly. “Sometimes kids say and do stuff they don’t really mean.” John moved in closer to his son and placed a gently hand behind his neck. “That’s what I’ve been trying to get you to see with Chris. When he says crap like that to you, you can’t react the way you have been. As a father you need to be the bigger man; have thicker skin; learn to let those types of comments roll off you; teach him.”

“I’m tryin dad, I really am; I’m just worried. I mean he’s my kid. God, I can’t even get used to sayin that; …..my kid. I’m just not ready for this; I can’t do this.”

“No one’s ever truly ready for father hood Dean. There’s no handbook on how to raise kids, especially teenagers. You’re doin fine all things considered. Truthfully I’d be a little more worried about you if you weren’t acting the way you are. It shows how much you really do care Dean; that’s being a good father. You’re a good father. You just need to practice a little more patience and learn to put a stop to things before they get out of control; without killing him.” John said with a chuckle.

“What about duct tape? Worked on Sammy.”

John groaned. “I don’t even want to hear about that; do I?” He asked shaking his head.

“Yeah, probably best that you don’t” Dean joked back.

“OK, let’s get goin. We’re going to be fine Dean; he’s going to be fine and we’re going to nail this thing once and for all.”

“Ok, Dad; let’s do this.”

OK, next chapter will have a little Sammy/Chris moment and then off to the hunt! Thanks for reading and reviewing.

I wrote this at work today so I thought I would just go ahead and post it. I was going to do the Sam/Chris talk and then get into the hunt but I ran out of time. I see that people are still reading this so I guess I'll keep going for now. If you have the time; drop me a note and let me know if you like the direction I'm going in or if it's getting too sappy. :rolleyes:

Sam righted the chair his nephew tipped over in the heat of the moment. He was only eleven years older than Chris and remembered vividly what is was like to be a teenager and the youngest member of this particular clan. He could definitely empathize with the kid.

He watched for a moment as the teen paced around the small room like a caged tiger; another trait he had inherited from his father. It was getting late and if they were going to act tonight then Sam needed to get his nephew up to speed on the details and fast before his dad and Dean came back in. He wanted to avoid at all costs having the crap hit the fan again; at least for tonight.

“Dude, come on.” He said tapping the chair with his hand. “We gotta go over this stuff A-sap; let’s go.”

Chris stopped circling and shot his uncle a glare, his arms crossed tightly against his chest. He had no reason to be mad at the guy but he needed to unload his frustrations onto someone and his uncle was going to be the unfortunate recipient.

“Why does he always have to do that?” he snapped pivoting towards Sam, looking for answers.

“Look; cut him a little slack ok? Tonight’s a big deal, you’re not 100% ready and he’s worried about you; alright?”

“I’m not a little kid you know; I can take care of myself.”

“So you’ve mentioned.” Sam wanted to add a few hundred times but his initial comment had already earned him another angry stare.

“Hey, don’t take it out on me runt; I’m tryin to help you here. You’re the one still acting like a brat so knock it off already and get your ass over here. If you want to come tonight we’ve got work to do.”

Chris hesitated for a moment before he gave in a little and let his arms fall to his side. Leave it to Sam to be the rational one. He was right though, if he had any chance at all left of going on this hunt tonight he had to learn the full mission “forwards, backwards and any other which way his grandfather might ask” whatever the hell that meant. He trudged over to the open chair and unceremoniously plopped himself down.

The movement reminded Sam a lot of himself at Chris’s age. A slight smile crossed his face.

“Alright good; now tell me what you remember.” He needed to know exactly at which point the kid spaced out.

“So seriously what’s his problem? Why is he so determined to keep me out of this?” Chris blurted out; unable to let it go.

“Dude!!” Sam was starting to get annoyed. He placed his forearms on the table and leaned forward meeting the kid’s eyes; ready to chew him out. However any anger he felt quickly melted away when he saw the look of uncertainty and frustration on his face. He was obviously confused by his dad’s reactions and he wasn’t going to be able to focus on the hunt again until he got some answers.

Sam sighed and dropped his head onto his arms his Dad and Dean were going to kill him. Crap, well here goes nothing; he was going to have to make sure he chose his words carefully here. He got up walked to the mini fridge Dean had requested for the bedroom and returned a few seconds later with an ice cold beer. He sure as hell was going to need a drink before he dove into this conversation.

Chris was watching him warily hoping but not fully believing that someone was finally going to level with him and tell him the truth. Explain to him why his old man was such a powder keg when it came to him and hunting.

“Look, you gotta understand something; Dean and me, we had no choice. He tried just about as hard as he could to keep me out of this for as long as he could but in the end he had no choice. He had to follow Dad’s orders and he couldn’t keep me from this life style and it made him feel like a complete failure that he couldn’t protect me from it.”

“OK” Chris said letting that sink in “So what does that have to do with me?”

“Don’t you get it? Having you here now is like re-living those years all over again for him. He wants to keep you as far away from all this Supernatural stuff as possible; wants you to be safe; you know; have a normal life like the one you had when you were with your mom. Truth is; you see the problem is that in his heart of hearts he knows that he can’t do that; that it’s not safe for you to be with us and not know about all this crap and it’s killing him.”

“Why?”

“Think about it dude; it’s not safe for you to be here with us. You’re his responsibility and right now you’re a liability. It’s his job to look out for your best interest and the only completely safe solution he can think of would be to send you back to your grandfather and cut ties with you completely.”

Chris started to show signs of panic. No way he was going back to that man; no f***ing way.

“Hey, hey relax.” Sam said putting a reassuring hand on Chris’s arm. “Trust me kid; that’s not going to happen; not as long as we are all still breathing and that’s the problem.”

“So the problem is he’s pissed because he’s stuck with me and can’t ditch me?” Ouch just the thought of that hurt.

“What?? NO!!” Sam rubbed his two hands down over his face. This wasn’t going the way he planned. He took another long slug of his beer.

“No, what I’m sayin is that he doesn’t know what to do; this is new territory for him. He knows he doesn’t want you involved in this stuff and yet he also knows that you have to be in order to be able to stay with us and be safe. Look, once you start with the big stuff like tonight you’re not going to be able to stop; ever and that scares the crap out of him. And trust me a scared Dean is an irritable Dean and that’s the Dean you’ve been butting heads with for the past few months. It’s his warped little way of saying he loves you.”

Chris was still trying to comprehend what Sam was trying say. “Well why the hell doesn’t he just say that then instead of yellin at me all the time every time I mention the word hunt?”

Sam brought his eyebrows together. “Dude; have you met your father? This is Dean we’re talking about here. He doesn’t do “talking” well.”

Chris snorted. “Yeah; tell me something I don’t know.”

“Look all I’m sayin here is try and put yourself in his shoes. Fathers always want their kids to have a better life than they did, well at least most normal ones do, and he sees that opportunity for you slipping right through his fingers. Just do me a favor and try not to appear to be so eager to dive in head first on this one; ok. And for God sakes; please try and pay attention and learn this mission so we don’t both get our asses kicked; alright?”

Chris smiled. He was really lucky to have someone like Sam to talk to. He still didn’t quite get everything that he just told him but the things that did stick were that his dad loved him, even though he had a hard time showing it; that they weren’t going to send him packing back to his grandfather and, from the sounds of it, he was still going to get to go on the hunt tonight so as far as he was concerned things were good for now.

“So, we good?” Sam asked hopefully knowing that the clock was ticking and they still had a lot of work to do.

Chris gave him the patented Winchester smile. “Yeah, we’re good; but you know what would make things even better?”

Sam wasn’t so sure he wanted to hear but he asked anyway. “No, what?”

“A sip of your beer.” Chris answered with a gleam in his eye.

It was Sam’s turn to snort “God you are so Dean’s kid; keep dreamin sport; so not happening on my watch that’s for sure.” He laughed.

I liked the chapter...I'm a sucker for John so I'm always happy when he is in a story and being true to his character which you have nailed. Okay sneaky I see you just posted as I was writing this so now I'm off to see what else you have.
I hope you have lots of ideas coming cause I'm enjoying this very much :evil
Carol

reply #2...I'm glad somebody else writes at work. I rarely get time anymore but every so often I can tickle the keys. That was a great Sam/Chris moment, he is def Dean's kid and I think you are really intune with the characters. Chris is a fiery one just like his dad...so of course they will constantly butt heads. But he better not let John hear that f word or he will be introduced to that belt...but I bet he will be sooner than later whatever the case.

A two for one treat...thank you :skip

You have to follow your muse, let the story write itself and you will be fine ;)

:wub: thanks Superboys! I really appreciate your comments. You made my night. LOL about the work thing; good thing I have a door to close and a big screen to hide behind as I pretend to be busy at work (dreamin about John that is) LOL!!

Dean followed John out into the room. He placed his hand on top of his son’s head as he walked by the table where he and Sam were huddled. He let it linger for a second, relishing the contact, before giving it a slight ruffle. Chris pulled away as Dean expected he would but he shot his dad a small, half smile; acknowledging and accepting the silent peace offering. Dean continued towards the couch, smacking Sam on the back of his head, just for the hell of it. He chuckled as he narrowly darted out of the way of Sam’s reach.

John’s baritone voice broke the silence. “Sam?” He asked nodding his head towards Chris. “He ready?” John knew Sam’s passion for research and his attention to detail. He also knew he had an uncanny ability to relate to Chris, get him to buckle down and pay attention when both he and Dean had failed in the past. There was no doubt in his mind what his youngest son’s reply would be.

“Yes sir.” Sam replied getting up and stretching his long, tired limbs. “As ready as he’ll ever be.” he said looking down giving his nephew a slight nod of encouragement. His dimples prominently displayed as he squeezed his lips together in an almost sad like smile.

“Alright; good. Everyone know what to do?”

The three “yes sirs” were like music to his ears. “Let’s do this.” he said; his adrenaline starting to kick in as he lifted his coat off the back of the chair and headed out the door. He had been waiting years for this moment.

Sam quickly followed suit; grabbing the loaded bag of weapons and slinging it onto his shoulder. His eyes met Dean’s as he glanced back to ask the remaining two in the room if they were coming.

The unspoken cue that Dean wanted a moment alone with Chris was easy for the younger brother to read. He turned quietly leaving the door slightly ajar as he left to join his father.

Dean was sitting on the old couch and Chris looked over at him waiting for his father to give him the “go ahead.”

“Come’er a sec” Dean beckoned scooting forward a bit as he reached behind his back and into the waist band of his jeans. Chris made his way over and stood tentatively in front of his father.

Dean pulled out an old looking revolver and held it gently in his hands. He rubbed his thumb almost lovingly across the symbol of the crown engraved on its side and looked at the piece as if he were mentally recalling every moment of its past. Chris heard him sniff.

“This is the first gun my dad ever gave to me” he said looking up at the young teen “and now I’m giving it to you. It’s a Winchester 44 Carbide. Sometimes the trigger sticks a little and it can have a bit of a kick so be careful.” he said turning it around and gingerly holding it out for his son to take.

Their fingers touched briefly as the exchange was made. Dean maintained his grip on it for a moment before taking a deep breath and letting it go. The moment he had been dreading for over a year had finally come; the torch had been past and another Winchester had just been officially damned to the life of a hunter. He felt his chest clench.

“Thanks.” Chris said looking at the gun as if he were hallucinating before pointing it down towards the floor like he had been instructed to do so many times. He squared his shoulders and looked his dad straight in the eyes, full of pride. “Don’t worry dad, I’ll take good care of it.”

“I know you will.” Dean said confidently standing and getting his things together. “Make sure you put that somewhere where you can get to it easily. And if you go the “back of the jeans route” try not to shoot yourself in the ass like your uncle Sammy did the first time he tried that spot. It might not kill ya but trust me; it will burn like a son-of-a-bitch and ya won’t be able to sit right for months.”

“Deal.” Chris said laughing placing it safely in the inside of his coat. “Man I would have paid f***ing anything to see that.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that; or your grandfather for that matter. He meant what he said about that word and dude, trust me; the man can swing a mean belt.” Dean said shuddering at the memories.

Chris scoffed. “God dad; you’re such a girl sometimes.”

“Alright; don’t heed my warning you foul-mouthed brat. But when the time comes don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The ancient house they were setting the trap in smelled like moth balls and old lady. The owner had eagerly rented it to John after the boy of the family before had taken ill and died. He had been the tenth victim of the “so called disease” that month. People with kids had started to flee the town and renters were hard to come by.

John and Sam were busy setting up the laptop and the cameras while Dean busied himself checking the weapons. Chris was sitting on the bed mentally reviewing the plan again in his head. He was so excited to finally see some real action.

“OK” John said as the clock struck one. “Showtime.” He crouched in front of his grandson and placed two solid, heavy hands on his shoulders. “Remember, stick to the plan and try not to panic. Me and Sam will be in the room right across the hall and your dad will be right here in the closet; ok?”

Chris nodded his head in agreement.

“I need to hear you say it boy” John said his stomach starting to churn with worry.

“Yes sir; geez G; you takin lessons from dad or something? I’ll be fine.”

John gave him a grandfatherly, open palmed tap on the cheek. “Smartass.” he muttered before turning to Dean.

