Supernatural Fiction & Art

Something dripped on Sam's face. He opened his eyes to find Jessica pinned to the ceiling. He screamed something, he couldn't remember what. Flames started to come out of her body, and he could see the expression on her face. He couldn't get that look out of his mind and yet he couldn't put a name to it. Fear? Betrayal? Lost hope?

Suddenly, Dean was there, pulling him from his burning bedroom. Sam remembered seeking out Jessica's form in the flames as Dean pulled him in the other direction. Next thing he knew, he was sitting on the curb.

Sam felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to find Dean and a medic. "Hey, Sammy," Dean knelt down to talk to him, "this guy here wants to listen to your lungs, make sure you didn't breathe in too much smoke."

The medic knelt down, "Sam, is it? I need to listen to you breathe." He moved the stethoscope around and told Sam to take some deep breaths. "You check out okay. Just try to take it easy for the next day or two."

Sam didn't even move. "I'll make sure he does," Dean smiled at the medic.

Sam saw a stretcher getting pushed to the waiting ambulance and abruptly stood up. "Is that her? I have to see her!"

Both men stepped in his way. "There was nothing left," Dean said softly. "There was nothing to save." Sam's legs started to buckle and Dean caught him. "It's alright, Sammy. Let's just get you to the car."

The medic helped him get Sam in and then asked, "Do you need any more help with him? Will you two be okay?"

"We'll be fine," Dean answered. "We're brothers. We've been taking care of each other for a long time."

The medic nodded and walked off.

Dean got in the car and looked at Sam, who sat stone still in the passenger seat. He said nothing as Dean drove them to the motel and checked them in. Dean carried his duffel as he helped Sam into the room.

"I don't have a toothbrush," was the first thing Sam had said since he thought Jess was on the stretcher.

"I'll get you one tomorrow, along with anything else you need," Dean assured him. Sam just nodded.

Dean brought Sam into the bathroom so that he could get in the shower and get the smell of smoke off him. It became apparent that Sam wasn't going to be much help. Dean started to take off Sam's clothing and Sam didn't react at all. Dean decided a bath would be better.

Dean helped Sam fold his long body into the tub. Dean kept repeating things like, "It's going to be okay," or other little phrases to help keep Sam calm and try to get him to respond in any way at all. Dean washed Sam's hair twice, the smoke smell was too strong.

When he thought Sam was as clean as he could get him, Dean methodically got him out of the tub, dried him off, and dressed him in Dean's boxers and t-shirt. They weren't the right size but they were something.

Dean led him to the bed, pulled down the covers and helped Sam climb in. Then he covered him up. "You comfortable?" He didn't get a response but he didn't expect one either. Dean took a shower, gathered up all the clothing that smelled like smoke, put them in a garbage bag, and carried them out to the trunk. Laundry would have to wait for another day.

His little brother was devastated over the death of his girlfriend. Dean was going to do the best he could to help him through it. Even when he didn't know where to start.

Dean watched Sam not sleep. Sam laid in bed, on his back, staring at the ceiling. In the sunlight coming in the window, Dean could see the shimmer of tears sliding down the side of Sam's face to land on his pillow after soaking his hair.

Dean wanted to comfort Sam, but he had no idea how. He tried to put himself in Sam's place, which wasn't a nice place to be. Dean knew that he would want to have a chance to grieve in private. There wasn't much privacy provided in their motel room, but Dean could let Sam have the privacy of his bed. All Dean could do was keep a close eye on him so he could jump in whenever Sam needed him.

Dean drifted off to a troubled sleep. He slept lightly because his mind was still tuned into Sam. When Sam screamed, Dean bolted out of bed and looked down at Sam. He was just waking up from a nightmare and Dean could tell by the look on his face that he didn't know where he was.

Dean sat on the side of Sam's bed and brushed some hair away from Sam's face. "We're at a motel, Sam. You're safe."

Sam swallowed and gave Dean a hard look. "Why am I here?"

Dean sighed. He was unsure of what Sam remembered and what he wanted to know. "Your apartment started on fire tonight. Nothing could be salvaged."

"Jessica?" Sam's lip quivered.

Dean just pressed his lips together and shook his head.

After a minute, Sam told Dean, "I saw her on the ceiling. She was on fire."

"I know," Dean kept his voice soft. "I found you there and got you out."

