Strange Brew 8/10
Title: Strange Brew
Author: safiyabat
Artist: Stormbrite
Rating: PG-13
Genre/pairing: Gen
Characters: Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Dean Winchester
Word count: 51,698 (fic) / 5,424 (chapter)
Summary: Sam gets to play the hero. It doesn't last.
Spoilers: None
Warnings: None for this chapter.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. No, really.
Sam had some anxiety about bringing home his jars of salve - one with the holy water, one without. He knew that his family knew that he was learning about herbs and their uses, so in theory there shouldn’t be a huge problem with the stuff. Sam wasn’t willing to bet on theory, not between his father’s mercurial temperament or what he’d heard. He held his breath when he got back to the trailer that night, waiting for either Dad or Dean to say something about the fact that he was moving more easily or the way that his bruises just looked better. No one said anything. He thought he caught them looking, especially Dean, but neither of them addressed him directly and he didn’t notice any signs that his stuff had been messed with so by the time he went to bed he could breathe a little easier.
He did keep the jars in his bookbag, though. Just in case.
To some extent he felt guilty about hiding them. They were useful. They weren’t bad. The first one wasn’t even questionably innocent; it was literally just herbs and the right stuff to smear it onto the skin. The other stuff was just holy water and a blessing on top of that. It shouldn’t be something to be ashamed of, something to hide, not anymore than blessing holy water itself should be.
Then again, Dad never asked Sam to bless the holy water either.
He didn’t know for sure that Dad would be upset if he found out about the jars, but he had a pretty good idea that they’d come off better if they came from Dean. And Dean - anything that even remotely smacked of witchcraft, right now, would probably earn Sam shaving cream instead of mayonnaise on his sandwich. If he was lucky, he thought with a shudder. He knew what his brother was capable of.
Neither his brother nor his father would be likely to listen to him on the subject, and he was going to keep learning because someone should know this stuff and because he truly didn’t see a moral problem with what he was doing. So he kept his mouth shut. The jars got hidden in a pair of socks so they didn’t make a lot of noise, and they stayed in his backpack so Dad and Dean didn’t find them in a fit of snooping. His notebook, the one he used for his lessons with the Tealls, stayed with him at all times as well.
The library program continued. They had moved on to the Indiana Jones movies, and Sam had to admit that he enjoyed those just as much as he liked Star Wars. Dean told him that a college professor was a boring job, but Indiana Jones was kind of a superhero too. “Except for the parts where he just kind of sleeps with women and then leaves them,” Susan pointed out, wrinkling her nose. “That’s not very heroic. It’s kind of sleazy.”
Sam scratched his head. “I mean, I know some people get married, but I think it’s kind of the normal thing?” It didn’t seem terribly appealing to Sam, but he knew he was a freak.
“What? No!” His friend swatted him with the end of one of her braids. “Sam, that’s disgusting! Those girls all think they’ve got something permanent with him and he’s got no intention of sticking around! That’s just mean!”
“Oh.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s kind of what my dad does, what most of the people he knows do.” He blushed. “I mean, I don’t see the point but it seems to be normal.”
“It’s not,” Star told him in a firm tone. “Believe me. This is probably a better conversation for someone else to have with you, but I guess no one else seems to be doing that so… whatever. There’s a time and a place for casual relationships, I guess, but most people want to have some kind of relationship with their partner. Even if you do choose to be purely casual, which isn’t the safest thing in the world, it’s only okay if everyone involved knows you’re going to be casual - if no one’s expecting you to come back.”
Sam thought about that for a moment. He’d known his family wasn’t exactly typical, but it hit him then just how weird they were. “What’s that like?”
“What - a relationship? Your father or brother must have dated someone at some point.” She ruffled his hair a little.
He shook his head. “My brother hits on girls but he’s not close with any of them, really. I think I know their names better than they do sometimes.” He glanced around, but most of the other kids were out of the room. “Dad isn’t a big fan of letting us have friends or stuff outside the family, you know?”
“That’s dumb,” Susan told him with a toss of her hair. “Someday you’re going to move out, and how will you live then?”
“I’m pretty sure Dad doesn’t plan to ever let me move out.” He kicked at the leg of his chair.
“When you’re eighteen you can do whatever you want, Sam,” Star informed. She sat on the edge of the table. “He can’t legally keep you with him.”
