Summary:  John had taught his sons everything he knew in order to protect them … if only he had realized it wasn’t a demon that would take his youngest from him.
Spoilers: 
A/N:  I know I promised this story earlier, but I was stuck with a serious case of writer’s block … blame it on the finale. I couldn’t get Sammy dying out of my head to write but a paragraph here and there. So, one hard drive crash and one computer frying from lightening later, here I am!
Disclaimer:  Oh yeah, I own em all right … that’s why there’s a season three!!!!

“Pastor Jim … ?”

“Yes … who’s calling?”

“It’s Sam.”

“Oh my Lord, Sam! Where are you, child?”

“I’m with … “

“Who the hell are you talking to, Boy?”

“No one, I just … “

“Sam … “

“And how in the hell did you get out? I swear, I leave you alone for five minutes and you figure a way out!! What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Get away from me, you bastard!”

“SAM!!!”

There was the unmistakable sound of flesh hitting flesh before the line went dead, leaving Father Jim Murphy standing there, speechless as the phone made that God-awful noise that it does when the line has been disconnected but is still off the hook.

Blinking away his shock, he quickly hung up and hit 69 to recall the number. As the phone rang Jim Murphy did the only thing he could … he prayed.

“Fast Lane Motel…”

Jim blinked at the name, but discounted it rather quickly; this was neither the time nor the place to be wondering about names.

“Excuse me, but my name is Father Jim Murphy, and I was wondering …”

“Oh I’m sure we have girls that could do that Father, we have girls for everything.”

Paling, Jim loosened his collar and shook his head.

“No, I need to know if there is a young boy there, Sam, he’s 14, with a man.”

Jim could hear gum cracking in the background, the sound of a pencil tapping, and God knows the sound of one brain cell slowly cranking to work.

“Yeah, seems I do recall a kid … came in with his Uncle … said he was gonna make the boy a man…”

Laughter echoed into the line, but Jim was quick to cut her off.

“Where are you?”

“End of Main Street, right passed Echo Ridge.”

“No, what I mean is, what city and state?”

“Roswell, Georgia … on the outskirts of town.”

Jim hung up the phone and quickly called the number John Winchester had given him.

“Hello?”

“Hey Dean, is your dad there?”

“Pastor Jim? No, Dad and Caleb are out checking on a lead and …”

“I found him!”

“Found … Sam?”

“He’s in Roswell, Georgia in a place called The Fast Lane Motel.”

“How … ? I don’t … ?”

“Something’s wrong Dean. Someone was with him, and by the sounds of things Sam was not supposed to call. You, your dad, and Caleb need to get there and fast.”

The line went dead and Pastor Jim was left standing there, cradling the phone for a minute before disconnecting and dialing again.

“Hey, Bobby, it’s Jim … “

“You are so gonna pay for that boy!”

It had been two weeks after leaving Fred and Maureen Barber that Sam had been able to sneak and use the phone. Two. Weeks. Days where he had been locked in a motel bathroom. Nights where he had been tied to a chair.

But Sam was a smart kid. A kid who knew when to bide his time, and despite the fact that he was as terrified of ‘Jeff’ as he had been of Fred Barber, Sam was raised by John Winchester, so he knew that everything, no matter how terrifying, could be killed if given the right ammunition. So Sam waited it out, waited until Jeff left him locked in a bathroom and left the motel to jimmy the lock.

Sometimes it paid to be brought up like a criminal.

Unfortunately for Sam, Jeff had forgotten something and caught him in the midst of his phone call. The back of his hand sprang across Sam’s face, sending the teen backward with impact, and a muffled groan escaping his lips before he could stop it.

“Who were you calling?”

“No one.”

Jeff moved in, again hitting the youth across the face … unlike Fred Barber, Jeff cared little if the marks he left were seen or not, they never stayed anywhere long enough to be noticed, and Sam was never out where anyone could see him anyway.

“You little bastard, who?!”