"Why would the demon take Jess?"

"I don't know, Sam."

"It was the demon, wasn't it?"

"With what I remember from when Mom was killed," Dean thought back, "I'm almost sure that it was. They were killed the same way."

"Because of me?" Sam's voice squeaked.

"Because of the damn demon," Dean replied. "Did you get any sleep?"

"I must have, but it was just like a replay of tonight," Sam seemed unsure. "How did I get out again?"

"I pulled you out," Dean explained. "You were screaming when I got inside. I grabbed your arm to get you out and you fought me, trying to get to Jessica." Sam sat up in bed. "You're stronger than I remember, Sam. Once I got you out of the bedroom, and you couldn't see Jessica anymore, you came with me more willingly."

"I just saw her there . . . I thought there might be a chance, a small chance . . ." Sam's voice drifted off.

"There wasn't, Sam. If I would have thought there was the slightest chance that Jessica would still have been alive, I would have helped you get to her. But, there was no way that she was still alive when I got there. She'd probably passed away before you even got home, for sure she was gone before the flames started."

"What time is it?" Sam looked around for the clock. "I have that interview today."

"You missed it, Sam. I'm sure they'd understand if you wanted to reschedule."

Sam was quiet.

"It's after business hours, Sam. You could call tomorrow."

"I don't know what to do now. Did someone call Jessica's parents?"

"One of her friends, I can't remember her name. She wrote down her name and number and I put it in my pocket," Dean told him. "Our clothes are in the car because of the smoke smell. Do you want me to go it?"

"As long as her parents were called," Sam's tears started again. "I should have been the one to call."

"You weren't up to calling anyone," Dean wiped a few of Sam's tears away. "I can try to find your phone when you want to call them. I'm sure they'd like to hear from you."

"What would I tell them?" Sam had a pained look on his face. "I can't tell them what I really saw. What do I say when they ask how I got out and yet I didn't get her out with me?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know. You can rest on it, Sam."

"No, I should call them now," Sam insisted. "Can you find my phone?"

Dean nodded and went outside. Sam rubbed his face, finding it hard to believe all that had happened. He went to splash some cool water on his face and Dean handed his phone when he came back out.

"Are you sure you're ready?" Dean asked him.

"I'll never be ready," Sam commented as he took the phone and found their number. Dean could hear the phone ringing. "Hi, this is Sam. I'm sorry about Jessica-" Dean could hear a voice on the other end. He was sitting near Sam, ready to take the phone away if the call turned into something Sam was unable to handle. "Thursday? Yeah, I'll be there. Do you have my number? I guess it would be on your caller ID. You can call me from the airport when you come in. My brother and I can pick you up. Okay. Me, too. Goodbye." Sam closed the phone and took a deep breath. "Jessica's folks will be flying in on Thursday, they insist they'll take a cab from the airport but they have my number."

Dean just nodded as he listened. "Did you want Dad to come here?" he asked when Sam was done.

"I don't know," Sam's words came slow. "I guess he should be here but I can't be the one to call him. Not after how he left it."

"I'll call him," Dean offered. "I'll probably just get his voicemail again but I can leave a message. This is something he should know about." Dean thought for a moment. "Are you hungry? We should get something to eat." Sam shrugged. "Dig through my bag to see what might fit you. We can stop to get you some clothes, too, if you're up to it."

Dean quickly dressed and walked outside to call his dad. Sam didn't need to hear him leaving the voicemail. "Dad, the demon's back. Sam's apartment burned down last night, his girlfriend, Jessica, was pinned to the ceiling and that's where the flames started. Just like with Mom. We need you here, Dad. Sam's in bad shape, and I'm not sure how to help him. Call me back or just come. Bye."

John closed his cell phone with a sad look on his face. He could hear in Dean's voice that he was hurting, and Sam . . . Well, he knew Sam was going though hell. He stood there, leaning against his truck on the side of the gravel road and just felt the wind blow by. He couldn't call the boys back. He couldn't go there. He knew they needed him, but he still couldn't.

Feeling like a failure, he phoned Bobby. He cleared his throat while the phone was ringing. He didn't want Bobby to hear the tears in his voice.

"Hello," Bobby picked up on the second ring.

"Hi, Bobby," John said slowly. "You at home?"