Sam couldn’t find the words to explain the situation. Dad had never let legalities stop him before, and what about Dean? Was he supposed to just leave Dean behind him? Still the thought was intriguing.
Dad went out that night, “scouting,” Dean wanted to play some poker, but Sam talked him into giving him some of the details about the case first. The senior Winchesters looked into the background of the man whose septic system exploded and found that he fit the pattern of witchcraft victims, which surprised no one. “The guy was a real piece of work, Sammy,” his brother declaimed, shaking his head as he dealt the cards. “He did time for beating his wife so bad she almost died. That’s not all,” he added, “but you’re too little to hear about it.”
Sam scoffed. “Wasn’t too little to hear you and Daisy Rourke that time she came over and Dad was away, back in West Virginia.”
“What? You were asleep!” Dean spluttered, dropping the cards and blushing. That was the great thing about having such a fair-skinned brother, Sam decided. He blushed so nicely.
“Not once the two of you started up. Anyway, did you guys go and find the hex bag?”
“You’re assuming that there was a hex bag, Sammy. You know what happens when you assume.” The elder brother wagged a finger at the younger.
Sam threw a card at him. “You already were an ass, I can’t make one out of ‘u.’ Come on. Did you find the hex bag?”
“We did. I don’t know how it survived the explosion, and I don’t mind telling you that was one of the nastiest crime scenes that I’ve ever been to - and I’ve been to cattle mutilations, Sammy.” Dean opened a beer. “Nasty. Friggin’ witches, man. Friggin’ witches.”
Sam growled. “So do you still have it?”
“What? No we don’t still have it. We burned it. What do you think we are, stupid? Not only is it a hex bag, which mean’s it’s basically magically radioactive, but it’s covered in… you know… stuff from the guy’s exploded septic system. It’s unsanitary, like everything else witches do. You don’t hang onto hex bags and play with them, dumbass. You burn them and wash your hands with soap and water for at least thirty seconds.” Dean shivered. “Gross, man.”
Sam closed his eyes and silently counted to ten. “Okay. Well, do you remember what was in it?”
“What do you care? You don’t know anything about witches, Sammy.” Dean shrugged and started shuffling the cards.
“No,” he lied. “But I know something about the area and I know something about the local flora. I might be able to narrow down your suspect pool based on some of the things you found.”
“Huh. Okay. Makes sense. Well, Dad thought that he found some coriander seed in there. Coriander and I think he said ‘black hellebore.’” Cards started to fly from Dean’s scarred hands as he began to deal the cards.
“Okay…” Sam bit his lip. “I mean I know you can cook with coriander.” He got up and grabbed the appropriate section of the herbal text he’d copied out for the family. “Yeah. Both of them are used in ‘spells of wrath and vengeance.’”
“Get out,” the teen scoffed, grabbing the notebook out of his brother’s hands. “You’re making that up. The people who wrote that textbook did not write down what witches use herbs for.”
“People weren’t always so opposed to magic, Dean,” Sam pointed out. “There was a time when it was the only game in town. I mean, plants do have medicinal properties, right?” When Dean nodded, the boy continued. “So people probably just started thinking of certain plants as having other properties too. If they’re writing down things about plants, it makes sense to want to be thorough.”
“’It makes sense to want to be thorough,’” Dean mimicked. “Oh my God could you be any geekier?”
“Not the point, Dean. The point is that it’s definitely our witch.” Sam picked up his cards and bit his tongue. He had a pair of threes and that was all. Maybe he’d get lucky if he discarded the three cards that weren’t threes.
“We already knew that, Sammy. It was the fact that the guy was a wife beater who died badly, with a hex bag in the mix, that provided that vital clue.” Dean gave a bright, smarmy smile.
“Shut up.” He picked up his new cards. Not bad - three fives. Not great, but not bad. “What else was in there?”
“What do you mean, ‘what else was in there?’ Um, I think there were some tiny little bones, some kind of dirt and maybe some kind of wax. Before you ask, no, I don’t know what kind of wax. Dad didn’t say and he wouldn’t let me touch it to get a closer view.”