Sam coughed and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, not in the least surprised to see it come away bloody. Lifting his gaze to his current tormentor, something inside Sam snapped. Something in his Winchester blood just screamed out his stubborn pride and he smirked.

“The cops you sorry sonofabitch! And they are coming to arrest your sorry ass!”

The third hit to his face nearly left Sam in that black void, but before he could fully fall into that blissful nothingness, he was hauled to his feet and shoved toward the door.

“Just wait until we stop again, Sam, I’ll really teach you a lesson!”

Sam knew about lessons.

John Winchester had taught Sam lessons. His lessons usually entailed a stern talking to when he was younger (that’s all it really took for a young Sam to feel contrite), to lessons of the more physical kind when he was older … usually in way of laps around this field or that, extra target practice, longer sparring matches with Dean. Something that made Sam see the error of his ways. All Sam really learned was how to survive in a world of ghosts and demons.

Then there was Fred Barber’s lessons … lessons that came whether Sam had done anything wrong or not. Because you couldn’t really count snorting at someone wrong enough to have the shit beat out of you, could you? His lessons were physical and violent … coming hard and fast before Sam could even brace for them. Those lessons taught Sam that not all monsters are dead … oh but they should be.

And finally there was Jeff. Jeff who Sam had thought was a nice guy trying to help a kid out. Jeff with no last name that Sam knew (not that Jeff knew Sam’s either, for he’d refused to share no matter the cost!) who spoke in whispers on the phone when he thought Sam was asleep or was in the bathroom. Jeff who hit Sam for no reason. Sam had begun to think that there was no rhyme or reason to Jeff other than to instill fear in Sam.

Maybe it was that fear that had Sam remembering his father’s lessons. “Don’t let your opportunities slip away Sam, always look at every angle.”

When Sam got into the SUV, for once, Jeff wasn’t right there at the door shoving him in. For once Jeff wasn’t breathing down his neck. He was too worried about cops showing up to take precaution, and Sam didn’t let that opportunity slip to flip the child safety lock on the door as he got in and pulled it shut.

“I hope you’re satisfied, you little shit!”

Sam just looked at him indifferently, his Winchester game face firmly in place.

“Hey, John, it’s me…”

“Joshua? Did you get him? How is … “

“He’s not here.”

“What do you mean, he’s not there? You were the closest one, you weren’t but an hour away, how could he not be there?”

“Whoever has Sam must have gotten wise, Johnny. The motel manager said he never even checked out, they were just … gone.”

“Did you get a tag number? Anything?”

“Not even the direction they were heading. I’m sorry, John.”

Nodding as if Joshua could see, John placed the motel phone back into the cradle and let out a deep breath as shaky fingers raked through his uncombed hair. How could he have let this happen? Sam slipped through his fingers three times now, and each time it left John feeling worse about the words he shared with his youngest just before the whole thing started.

“Well, Sammy, sometimes I hate you too.”

He ignored the look Dean was giving him, ignored everything as he slumped onto the motel bed, settled his elbows on his knees and buried his head in his hands.

“We lost him … again.”

The words finally came muffled, the words of the mighty John Winchester’s defeat once again. And he could feel it … the death stare of his eldest boring down on him. He tried very hard to ignore it, tried to pretend Dean wasn’t giving him the Winchester glare of death, but finally he looked up and sighed.

“Quit looking at me like that, Dean.”

“Why? So you can wallow in self pity some more?”

“What?”

Anger had started to replace that feeling of despair at the way Dean was speaking to him, so his eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he stared right back to his son.

John just didn’t have the petulance to master that death glare thing though.

“You know what! Get off your ass, quit feeling sorry for yourself, and let’s find Sam!”

“We don’t even know where to start …”

“Roswell!”

“Joshua is there, Sam isn’t, he’s just gone.”

“Dad, if this was a hunt, would you give up because the ghost disappeared?”

“No, but this is different, Dean, this isn’t a hunt, it’s … “

“Isn’t it? Cause the way I see it, Dad, this is a hunt, our prey just isn’t the typical salt and burn type.”