"Yeah, just fighting with this damn engine. It worked fine until I dropped it into this car, I swear the damn car is cursed. It's been giving me hell all day."

"Can I stop by?"

"Sure," Bobby answered. "I need a reason to stop beating my head against the wall with this thing."

"Be there tonight."

John put his phone back in his pocket and tried to just concentrate on getting to Bobby's. His mind kept drifting back to the boys, and he'd have to try to push it aside and think of something else. He didn't need to end up in the ditch.

Bobby heard the Impala before he saw it. He got out from under the hood and wiped his hands on a rag as the car came into view. When he first looked at John, he knew something was wrong.

"John," Bobby shook his hand as he studied his face. "What's going on?"

"Inside," was all John said and Bobby easily fell into step beside him.

John started pacing as soon as he got inside. Bobby stopped, just inside the door, confused. John started pushing buttons on his cell. Then he thrust it at Bobby, "Listen."

Bobby listened to Dean's message. He heard the words and all the pain and need behind them. John had stopped pacing as was staring at Bobby as he listened. When Bobby had heard the whole message, he passed the phone back to John, unsure of what to say or do.

John stuffed the phone back in his pocket and looked at Bobby with pleading eyes. "I've failed my boys again," his voice cracked and his eyes filled with tears. "I can't go and face Sammy. Not after what I said. I can't watch him go through the loss that I felt with Mary."

Bobby just nodded. "So you need to stay here."

"I needed a place where I felt safe and knew I wouldn't be judged."

"We've led different lives, John, but you know I'll never judge you."

John looked at him trying to blink away some tears and nodded. He knew he'd come to the right place.

Bobby took a few steps forward and gathered John into his arms. "It's okay, John. It's only me." With that, John's silent tears turned to sobs. He was crying for the sons he couldn't reach out to and the wife that had been taken by him. He had bottled it up for so long, it came gushing out. He couldn't control it.

When John started to pull himself back together, he noticed that he was sitting on the couch clinging to Bobby's shirt. Bobby's shirt was soaked through. Bobby just kept rubbing John's back, trying to comfort him and yet knowing that he wouldn't be able to. The first time John had fallen apart was because of Mary. Bobby knew he just had to be there, even though he couldn't make it better.

John's breathing had slowed to normal and Bobby continued to rub his back. The way they were situated on the couch, Bobby would be fine if John fell asleep. The poor guy probably needed some sleep.

Bobby closed his eyes and drifted off. John was already asleep, with two fistfuls of flannel.

It was late when they awoke. Bobby made some sandwiches and he watched John eat very little and pick at the rest. He didn’t comment on it, though. John knew how to take care of himself.

They parted ways when John went upstairs to the spare room that had always been his. John stopped in the doorway of the room that his boys shared and guilt and failure washed over him again. He slowly turned away and went to his room.

Bobby left the light over the kitchen sink on in case John needed something during the night. Then, he wearily got ready for bed. He’d been at the height of frustration and the depths of despair, all in one day.

Bobby was almost asleep when he heard the floorboards creak. John’s voice drifted in the darkness, “Bobby, I-” He didn’t need to finish what he was saying. Bobby just scooted over and made room for John.

After John had finished shifting around in bed, Bobby said, “You know they’re gonna be okay, right?”

“Yeah.” John didn’t sound convinced.

“You’re going to be alright, too,” Bobby added. “You’ve hit a rough spot, I won’t deny that. But, it will get better.”

“Will the boys ever trust me again?”

“It will take time,” Bobby answered. “Eventually, they will. It all comes out in the wash, John. When they are old enough, they’ll understand more.”

“I couldn’t go. I would be picturing Mary and seeing the same grief on Sam’s face that I feel everyday.”

“I know.”

John was silent in the dark.

“You forget that I know you, John. I understand you better than the boys do just because I’m older. Give them time to experience life and they will understand better, or just decide that the past is past and let it go.”

“You wanna convince them of that ‘past is the past’ thing for me?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you, Bobby,” John put a hand on Bobby’s shoulder.

Bobby placed on of his on top of John’s. “Don’t mention it, John. Just get some sleep.”

Sam wasn't sleeping at night or eating during the day. He moved through the motions but seldom sounded like himself. Sometimes, he slipped back into where he was right after the fire. Sam would go into a trance or just be unable to respond or move on his own.

