Longhorn

Chapter 13 | Wabash and Lake

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Y/N

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Sam is sat at the table, his fingers rubbing at his temples. John and Dean sit at the foot of each bed in the motel room, and you're sat at the chair across from Sam.

"Visions..." John flatly drones, brow cocked.

Sam speaks slowly. "Yes." You can tell that even speaking makes his skull burn, but there's nothing you can do about it, no matter how hard you try. The medicine only works so well. "I saw the demon burning a woman on the ceiling."

John sighs a little. He's finding it hard to believe his youngest. "And you think this is happening to the woman you met because..."

The idea enrages you. John hunts monsters, for Christ's sake - he kills ghosts, and vampires, and everything else lurking where the sun don't shine. But he finds it hard to believe that his son, who's mother was killed by a demon, has visions? Seriously?

"Because these things happen exactly the way I see them," Sam says.

"It started out as nightmares." Dean's voice brings John to swivel his head, staring at his eldest. "Then it started happening when he was awake."

Dean rises, crossing to the counter, just behind Sam, to grab more coffee.

Sam winces, pressing his fingers deeper into his temples. "Yeah. It's like the closer I get to anything to do with the demon the stronger the visions get."

"Like Harry Potter and Voldemort."

The motel room goes silent, and everybody stares at you. You clear your throat, lowering your head to stare at the table.

"All right..." John mutters, slowly trying to bring the conversation back up to speed. "When were you going to tell me about this?"

Both boys stop to look at John before Dean clears his throat and speaks. "We didn't know what it meant."

You knew what they wanted to say. They wanted to scream, yell, holler that he wasn't there. There was nobody to tell, because nobody was there.

John huffs, obviously agitated, and says, "All right, something like this starts happening to your brother, you pick up the phone and you call me."

You can feel your face heating in rage. Your lips part, ready to scold, when Dean dumps both the coffee jug and his cup back on the counter, stomping toward his father.

"Call you? Are you kidding me?" Dean is shaking with hurt, with rage. "Dad, I called you from Lawrence, all right? Sam called you when I was dying. I mean, getting you on the phone? I got a better chance at winning the damn lottery!"

There's a visible itch in John to rage, to shove his son and scream. Instead, he nods, sighing. "You're right. Although I'm not too crazy about this new tone of yours -" John notices you stiffen, and holds up a finger. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Your jaw drops.

John Winchester, apologizing? You thought you'd die before that ever happened. And he apologized to Dean!

A chipper thought pops into your brain. 'Dude, I gotta go to the casino, or something. This is a lucky ass day.'

"Look, guys." Everybody's attention is brought back to Sam. He's just barely paler than he was, and there's a red rim around his eyes. "Visions or no visions, fact is, we know the demon is coming tonight. And this family's gonna go through the same hell we went through."