Realization seemed to hit John Winchester all at once, and he nodded before rising and moving to the phone to dial.

“Hey, Joshua, it’s John again. Hey, I want you to check all the roads leading out of Roswell. Check the gas stations and diners for any kid around Sam’s age. Call me if you find anything … “

They were somewhere near Atlanta when luck finally came Sam Winchester’s way in way of a traffic jam. As traffic on the highway came to a dead halt, Jeff glanced over and glared.

“Don’t even thinking about yelling for help!”

Sam just sat there, even closed his eyes feigning sleep as his arm shifted ever so slightly to hover over the seatbelt. He could feel Jeff’s stare, but ignored it, just sat there until it finally shifted.

“If this damn traffic ever lets up, we’ll be there soon.”

“Where are we going?”

Jeff didn’t even glance over as Sam spoke in a tone that said he didn’t really care, he was feigning indifference, and Jeff seemed to buy into it.

“You let me worry about that, Sam. You should be worried about what happens when we get there.”

He finger moved, clicking the seatbelt latch, though the weight of his hand kept it in place even as it unlocked.

“My dad really is looking for me…”

“Yeah, and I’m really Elvis … back from the dead.”

Sam glanced over and looked Jeff over with indifference, the impact of his fist on Sam’s face obvious now as the bruises shown through on his cheek and jaw.

“You know what we do to unwanted ghosts?”

Jeff smirked rolled his eyes as if the very idea of listening to Sam (no matter what he was saying) was idiotic.

“No, kid, what?”

“We salt and burn them.”

Jeff snorted and was about to reply when the door clicked and swung open. Before he even registered what was happening, Sam was taking off out of the car, his path up the car littered highway. Hard training was rewarded with Sam’s agility to snake around cars without losing much speed; an action that had Jeff’s angry shout lost amongst the throng of horn blasts and one angry shout as Sam trampled over the roof of a stopped car.

“John Winchester.”

“You watching?”

“Watching what?”

They were staying in some small motel room off the highway in another place in the middle of somewhere that Sam was not. Already reaching for the remote, the eldest Winchester tucked the phone between ear and shoulder as he flipped the power on the television with the press of a button.

“News Channel.”

Flipping up until he came to the scene of a huge traffic jam, John stared a minute, and was about to ask Bobby why he’d have him watch something so mundane when the woman’s story switched gears.

“… in what was thought to have been a run of the mill accident that blocked traffic on the interstate for a five mile stretch now has police baffled as the scene unfolded into something far more than a fender bender as this boy … “

John drowned out the woman’s words as the sight of Sam was seen racing over cars and across traffic toward the end of a stretch of road that was apparently a bridge. Police were seen running from one side, and a man giving chase on the other had his boy zigzagging across cars until finally he was at the steel rails of the bridge. John watched in horror as Sam … his Sam climbed over and jumped off the bridge just as the police were about to grab his arm.

“Holy shit … “

And the phone dropped to the floor as John stared at the television, only to glance to his eldest asleep in the bed beside his own.

“John? John … ?”

He ignored the call of Bobby from the dropped phone, just stared in horror as people went into the river after his boy. His baby.

It was three weeks after jumping from that bridge that Sam walked upon the property of Pastor Jim Murphy. Three long weeks in which life was one whirlwind of events that Sam would have thought was part of a crazy dream had it not happened to him.

He’d emerged from the murky water of the river feeling very much like a drowned rat, and since he’d nearly been pulled under three times, twice by current and once by sheer exhaustion, Sam felt he had only been one step away from that lowly position.

Imagine what his dad would think of him then.

His youngest son taken down not by a ghost or a ghoul, but by a river that he didn’t have the good sense not to jump into. Oh but Sam knew that if the police had gotten him that he could have had Jeff arrested, but he would have been taken straight back to CPS because they swore his father was abusing him. The thought alone made him snort … and it made him play the part of Superman and leap a tall bridge in a single bound.

Dean would be so proud!