The second night at the motel, Sam slid into Dean's bed during the night. "Sam?" Dean was still half-asleep. "Are you okay?"

"Don't want to be alone," was all Sam said as he curled up behind Dean.

Dean rolled over to face him and saw his tear-streaked cheeks in the moonlight. "I wish I could make it easier for you, Sammy," Dean whispered as he brushed the tears away gently. Sam just looked at him with his big, sad eyes. "I'm right here, Sammy," Dean took one of Sam's hands and pressed it to his chest. "Whenever you feel alone, just reach out. I'm right here." Dean held Sam's hand to his chest. He wanted to keep Sam anchored in the world around him. That might help Sam from disappearing into his head, his own world of pain, and Dean from needing to draw him out again.

Sam moved closer to Dean in his sleep. Dean thought Sam might have woken up, but when he opened his eyes, Sam's eyes were closed. He was so exhausted that he even snored a little. Poor kid. Dean was going to do his best to help Sam through it.

***

John woke up and Bobby had already made breakfast and was watching some television.

"You get some sleep?" Bobby asked him.

"Yeah," John replied. "I slept later than I intended to."

"Well, you needed it. I left your breakfast on a plate on the counter. Just nuke it."

"Thanks," John placed the food in the microwave and hit start. He walked back into the living room, "I think I'll call the boys today."

"Yeah? You sure you're up to it?"

"It has to be about them," John reasoned. "I think I can talk to Sam over the phone, even hearing all the pain and loss in his voice. I have to be strong enough to do that. I'm his Dad."

Bobby just nodded. "Let me know how it goes. Do you know what you are going to say?"

"Not yet," John paused. "I'll think about it over breakfast."

"Good idea," Bobby watched John turn to go back to the kitchen. He thought about the lost and broken man who had pulled into his driveway, the one who had fallen to pieces in his arms. John had needed someone to understand him and to get some rest. After he had those, after at least part of what he needed was met, he was back to being himself. John was one to bounce back quick. Bobby also knew that if he bounced back too quickly, he had a greater chance of breaking down again.

***

Sam and Dean were eating sandwiches in their motel room when Sam's cell rang. Sam snapped it open, "Hello."

"Hi, Sam. I'm so sorry to hear about Jessica. How are you boys doing?" John hoped that Sam would say something because he'd already said everything he'd thought of during breakfast.

"Dad?" Sam's voice cracked. Dean sat straighter in his chair, ready to pounce and grab the phone from Sam if he needed to.

"Yeah, it's me Sam," the fact that Sam didn't think John would care enough to call made John hurt more. "I won't be able to come to California, but I needed to call."

"Jess died," Sam was starting to cry and Dean was wondering if he should grab the phone or not.

"I know, Dean told me in his message."

"Dean's here," Sam couldn't form sentences, his grief was coming back full-force.

"Do you need any money? Did either of you get hurt in the fire?" John was concerned about his sons. It didn't matter how old they were or how far away they were located. He kept them as little boys close to his heart and memories.

"Jess died," Sam choked on the words and couldn't talk anymore.

Dean took the phone from Sam. "Dad?"

"I'm here, Dean," John had his own tears to deal with after hearing Sam's voice. "Did either of you get hurt in the fire?"

"Smoke inhalation, the medics checked us out," Dean replied. "Jess's folks are flying in and her prayer service is tomorrow night with her funeral the next day."

"How is Sam doing?" John almost hated to ask the question, knowing what the answer would probably be.

"Just how he sounds," Dean replied. "You know . . ."

Dean didn't want to talk about Sam in front of him. So, John asked questions. "Is he eating?"

"Very little."

"Is he sleeping?"

"Last night was okay," Dean watched Sam pick at his sandwich as the tears made trails down his face.

"Do you need any money?"

"No. We're fine, Dad."

"Keep a close eye on your weapons, Dean," John warned. "Sam just lost a big piece of himself. He might want to make a final exit to make the pain go away."

All the time Dean had been thinking about how to help Sam, he never once thought about removing weapons from their room. They had grown up with them. But, Dean knew to take his dad's advice. Dad would know since he lost Mom. For a moment, Dean wondered if his dad had thought of ending it after losing his wife. He probably had. The fact that he had Dean and Sammy was most likely the only reason that he didn't.

"I'll do that, Dad," Dean replied as he saw Sam take an actual bite of sandwich.

