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Thursday, November 22, 2012

Snippets One Hundred Sixteen: Mornings

         Sam woke up to find his arms, legs, and body intertwined with his brother's.  Dean had dark shadows under his eyes.  The younger boy stared at his big brother with a worried frown on his brow. 

        Sam eased out of the bed and went into the kitchen.  He put on a pot of coffee and fixed himself a bowl of cereal.  John stumbled out of his room a few minutes later.  His bloodshot eyes focused on his youngest son.

        “That coffee I smell?”

        “Yes, Sir, Dad,” Sam murmured.

        “Good.  Where’s your brother?”

        “He’s still sleeping.”

        “He’s supposed to be keeping an eye on things.  Get him up!”

        Before Sam could move, Dean entered the kitchen.  He poured John a cup of coffee and fixed himself a cup and a bowl of cereal.  The three remained quiet.   John kept staring at his eldest son.


        The older boy stiffened and looked his father in the eyes.


        “Where’s my shotgun?”

        “It’s in the Impala, Dad.”

        “I cleaned it yesterday.  It was here.”

        “You left it in the car, Dad,” Sam interspersed. 

        John saw Dean wince at the words.  He stood up and walked out to the Impala and opened the door.  The shotgun was on the front seat and there were streaks of dried blood on the driver’s seat and the steering wheel.

        He carried the gun into the motel room and shouted the oldest boy’s name.  Both boys ran into the living room.  Dean pushed Sam behind him and quietly told him to go to their room and stay there.  At first Sam refused, but he sensed the fear and panic in his brother and slipped out. 

        “What the hell happened?”

        “I don’t know what you are asking about, Dad,” Dean said softly.

        “There’s blood in the car.  What happened?  Who got shot?  The gun’s been fired.”

        “No one’s hurt, Dad.” 

        John walked over to his son and stared into his eyes.  Dean tried to back up but his father grabbed him.  The boy stiffened, but stood still.  He had Sammy to worry about. 

        “What did you do?  Who did you shoot?”

        “I didn’t shoot anyone, Dad.  You drug me out to the woods and said there was something killing animals and draining blood.  That’s it.  You fell.  The gun went off.  I dragged you to the car and drove here.  Sammy helped me put you to bed.  I swear,” Dean was trying not to let the fear reach his voice.

        “You’re a lying son of a bitch.  Do you know that?   There’s blood in the car!”

        Dean winced and stood still as his father’s fist hit the side of his head and he went down. 

        The angel had gone out on a case for Father that morning, but he felt the pain Dean experienced and was back at the motel.  John kicked his son and told him to get up.  The boy had curled into a ball.  The third kick never hit as John landed flat on his back.  A severe pain went through his head and he passed out. 

        The angel knelt beside Dean.  He ran his fingers through the short hair and whispered, “Take deep breaths and relax a moment.  Let the pain ease.”

        The boy could not hear him but felt the peace and the comfort.  He closed his eyes and one single tear went down his face.   Sam came out and brought John’s blanket.  Dean slowly rose and they covered the man.  Sam put his arms around his brother.

        “You okay, Dean?”

        “Yeah.  It was nothing, Sammy.  I’ve had worse.”

        Castiel shook his head at the lies.  Dean was going to protect his family even if it killed him.

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