Sam chewed on his fingernails. The little bones, he knew, strongly suggested something dark. Well, what had he expected? The witch was killing people with magic, giving them horrific deaths. The wax and the herbs were pretty par for the course, though. “Okay. Well, I think that the hellebore is the weirdest thing you’ve mentioned, and a lot of people use it as a decorative plant. But I have some ideas on who might know someone who fits our description and buys garden plants.”
“Great! Give me the name and address and Dad and I will head on over to talk to them.” Dean perked up.
“Dean,” Sam sighed. “They see me covered in bruises all the time. I don’t think that letting them meet Dad face to face is necessarily in anyone’s best interests, you know?”
Dean’s face darkened. “What are you saying, Sammy? Are you making accusations?”
“No, Dean! I wouldn’t do that!” Sam shot back, heat behind his words. “You know better! We both know that they’d separate us if they busted Dad for anything. The thing is, they don’t know about hunting, they don’t know about training, they don’t know about your Mom. All they see is a banged-up kid. I tell them the same things that we always tell people but I just don’t think that having Dad there, interrogating people, would convince them that this was a safe home environment. Okay? So let’s just, you know, keep them apart. Alright?”
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Sammy, he’s doing the best he can.”
“Not the point, Dean. The point is keeping them out of Winchester business. Right?” He forced himself to meet his brother’s eyes and to choke back on everything he wanted to say.
“Right.” Dean looked away first.
No one cared if Sam went to “herbalism” class the next day. He worked with Mama Rachel on actual herbalism in the morning, just like before, and helped out with lunch as a thank-you. After lunch they learned about different types of magic from Star before being dismissed to go run and play. Before he went home, though, he took Star aside and told her about the hex bag that his father and Dean had found. She told him that she’d look into it.
Thursday was library day. Sam used his time to study some of the local patterns of domestic violence. Maybe they could get a handle on who was casting these spells by getting a handle on that side of things - who would be able to find the victims, who would have the most interest in punishing people that they felt got off too lightly.
Afterward, Sam walked home alone. Star had offered him a ride, but he wanted the chance to clear his head and to come up with believable stories to tell his father that would keep the hunters and witches separated. Her face fell a little. “You shouldn’t have to be worried about something like that, Sam,” she told him, stroking his hair with a sad look on her face. “I wish you could just go play and be a normal kid.”
“I don’t think that was ever going to happen,” he admitted. “I don’t think it could have happened. But thanks, you know?” He grinned a little.
He noticed something a little bit different as soon as he got to the trailer, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Besides, if he went around freaking out about a general sense of unease or something seeming “not quite right” every time he noticed something of the sort he’d never stop. When he let himself into the trailer, though, his sense of foreboding was proven correct.
Dad lay on the floor of the trailer, face red, drenched in sweat. His teeth had locked together in a grotesque kind of leer, but Sam wasn’t sure how much he was really seeing. “Dad?” Sam asked, rushing forward. “What’s wrong?” He stripped off his long button-down shirt, throwing it onto the back of a chair so it wouldn’t get in the way.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with him, Sammy!” Dean objected. His face had lost all color except for the freckles, and he gazed up from his father’s side like Sam was the elder brother. “He just fell down like this!”
“How long ago?” the boy demanded, putting a hand to his father’s bare skin. The man was burning up; he almost wanted to go and get a cold-water bath.
“About an hour,” Dean reported, wiping his own brow and sagging back. “He was in the middle of a sentence when all of a sudden - this.” He gestured at Sam.
Sam hissed. “Fuck.”
“Watch your language, kid,” Dean reminded.
“It’s the witch.” Sam stood up. “We need to find the hex bag.” He went to the weapons bag, sitting out on the table, and grabbed an iron knife. “So I don’t touch it accidentally,” he explained when Dean looked at him like he had three heads.
Dean nodded. “Where do you think it is?”
“Well, how long have you guys been home?” He turned back to his dad. “Screw it. You look in here; I’ll check the car. He doesn’t look like he’s got much time.”
Sam raced outside and opened the door to the Impala. With Dad grunting on the floor and Dean flailing around, he couldn’t even think. Dad had been hit by the witch. That meant that there was a hex bag, an active hex bag. The presence of an active hex bag meant that there was active spell work. He’d felt active spell work once before. It was worth the two or three seconds to just close his eyes, relax, and see if he could sense anything. Sure, Dean would object, either make fun of him for being such a “girl” about it or get upset that he was wasting time when Dad was dying up in the trailer, but if this worked he’d have saved time Dad didn’t have.