"I'm sorry about Jessica, Dean. Will you tell Sam that for me? I don't know if he heard me when I told him."

"Yeah, I'll tell him," Dean took a few paces away so that Sam wouldn't overhear the next part. "Dad, I never said it because it didn't cross my mind before now. I'm sorry Mom died. Watching over Sam has given me a new perspective on loss."

"I'm sorry you lost your mom, too, Dean," John felt some relief and wasn't sure why. "I'll keep my phone close in case you two need to call. Just leave a message like usual if you can't reach me. Call anytime, I remember how bad the nights are."

Dean made a mental note that the nights were going to be hell for awhile. They had to be hell if Dad said they were bad.

"We will. I'll take good care of him, Dad."

"I know you will Dean. I wouldn't trust anyone but you to take care of Sam."

After a moment of silence, Dean told him how Sam was still considering staying in school. If Sam decided he wanted to stay, Dean would just put off hunting and stay with him.

"Good plan, son," John said. "I need to go right now, but remember to call."

"We will, Dad. Bye." Dean closed the phone and looked at Sam. Sam looked haggard and empty. "You need another sandwich, Sam?" Dean asked as he approached Sam at the table. Sam didn't answer him. Dean feared that Sam had disappeared into his sadness. Dean stood there, wondering how to get him back. Then, he felt a brush at his sleeve.

"I'm right here, Sam," Dean took Sam's hand in his. Sam had remembered to reach out if he felt alone. That was a step in the right direction. Sam had put his sandwich down and was just sitting there looking forlorn. "Come on, Sammy," Dean took Sam's shoes and coat off. When he'd had to let go of Sam's hand, he'd made sure to place it on his shoulder so Sam would still have that connection. Dean drug off his own boots, too. "Let's get you back to bed," Dean grabbed Sam's arm to help him up. He sat on the bed and Dean helped him swing his legs in and lie down. Dean tried to let go of Sam's hand to walk around to the other side of the bed, but Sam held on tighter. So, Dean crawled over Sam to get into bed. "See?" he told Sam, "I'm right here. You are not alone. Just reach out like before." Sam nodded and his eyes started to fall shut. "Sleep, Sammy. I'll stay here."

***

"How'd it go?" Bobby asked John as he walked into the kitchen.

"Dean told me that he was sorry Mary died," John sounded thoughtful. "He said that taking care of Sam has given him a new perspective on what it had been like for me."

"What did you say?"

"I told him I was sorry his mom died." John stopped for a moment. "I don't know if I ever actually told him that before."

"You might not have said it, but you showed it to them with your actions," Bobby was glad John had called and made a connection with the boys. Their relationship had been so strained lately.

"Did I?" John asked. "Did you actually see me do that?"

Bobby had to think about it for a minute, "You kissed their boo-boos and made sure I did, too, when they were little. You tucked them into bed each night when they were young, or else you had someone else make sure they did it. You showed it to them when they were small, John. It's after they got bigger that you seemed to quit. Then again, kisses only make owies go away up to a certain age. You did good, John."

"I hope so," John exhaled a big breath. "Sam is falling apart. I told Dean to watch his weapons in case Sam decided to make a final exit."

"Do you really think he'd do that?"

"I thought about it after Mary, Bobby."

"I know you did," Bobby replied. "But she was your wife. You had a life together."

"Sam loved Jessica and they had an apartment together. Sam's sensitive. This loss is huge."

Bobby nodded. "At least he has Dean. They take good care of each other."

John was proud of his sons, "Yes, they do."

An hour later, John fell asleep sitting on the couch. Bobby carefully moved him so that he was lying down with a pillow and then covered him up. He made sure that John's cell phone was beside the couch on the end table. Bobby knew John meant it when he told the boys to call him anytime.

With John taken care of, Bobby made sure not to slam the screen door as he went outside. He took a few deep breaths of fresh air before heading back to the damned car that was giving him so much trouble. Today was definitely better than yesterday.

The next day was Jessica's prayer service. Dean coaxed Sam into the shower that afternoon. Dean took the opportunity to go though and hide all the weapons. When he came back in, Sam was still in the shower. He thought that was odd, so he opened the door a crack, "Sam?" No answer. Dean stepped inside and he could hear another noise above the running of the shower. "Sam?" he tried once more. When he didn't answer, Dean opened the curtain an little and saw Sam sitting in the tub at the far end. He was hugging his knees as sobs ripped through his body. "I'm here, Sam," Dean touched his shoulder and noticed the shampoo still in his hair. He turned off the shower and started to run water for a bath.