He could see the stress emanating off his oldest. “OK, listen to me. You need to keep your wits about you; no matter what happens. Stay calm and as soon as it starts to feed you shoot it; you hear me? You pump that bastard full of as much iron as you can. Let’s not make the same mistake twice; got it?” It had been nearly twenty years since the thing had almost killed Sammy and escaped and John was not about to let it happen again.

Dean’s faced flushed at the memory of his failure. He checked the sight on his gun and adjusted the one in his jeans. “I got it Dad; I won’t mess up again; I promise.”

Knowing that he hit a sensitive nerve John tried to soften his tone a bit. “We end this tonight Dean; you and me; together; and then my boy its Miller time.” John said cracking a smile trying ease tension in the room. Turning to his youngest he issued a one word order. “Sam.”

Sam cuffed Chris’s head lightly. “Be careful runt.”

“Will do; stretch.” Man he couldn’t wait to tease him about shooting himself in the ass. That was going to be priceless!

Sam squinted in confusion at the smirk and glimmer he saw in his nephew’s eyes; wondering what could possibly be going through his warped little teenage mind. He trusted the kid and his antics just about as much as he trusted Dean. Still a little leery he turned and followed his dad across the hall.

Chris felt the bed dip under the weight of his father as he sat. Dean placed his hand behind his neck and pulled him in close in a very uncharacteristic public display of affection. He buried his face into the boy’s hair taking in the scent and quietly said “Don’t worry; I got your back kid. Ain’t nothin gonna happen to you tonight; you got my word.”

Chris clutched the back of his dad’s jacket suddenly not wanting to pull away from the safety and security of his father. He felt a lump beginning to form in his throat. He could only nod in response.

“Heads up dude. When I tell you; you roll off the bed and crawl under it as fast as you can. Cover your ears cause it’s going to be loud and stay there until I tell you its safe; understand?”

“Yes sir.”

Dean pulled his head back at his son’s response. He had only called him “sir” two other times since he had found him and both times he was seconds away from getting his ass handed to him and was desperately trying to show as much respect as possible in the hopes of a more lenient punishment. He must be more worried than he’s letting on; Dean thought to himself.

He dropped a quick kiss on the top of his head; ignoring his son’s protests and stood up and walked over to the closet. This monster was going down and he was going to make sure he suffered. He was going to burn every clip he had into the thing until he was sure it was dead; and then some.

An hour had past and the wind had started to pick up outside. Chris was tossing about restlessly in the bed. Dean had tried a few times; whispering to him to stay still but to no avail.

Suddenly they heard the scratching at the window and they both froze. The Shtriga was here and there was no turning back now.

Pam,

Lovin' the complex relationships going on here. chris is quite the character...very Dean for certain. Watching these guys interact is priceless. There is no doubt mr tough guy Chris is going to end up pushing John too far and realize what his father had warned him about. :lol:

I was so glad to see your update and you left it with a cliffhanger. I can just see everybody in their places waiting. Don't make me wait too long....

I'll be posting another story in my series in a day or two.

Keep up the good work. :cheer

Carol

OK, I'm not thrilled with this chapter <_< It's just not reading the way I'm picturing it in my head. Sorry; work was crazy and it's going to be a hell of a few weeks. I will try and update as soon as I can but it may not be as often as I have been doing in the past. Please let me know your thoughts; I could use the lift. Thanks and enjoy!


“Come on, come on, come on” Dean whispered softly to himself. He wanted to kill this thing so badly he could taste it. He was channeling every ounce of self control he had to keep himself from busting out of the closet. The brief thought of that very notion made him chuckle; “Dean Winchester, coming out of the closet; ha! Wouldn’t Sammy have a field day with that one.”

He was quickly jerked back to reality as he observed Chris through the slats of the old, wooden door he had been stuffed behind for the past several hours. The kid was frozen solid and from the looks of it hardly even breathing. crap, crap, crap; this was such a bad idea. What the hell was I thinking letting Dad and Sammy talk me into using him for bait; he wasn’t ready; we weren’t ready, I wasn’t ready!!!! He continued to watch anxiously as the scene began to unfold in front of him; his body ready to spring into action as soon as the monster started to feed on his son. The mere thought of that making the blood in his veins feel like water running over ice.

Having burned its hand prints on the sill and the wall as it slithered through the window the Shtriga was now slowly edging its way towards the boy with indomitable steps. Its decrepit claws now extended out from the inner folds of its ancient, heavy cloak as it reached menacingly towards its next victim; hungry; desperate; yearning for another dose of innocent vitality.

The image Chris saw as he peaked from beneath the blanket sent him into an emotional tailspin. Never in his life had he seen anything so unspeakable; so terrifying. He watched in horror as the creature continued to creep towards him; his heart now racing as panic overtook his mind, body and soul. He knew they had a plan. He had reviewed it over and over and over again. In the far depths of his mind he knew his family was there; somewhere. He recalled them swearing to him on all things sacred that they would protect him; keep him safe; that nothing was going to harm him. But at this particular moment none of that meant jack crap to Chris. All he could think about was getting the hell out of there; away from this sickening supernatural being and back to the safety of his father. f*** the plan, f*** the hunt, f*** everything. Terror overtook his senses and he couldn’t contain himself anymore. Scrambling desperately he tried to claw his way off the bed but the Shtriga had reached its target and had clamped down hard, trapping him; dragging him; closer and closer its open mouth emitting a mesmerizing glow; its only intent was to drain the living soul from its struggling prey.

Watching the gut wrenching scene on the computer was too much for Sam to take. His attempt to bolt from his chair and race to his nephew’s rescue was immediately stopped by his father.

“No Sam; stand your ground.” John hissed grabbing a firm hold on his son’s jacket and yanking him back down onto the chair. “It needs to start feeding; if we go in there now we’ll loose it again!”

“What??? No! Dad, look at him; he’s paralyzed with fear; we gotta help him!” Sam desperately pleaded trying to break free of his father’s grasp. “LET GO; HE NEEDS US!”

“I said STAND DOWN SAM; THAT’S AN ORDER!!” John snarled as loudly and as firmly as he could without alerting the Shtriga to their presence. His face was twisted with both anger and concern. He was having a hard enough time fighting off his own urge to run in and save the boy. Seeing the look of terror on his grandson’s face was one of the most frightening things he’d witnessed in years.

“TO HELL WITH YOUR ORDERS!!” Sam growled spit of frustration flying from his mouth as he wrenched himself out of John’s grip running towards the door.

“SAM! NO!! Son-of-a-bitch!!” John roared grabbing his shot gun and racing after his rebellious son.

As the monster overpowered his child Dean lost the battle of wills with himself and in a fit of terror flung open the door. His mind on one thing and one thing only; saving his boy; his father’s orders and the hunt be damned. He aimed to fire a full clip of concentrated iron rounds into it’s back but the moment the Shtriga noticed him it waved its arm; forcefully throwing Dean against the back wall. His head connected hard against the plaster and he crumpled to a heap onto the floor.

Eyes wide with horror as he watched his father tossed like a rag doll and knocked unconscious Chris opened his mouth to scream but the Shtriga was too close; it placed his mouth over his and hungrily started to feed. The boy’s left hand flew up trying to pull the boney one from his throat, his right started flailing wildly; grasping; searching.

The main door to the room was kicked open; Sam and John both barreling through firing shot after shot after shot into the creature. It leaped up exuding an ear-piercing screech as it was forced back further and further with each shot.

The rapid, loud gun fire had startled Dean awake. He struggled to stand desperate as he tried to regain his bearings. As he launched himself towards his son he heard his father yell “GET OUT OF THE WAY!!!” but the Shtriga had already vaulted itself off the floor seemingly unharmed by the shots and was on the move again towards Chris. Dean’s head and heart were pounding; his vision blurry.

Chris had managed to wretch himself back up against the headboard; his hands trembling uncontrollably; the weight of the Winchester 44 now heavy in his grasp. Two shots rang out as the Shtriga and his father each desperately clawed their way towards him; the first came from John’s gun nailing the creature on the right side of its face sending it screaming in pain and running back out the way it came. John rushed towards the window cursing at the top of his lungs that the damn thing had escaped him a second time. He punched the wall with all his might.

The second shot had come from Chris.

As the gun smoke cleared a deafening silence now filled the room and as if time had slowed down Chris was now watching everything around him in slow motion; his eyes laced with fear flew to meet Dean’s. He could see his father’s eyes looking deeply into his finding the comfort he so desperately needed; the knowledge that his child was out of immediate danger and unharmed. He gave him a slight smile and took a staggering step towards him; his brows immediately pulling together as he felt a sharp paid permeate through his body. He pulled the hand he had unconsciously clutching his side off his body and held it up to his face. It was covered in thick, dark blood.

DEAN!!!!! Chris heard his uncle scream as he watched his father crumpled face first onto the foot of the bed. Dread filled his body as reality sunk in.

He had shot his father.

Pam,

Well I thought it was pretty damn good. Wow, not only did the Shtriga get away but chris shot Dean. Now what????? I know how work gets crazy and all, but please try and update as often as you can. Don't leave me hanging, I am dying to know how this is all going to work out.
Great job :hi5

Hi there! Thanks for being so patient. Sorry I shot Dean; I can’t believe I did that myself ;-) Anyway; you may find this chapter a little boring but I thought it was an important one and hopefully it gives you a peak into the messed up psyche of the Winchester clan while also showing how much family means to them. Don’t worry everyone will be fine and tempers, frustrations and curse words will be back flying around in the next chapter. Work still sucks and will continue to for the next several weeks so the next chapter might take me awhile too. Thank you for reading! Superboys, thank you for hanging in there with me!

“DEAN!!!!”

The desperation in Sam’s voice tore John’s attention away from the window. He turned just in time to see Dean fall; his knees hitting the floor with a thud as his upper body slumped onto the corner of the bed; his arms hanging limply at his sides.

“What happened?” he demanded as he crossed the room in two quick strides shouldering Sam out of the way as he knelt down next to Dean. His tone was composed and firm; demanding answers but trepidation encased his hazel eyes as they darted up to meet his son’s. He drew in a long breath. He needed to stay calm; get a handle on the situation before it spiraled any further out of control. He figured it was only a matter of time before the neighbors’ call the authorities and he had to ensure that they were long gone before the cops showed up. He grasped Dean’s shoulders, gently turning him over so he could asses the damage. He paled as he saw the blood starting to seep through the multiple layers of his son’s clothes. No, no, no, no…..

“Oh my God; he’s hit.” Sam said beginning to panic. Seeing Dean or his father or both for that matter injured during a hunt wasn’t anything new but this was different. Dean had been shot with concentrated iron and he was unconscious; this was serious, major crap. He quickly holstered his gun into the back of his jeans as he knelt down on the other side of Dean. He reached for him but withdrew his hands not really knowing what to do or where to touch. He couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling he had as he began to replay the last ten minutes in his mind. Dean had been in the clear when the second round of bullets started to fly; he was sure of it.

“I see that Sam!” his father snarled back distress obvious in his voice; the emotion of holding his wounded son in his arms getting the best of him. There was no doubt that John Winchester was a callous hunter; a master at his craft and, at times, a world-class Ass but beneath that facade lay a devoted parent; one who’s love for his children was ten times more fierce than his hatred for all things supernatural. He placed one hand on Dean’s neck in search of a pulse while he used the other one to lift his shirt, gently peeling the layers away from the wound; the warmth and stickiness of his son’s blood on his hands; literally and figuratively. The pent up anxiety and anger he’d been trying to contain overtook him. He leveled a hard glare at Sam; his eyes flaming with disappointment.

“I told you to stand your ground. God Dammit Sam! Why can’t you ever listen? He knew he was being mean; that the words were unfair but they flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. He turned his attention back to Dean as he continued to run his hands over his body; trying to locate and gauge any other injuries his son might have.

His pulse was stronger than John had expected and the bullet appeared to have hit far enough to the side to have avoided coming into contact with any of his vital organs. He began to take a mental inventory; “breathing seems light but ok, no broken bones; thank God; maybe just some bruised ribs. crap, that’s one nasty bump on the back of his head; he most likely has a concussion too. That’s probably why he’s out cold.” John concluded to himself. “Ok. Ok; I can deal with this; it’s going to be ok; I can handle this.” He quickly tried to convince himself.

Sam’s hackles were immediately roused at his father’s tone and implied accusation; his mind was racing; he was convinced that there was no way he could have shot Dean. He sat back on his heels giving his dad some space to work on his brother and raked a hand through his hair.

“It wasn’t me Dad; I don’t know what happened; he was clear when I shot.”

Chris had retreated back against the headboard. His knees pulled up tight against his chest shielding his body.

“It was me.” He practically whispered; his manner weak but his tone certain. He let the gun he had been holding loosely in his hands fall onto the bed. The gun his dad had so proudly entrusted him with not more than twenty-four hours ago was now the gun he had shot, and for all he knew, killed his father with. The two older Winchesters snapped their attention towards the teen. They had forgotten for a moment that he was even there.