There. The boy could sense the energy right there, like the vaguest tickle on the back of his neck. He concentrated on the feeling, trying to follow it. Was there some way to boost the signal somehow? Magic probably didn’t work that way, but it had to be nearby.
His eye fell to the interior panel of the driver’s side door. The flaw was so tiny, almost no one would have noticed it if they weren’t looking for it. Sam had spent enough time in the car, and was specifically looking for something wrong. He used the iron knife to pry the panel away from the door and saw it there: a small bundle of red flannel, tied with a leather thong. “Got it!” he yelled to Dean. Then he fished the bag onto the end of his knife, brought it out of the car and laid it out on the ground. With a deep breath, he raised the knife and stabbed the hex bag as hard as he could.
He felt the spell snap, giving off an almost audible ping as the energy rebounded… somewhere. He’d need to check his notes to see if Star had said anything about broken spells rebounding on their casters or if that was just the stuff of fantasy novels, but he had to admit that the results were tangible. Had they been enough though?
Dean came running out of the trailer. “What the hell did you do?” he demanded, eyes widening as he saw Sam crouched over the hex bag. “The fever just broke. He’s starting to open his eyes!”
Sam sat back on the ground, laughing to himself. “I guess it worked!”
Dean blinked. “You guess?” He went back inside.
After another couple of minutes, Dean re-emerged, John in tow. The patriarch looked awful - his eyes were sunken and his hair plastered to his head with now-cold sweat. His eyes, though, glittered dark and clear as he leaned on his son. “Sam, report,” he snapped, voice hoarse.
“It seemed clear from Dean’s description that you’d been hit by the witch, sir,” Sam told him, standing up. “I came outside to find the hex bag while I told Dean to stay indoors and look. It didn’t seem like you had a lot of time left and I thought we would save more time that way. I figured that the witch would have the most access to the car, so I started there.”
John stared at him for a few seconds, but Sam stared him down. “Just happened to find the hex bag, huh?”
“Yes, sir.” He pointed to the door panel. “I noticed that the inside panel of the door hadn’t been replaced right. Knew that hadn’t been you, sir.”
Dean chuckled. Even John broke character a little, the corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly as he stepped forward. “And how did you break the spell? You didn’t burn the bag, I see.”
“No, sir. I stabbed it with the pure iron knife. I remembered that it worked against most kinds of spirits and ghosts and stuff. I figured that if that didn’t work we could torch it, but if it did work then we’d have a survivor and a recent hex bag to examine before we torched it.” He winced. He probably should have waited, should have either torched the thing or hidden it to help the Teall coven keep the matter internal. It was too late now, though.
John nodded. “Not bad,” he decided. Sam thought it probably hurt him to say that. “Alright. Dean, c’mere. It’s probably a bad idea for me to touch this thing. Why don’t you cut the thing open and see what you can find?”
Sam folded his lips together and stepped back. He’d just saved his father’s life, but he wasn’t going to be allowed to be part of the investigation. Of course not. He’d never be good enough, no matter what he did. “Looks like that same stuff from before to start with. Hellebore, you said, coriander. Um, some ashes? And maybe some -“
John held up a hand. “Sam, the trailer’s a mess. It had better not be a mess by the time I go back inside.”
Damn it! His hands clenched into fists as he marched back into the trailer. “He did find the hex bag, sir,” Dean murmured behind him.
“So? Doesn’t mean he should be hearing about this stuff. The last thing we need is for him to be getting ideas in his head about witches. Don’t you remember when he wanted to reason with a ghost? He can’t be trusted, Dean.” John coughed, a violent and sooty-sounding affair. “Alright. From the top.”
Between John and Dean, they had made a decent-sized mess in the trailer, Sam had to admit. He got to tidying the place up, punching walls as he went along. He had just saved his father’s life. He’d saved his father’s life and he was still the “untrustworthy” one, the one who had to be kept busy out of the way somewhere while everyone else got on with the real work. He’d never measure up, he’d never be allowed to measure up. He’d come up with a solution, all on his own, that would give them clues - but he was still too stupid to be allowed to even see what was inside the stupid hex bag.