But after that incident, Sam Winchester grew more cautious. With nothing to change into, he looked every bit the vagabond, though he refused to play the part of victim any longer. With a stolen knife that would have made his dad proud, he protected himself in the way he was taught as a Winchester.

Oh but he still needed to get across country, so the knife came in handy when hitchhiking. Once he hitched a ride with two modern day hippies who wanted to teach him not only the joys of pot, but every other drug known to man (and a few Sam was quite certain they made up!). He had to respectfully decline. Though when the male hippie tried to grab his arm, he gave him a scar he wouldn’t soon forget.

He traveled again without incident with several people, though one man kept looking at him when he didn’t think he was watching, which just creeped Sam out, so he got off at the next stop.

Twice he picked the lock successfully of some off the beaten path, run down motel to sleep. Without a credit card of his own he sort of had to make do with the Winchester tradition and steal when he could. Which is what led him to Rusty’s bar.

Tall for his age, but definitely not big for his age, Sam stuck out like a sore thumb … especially when he picked up the pool cue. But, as luck would have it, there was always someone in every place that was a born sucker.

At least that’s what Dean always said.

Here it was a guy named Lou. One that demanded he be the reigning champion no matter what … and he wasn’t beyond intimidating his opponents into losing. Unfortunately for Lou, Sam was not easily put off. After facing demons, ghosts, poltergeists, werewolves, and his dad, one overgrown, testosterone riddled man was not going to deter the youngest Winchester.

When the entire bar laughed, Lou didn’t take too kindly, and tried using brute force to make the kid eat crow. They laughed even harder when it was Sam who walked out with a pocket full of cash as Lou sat with his head back, nursing a busted nose.

Winchester’s play for keeps.

Another botched hitched ride and Sam had to play a bit of chicken with a man’s balls. About thirty miles outside of his destination, the man Sam was riding with decided to get touchy feely, leaving Sam to try and push him away, but Mr. Hands seemed to not want to listen, and in the end he had Sam’s throat, and Sam had his knife to his balls, each threatening the other, but finally, with Sam’s, “I’ll take them with my last breath if I have to.” Mr. Hands let go and Sam got out.

He walked the rest of the way to Jim’s house.

“Yes, I know, John. As soon as I hear something, I promise, I’ll let you know.”

Jim Murphy sat at his kitchen table mulling over the map he (along with the help of several other hunters) had put together on Sam’s whereabouts since he’d been taken by CPS. But, for the last three weeks, since the incident of Sam on the news leaping off a bridge, the only places they had marked were places that other known hunters were … hunters that were currently on the look out for one Sam Winchester.

“Okay, John, I got it just…” About to say more, Father Jim Murphy paused as a knock sounded at his door. Most didn’t come to the priest’s home this late in the evening, so Jim’s attention was immediately drawn to the sound at the door.

“Just one second.”

Jim could hear Dean in the background questioning his dad as he, himself, went to answer the door. Grinning at the young man (because of his immense love for his brother) he pulled the door open only to stop dead in his tracks as he looked upon the object they had been seeking for months now.

“Sam?”

“Yeah, Jim, you know, my missing son!”

“Is it really you?”

Sam Winchester stood before Jim, the person he had been trying to get to all this time, and, without saying a word, flung himself at the man as tears filled his eyes. His father might be disappointed in him later, because crying was not the Winchester way, but he didn’t care … relief flooded him like a dam breaking, and Sam Winchester was powerless to stop the emotions that came with it.

“It’s ok, Sam … you’re safe now.”

“What are you talking about Jim? Jim?! JIM!!”

“Johnny! You’re boy … he’s here!”

Dean listened to his father on the phone with Pastor Jim, and while he’d tried to remain quiet, as his father grew quiet, the questions began. Where is Sam? Have they found him? Are there any leads?

There would have been more, but in the midst of his barrage of questioning, his father grew slack, all expression leaving his face in a moment of disbelief before he spoke rather abruptly, “We’ll be there soon.”