Chris was sure they were going to kill him; but he couldn’t blame them; he’d brought this onto himself. He asked, no, begged to be a part of this hunt. For all his fourteen years though; he was still a child and in his mind a hunter which meant he was going to have to bear the consequences for his actions; no matter what they were.

“It was me” he repeated with a little more strength behind the words; “I shot him.” He started to move his head from side to side; his glassy eyes blinking rapidly at the two men now staring at him; his breathing shallow and quick. His voice continued to gain strength as he repeated the words over and over again. “I shot him…. I did it…. it was me…. I…I shot him.” His voice broke and he began to tremble his face blanching.

John just about joined his son in blackness upon hearing the confession. Jesus Christ this was not happening to his family. How would the kid ever get over the trauma of shooting his own father? His family was going through hell and it was all his fault.

He recognized the signs immediately and he shifted Dean in his arms as he reached out to grab Chris reassuringly by the wrist. He looked quickly over to Sam and mouthed the words “he’s in shock” to him. The past anger in his eyes replaced with control and worry. He turned to Chris and kept his tone even; firm but soft enough so as not to spook the boy anymore than he already was.

“Chris; you need to listen to me.” He received no acknowledgement that his grandson had even heard him.

“Son, do you hear me?” Still nothing; he rubbed a calloused thumb across the soft skin he held firmly in his hand as he shifted a little closer trying not to jostle Dean too much. “Chris; it’s G. – hey; you ok??”

Seeing Dean in his arms and the tenderness of his father’s actions towards his nephew suddenly struck Sam and moved him to tears. The salty water lightly trickled down his cheek as he took in the sorry state of his family. This is exactly what he had always dreaded; this is why he had wanted normal so badly; this is what he was trying to run away from when he left for Stanford. He took in a quivering breath, resigning himself to his fate. There would be no going back now; his family was going to need his help to get through this. Standing, he inched himself slowly to the other side of the bed while his father continued to speak quietly to Chris, just in case he needed to take action quickly.

The shaking continued as the young man stared straight past his grandfather. All he could focus on was the blood. “I killed him.” That statement was the breaking point for John.

“Ok” he said tugging the young man close hoping to jar him out of his current state; his voice stern. “Christopher; listen to me.” He continued; placing the smaller hand flat onto Dean’s chest so he could feel the warmth and the beat of his heart. Chris tried weakly to pull away as if he was almost afraid of what he would or would not feel but John held him firm.

“You feel that?” He asked locking eyes with his grandson hoping to transfer some of his resolve to him. “That’s his heart Chris; it’s still beating. He’s just unconscious; alright? Look at me.” he demanded. “He’s not dead; just got a nasty bump on his head; ok? Chris?”

The boy’s gaze landed on John’s face and he nodded his head in acknowledgement. Sirens could now be heard in the far distance; John had to move fast. He started bundling up Dean getting him ready for a hasty exit.

“Ok, good boy; you’re dad would be proud. Now listen to me; you hear that?” He asked jutting his chin towards the open window. “Those are the cops and we need to get outta here; ok? Sam’s going to take you back to the room and I’m going to take you’re dad; alright? Can you do that for me son? Go with Sam? Chris???”

Sam had already slipped his hand under Chris’ arm and began dragging him off the bed. He didn’t resist but he wasn’t being helpful either. They had run out of time. “Come on bud; we gotta go.” He was met with empty eyes.

“Sam, just take him. Grab the equipment from the other room; make sure you get everything. MOVE!” John commanded as he lifted Dean into his arms with ease. He’d fix this; he had to. They had work to do.

Welcome to hunting Chris...and you thought it would be all fun and games. I know sometimes when you write things take on a life of their own and you do things you never expected. I like to say I just follow my characters around and write down what they do.

Good chapter...they better hurry up and get out of there. I was so happy to see your update try and keep it up. I look forward to reading this and seeing what is going on in that crazy family. John was so sweet in this chapter, like I picture he would be. Can't wait for more...

I should post tomorrow.

go John go!!! Too many portray him his uncaring and I don't think he is that way at all.

John’s eyes narrowed as he watched the cops swarming the house in his rear view mirror; their images getting smaller and smaller as the truck made its way down the street. Dean was propped up against the door still unconscious. crap that was close; way to God damn close; he slammed his hand down on the steering wheel in frustration.

“f***!” he said out loud seething in frustration. The Shtriga was still on the loose and Dean was still losing blood. John needed to get him back to the room and have Bobby remove the bullet and stitch him up ASAP before they ended up in the emergency room. That was the last thing they needed.

“how come you ge’to say it?” the slumped figure to his right asked groggily causing John to jump slightly.

He quickly turned his head placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder shifting his eyes back and forth between his son and the road. “Dean? Hey kiddo; how you doin; ya’ll right?”

The childhood nickname and the concern weighing his father’s voice down did not go undetected; “uh oh” Dean thought.

“I’m super.” He responded groaning out loud as he shifted a little trying to sit upright in the seat. His face clenched in agony and he saw flashes of white light dance before his eyes as the pain shot through his body. He paused a moment, breathing heavy through his nose before trying to speak again; his voice was hoarse and thick. “Dude; you’re void’in my question.”

“What?” John asked clearly not following his son but willing to play as long as it kept him awake and somewhat alert.

“How come” he gasped “you get to say the “f” word” another struggle for breath “and we can’t?” he finally wheezed out slightly bending forward pressing the balled up shirt against his side with a shaking hand.

John couldn’t believe that out of all the things Dean could have said that he was asking that question. Actually; strike that; yes he could. This was Dean after all and whenever he was trying to divert attention away from himself he would do something like this; talk about nonsense; something stupid or say something shocking; anything to deflect the focus away from the real issue at hand. John knew his boy better than he thought he did and he would play along for now. He really didn’t want to talk about the Shtriga getting away and the fact that Dean’s own son was the cause for his current condition; not yet anyway; he needed to keep his boy focused; calm.

“Cause I’m the dad that’s why.” He replied smugly knowing it would get a rise out of his son and hopefully keep him talking.

Dean did not disappoint his old man and snorted as expected. “Dude, you so just didn’t just play the dad card; did you? Lame.” His voice was slurred.

“Tell you what sport” John began, desperate to keep the conversation going. They were almost back at the motel. “I’ll make you a deal.” He said trying not to focus on the weakening state of his boy.

“’m listen’n” Dean replied with a hitch. God he was in so much pain; more than he could ever remember being in in his entire life and that was saying something! His father tossed out his offer; his hands gripping the wheel a little tighter; his knuckles now turning white.

“You stay awake until we get back into the room; let Bobby patch you up all nice and pretty and I’ll give you a free pass; ok?.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow and rolled his head sideways towards his dad pretty much using all his remaining energy; free pass; that peaked his interest.

“Free pass?”

“Yeah, you can use that word for as long as you stay awake; ok? Scouts honor.”

That had Dean laughing to himself. “Honor my ass; you’re no freakin scout.” He muttered his voice sounding weaker.

John had forgotten all the things he never told his boys about himself growing up. He felt guilty; never wanted to throw it in their faces that he had a normal childhood and that they were robbed of theirs because of him and his obsession with finding the yellow eyed demon.

“I made Eagle a year before I went into the Marines.”

Another feeble scoff could be heard.

“What?”

“Dude” Dean rasped out coughing before continuing “you so don’t have the legs to carry off those shorts.”

John had to admit the uniform was his least favorite part of the experience. “They had pants too Dean; and for the record your mom thought my legs were one of my best features; thank you very much.” He tried joking with his oldest son as he winked at him. Stay awake boy; we’re almost there.

Dean winced again in pain; mostly due to the gun shot but partly due to the thought of his dad and mom together “in that way”

“Ugh” he said unable to keep his head from nodding forward; “that’s just wrong….so many levels Dad.”

The gurgling noise he heard escape Dean made his momentary smile disappear instantly. He was fading again fast.

“Dean? So what do you say kiddo; think you can stay awake? Once in a lifetime offer…...”

Dean was quiet; he seemed to contemplate for a moment; sounded like a pretty decent deal to him even though there would be a hell of a lot more effort required on his part. “No take-backs?” he asked breathlessly sounding just as child-like as the words themselves.

“No take-backs.” John confirmed; Christ what were they five?

“OK” he ground out; flinching in pain again as he agreed. He saw his Dad nod his head; satisfied that they had sealed the deal. A second or two passed before he was able to speak again. His eyes now closed and his voice once again barely above a whisper. “Hey; Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“My f***in side hurts like a mother-f***er. What the f*** happened?”

The hairs on his arms stood straight up as John clenched his jaw. Leave it to Dean to take immediate full advantage of his offer.

“Just hang tight son” his tone was soft and forgiving. “I’m going to fix it all I promise; just hang in there; ok?” John had no idea how he was going to fix it he just knew that he had to.

“f***” Dean replied as the darkness overcame him once again.

Bobby had been waiting for the four Winchesters when they arrived; gravel crunching beneath their tires as they roared into the parking lot.

John and Bobby quickly tended to Dean while Sam ushered Chris into the main room and then the bedroom; hoping to shield the kid from anymore trauma. Knowing he needed to rest and would put up a fight at the concept of a nap Sam ground up some sleeping pills and dissolved them into the kid’s water. Chris was still somewhat out of it so he trustingly took the drink and was out for the count before he knew what hit him.

Within an hour Bobby had successfully removed the bullet and sewn Dean up. Having known the Winchesters for the past twenty-two years he had unfortunately become a pro at the task. He could give any rookie emergency room intern a run for their money. He was currently occupying the chair next to the couch; his boots crossed on top of the rickety old coffee table and his ball cap pulled down over his face resting. Even though the procedure had gone relatively easy the emotional stress he suffered every time he had to mend one of the boys after a hunt gone wrong took its toll on him.

Dean was in a pain killer-drug induced slumber; semi-propped up on the couch by the time Sam joined the men in the other room.

His father was seated at the table, bottle of Jack half empty now, reviewing the notes on the Shtriga and from the looks of it plotting out his next plan of attack on the witch.

Sam was about to lose his crap. “How’s Dean?” He asked giving his father a glare that could bore holes into steel.

John didn’t even bother to look up from his papers. “Restin; bullet wasn’t lodged in as far as we originally thought. His concussion is actually worse than the wound. We’re going to need to take turns waking him up every two hours; I’ve got the first three shifts. Go get some rest Sam; you’re going to need it.”

“For what?” he asked as if he didn’t already know; his words dripping with disrespect and sarcasm.

John dropped his pencil on the table and ran the back of his hand across his mouth. He was partially drunk and his temper was barely in check as it was. The last few hours had been hell; he was tired and in no mood to go toe to toe with his youngest but from the looks of it his boy was spoiling for a fight.

His eyes met Sam’s. “The Shtriga’s still out there Sam and it’s wounded. It’s going to want revenge; God knows how many families it’s going to go after. We need to stop it once and for all and we only have a few more days left before the cycle ends.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Sam asked disbelievingly; his voice rising with each word.

“Excuse me?” Ain’t no way John Winchester was going to take lip from anyone and let them get away with it; especially is kid.

Sam stood his ground “You heard me.” He stated confidently; his anger starting to boil within. “Your son is on the couch recovering from a gun shot; one he got from his fourteen year old son who by the way is in the next room recovering from shock and all you can think about is hunting the Shtriga?”

John was on his feet now; the alcohol doing most of his thinking for him. “People are dying Sam; children are dying and what; you want me to just sit here and do nothing?”

“I want you to give a crap that your own child almost died tonight!” Sam roared.

John picked up the bottle of Jack and smashed it against the wall. He then turned towards Sam with fire in his eyes.

Pam,

how could you leave me hanging like that...how cruel. I can't wait to see how far John takes this. I see both points of view and Sam is always cruising for a confrontation. I laughed at [/QUOTE]My f***in side hurts like a mother-f***er. What the f*** happened?”

That is so Dean....

Can't wait to find out how this all goes down :clap

love this story hope you update soon

I love when Dean uses the F word after the they make the deal

AN: Hi everyone, thank you for your patience and thanks to Carol and Cutiedean for your comments; that totally helps me keep going! Anyway there is a lot of conversation in this chapter so bear with me. The action heats up again in the next one as the Winchester’s go after the Shtriga again; hopefully third times a charm! I have a few more twists coming up that will actually lead into another story I am working on so I hope you stay with me and enjoy. Warning: Chris is an almost 15 year old teenager with a bad temper and a worse mouth. One minor butt smack in this chapter and a little more in the next; if it’s not your thing I apologize but I felt it fit. I don’t condone hitting children and have never hit any of my three in their life but if they grow up and speak to me the way Chris does to his family I may reconsider. LOL; just kidding of course, after all my last name is not Winchester ;-)
Work is still a major nightmare so I am officially a weekend writer until I can get everyone under control at the office.


Bobby was on his feet as soon as he heard the bottle shatter. Unfortunately another area he had plenty of experience in over the years was breaking up Winchester family brawls. Instinct took over and Sam unconsciously but wisely took a step back as John took a threatening one forward. He knew his father would never intentionally hurt him but an exhausted, frustrated John loaded up on a half bottle of Jack might not be able to show the same restraint.