He’d finished cleaning and unrolled his bedroll by the time his elders came back inside. A petty and bitter part of him suspected that was part of John’s plan, so that they wouldn’t have to talk to him directly and so that they could save money on letting him eat dinner, but he didn’t say anything. Getting kicked to the side had kind of soured his appetite anyway.
The next day he went to the Teall Farm after training. Before he left, though, Dean passed him a note when their father wasn’t looking. Once he sat safely in the passenger seat of Star’s car, he could take the time to read it. Hex bag contents: Hellebore, coriander, ashes, black wax, maybe blood, a scrap of an old shirt of Dad’s that’s been in the trunk of the Impala for over a year.
“Interesting reading?” Star wanted to know.
“My dad got attacked by the rogue witch last night,” he admitted, leaning his head against the window. He saw no reason to lie, not to her. “They didn’t want me around when they opened up the hex bag but Dean got me the list of contents.”
“Your father was targeted?” she gasped. “Oh, Sam, I’m so sorry! Wait - he survived?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, we figured out what was happening. I could kind of feel it, you know? So I found the hex bag.” He explained how he’d found the thing and how he’d broken the spell. “I wasn’t sure that would work, but you told us that iron is usually pretty effective against most kinds of magic so I kind of went with it.” He sighed. “For all the good it did me. My dad still hates me.”
“Do you think he really hates you, Sam?”
He swallowed. “I know he does. But it doesn’t matter. He’s still alive, he’s fine. I shouldn’t - I shouldn’t think about things like getting paid back by earning his respect or something. That’s selfish of me. It’s why he hates me. I need to focus on just saving lives because it’s the right thing to do.”
“Sam, your father should respect you because that’s the right thing to do. A ten year old isn’t supposed to be a lifesaver. But that’s… that’s a family matter, I guess. I can see why the rogue witch targeted him, though.”
Sam jumped. “Huh?”
“Well, you told me that she seems to be going after people who aren’t very nice to their kids.” She shrugged. “I know you say it’s a training accident but come on, Sam. We can all see. Don’t get upset - I know you don’t want to say anything against your dad, that’s normal. Natural. But he’s not exactly treating you right.”
Sam sighed. “A lot of people have it worse, okay? He’s trying to teach me. He thinks he’s keeping me safe. I’m not sure how that works, in his head, but he’s not trying to be cruel. He truly believes he’s doing the right thing.” He felt his lip curl and thought he was smiling. “I mean, it’s not like a black dog is going to wait for me to grow a little more before it comes for me, you know?”
“I suppose not.” She kept her eyes on the road. “But if you want to talk, you know where I am.”
He smiled softly. She was awesome, she was the best, but she couldn’t understand. She understood some of what was out there. In some ways she understood more than he did. Still, she couldn’t entirely wrap her head around the Winchester way of life. No one who had a settled home and family could. “Yeah. Thanks.”
He spent his morning the usual way, working on practical uses for plants. He mentioned to Rachel the herbs that had been found in both hex bags, and she turned pale. “That sounds like fairly intense magic, Sam. Well, I suppose that it would be, all things considered. I don’t suppose you could get the hex bags to us, could you?”
“No ma’am. My dad and brother torched them.” He sighed. “I just… I wish there was some way that I could protect them from those things, you know?”
She nodded, face softening with sympathy. “Most of the spells that I can think of for protection from magic are for settled homes, and while that would be fine for the trailer they wouldn’t work all that well once you left.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’m sure you’re not going to just forget about this once the rogue witch is neutralized.”
He shook his head fiercely. “I can’t. If anything happens to my dad, Dean and I will wind up in foster care. We’ll be separated. I can’t let that happen. I can’t!”
“I can see where that would be a scary prospect for you, Sam. I think that I might be able to find you a book that might offer some suggestions.” She winked. “Let me see what I can do.”
“What will happen if you figure out who the witch is?’ He sat down on a stool.
She bit her lip. “Well, that depends on who she is. We would need to find the best way to neutralize her. If she’s a demonic witch, then we’d have to kill her. It’s not ideal, but there’s no other way to stop her from doing it again.” Sam swallowed, but he nodded. “If she’s not gone down that particular path, there are ways to bind her so that she can’t hurt people but can still live a life. Clearly she has strong feelings and wants to help people; she may be in need of help herself.”