John nearly dropped the phone from his hand as he turned to his eldest, a smile starting on his face. “Sam’s at Jim’s house. He’s safe. Oh thank God, he’s safe.”

John Winchester didn’t even have the music playing as he pressed the gas pedal nearly all the way to the floor in a race to get to his son. Glancing in the rearview, he spied Dean, keeping up perfectly to his speed.

What if he still hates you?

The patriarch Winchester tried pushing that thought from his head as he sped toward his destination … toward his son.

You did leave him to be taken away.

Again he tried shoving that voice out of his head … the voice that sounded very much like his own when he was yelling at Sam.

He’ll hate you for allowing it, Johnny-boy.

His foot pressed down on the gas pedal, sending it to the floor.

Dean was the first out of the car as both truck and Impala skidded to a halt in front of Jim Murphy’s house. Not waiting on his father, he rushed up the stairs and pounded on the door with a fist. Waiting on three seconds, he lifted his fist to pound again, and nearly pounded Pastor Jim’s face as the door suddenly swung open.

“Where is he?”

“Relax Dean, he’s sleeping.”

Stepping back from the door, the man of the cloth allowed the young hunter into his home, where he glanced at Jim, the look conveying everything.

“Upstairs, first door on the right.”

And then Dean was gone, off to see for himself that Sam was indeed okay.

John stood in the doorway, watching Dean run off to see his brother … a brother who loved and worshipped his eldest son, a place usually given to one’s father.

As if you deserve the title of hero!

Jim turned to look at him, as if knowing all along that John Winchester stood there.

“You can come in, John, you’ll have to face him eventually.”

“In everything I’ve ever faced … ghosts, werewolves, demons … I’ve never been more afraid, and all I’m facing is my son.”

“He loves you, John.”

“Yeah? Well, he said otherwise.”

“He’s a teenage boy with the temper of his father, what do you expect?”

“Dean was never that way.”

“And Sam is not Dean. It’s high time you realized that.”

Dean Winchester stood at the doorway to the room his brother slept in … just staring at the shape within the bed. It was several minutes before he worked up the nerve to move from that spot, though once he did, he parked himself on the very edge of Sam’s bed … just to watch him sleep … to breathe.

Slowly, Dean himself began to breathe, and reached out a hand to brush his baby brother’s unruly bangs from his face. It was then he noticed the faded bruise on his cheek, the frown that formed almost instantaneous.

“Damn, Sammy, what happened?”

He didn’t get an answer, though he hadn’t expected one as his kid brother just took in rhythmic breaths … Dean’s whisper not phasing his sleep one bit.

Dean, despite the bruises on Sam’s face, took that opportunity (because he’d never do it while Sam was awake!) to lavish attention on the baby of the Winchester family. Calloused fingers brushed through his brother’s hair as he sat and watched him sleep, breathe, live.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, kiddo.”

It was the next afternoon by the time Sam woke, this being the first good night’s sleep he’s had since leaving the hospital, and then it was mostly drug induced. Sitting up slowly, he stretched, and then looked toward the window. Light filtered into the room, telling him that he’d slept through the evening, the night, and well into the afternoon. With a lackadaisical rise from the bed, he stretched once more before shuffling to the door, then slowly down the stairs. As soon as he entered the living room, he paused at seeing Dean, and a slow grin formed.

Dean had gotten very little sleep the night before … he kept waking only to check on Sam before he felt all was right once again. Looking haggard, he heard the footsteps coming from upstairs and rose instantly, hope welling in green eyes. As his brother came into view and the smile formed, Dean was across the floor in an instant. Strong arms wrapped about his baby brother, tugging him against his chest and he just held on.

“I thought I lost you, kiddo.”

It was minutes later when the affection was pulled away from. The Winchester’s (at least the eldest two) were not known for displays of affection, but sometimes you just had to shove that out the window and say to hell with it.

“Are you okay?” And Dean turned Sam’s face to the side to get a look at the faded bruise on his cheek. “Is that from your death defying leap off that bridge?”