“Is that what you think?” John spit, his face contorted with anger and hurt. “That I don’t give a damn that your brother got shot and that Chris is in there suffering from a near mental breakdown??”

He didn’t really think that; especially not after seeing the way his father handled Chris back at the house. Deep down he knew he cared but the man’s obsession with hunting irritated the hell and the common sense right out of him. “No; Dad; of course not; it’s just..”

But John wasn’t done ranting. “You don’t think I’d do anything to do it over again; prevent all this crap from happening?”

“Yeah Dad; I know; just listen..”

“No, you listen! Don’t you dare stand there and judge me boy. Keep your self-righteous interpretation of what you think I’m feelin to yourself before I do something we’ll both regret.”

Sam was about launch into the mother of all tirades when Bobby stepped in. The boy’s mouth and John’s temper never mixed well; not even on a good day. Bobby figured that if Sam didn’t leave soon he’d be picking up the kids teeth along with the bits of broken glass from the floor. “Sam, why don’t you go get some air; let me handle this.”

“Fine; I’m outta here; thanks Bobby” Sam said as he headed for the door; God he needed some air. Bobby was right though; the last thing he needed was to get into a pissing contest with his father especially with the state he was in. Sam may be equally as hot tempered as his old man but he was no where near a match physically and he was no dummy.

As soon as he heard the click of the latch Bobby turned towards John. “Dammit John; what the hell’s wrong with you?”

Turning his back to his old friend John leaned against the table with all his intel on it and rubbed his tired eyes. “Don’t start Bobby; I’m not in the mood.”

“Well that’s too damn bad; I don’t give a rats ass what kinda mood yer in; you got no right talking to the boy like that.”

“That boy needs to learn when to keep his mouth shut and show some respect.” John growled as he knelt down and started picking up pieces of shattered glass. What a mess; Jesus that kid sure does know how to push my buttons.

Grabbing the broom and an old pizza box from the kitchen Bobby assisted with the rest. “Respect is earned John; not given. How many times have I heard you tell the boys that; maybe you should start listening to your own advice.”

There was no doubt that Bobby was like a father to the boys; sometimes a better one than John himself which is why the two butted heads on more than one occasion. John didn’t like having his authority over the boys questioned and he especially didn’t like having his own words thrown back in his face. “Maybe you should shut your trap and mind your own business!”

“Oh no he did not just go there; not with me” Bobby loved John like a brother but he had a way of getting under his skin. “Those boys are my business you ungrateful crap; have been since they were knee high to a grasshopper and you dumped them off on my door step a few hundred times. Mind my own business my ass; why I ought to…”

“Do you think you two girls can take your bitch fight outside? Man with a hole in his side tryin to get some shut eye here.” Dean’s eyes were still closed but he had been awake since his “Sammy sensors” went off right before he heard the bottle shatter. Thank God Bobby was there and had the good sense to send Sam out before things turned really ugly. He didn’t have the strength to get off the couch let alone break up another fight between his Dad and his brother.

John stopped cleaning immediately shoving the rag he had been using into Bobby’s hands to go check on his son. “No, no; that’s ok John; I got it; ya idgit.” Bobby mumbled to himself.

“Hey boy; how you feelin?” the concerned father asked sitting on the table in front of Dean pulling the penlight from his back pocket.

“I feel like I got slammed into a wall and shot in the gut; oh wait-I did.”

“How’s the head?”

“Been better; where’s the kid?”

“Sleepin; how many fingers am I holdin up?”

“Two; ow; crap Dad; watch where you’re aimin that damn light” “What happened?”

“What’s my name?”

“You’re real name or what people call you behind your back?”

“Dean.”

“John Winchester. My name’s Dean; that guy over there is Bobby. Now that the introductions are over, what the f*** happened Dad?”

Satisfied that they wouldn’t have to make a trip to the emergency room John replaced the penlight in his pocket. “Watch your mouth; smartass.”

“What; I thought I had a free pass?”

“Expired two hours ago.” Un-freakin-believable.

“Dad…. What…... Happened……”

John and Bobby shared a knowing look. The older hunter grabbed his coat stating that he was going out to join Sam for some much needed coffee, leaving father and son some privacy to talk.

John stood and ran a hand threw his hair. “Shtriga got away.” He said walking off to the kitchen for his own much needed cup of steaming, black coffee. The buzz was starting to wear off and he couldn’t afford to nurse a hangover.

“That much I figured; how’d I get a bullet in my side?” he heard his son question from the other room.
John thought about lying; taking the blame himself but he knew Dean would see right through that. He was a sharp-shooter in the Marines for pete’s sake; no way his boy would believe his shot went astray. So John took his coffee, sat down in the chair next to his son and leveled with him. Told him the truth about the last ten minutes of the hunt, how it all went down and who shot him.

“Jesus.” Dean said trying to get up from the couch to go check on Chris. “Is he ok?”

He was gently pushed back down; his father keeping a strong hand on his shoulder in case he tried to get up again. “He’s fine Dean; he just needs some rest.”

“Dammit Dad; I knew he wasn’t ready.”

“I know Dean, but now is not the time for “I told you so”. We only have four more nights before the cycle ends and the Shtriga goes into hidding for another fifteen years. I’m not going to let it get away a third time; I won’t.”

His dad’s obsession with hunting irked the hell out of Dean just as much as it did Sam but unlike his hot-headed brother he had learned many years ago to keep his mouth shut regarding the topic; unless of course it meant protecting Sammy and/or now Chris. Dean was silent for a moment trying to read his father’s face to see if he was actually contemplating using Chris again to trap the monster; that would be an all time new low even for his father. He struggled to find the right words. “You’re not; I mean you can’t be...”

John knew immediately what his son was trying to ask and it took all of his self control not to throttle the boy for even thinking that he would go there again. “For Christ sakes Dean; NO of course not; does this whole God damn family think I’ve completely lost my mind?”

Dean didn’t answer but his face and raised his eyebrows spoke volumes as if to say “well if the shoe fits Dad”. If looks could kill he was sure he would be pushing up daisies by now from the glare his dad pinned on him.

Letting out an irritated huff, John stood up and began pacing the room. Something he did when he was trying to keep his temper under control; his next words sodden with annoyance. “No Dean; I’m not using Chris as bait again; ever again. He’s not going anywhere near that thing or this hunt and come to think of it neither are you.”

The younger man breathed a sigh of relief before fully absorbing the last part of what his dad said. “What? What do you mean neither am I? I’m suddenly not a part of this anymore? You can’t cut me out; not after everything that’s happened!”

Turning on his heels John shot his son a look of disbelief. “You have a concussion and twenty stitches in your side; do you honestly think you can be of any help to me now?” Once again John’s elegant way of putting things had his son bristling.

“It’s just a flesh wound Dad you said so yourself; I’ll be fine.” The pouting look made Dean look all of ten years old and he sounded just as whiney.

Calling his bluff John conjured up a plan that he was sure would have his kid resting for the remainder of the hunt. “You’ll be fine? Oh, Ok then, my bad.” The calculating look in his father’s eyes had Dean nervous. “Go ahead then Superman; get up. If you can get past me and through to the kitchen then you can come; if not your ass doesn’t move one inch off this couch unless I say so; deal?”

Dean sat with his arm wrapped around his middle biting his lower lip while mulling over whether or not he should even attempt the dare. There was no way in hell he could get past John but if he could just stand up and take a few steps maybe he could prove to him that he wasn’t as bad off as he thought he was; you know, maybe win some points with the old man and at least go as back-up. The mere thought of Sammy and his dad going solo on this gig had him anxious. The Shtriga would have nothing to worry about because the two of them would be sure to kill each other first before they even got to it. “Nope can’t take that chance” he thought as he began to position himself to rise off the couch. Just that effort alone had him breaking out in a cold sweat.

“Son-of-a-bitch; he’s really going to try. Either this kid is tough as nails or his concussion is much worse than I thought it was.” John said as he watched his oldest try to move. Before he went and pulled a stitch his father rolled his eyes, walked over to his son and with his one pointer finger effortlessly pushed Dean back down onto the cushion. He then placed one hand on the arm of the couch and the other on the back essentially pinning his kid underneath him. Invading his personal space and using his best don’t mess with me dad voice he began his lecture. “Let me make myself crystal clear young man; you have a severe concussion and a gun shot wound; which although may not be as bad as I thought; its bad enough and it needs time to heal. You try and move from this spot again without my permission and your side and head won’t be the only things throbbing; understood?”

Dean nodded his head in defeat. Almost thirty years old with a kid of his own and his dad, in all of two seconds, could still make him feel like a child; man his life was so f***ed up.

“Good, I’ll wake you in two.” John said ruffling his hair.

Still trying to prove that his father hadn’t completely stripped him of all his manly parts Dean attempted to have the last word. “You can be a real ass Dad.”

“And you can be a royal pain in mine; so we’re even. Now sleep.”

Hmpf; so much for last words.

Chris woke up with a monster headache feeling like a total loser. Not only did he practically crap himself when he saw the witch-thingy coming after him, he shot his father when he tried to take the bitch out! And if that wasn’t bad enough he flipped out like a complete girl in front of his Grandfather and for the Grand Finale fell for the ol’ “pill in the water” scam orchestrated by his uncle. God he was such a pansy. The only thing keeping him from wearing a bag over his head for the rest of his life was the fact that at least he would have a second chance to redeem himself. That thing was still out there and since the team was now down a man; no thanks to him; he’d have to step up his game and play a bigger role. Maybe even take the thing down himself; after all he was a Winchester; hunting was in his blood.

As he stood focusing appeared to be a challenge; damn whatever Uncle Sammy put in his water must have been some serious crap. He needed to talk to his dad; tell him he was sorry although he was struggling with how he was going to go about doing that. He couldn’t very well just walk in there and say “Hey Dad, how’s it going; sorry I almost killed you; what’s for dinner?” f*** what was he going to do?

Heaving a sigh he resigned himself to the inevitable and opened the door to the living room. G was no where in sight and his Dad appeared to be resting comfortably; his color much better than it was a few hours ago; thank God for that. He made his way over to the table noticing the new notes, location and time table his grandfather had apparently laid out. From the looks of things they were going after it again tonight. Good; he needed to do this before he lost his nerve. He wouldn’t let them down a second time but if he was going to kill the thing he needed his gun. He couldn’t remember what happened to it after he dropped it. He sure as crap hoped Sam or G found it and took it with them when they left.

Quickly surveying the room he spotted it on the end table next to his dad; Yahtzee! He crept over quietly and reached for the gun. His almost pee’d himself when his dad’s hand shot out like lighting grabbing his wrist. “Hey kid; whatcha doin?”

“Jesus, f***ing Christ Dad; you almost gave me a God damn heart attack! I thought you were sleepin.” He yelled pulling his hand away rubbing the bone; his dad and G both had the same vice like grip and it hurt like a bitch.

There was no apology offered back. Dean just sat there looking up at the boy trying to read his eyes. After a few brief moments Chris began to squirm. “So; uh; how you feelin?”

“Peachy; you?”

The teen shrugged his shoulder as nonchalantly as he could. “I’m fine; why wouldn’t I be? I’m not the one who got shot. Oh yeah; about that; I’m sorry by the way; it was an accident. I was aiming for the uh; what do you call it again?”

Dean had to once again laugh at his f***ed up life. It’s not every day that a father hears his kid apologize for shooting him when they were really aiming for a witch.

“Shtriga; and apology accepted.” He responded back. “You sure you’re ok? G said you were a little weirded out.”

Chris’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I said I was fine” he answered curtly. Great his grandfather told his old man what a complete wuss he had been. Could his life suck any worse?

Dean was a little taken aback by the tone in his voice. He was still having a hard time gauging the boy and his mood swings. “Whoa, who the hell pissed in your corn flakes? I’m just makin sure you’re alright; OK?”

He really wished his dad would move on already. He had said he was sorry; did they really need to talk about it too? As far as he was concerned they were beating a dead horse. “Well what do you want me to do; put a f***in banner on Facebook? I said I was fine so can we just drop it already? What time are we leavin tonight? I need to make sure that f***in thing goes down this time!”

From the look on his face he thought his dad’s head might roll off his shoulders. “Ok so maybe the “banner on Facebook” deal was a little much but he’s the one who kept pushin.”

Before the boy could register what was happening Dean reached out and walloped Chris on the ass as hard as he could given his current injuries. Based on the yelp he got he assumed he didn’t do too badly. The swing however made him pull his side and now he was in more pain on top of being angry.
“Sit your ass down and shut your mouth before I get up and whack the crap out of you.”

“You do that and I’ll whack the crap out of you.” An angry voice said from the doorway. Neither of them had heard John, Sam and Bobby re-enter the room.

Pam,

oh that was great. The dialogue with John and Dean and Bobby and Sam was dead on. I love being in John's head...he appears so gruff but we never knew what he was thinking.

I'm glad Dean isn't so bad off and that Bobby is there to keep those tempers under control.