Sam licked his lips. “Have you narrowed it down at all yet? I’ve been trying to encourage Dad and Dean to stay away from Preble but -“
“Preble?” She blinked at him, putting him in mind of an owl. “What’s in Preble, Sam?”
“Um, Laura thought that the attacks were centered around Preble. So she thought that the witch might be located there. She - I thought she had talked to all of you about that.”
“Huh.” The teacher rocked her head from side to side. “Okay. Maybe she did. I must have just forgotten. All right. Let’s get back to decanting this tincture, shall we?”
After lunch, Sam went to learn about protective measures with Star and Susan. He had no doubt that Rachel had put a bug in Star’s ear about what topics to cover.
Before he left, Rachel passed him a book. The binding looked new, but the title looked like something right off one of Pastor Jim’s dusty shelves. “Folkloric Beliefs About The Evil Eye,” he read aloud. “Thanks. I’ll have it back to you by the end of the weekend.”
“Keep it,” she waved. “I’ve got another copy around here somewhere, and I know we’ve all read it a thousand times. I know you’ve probably got more use for it than we do at this point, and it has enough of a scholarly look to it that it shouldn’t cause trouble for you if you get caught with it. I’ve marked pages that might be of interest to you with some pressed flowers.”
Star drove him home. “Are you feeling a little better?” she asked him.
“Actually, yeah,” he admitted. “I think I am.”
When he got back to the house, his father and brother were waiting for him. “Sammy, tell us more about this family you’ve been hanging around with all this time,” Dean urged.
Sam thought his blood might have turned to ice in his veins. He hadn’t left anything incriminating at the house, everything was in his backpack, but he still had the incriminating evidence on his back as he stood under the piercing gaze of both his father and his brother. “They’re farmers,” he shrugged. “Nice people. Susan’s the youngest kid, I think there are six. Star’s the oldest. Why?”
“Are there any men on the property?” Dad rumbled.
Sam snorted. “Not unless they hire day laborers to help with the harvest. They’re kind of like a commune. What’s going on?” He forced himself to walk over to the couch and sit down.
“I asked at one of the greenhouses,” his father told him. “They told me that they bought their hellebore from the Teall Farm.”
“They probably did. The Tealls supply a lot of ornamental plants, herbs and shrubs to more than a few of the greenhouses and big box stores around here. It’s how they make their money. They sell regular crops too, but they do a lot of that kind of garden-center work.” It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the entire truth, but it wasn’t a lie.
“And they’re all women,” Dean pressed. “A bunch of chicks, all living together.” He licked his lips and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Gross, Dean,” Sam objected, rolling his eyes. “Are you trying to suggest that someone on the Teall Farm is a witch?”
“Your little girlfriend Star has access to my car whenever I go to the grocery store,” John pointed out. “It’s the perfect opportunity to break in, get my shirt, and get out without raising suspicions.”
“Except she couldn’t have cast that spell on you.” Sam didn’t even bother to hide the contempt from his voice. “She’d wanted to drive me home. When the spell was cast, she’d intended to be in the car. Besides, who heard of a witch powerful enough to kill people working in the grocery store the summer before college? She’d be building up her money some other way, some less dull way.” He shook his head. “Look. I shouldn’t be telling you this since you obviously have some kind of a… a thing about women living unsupervised -“
“You watch your tone!” Dad barked.
Sam relaxed a little. He’d diverted some of Dad’s attention, at least. “I happened to get a glimpse of some of their sales reports while I was there - you know, learning about herbalism and the business and everything - and it looks like they’ve sold more than a little bit of hellebore to some people up in the Nedrow area. Individuals, not garden centers or whatever. That might be a good place to start looking.”
John snarled and turned away. Dean scowled. “You didn’t think to tell us this earlier, Sammy?”
“Well, it’s not like you gave me a chance,” Sam retorted, exaggerating the eye roll and leaning back, spreading his arms wide. His pulse thundered in his ears, but he couldn’t show fear. “You got in my face about the Tealls as soon as I walked in the door. I just saw these records today, Dean.”
John grabbed his keys off the table. “I’m going to go check Nedrow out. You boys stay here.” He thundered out the door.
Dean looked at Sam. Sam looked at Dean. “What?”
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