“No …” Came the whisper as Sam caught sight of the other Winchester in the room. Hazel eyes stared at the man who, the last words he remembered were that John Winchester hated him.

Dean, seeing the direction his brother was staring, stepped back, allowing John and Sam that moment … some time to make amends.

John Winchester had been terrified of this moment … the moment when he would have to face his youngest. He rose from the couch in the moment Sam spotted him, and while he tried to smile, just a little, he failed.

It was Sam that made the first move. Tears filled his eyes despite the fact he tried desperately to hold them at bay. And in that moment, just before he broke into sobs, he flung himself into his father’s arms. The strength that enveloped him had him breaking, his sobs coming just as he muffled against his father’s chest. “I love you, dad.”

“Oh Sammy, I love you too.”

After the emotional outburst by Sam, one that had John nearly in tears, the trio sat in silence until Dean finally broke it with low words, as if something other than Jim Murphy might be listening. “We’ve been looking all over for you kiddo.”

John nodded, adding his own hushed tones. “We even went to the Barber’s house, but you’d taken off.”

“Fred Barber is a dick!”

Both John and Dean looked at Sam, not only flabbergasted by the language (because Sam was the nice one!) but by his outburst.

“He beat the shit out of me every chance he got.”

The silence was so thick it was palpable as both elder Winchester’s stared at the youngest … not in disbelief, but in pure anger. CPS, who had accused John of beating his son, had given his boy, his baby to a monster.

Sam began the tale of his stay at the Barber’s … of Fred’s cruelty, and of Maureen’s indifference, as if Sam deserved any of it. He was not there long, but his stay there had made Sam see that normal was not always … normal.

Parts of the story came in a rush, as if Sam had to get it out before it ate him away from the insides out, while other parts came slow, the brutality of the man the state had awarded the youngest Winchester to made all too clear in those moments.

Oh but the story didn’t end there, then there was Jeff and his sick, twisted ways. Jeff that Sam never even understood what he wanted (that would come later) but he had hurt him just the same. It was why he’d dove off a bridge, because frankly, death by drowning was far better than letting that sick fuck beat him to death.

What Jeff didn’t know was that Sam (being the smart Winchester that he is!) got the man’s license plate number. It was something that John Winchester tucked away for safe keeping.

Then came the entire story of how he got here, of his escape from the hippies, and how he nearly had to take a man’s balls to keep himself from being the next dish served on some demented bastard’s platter.

By the end of the tale Sam was exhausted. He hadn’t slept well since the whole thing began, and despite the sleep he’d had the previous night, he was soon out cold on the couch, leaning on Dean like a lifeline.

And, by the end of the tale, John and Dean were pissed. With Sam pressed against him as he was, Dean’s voice was low and nearly hissed. “I should have killed that bastard when I had the chance!”

Their stay at Pastor Jim’s lasted over a week, a time that Sam actually began to relax. Once he broke one of Jim’s plates when clearing the table, causing John to yell. The flinch was instantaneous from his youngest, making the man all too aware of what the bastards had done to his baby.

Once Sam walked into the kitchen to hear his father talking in low tones on the phone. “Yeah Bobby, have every hunter on the lookout. I want the bastard caught.”

Ignoring, him (as he usually would) he went to get himself a drink when his father caught sight of him, made some excuse into the phone, and hung up.

“Hey kiddo, how’re you holding up?”

Sam just gave him a thumb’s up and took his water to the living room.

They left Jim’s three days later, John claiming some important hunt was beckoning them (hence why he’d been all secretive to Bobby, as if Sam didn’t know!) and needed their immediate attention.

They drove for three days before stopping in what Sam figured was the place of the hunt. He knew because his dad gathered all the bags, not just their clothes and a few weapons. He’d been asleep the last couple of hours and had no idea where they were, but it didn’t matter, he just shuffled into the motel room and collapsed.

“You can’t go, they would be expecting you.”

“Dean, I’m not letting you go, someone needs to stay here.”