I definitely think that butt smacking was part of raising those boys. It would just have to be...I mean they were boys and would test John at every turn and they were already stuck in motel rooms half the time, tradtional grounding and such would not always be an option. And he had to know they would fear him on some level so that they would obey when he wasn't around. Just think of Dead Man's Blood...remember the final scene when John came into the motel room...to me that said it all...they were adults but fell right in line with all the yes sir's and when Dean made that comment about saving John's ass he looked like he was waiting for a blow and Sam as well. Not that John enjoyed it but he didn't have all the tools that normal families have...and you know those boys...pushing the limit at every turn :fire

Anyhoo...great stuff and can't wait for more...a whole nother week...try and post sooner if ya can cause I can't wait to see what happens next.

Awesome job :hi5

Carol

“Ow; what the hell??” Chris bitched as he reached to rub the sting from his behind. He took a step back from the couch; his face glowing red with embarrassment at getting smacked like a child; and in front of his family nonetheless. He was almost fifteen for God sakes.

John’s eyes bore into both of them as he made his way over to the couch. He turned his frustrations on his son first. “Wha’d I tell you about movin; huh? he admonished as he loomed over Dean; the grimace of pain on his kid’s face not going undetected. He reached down and not so gently tugged up his shirt, roughly slapping Dean’s hand away when he attempted to reclaim his clothing like a modest pre-teen girl. John was relieved to see that no stitches were pulled but the area was still raw and now; much to his chagrin, irritated. Yanking the shirt down again John straightened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well?”

Annoyed at himself for losing it with his kid and having his personal space violated for the second time that afternoon Dean shifted himself into a sitting position. “Well nothin; we were just talkin.”

“How very “Mr. Brady” of you Dean; threatening to whack the crap out of your kid; real nice.” Sam said obnoxiously as he passed by the trio overloaded with testosterone on his way to the bedroom. There was no way he was getting in the middle of this one. That was for sure.

“How very Mr. Brady of you.” Dean shook his head as he mimicked back at Sam. “Why don’t you shut your cakehole; Bitch. Only chicks like you watched that stupid show.” Dean hollered towards the door.

“Oh right; like you didn’t scream out Marsha’s name in the middle of every freakin night for two solid weeks straight; Jerk!” they all heard just before the click of the door. Dean dropped his head on the back of the couch and rolled his eyes at the ceiling. He made a mental note to beat the snot out of Sam once his side healed; a smirk forming on his face thinking of Marsha; man that chick was hot!

Still feeling the sting Chris sidled himself up next to his Grandfather hoping for some sympathy. “Talkin my ass; you hit me you tyrant!” he blurted out showing his usual teenage restraint.

“Yeah; well; you shot me you brat. I think I’m entitled.” his father immaturely shouted back.

Chris threw his arms up in the air; didn’t they already go through this??? “I said I was sorry already; jeez dad; grudge much?”

Dean looked as though he was ready to take another swing when his father intervened.

“Ok, that’s enough” he said impatiently. “We don’t have time for this. Dean put your damn feet back up on that couch and lay back. Chris; go start dinner and quit acting like a brat. Bobby? Mind given him a hand in the kitchen? I need a minute here.”

“When the hell did I become your wife?” Bobby interjected making his way towards the kitchen. Truth be told he loved to cook; especially for the boys; but he’d be damned if he gave John Winchester the satisfaction of knowing that. “Come on kid” he said pulling Chris into a playful headlock. “Let’s go have some fun and put gross stuff in your grandfather’s chili.”

“Cool; can we do Dad’s too?” the teen said loud enough for Dean to hear. John shook his head and smiled down at Dean. “I’ll be damned if that kid ain’t just like you when you were his age; they’re right when they say paybacks a bitch.” He teased before switching to all business. You tell him yet he’s not goin tonight?”

Dean smiled back for a second before his eyes clouded over. “Nah; not yet; figured I’d save the fireworks for after dessert. Hey Dad; about tonight…”

“No.” John replied simply as he turned back towards his research.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up taken aback. “What do you mean No? You don’t even know what I was gonna ask.” He complained; his tone mirroring that of his son’s when he wanted something and couldn’t get it.

John gave him a knowing look. “Son, I’m your father. I’ve seen that look a thousand times and I know you better than you think and the answer is no; you’re not coming tonight; end of discussion.”

“I wasn’t gonna ask that.” Dean griped; damn his old man was good.

“Mmm hmm” was the only response he received.

“Well I wasn’t!” He pouted gently twisting on the couch and pulling the blanket up close to his chin. Concussions and getting shot sucked.

An hour later the smell of chili wafted throughout the room. The boys all loved Bobby’s home cooking and the attention he put into every little detail. Chris had rejoined his dad in the living room; his temper in check for now and the earlier incident between the two seemingly forgotten. Sam had rejoined the family and was sitting with John at the small table and Bobby was still in the kitchen slicing some cheddar cheese and putting the final touches on dinner.

Dean elbowed Chris and gave him a wink his eyes twinkling with mischief before shouting out to Bobby. “Hey Bobby. Whatch doin in there; ‘m starving already.”

“I’m just slicing the cheese for the chili; hold your horses already, it’ll be done in a minute.” Came the gruff response.

Dean was beaming; it was like taking candy from a baby. “Wha’d you say?” he asked motioning to Chris to turn down the volume on the T.V. trying to suppress a laugh.

“I said I’m in here cuttin the cheese!” Bobby bellowed before realizing what he said. A fit of immature giggles erupted from the den.

“Gross dude; don’t forget to light a match!” came Dean’s retort and even John couldn’t help but smiling.

Sighing, the old hunter shook his head; those damn boys would never grow up and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t slightly happy about that. They kept him young and brought meaning to his life and he wouldn’t trade that for the world. Of course he had a reputation to protect so he put on his usual show. “Shad-up ya idgits; wash up; dinners ready.” he said poking his head out of the kitchen.

All but Dean began to make their way to the table for dinner; there stomachs rumbling in anticipation of a meal that did not come wrapped in paper or required the use of a microwave.

“No offense there Bobby; but your not really my type.” Chris quipped as he read Bobby’s “Kiss the Cook” apron front.

“Thank God for that.” He heard his father say to no one in particular.

Dinner was for the most part pleasant. The only argument came from Dean when Sam swiped the last of the hot crescent rolls from the basket and blatantly shoved it in his mouth while Dean watched him from his spot on the couch. It wasn’t until the dishes were clear and the talked turned back to the hunt that the conversation went south.

“What do you mean I’m not comin tonight? Who the hell’s brilliant decision was that?” Chris shouted in disbelief upon hearing the news of his exclusion. His green eyes were full of anger as they darted back and forth between his father and his grandfather.

“Alright just calm down and listen.” Dean tried but Chris was too far gone to listen to reasoning.

“NO; alright; you can’t do this. I’m goin and no one here is gonna stop me!” He yelled spinning around and heading for the door. Dean tried to stand but John held out his hand indicating that he had it. Chris got all of two steps before John yanked him back close; his eyes were dark and menacing. Sam and Bobby both flew to their feet ready to intervene if the kid tried to bolt.

“You’re not goin anywhere cept to your room.” John’s jaw was tight; a sure sign he was reaching the outer limits of his patience.

Chris either didn’t notice the telltale sign or he didn’t care. “Oh yeah? And what if I don’t?” he challenged.

Sam’s face scrunched with worry. The kid obviously had a death wish; you just didn’t test John Winchester like that; ever. He knew from first hand experience that when you did it never ended well.

“Don’t push me young man.” John warned giving him a slight shake. “You have to the count of three to move your butt or I’m gonna carry you in there myself. One.”

“How can I go anywhere with you holdin my arm?” The boy’s tone was snotty full of disrespect.

“Christopher!” Dean’s one word held two separate meanings 1) Boy you better watch your mouth and remember who you’re talking to 2) What the hell’s wrong with you; have you lost your freakin mind??? RUN!!

John silently scoffed at the kid’s nerve and released his hold. Any fool could see where this showdown was headed and John was no fool. However, being the father of two boys he had plenty of experience with this game so he would play it out to the end; give the kid every opportunity to try and save him from himself. He must have been going soft in his old age because if Dean or Sam had ever mouthed off to him like that he would have belted their asses right then and there.

“Two.”

The tension in the room skyrocketed as the boy stood his ground. His common sense clouded by his rage; he was not about to stand down. This hunt meant too much to him; he needed to be there to prove to himself and his family that he was a Winchester; a hunter. He needed to get revenge on the thing that made him shoot his own father. He needed to show them all that he was not just some child they could just dismiss whenever they wanted.

“You know what G?” he said narrowing his own eyes and squaring his shoulders. “Go..f***..yourself.”
Dean closed his eyes in horror as his son sealed his own fate. Sure he had been expecting fireworks but he hadn’t been expecting the mother of all Macy’s Fourth of July day celebrations! If his kid lived to see another day he was going to have to get him tested. No one in their right state of mind would ever say that to John Winchester; especially not after being warned of the consequences.

The flurry of activity was immediate. “Dad, NO!!” Sam yelled trying to come to his nephew’s rescue as Bobby grabbed him from behind and began dragging him from the room. “Dean!” he tried pleading as the door slammed shut.

John grabbed Chris and began to drag the now fearful, struggling teen into the other room. The boy was strong and spirited but he was no match for his grandfather and he immediately began to resent his decision to take him on. John was done fooling around and roughly hoisted the kid over his shoulder giving him a resounding crack on the ass.

Dean was on his feet a mix of emotions pouring through him. He was the boy’s father and he should be the one to reprimand him. The kid had been warned, twice; and he deserved to be punished but Dean had plenty of experience with John’s rendition of spanking and he wasn’t sure if he wanted his child to experience what he knew he had coming or if he could handle it. On the other hand he physically couldn’t do it and John was his father; he respected and trusted him. He knew he loved Chris immensely and wouldn’t do anything that would truly hurt his kid.

“Dad?” he said his voice thick with emotion as unsure, pleading eyes watched John carry his son through the threshold.

“I got it Dean.” John’s voice sounded more annoyed than angry at the situation. He was clearly in full control of his emotions and he was going to soundly spank the boy as promised and nothing more. He slammed the door behind him with such force that it cracked open again and Dean could hear the sound of Chris being tossed on the bed and his father’s belt being pulled from the loops.

He clench his eyes closed and his shoulders twitched as he heard the first swing land on his son’s denim clad backside. Chris’s cry of pain sliced through him. He heard the belt fall over and over again, each crack eliciting an excruciating howl from its target. It wasn’t until the fifth strike that the “I’m sorry’s” began and by the tenth all Dean could hear was sobbing. Even though he knew his son deserved every lick and then some, he couldn’t help the single tear that slid down his cheek.

Hope you didn't think I was too hard on Chris :hide More to come soon! Please take a moment to let me know what you think. Thanks!

Pam,

I was so excited to see the update :D
I loved it...you got the emotions exactly right in my opinion. I could just picture the scene and I thought you did a great job with John. There are no Winchester brats be it son or grandson.
I think Chris was testing the waters and he got not only what he deserved but what he wanted...he is a true Winchester now worthy of what happens to Winchesters.

I loved the line about how his common sense was clouded by rage...

Good for John taking care of an out of control teenager while a dangerous situation loomed and for showing Dean that sometimes in this life you just gotta do what you gotta do. Also Dean's tear after listening to the punishment was perfect...just as John was probably fighting the same tear. I'm sure it isn't easy, but in the end it just had to be done.

Bravo :hi5 :cheer :clap :woohoo :skip :thumbsup

Okay no more waiting for two weeks though....cause that was just mean.

Hi there! Sorry this was so long in the making; but as I mentioned before, April was a tough time for me at work. Well I am happy to report that my month from hell is now behind me and I can get back to having some sort of life which I started tonight by having a few glasses of wine and writing this chapter. Actually, I to be honest, I started with the wine on Friday night ;-) Anyway I hope you enjoy this one; I admit I’m a little rusty and I’m not totally thrilled with it but it’s better than nothing right? The next one should be up soon. Thanks! ~brylan

Twenty minutes later John emerged from the bedroom. He looked exceptionally tired to Dean and if the son, who knew him better than anyone in the world, didn’t know better he could have sworn that his Dad had been crying.

John passed by Dean without a look or a word and headed straight for the kitchen. He hated disciplining his own boys let alone his grandson but he would be damned if he was going to stand around and let any one of them get away with attitude or language like that. He had zero tolerance for insolent brats; his son’s knew it and now so did Chris.

Dean slowly shuffled himself into the kitchen. His father’s shoulders were hunched as he stood facing the cabinets. His one hand was flat on the counter top while his other loosely held the empty whiskey glass he was now gazing into; deep in thought. Both his son’s hated when he drank but his oldest at least understood why he did. Dean was the only person in the world that John felt comfortable letting let his guard down in front of; the only one who he didn’t needed to explain himself or his actions to. Somehow, someway Dean just got it and if he didn’t he sure as hell was a master at pretending to; something John was eternally grateful for.

The father in Dean was struggling against the boy. He desperately wanted to know how Chris was doing but his dad looked so distraught he didn’t want to make matters worse. But Dean’s love for his son had matured him more than he consciously realized and the father inside won the internal battle. “He ok?” he asked quietly placing one arm on the counter subconsciously bracing himself for John’s reply while the other cradled his still throbbing side.