As the water filled the tub, Dean tried to get him to relax the grip on his knees. Once that was done, he took one of the plastic cups from the bathroom sink and started to rinse the shampoo out of Sam's hair, talking to him all the while. When the shampoo was out, he helped Sam out of the tub and into sweats and a t-shirt.

Dean watched some boring daytime television with Sam's head on a pillow on his lap. Sam had wrapped one of his long arms around Dean's waist to make sure he stayed there. But, Sam got some sleep. Dean had figured that getting ready for Jessica's prayer service would take quite a few steps.

Sam's eyes were raw and red by the time they arrived at the prayer service. Dean stood back in the shadows as Sam spoke with Jessica's parents. He met Sam in the aisle and they found a place to sit. There was a picture sitting on top of Jessica's casket, which was empty since there was nothing left of her. They sat in the pew and Dean put his hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam moved his hand on the seat of the pew until his little finger touched Dean's jeans. He needed someone to hold onto while the heartache and memories swirled around him. Since Jess wasn't there to hold, he needed to make sure Dean was there. The feel of his jeans, the weight of his hand on Sam's shoulder, told Sam that he would be okay. He would survive this. And, he was not alone.

Sam was quiet on the way back to the motel. "Sam?" Dean asked softly. "You okay?" Sam nodded. "You don't have to go to the funeral tomorrow, you know," Dean told him.

"I need to know where she is buried," Sam replied.

"We can find that out without you needing to go through this again tomorrow." Sam was silent, so Dean went on, "Did you say your goodbyes to Jessica tonight?"

"Yeah."

"Do you have anything else you have to do to lay her at peace in your head?"

"No. I know she's at peace."

"What more could a funeral do for you?" Dean asked.

"I'll be expected to go because I'm her boyfriend."

"You don't always need to do what's expected of you, Sam." Dean tried to look at him. "Right now, you need to do what's best for you."

"I'll think about it," Sam replied.

Dean just nodded.

***

Back at the motel, Sam said, "I can't tell if her parents blame me or not."

"They're probably missing her so bad right now that they aren't looking for someone to blame. If ever they do try to pin the blame on someone, it won't be you."

"How do you figure?"

"You loved Jessica as much as they did, just in a different way," Dean said. "You would have done anything to save her. If they know you at all, they're sure of that."

"I think her folks liked me," Sam thought about it. "Jess said they loved me."

"They most likely did," Dean agreed. "You loved Jessica and were very good to her."

"She was good to me," Sam's voice was soft. "And I lied to her, Dean. I lied to the woman that I loved when she asked about my past or my family. I lied or switched the subject and she loved me enough to let me get away with it."

"Our family and our past are hard to explain," Dean told him. "You couldn't have told her anything unless you told her everything. We're an all or nothing bunch."

Sam just sighed. "I didn't like to lie. I still don't."

"It isn't you, Sam. Lying just ain't you."

They laid down for bed and Sam asked if he could sleep by Dean. Dean said, "We've done it ever since we were little, Sam. Why would I mind now?"

Sam smiled his thanks, grateful that Dean didn't point out that he had stopped slipping into Dean's bed when he was ten or twelve.

Lying there in the dark, Dean asked, "Think you'll go to the funeral tomorrow?"

"No," whispered Sam. "I don't think I need to. I've said my goodbyes. She knew how much I loved her. There's nothing more for me to say. There's nothing I could gain by going. I'd just like to know where she is buried in case I want to visit later."

"I can find out for you," Dean whispered back. "Don't worry about that." He paused. "Have you thought about the interview?"

"I wasn't up to calling before, but I'll call tomorrow and explain why I didn't show."

"I think they know why, Sam. It shouldn't be a problem to get an interview. I guess what I am asking is if you want to stay in school. I'd stay here with you if you did."

"You would?"

"Sure I would. Did you think I was just going to drop you on the doorstep of another apartment and drive out of your life?"

"I didn't know. I thought you'd be itching to hunt by now."

"Not when you need me, Sam. We can let Dad chase the evil solo for awhile."