The words filtered into Sam’s brain like a dream, causing him to shift in his sleep and the voices to fade into silence. That is, until they were certain that the youngest was not waking.

“Look, they will be on the alert for you, it’s safer if I go.”

All arguing aside, Dean was right, and John finally relented and allowed his son to take this hunt of a far different nature.

They rushed out the next morning so fast it made Sam’s head spin. He blinked sleepily as John shook him awake. “C’mon Sam, get a move on.”

Instinct took over, as this had happened before, but he was slow in comprehending. This usually took place after a hunt, not before.

“What about the hunt?”

The words came as he stumbled from the bed to shuffle to his duffle and grab a change of clothes.

“It went sour, now come on, get a move on, we have another lead.”

And just like that they were off.

Perhaps it was luck that the following evening Dean was in the shower, singing his lungs out, and his dad was out getting dinner, that Sam happened to take up Dean’s habit of flipping through the television stations.

So fast he almost missed it.

“… ed and Maureen Barber…”

So fast he actually had to flip back to catch it all.

“The attack has stumped police and baffled their neighbors, who claim the Barber’s to be a quiet lot that never cause any problems.”

Sam snorted as he watched the scene unfold before him.

“Apparently Fred Barber was beaten severely while his wife, Maureen, was tied to a chair, made to watch and unable to do anything.”

“There are no clues, no witnesses, and no motive, which has local authorities … “

The door opened and the remote flipped immediately, his head turning to just stare at his dad a minute, something that made John uncomfortable before Sam nodded to the bag. “What’s for dinner?”

And then all was right in the world … at least in the world of the Winchesters.

It was three weeks later and pure dumb happenstance on Sam’s part that he found the headline. Stuck on research duty in some town in Maine (Sam hated Maine, it was always so cold!) he was at the library, scouring the internet for clues to some creature that was sneaking into people’s homes at night and ripping them limb from limb. Sam thought it was a clown for two reasons. One being that clowns were indigenous to Maine (after reading IT, Sam was certain that they truly were evil!). And secondly, which was the most obvious, was that clowns were just plain creepy!

So he sat there, huffing over the fact that no one believed him that it was a killer clown, when he flipped passed an article, then flipped immediately back to just stare at the wreckage of the SUV that he’d been held prisoner in.

The mysterious attack on Mr. Jeffrey Johnson is still baffling police in helping to capture one of the countries biggest pedophiles. Apparently Mr. Johnson was driving south along Route 3 when he was forced off the road, by what he describes as a large black truck, and flanked by a rusted out one. Beaten and then handcuffed in his vehicle as it was pushed into the murky water, police received an anonymous tip as to his whereabouts. Two children were left at the police station, though neither remembered the faces of their would-be hero’s, both were too shaken up and littered with bruises. Due to the fact that they are both under 18, their names are being withheld until …

Sam stared, not at all sure how to feel about that. And when he realized just what the bastard had planned to do, he bolted through the library to push his way into bathroom. No sooner had he hit his knees than the retching came. First his lunch, then a few dry heaves that had his back and stomach rebelling the act.

John pulled up outside of the library and waited but a second before he spotted his boy trudging down the steps only to climb into the truck without a word. He was used to this, to these sudden mood swings of his son, though for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what had sparked this one. So he just drove.

They were just pulling into the motel when Sam spoke, low and hushed, as if the very truck itself might spill his secrets for the world.

“Thanks, dad.”

John paused, blinked, and tried to decide if he’d heard that correctly. Turning to face Sam (who was staring intently back for once) he gave his son a confused look.

“For what?”

Sam shrugged then. “For nothing, for everything … just … thanks.”

John stared, about to question this sudden appreciation when there was a banging on the window, causing both Winchester’s to look and see Dean grinning through the glass.

“Are you girls going to sit in there all day? I’m starved.”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Jerk.”

“I heard that, you bitch!”

And John smiled. Their life might not be perfect, but it was their life … and the rest of the world? Well, it could go fuck itself … and get fucked if it crossed the Winchester’s ever again.