John lifted his heavy eyes and stared at the pine cabinet in front of him. Staring at nothing was sure as hell a lot easier than staring into Dean’s worried filled eyes. He sighed deeply; his voice was rougher than usual “Yeah, he’s fine son.” He answered while downing another shot. H relished the amber liquid as it warmed his body and soul. “He’ll be smartin for a few days but he’ll live. I stayed with him until he fell asleep; kid’s exhausted.”

Dean nodded his head remembering distinctly the aftereffects of a John Winchester smack down and how much one could drain the body physically and emotionally. Chris most definitely needed his sleep now but he’d sure as hell need something stronger when he woke up. Dean added another mental note to his growing list; get make Sammy get Advil for Chris. He allowed a few moments of comfortable silence to pass between the two before he asked the second question weighing heavily on his mind, “What about you?”

“What about me?” John questioned knowingly; a slight hint of irritation entangled in his voice as he swirled shot number three around in his glass. Dean shrugged his shoulders a bit as if he were unsure of whether or not he should continue the conversation but he did so; the boy inside him now surfacing; needing to know the answer. “Are you ok?”

John closed his eyes and dropped his head; feelings of guilt and pride swirling around inside him. Leave it to Dean; always the f***ing mother-hen. He just gave his son his first major belting and Dean was still concerned about him; how he was feeling. God if that kid wasn’t all Mary inside. The quick side glance he gave Dean just before Sam came busting through the door; Bobby hot on his heels; was all he needed to see. It was crystal clear that John was not alright but he did what he had to do for the good of the family. He always did; regardless of how it felt and Dean knew that they would all get past this and move on; they always did. He placed his hand on his father’s shoulder; his trademark way of telling his dad that it was ok and that everything would be alright.

Sam marched past his family giving both his father and brother the death glared as he made his way into the back room to check on Chris. Damn his father and his primitive, medieval ways of discipline; and damn Dean and his blind faith in the man; he should have intervened. Didn’t they all have enough crap in their life to deal with? He knocked quietly as he opened the door. The room was dark and cool from the open window and he could hear the shallow breathing of his nephew coming from the far side of the room. As he approached the bed he noticed the moonlight glistening off the wet streaks still visible on the boy’s face. He looked much younger than his fourteen years and the sight made Sam’s heart ache. He loved his nephew more than words could say and he was trying so hard to keep things as normal as he could for him. He wasn’t just his uncle; he was his mentor, his friend and his protector. “Real bang up job you did with that last one Sammy” he thought to himself as he reached out he ran a gentle hand down the back of the kid’s head. Chris drew in a shuttering breath at the touch but appeared to be too far gone to be awaken. Drawing the comforter up a little higher Sam gave him one last look-over. He looked to be in one piece and resting comfortably but he’d have to wait until morning before he could be 100% sure. Sam knew the kid practically begged for it but he was still pissed at his Dad; he should have stepped down and let Dean handle the matter. He turned and left the room just as quietly as he entered. The second he left Chris opened his eyes.

The three older men were huddled together on the couch when Sam re-emerged. He shook his head in disbelief at them. “So, what; it’s just business as usual then?”

“Sam” Dean said trying to put an end to the conversation before it turned ugly.

“No. Dean. How can you just sit there and pretend like nothing happened?” Sam could see the conflicting look on his brother’s face. His eyes were shooting back and fourth between him and his father. Once, just once he wished he’d man up and take a stand against their dad.

But as usual Dean tried to play the peacemaker. “Can we not do this right now?” he practically pleaded. He was in no mood to get into the middle of another one of Sam and Dad’s verbal throw-downs and that was exactly where this conversation was headed. “We got bigger fish to fry tonight Sam so put a lid on it; ok? ….Please?”

Sam pressed his lips together and bit his tongue. Dean had been through a lot and Sam respected his brother too much to stress him out any further. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, gave John one more death stare; that as usual appeared to go unnoticed, and sat down in the chair. “Fine.” He ground out reluctantly. “So what’s the plan?”

Dean sighed a breath of relief as Bobby leaned in and whispered “Nice goin there Pocahontas.” The younger hunter shot him a confused look. Bobby rolled his eyes; Dean was never one for history. “Pocahontas; you know the famous peacemaker?” Dean continued to stare at him with a blank expression. “You know; John Smith??” Still nothing. “Agh forget it boy; just….nice job avertin world war three there.” Bobby praised giving up the history lesson. Dean nodded; that he got.

John took the lead explaining his next plan of attack. He had met a young boy named Michael a few days ago whose brother, like the others, had become mysteriously ill. His mother had been practically living at the hospital for the past few days leaving twelve year old Michael alone to keep an eye on the motel. He was an easy, vulnerable target and most likely; based on the Shtriga’s pattern; its next victim. It was the perfect trap. John was finally going to kill the bastard once and for all but not all members of the team were on board with his new strategy.

“You wanna use another kid as bait?” Sam yelled completely mortified at the idea. He knew his father’s obsession sometimes, well most of the time, trumped his common sense but using another kid? This was going too far; even for John and his youngest was having no part of it. “Have your freakin lost your mind??”

“And here we go again.” Bobby said sarcastically as both he and Dean simultaneously rose from the couch to clear the battlefield. “I think that might be a new world’s record for the shortage truce ever.” He mumbled as he once again found himself heading for shelter out in the kitchen. On his way he continued to mutter; something about apples not falling to far from the tree or two peas in a pod or something along those lines. The boys and John never fully understood or appreciated his idioms’.

Although he didn’t want his father and brother at each others throats again; Dean silently appreciated the break and took the opportunity to head towards the bedroom to go check on Chris. It had been over an hour and he wanted to talk to him; he needed to see for himself that his kid was really ok. Meanwhile the argument between the two hot heads in the living room was escalating.

Against his better judgment John allowed himself to be baited by Sam’s comment. “You know what boy? I have had it up…to…here with you and your mouth. You better rein it in and do it fast or so help me God..”

“Or what??” Sam shot back. “You’ll take a belt to me??? Before his father could answer Dean came flying back into the room; his face was white with fear and his voice shaking with panic.

“Dad! Chris is gone!!!”

Pam,

Yay an update....I was so happy to see it....Ahh so Chris took off...I knew it when he opened his eyes after Sam left.

So now wondering exactly why he took off, is because of the discipline, because of the hunt??? Is he mad, vengeful wanting to prove himself????

Oh the questions just keep coming. So excited that you long month is over and now you can fulfill my reading quota. :lol:

Update soon, it was so hard to be patient. <_<

I just picked this story up today, I'm really enjoying where it is going. The family dynamic is well thought out, I look forward to future updates.

Sorry for the delay; I can't even go into why it took me so long to get this update out. A special thanks to Carol for all the encouragement and for not giving up on the story! Enjoy!



John didn’t bother to ask questions as he pushed past his son towards the bedroom in search of signs; clues; anything. He couldn’t shake the sickening feeling that was growing in the pit of his stomach. He would never forgive himself if something happened to Chris and he couldn’t help but think he was the driving force behind his disappearance. Hell, driving people away; especially family; seemed to be his specialty.

Sam quickly turned to face Dean; his own feelings of panic on the rise. “Gone!? What do you mean gone?” He racked his own brain for clues. He had just checked on the kid not more than fifteen minutes ago; he appeared to be fine; how could he be suddenly missing?

“Gone Sam; as in not here!” Dean snapped. “How many times do I freakin have to say it?” He raked an aggravated hand through his spiky hair as he attempted to pace around the room. “Dammit; I should have checked on him earlier; how could I be so stupid!” He mentally berated himself as the stitches in his side pulled and his vision blurred; bringing his attempt to pace out his frustrations to a screeching halt. He opted for the next best thing as he swept the lamp off the end table sending it crashing to the floor.

Sam was no stranger to his brother’s temper but he was a little surprised at the sudden burst of anger. It wasn’t often he found himself on the receiving end of one of Dean’s tirades. He attempted to soften his tone a bit. “Alright dude chill; we’ll find him; don’t worry.” He knelt down and started to pick up some of the broken pieces from the lamp. But Dean’s nerves were completely fried and Sam? Well, Sam was unfortunately the only one in his line of sight at the moment.

“You know what Sam; you chill ok? My kid’s out there somewhere; alone and the freakin Shtriga?” A disgusted laugh caught in his throat. “The same God-damn one that I tried and failed to kill not once….but twice is still on the loose; and it’s pissed as hell at our family; so you can take your “touchy feely, don’t worry” crap and shove it where the sun don’t shine; ok?”

Sam had often wondered while he was growing up if being a sarcastic ass was a prerequisite to becoming a Winchester; and in true little brother fashion he couldn’t help being drawn into the argument. “Fine; you know what Dean; screw you!” he replied tossing a shattered chunk of ceramic back onto the floor. “You’re not the only one worried here…..” he began but his attention was soon drawn towards the movement in the corner of his eye.

“Enough; both of you.” John commanded as he reentered the room. He was sick and tired of the constant bickering and based on his look he wasn’t going to stand for one second more; especially when there was a family crisis at hand. Both boys shot him a stony stare but each was smart enough to remain quiet. “The sheets are still a little warm so he hasn’t been gone that long; he couldn’t have gotten that far.”

That was all Dean needed to hear. He made a grab for the Impala’s keys and headed for the door. He barely completed a step before he felt John’s hand wrap around his wrist. “Where do you think you’re going?” he questioned with a gently but solid tug.

“Out to look for Chris!” Dean responded looking at him as if John had four heads. “Where the f*** do you think I’m going?”

“Like hell you are.” John firmly stated maintaining his grasp with his right hand as he easily plucked the keys out of Dean’s with his left.

“Dad?!”

“Don’t Dad me; how many times do I need to remind you today that you’ve been shot? Oh wait; maybe it’s the concussion you’re nursing; maybe that’s what’s affecting your memory.” John stated with as much sarcasm as his oldest demonstrated just moments before. If Sam had to pick who the “King of Ass” was in the family it was without a doubt, hands down, his father. “You can barely stand boy now go sit your ass down; Bobby and I will go.” Without missing a beat or waiting for a response John turned towards his youngest. “Sam; watch over your brother; if he moves, you have my permission to tie him up.”

Dean clenched his jaw tight. He loved and respected his father and any other time he would have obeyed without question but not tonight. Chris was out there and he didn’t give a rat’s ass about his own injuries; he was going out to bring him home; and the thought of Sam stopping him and tying him up? Please; that was so not going to happen in his lifetime.

“No.”

John stopped dead in his tracks and narrowed his eyes at his boy; not quite sure of what to make of what he just heard. He wasn’t use to hearing the “N” word come out of Dean’s mouth; especially not when he had issued a direct order. “Excuse me?”

“crap; no good can come from this.” Sam’s eyes went wide and in a very rare display of support; he moved and stood behind John. As much as it killed him to side with his father against his brother he had to agree with their dad on this one. Dean was injured, not only physically but emotionally too and he was in no condition to be running around town.

But keeping true to style Dean wasn’t going to go down without a fight; even if it did go against every fiber of his being to disobey his father. He found himself unconsciously swallowing hard. It was barely a whisper but he stood his ground. Come hell or high water he was going out to look for his son and if that meant he’d have to disobey a direct order or chew off his own arm at the wrist to free himself from his dad then that’s what he’d do.

“I said no.” His pain filled eyes stared deep into John’s as he twisted his stance and gripped his father’s shirt. It was as if he was drowning in a deep, dark sea of emotions and John was his only lifesaver. “Please.” he began but he couldn’t find the words. “Dad; just…….please.” he pleaded. “Please.”

John held onto his son’s wrist as he contemplated his options. He knew based on Dean’s look that there was no way he was staying put and there was no way Sam was going to be able to keep him home without reinforcements so John uncharacteristically folded but not before he laid down the law.

“Fine” he bit out; not loosening his hold on Dean. “You can come.” He pulled his boy in a little closer to make sure he knew he meant business. “But you stay in the car until I say you can move and do exactly what I tell you; you hear me? I tell you to say put; you stay put; you understand?”

Dean let go the breath he had been holding. “yessir.” he replied a little too quickly for John’s liking as he went for the door a second time. He felt another tug on his arm only this one had a little more force behind it as his father leveled him with a hard look.

“I mean it boy; I’m not playin here. Am I clear?”

Dean swallowed again and shot an embarrassed look towards Sam. He hated when his father treated him like a child; especially in front of Sam. He cleared his throat and with a little more conviction he replied “Yes Sir; crystal.” He was willing to say just about anything to get the f*** out of that house.

John knew he was making a mistake by allowing Dean to go with him but he had to admit that they were stronger as a family and if Chris was where he thought he was; then he was going to need Dean’s help getting him home. The three Winchester’s left Bobby home to man the fort just in case Chris decided to return on his own.

With John behind the wheel; Sam riding shot gun and Dean in the back seat like some pansy ass little two year old, the hunt for the youngest Winchester began. John’s controlled and cool demeanor was starting to piss Dean off. His grandson was missing for God sakes and the man was acting as if it was just another day on the job. He had taken his time packing the trunk with the weapons he thought they needed; had the audacity to stop for gas and now appeared to be driving within if not under the speed limit. What the hell??? Dean couldn’t take it anymore. “Hey Dad? What gives?”

John’s only acknowledgment of the question was meeting Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Sam voiced the response. “What do you mean?”

“I mean” Dean began as he righted himself from his slumped position against the door. “Chris has been gone for almost an hour now; the Shtriga is gunning for revenge and Dad here is movin around and driving like Bobby’s ninety year old grandmother. Don’t you give a crap you’re your grandson ran-away? Aren’t you worried?”

Sam shifted his eyes towards John. The man did appear to be unusually calm given the circumstances.

The accusation got John bristling. “What the hell kind of question is that; of course I’m worried.” he growled back. “Christ; did these two really think he didn’t give two shits that Chris was missing??”

“Well; what up with the Iceman routine then?” Dean demanded. Sam’s eyes went back and forth between the two as if he were watching a tennis match.

John took a deep breath before meeting Dean’s eyes in the mirror again. He avoided Sam’s altogether. “I have a fairly good idea where he is; that’s why.” He reluctantly admitted. Sam’s head shot back to his father. “What??? How??” he questioned. Good ole Sam; always with the questions.

John turned his eyes back to the road but he could feel Dean’s eyes boring into the back of his head wanting to hear the response himself. He ran his one hand down his face before answering. “Because; Sam. I know a little something about teenage boys and run-a-ways. I’ve had plenty of experience with both throughout the years; or have you two forgotten?”

Sam shifted uncomfortably and could feel his cheeks blushing furiously. How many times had he run-a-way between the ages of thirteen and seventeen only to be found and dragged back by John to whatever piece of crap his family was calling home at the time. A soft thud could be heard from the backseat as John’s statement sunk in deep with Dean. He too had run-a-way once or twice; but he was much younger than Chris or Sam had been and he had only done it to get John’s attention. And boy howdy did he get attention; just not the kind he was seeking.

Dean cleared his throat before breaking the uneasy silence that had fallen within the car. “So; uh; where do you think he is then?”

John once again met his eyes in the mirror knowing that Dean was not going to like what he had to say next. “Well” he began. “If I know Chris; and I think I do; and if he’s anything like his father; which I know he is; then…..”

“Then what Dad? Spit it out; where do you think he is?”

John sighed deeply before continuing. “Then I think he’s probably with Michael and I think the two of them are going to try and take out the Shtriga by themselves.” He finished bluntly.

An audible “f***” could be heard from the backseat but John let it slide. It pretty much summed up how all three of them were feeling at the moment.

Well now you can always count on those Winchesters to argue....I hope Chris is where John thinks he is. Love the banter between them it is so dead on. I can just see a pissed off Dean in the backseat and Sam uncomfortable riding shotgun next to John. Please don't make us wait too long...please please.

:bouncy :dance

A short, little update to keep Carol happy ;) LOL; more to come.....


Chris shivered as he wrapped the oversized coat tightly around his body. It was G’s old Marine jacket his father had, somewhere along the line, appropriated. The faded, army green, coat was the last thing he grabbed as he made his escape out the window and he was thankful that he did as the warm, long sleeves engulfed his arms and hands. He knew both his father and grandfather were large men, especially compared to him, but he never really realized just how big they actually were until now. And Uncle Sam; please; don’t even get him started on that guy; he was a freaking giant.

The cool winds began to stir and he pulled the worn collar up around his face. He could smell his father’s lingering scent embedded in the fabric and he suddenly found himself regretting his latest decision to take off. Sure, he was pissed as hell at G; and every step he took reminded him of why; but up and leaving without telling anyone? Well, he wasn’t so sure that that was one of his brightest moves. After all; their whole life was about saving people, hunting things - the family business. It was their specialty and what they were all trained to do for Christ sakes; did he really think he stood a chance in hell of them not finding him? Family meant everything to them and he was, in their eyes, the baby, so yeah; there was no doubt in his mind that they were coming after him.

Truth be told; he wanted them to find him; just not yet. He had some unfinished business to take care of and he needed a few hours by himself. OK; not totally by himself. He needed to find that kid, Michael that G was talking about right before WWIII broke out between him and Uncle Sam. Those two were definitely cut from the same fabric and it amused Chris to no end how each one thought they were so different from the other. Tough as nails, strong, hot-headed; short-tempered, wickedly smart, caring (in their own way); those two couldn’t be anymore alike if they tried. Chris figured that’s why they butted heads so much. And then there was his dad. He had all those characteristics too and could be as mean and as intimidating as both of them combined, when he needed to be, but there was one trait he had that set him apart from the others; he was selfless. He put everything before himself, his own needs, his own wants and desires; everything. He didn’t stop until he knew for sure that everyone and everything had been taken care of first. Chris was still learning about his father and the kind of man he was but there was one thing he knew for sure; he was sure as crap proud to be Dean Winchester’s kid.

The other thing he knew for sure was that as soon as his family did find him he was as good as dead. He would probably be grounded until he was thirty so he didn’t have much time to finish the task at hand and do it quickly; because injured or not he knew his dad and the others were, most likely, already hot on his trail.
The boy through the window under the flashing “No Vacancy” sign appeared to match G’s description but Chris pulled the paper from his pocket and double checked the address anyway. He could hear his dad’s voice in his head “Have a plan; know your facts, know your players and when game time comes; shoot first and ask questions later.”

“Well” he found himself squaring his shoulders like a solider going into battle “here goes nothing.” He knew after yesterday’s “incident” and his little “Houdini act” this evening that his father was never going to let him hunt again so he figured he might as well go out with a bang. Maybe if he succeeded in killing the thing they would go easier on him. Yeah right; who was he kidding? He sighed as he resolved himself to his impending fate as he entered the motel.

He rapped his hand down on top of the bell three times before Michael finally appeared from the back room. He was an average looking kid; Chris pegged him to be around twelve. “Can I help you?” he asked slightly tossing his head to the side to remove the hair from his eyes. Chris couldn’t help but notice how worn out and tired they looked.

“Your name Michael?”

“Who wants to know?” the boy replied eyeing Chris with skepticism. His mother had left several hours ago for the hospital to be with his little brother; Asher. He wasn’t supposed to answer the bell but when he saw a kid he assumed it was ok; he was hoping that was still the case. At least it wasn’t that nut job that was in here earlier talking about witches and nightmares coming true. At the time the guy seemed legit but after a few hours of thinking it over Michael had come to the conclusion that he was just another town crazy and he had fully planned on not opening the door when/if he showed up again tonight.

Chris was cold and tired and his butt was still throbbing. He was in no mood to play twenty questions. “Look. I don’t have time for stupid games kid; you Michael or not?”

This kid’s attitude reminded Michael of the guy who was here earlier; well two could play that game. “Yeah, I am; who the f*** are you?” he shot back.

Hearing the “f” word sent a shudder through Chris. It would be a very long time before he let that one slip again; at least in from of G that is.

“I’m Chris. John Winchester sent me; said you agreed to help us out with something tonight.”

Michael sighed; "just great…the nut job had a posse". “Oh; yeah; well; about that; I’ve changed my mind. I’m not buying all that crap that guy was sellin. Said he needed my help catching something….a….uh..….”

“Shtriga.” Chris replied; finishing the boy’s sentence.

“Yeah right….whatever; look I said I changed my mind so get lost before I call the cops.” The pre teen said as he reached for the phone. But unfortunately for Michael; Chris had his grandfather’s determination, his uncle’s stubborn streak and his father’s charm and he wasn’t leaving. He placed his hand on top of Michael’s and guided the receiver back into its cradle.

“You don’t want to do that.” he said confidently, channeling his father. “Now hear me out.”

Fifteen minutes later he was sitting on the kid’s bed, in the pitch dark, giving him final instructions; just like his father had done to him the night before.

“Ok; listen.” He began as he surveyed the room one last time. “This thing works through siblings so we’re pretty sure he’s comin back for you tonight but don’t worry. When it does; I’m gonna kill it.”

“How?”

“I’m gonna shoot it.”

“Whoa, nobody said anything about guns.” Michael said scooting up against the headboard. “What if you shoot me??”

The thought took Chris by surprise. He honestly hadn’t thought that part through. He was an ok shot but after what happened last night he suddenly wasn’t feeling overly confident in his capabilities. But he had to do this; he needed to kill this thing once and for all. He needed revenge.

“Don’t worry; I won’t.” he said as convincingly as he could. “I’m a good shot.”

The lack of conviction in Chris’ voice still concerned Michael but he needed to do this for Asher. His little brother just had to get better or he would never forgive himself. He scooted back down beneath the covers. “OK, but just so you know; my mom will be plenty pissed if you shoot me.”

Chris had to laugh at that. “Yeah” he agreed; “Parents can be funny that way.”
Their conversation was suddenly cut short by a scratching at the window. “It’s here!” Chris whispered frantically as he threw himself down on the floor on the side of Michael’s bed. “Don’t move” he ordered. “Let it feed; as soon as it starts I’ll shoot it.” His heart was racing a thousand beats per second.

But there was no response from Michael as his eyes set upon the approaching monster.

Thank you Pam...it did make me happy....and I could use happy right about now.

I loved it...Chris is quite the little devil just like his daddy. What a brave little soldier trying to prove himself...but now I can't wait to see how this unfolds and what happens when John and the gang catch up to the little bugger.

Awesome job....keep it comin' ;)

OK, so sorry for the long wait. Not sure if anyone is still reading this other than Carol but I feel the need for a warning here.....major swearing in this chapter. I'm not sure what came over me but it just seemed to work. Probably one more after this one and then I'll be done. Thanks for reading!


The impala came to a skidding halt in front of the motel just as the first shot rang out. John was throwing the car into park at the same time his boots were hitting the pavement.

“Sam, get the weapons from the truck!” he shouted. Turning quickly he reached his hand around the door to grab Dean who was frantically struggling to free himself from the backseat.

“Can you drive?” John barked hauling his oldest to his feet in one fluid motion. The physical pain of being manhandled to a standing position had Dean seeing stars and the question caught him off guard. His brow pulled in confusion as he faced his father; the concussion once again making its evil presence known.

“What??”

“Do you think you can you drive?” John asked again impatiently and now obviously worried as he caught the duffel Sam tossed over the trunk effortlessly. He knew bringing Dean, in the state he was in, was a mistake; he just hoped it wasn’t a deadly one.

“Yeah, I think, but….”

But there was no time for buts. The Shtriga was there, Chris and Michael were in danger and the cops would be arriving at any moment; there was no time to waste. John figured he had roughly five minutes to rescue the kids, kill the monster he’d been hunting for nearly fifteen years now and get his entire family to safety before all hell broke loose. Terrific; just another f***ing day in Winchester paradise.

John shoved what he could of his fatherly concerns aside. “No buts Dean” he said not so gently heaving his kid into the driver’s seat. “You sit your ass behind that wheel and when the boys come out you high tail it out of here as fast as you can; you hear me?”

But Dean was not willing to take on the measly role of “getaway driver” so easily. “What? No! Screw that; I’m not just sittin here while…”

“That’s a God-damn order Dean; STAY PUT!!” John commanded again slamming the door closed and sprinting full speed towards the motel with Sam hot on his heels.

“Dad! Wait!!” Dean shouted in frustration. “Son-of-a-bitch!!” he slammed the steering wheel with both hands. “Sorry baby” he apologized as he quickly began to weigh his options. One; he could be the good solider his father always counted on; do what he was told and stay put or two; he could go in and finish what he started and deal with his father’s wrath later. With his eyes focused on the front of the motel he continued to fight with himself; something that had become an annoying habit as of late. “My kid’s in there. Sammy too; they need me. What’s the worse he could do? I mean really; I’m a grown man for Christ sakes; I’m not afraid of him.” He pondered the thought for a few more seconds. “f***; who am I kidding; I am too….. Damn-it; he’s so gonna have me runnin maneuvers for months.” He drummed his thumbs quickly on the wheel and glanced at the motel again. “Come on Dean; what to do, what to do, what to do???”

Another round of shots and a cry for help rang out. “f*** this!” Dean said wrenching the car door open. With his gun drawn he made his way, as fast as is wounds would let him, towards the front entrance. He found the fact that he was seeing two of everything greatly disturbing. Just as he reached for the handle Michael came bolting out nearly knocking Dean flat on his ass.

“OhmyGod, OhmyGod… Holyshit!” the boy exclaimed in a full blown panic as he smacked straight into Dean.

The young hunter groaned in pain as he grabbed the boy by his shoulders. “Where’s Chris?” he shouted over another round of fire.

“Inside!” Michael yelled frantically trying to pull free from Dean’s grip. “That, that thing grabbed him when we tried to leave!” his breath was coming in gasps and his eyes were teary and wide with fear.

Dean’s mouth went dry instantly and he felt his heart skip a beat or two. “Ok” he licked his lips and swallowed hard trying to conjure up enough moisture to continue talking. “Listen to me.” He said giving Michael a slight shake to get his attention. The boy froze in place as his eyes met Dean’s.
“Michael.” He swallowed again. “Go to the car and wait for me; scrunch down, cover your head and don’t move. GO!” Dean yelled as he thrust him towards the Impala.

Michael didn’t need to be told twice. He fled full speed towards the direction of the car and never looked back.

The scene Dean walked into could only be described as horrific at best. The room was clouded with gun smoke and his eyes burned as they swept the area in desperate search of his family. The first person he found was Chris who was laying face down, unconscious on the ground. “Chris!” he shouted as he dropped to his knees hovering directly above his son. Pausing as if afraid to even touch him he ever so gently he turned his son onto his back and quickly felt for a pulse. It was faint but it was there and with a choked cry of joy Dean thanked God in heaven a million times over. But his elation was short lived as he quickly turned his head towards the closet he had hid in not more than twenty four hours ago. He could hear John yelling and pounding furiously from within.

With strength fueled only by adrenaline Dean gently cradled Chris in his arms and, with a roar of agony quickly hoisted him onto the bed. He felt every single stitch in his side tear in the process. He covered his boy fully with a blanket in a futile effort to protect him and then with every ounce of energy he had left he staggered his way over to the closet door. He pulled at the knob as hard as he could only to find it clamped shut; seemingly sealed by an invisible force filed of magic.

He yelled through the slats “DAD?!”

“DEAN!! The controlled tone held a hint of anxiety that Dean had never heard in his father’s voice before. “DEAN! WHERE’S SAM??”

Sammy.

Dean whipped his head around again in frantic search of his brother. The lingering smoke and his blurred vision made the simple movement a colossal mistake; the room wouldn’t stop spinning.

“SAMMY!” he shouted hoarsely as he noticed the heel of his brother’s boot just barely peeking out from under the corner of the bed. He pushed himself away from the closet door towards the other side of the room leaving John to continue his fight for freedom on his own.

The Shtriga had Sam pinned tightly beneath him; its decrepit claw painfully clutching his face. The draping black cloak was covering most of Sam’s body and its mouth was now just mere inches from his brother’s. Dean could see Sam fighting desperately against the witch, extending his right arm with all his might in search of his gun which, unbeknownst to him, lay just centimeters from his fingertips.

All this physical exertion was taking its toll on Dean’s battered body as he tried to make his way over to save his baby brother. All he could focus on was the haunting glow of Sam’s life force as it slowly began to waft into the witch’s open mouth. As the Shtriga continued to drain Sam’s life force; Dean could see his brother’s will to fight back draining as well.

As darkness threatened to overtake the older brother once again his legs buckled and then gave out. He dropped to his knees; his head pounding and his body quickly losing the battle, succumbing to the pain. He braced himself with one arm on the floor as he tried to reach to pull his gun but the simple effort was too great. Just when he thought all hope was lost he felt a slight touch on his shoulder. It was Chris. Their eyes met for only a moment and then with his hand shaking Chris reached for Dean’s gun and gingerly placed it in his father’s weakened grasp. With a slight nod of approval Chris; without releasing his hold; helped raise and steady the weapon. The handle and now both their hands covered with his father’s blood. Dean drew in what felt like his last breath and shouted towards the monster.

“Hey!”

The split second the Shtriga lifted its head was all they needed. With precision like aim, father and son fired together nailing the monster right smack in the middle of its primeval forehead. Screeching in pain it reared its head back in agony pulling away from Sam allowing him to grab his gun and roll to safety.
Knowing the Shtriga was gone for good and his family was now safe Dean gave in to his body and collapsed onto the floor. He didn’t hear Chris call for him in fear or feel him slide the gun from his hands.

Standing, Dean’s son, full of anger and revenge walked purposefully over to the Shtriga whose form was now lying lifelessly on the floor. With and emotionless stare, Chris unmercifully emptied the rest of the clip into monster and watched in satisfaction as it disintegrated into nothing more than a bad memory and a pile of dust. “Rot in hell you ugly, mother-f***in, son-of-a-bitch.”

Pam,

awesome, both versions that I read. The Winchesters manage to get themselves out of yet one more scrape in the way we have come to know and love. Now I can't wait for the fall out...cause that ought to be fun :lol:

I thought this would be the last chapter but I think I may have one more in me. Need to get Dean all nice and better before everyone gets back to normal; well Winchester normal that is.... You will see that John is not a happy man and when John's not happy; no one is happy ;)


“Guh” Sam groaned as he heaved himself off the floor. He cursed himself for allowing the Shtriga to get the drop on him like that and there was no doubt in his mind that his father would have a few choice words to say about it too but he’d deal with that later. Right now his only concern was Chris. The boy had just needlessly emptied a full clip into the already dead witch and was now standing motionless; staring blankly at the pile of shroud covering the floor.

“Hey, hey, hey” Sam whispered softly, dusting himself off and approaching Chris tentatively; like one might an injured, wild animal. He slowly reached down and gently removed Dean’s gun from his nephew’s hand, clicked on the safety and tucked it away inside his coat. The boy continued to just stand there, outwardly unfazed by his uncle’s actions.

“Hey; dude; you alright?” Sam softly probed trying to gage the kid’s mental state hoping another psychological melt down wasn’t imminent. He placed a hand on the back of Chris’ neck. He had been worried sick about him since he took off and was relieved to see him unharmed; at least physically.

Chris turned his head and blinked up at his uncle a few times before seemingly snapping back to reality. “Huh? Wha; yeah….yeah dude I’m fine.” He turned his attention back towards the pile on the floor. The calm, incongruous response worried Sam. This was not the reaction a fourteen year old kid should be having after just killing his first supernatural being.

But before Sam could continue his inquisition John came bursting out from behind the sealed closet.

“What happened; where is it??? He questioned quickly surveying the room. He saw Chris thank God; and he and Sam appeared to be fine. He then spotted Dean spread eagle on the ground. Dropping to his knees he began assessing his injuries. He could see the blood soaking through his son’s shirt again. “Son-of-a-bitch!” he swore as he peeled back the cotton tee.

“What happened?” he asked again looking up expectantly at Sam and Chris. When John Winchester asked a question; somebody sure as crap better answer.

“Dean and Chris killed it Dad; it’s over.” Sam responded gesturing towards the pile Chris was still staring at. He placed his arm around the teen’s shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze of acknowledgment. The boy leaned into the hold relishing the feeling of safety. “It’s finally over.”

John nodded his head in approval allowing himself to savor the victory for a brief moment. He was bursting with pride that Dean had finally been able to get revenge and kill the Shtriga after all these years and that Chris had helped; the boy’s first kill. But he was still angry at Chris for taking off the way he did and he was mad as hell at Dean for disobeying a direct order. He turned his attention back to his oldest son. “Dammit Dean.” He admonished. “Anyone else hurt besides this insubordinate, pain in my ass here?” He asked draping one of Dean’s arms around his neck.

“No Sir” Sam replied; Chris, obviously still upset with him, just shook his head. John would deal with that later.

“I heard that” came a soft mumble as Dean decided once again to join the land of consciousness.

“Yeah?” John asked hoisting him to his feet from behind via the waistband of his jeans. Even though he was relieved to hear his son’s voice he had acted irresponsibly and irrationally; he knew better and that pissed John off to no end. “Trust me son; you’re gonna hear a lot more and then some when I get your butt home young man.” He promised with a growl.

Young man? crap. Dean wisely opted to “plead the fifth” and say nothing. No sense in making matters worse.

“OK” John continued; his voice slightly straining from supporting Dean’s full weight. “Sam, help me get your brother outside. Chris; go find Michael; lookout for the cops and wait for us inside the car; you hear me? He instructed having quickly switched into his full blown Sergeant mode.

Again Chris didn’t answer John; instead he looked at Dean who met him with thwarted but supportive eyes and exhaustedly tilted his head towards the door indicating that he should do as John said. For the first time in day the teen obeyed without question.

The ride back to the motel was quiet. Michael had disappeared long before they made their way back to the Impala. Sam had called his mother and was relieved to hear that the boy had found his way safely to the hospital and that his brother, Asher, had made a miraculous recovery and was due to be released in the morning. The nightmare for that family had come to an end and Sam couldn’t help but feel slightly envious of them. They could go back to living their normal life; something Chris unfortunately would never be able to do again after today.

Dean once again found himself leaning up against the back door of his beloved baby with another one of his shirts balled up and pressed to his side to keep the pressure on his reopened wound. At this rate he was going to have to hit the local mall for some replacement shirts. That or raid Sammy’s duffel like he had done in the past. The latter of course was way more entertaining. He glanced over at Chris who was slumped down in the seat next to him mindlessly playing with a loose string on the jacket he had taken from his father. He had grown a lot in the past year and a half and it was hard for Dean to see him as the young man he now was. He’d be fifteen in a few weeks; on October 31st of all days. He wished with all his heart that he could have protected his son from this lifestyle but there was no turning back now. And with his first kill under his belt the fun was just beginning.

They were back at the motel within five minutes; John racing through the streets as fast as he could without drawing attention. Bobby was waiting for them impatiently in the doorway cursing the day he ever met John Winchesters and worried sick about all of them as usual.

When John came round to collect Dean from the back seat he signaled to his Dad for a minute; he had something he wanted to say to Chris before Bobby got his hands on him again and loaded him up with the good meds.

John gave him a steely look indicating to his oldest that they needed to have words too but held up two fingers indicating that he had two minutes and he better make it quick.

Dean gave a heavy sigh knowing he was in his own pile of deep crap with the old man for disobeying orders. He was sure the only thing keeping his father from skinning him alive was the whole in his side. Who’d have thought a bullet wound could be a good thing. He turned slightly and gave Chris a nudged his knee but the kid refused to look at him.

“Hey; I’m bleedin over here; look at me.” Dean said and when Chris finally did he lost it; hour’s worth of emotions came pouring out like a flash flood.

“’m sorry.” He sobbed tears streaming down his face as he faced his father. “I didn’t mean to…I…didn’t….you’re hurt and it’s my fault and G and me…. He was making no sense and his breathing was so erratic Dean thought he might start to hyperventilate. “That thing….Dad…it…and I…..‘m sorry.”

This was not the reaction Dean was expecting and it took him a second to gather his wits about him. Not an easy thing to do with while trying to hold your insides in.

“Ok, alright; calm down” Dean said using a tone that used to work on Sam when he was younger and was freaking out about something and needed to be reigned in. He now reserved it for Chris when he meant business and wanted to grab his attention fast. It worked and Chris stopped talking immediately, looking at Dean; his breath still hitching. “Here it comes; he’s gonna tear me a new asshole and then tell me to get the f*** out of Dodge and never come back. f***; why am I such a f***-up?

Dean narrowed his eyes. He could only imagine what was going through his kids mind.

“Look.” He sat up with a groan; his side hurt like a mother and was still bleeding pretty hard; he didn’t have much time. “’m fine; it’s just a flesh wound!” He said using a horrible imitation of an English accent; God- could he suck anymore at these kind of talks?? Apparently Chris thought he sucked at them too because he was staring at him like he had lost his mind. Dean cleared his throat returning to his normal, no nonsense voice.

“Ok, listen to me. What you did tonight; takin off on your own like that; not cool and if I could; you can bet that I’d be kicking your ass for it right now.” He let that sink in for a moment before continuing. At least the kid had the good sense to look guilty as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the mention of another ass kicking.

“But that aside” he paused and made sure he had a good lock on the boy’s
eyes. “Ya did good tonight kid and I’m…….I’m proud of you Chris.” Dean wasn’t sure if it was the loss of blood or the fact that he managed to say that without stumbling all over his words that was making him feel tingly inside. Whatever it was; it felt good.

Chris’s eyebrows drew together in confusion and surprise. “Proud of me; so you’re not pissed?” he asked still pulling and twisting the loose string around his finger.

“Hell yah; of course I’m pissed but we’ll deal with that later.” Dean began to wonder in awe how his father managed to raise not one but two sons on his own without strangling them.

“But right now I just need to know you’re ok.”

Chris shook his head that he was shifting again in his seat.

“Good; and I wanna make sure you’re not gonna pull another stunt like you did earlier and take off while Bobby’s got me skipping through la la land.” Truth be told he couldn’t wait to get to la la land. The pain in his side was becoming unbearable.

“Can I count on you to be here when I wake up?”

The boy nodded again just as John rapped on the window indicating times-up. Dean turned back to Chris. “Thanks Dad”.

“Don’t mention it; I’m just awesome that way.” He teased before he ticked his head towards John. “We better go; he’s cranky enough as it is. We don’t need to pour fuel on the fire if you know what I mean.”

Chris scoffed. “Fu… “he caught himself as Dean raised his eyebrows at him. “I mean crap yeah; tell me about it; my ass is still killin me.” It was Dean’s turn to scoff.

“Kid; the fact that you can still sit leads me to believe he went totally easy on you. Trust me; I know.” He said as John impatiently opened the door to grab him.

Chris got out his side and looked over the roof at his Dad who was trying to slap away G’s hand as it gripped harder than necessary around his bicep. Easy on me; you gotta be shittin me?? What the hell does hard feel like?

Dean turned towards Chris as his father continued to drag him towards the motel. “We’ll talk later; and God save your ass if you put a hole in my favorite jacket; brat. Ow; Dad; watch the merchandise.” He whined as the three of them headed inside.

Keep 'em coming! Please! :cheer