A/N: Apologies for not updating sooner. The entire series has a basic plotline already written out, it's just getting it written and making it decent that's the trouble.

Sam was silent for the first half of the car ride.

The tension could have been cut with a knife, and Dean certainly had enough of them that it was a very real possibility. Though his brother seemed reluctant to do much of anything other than pointedly stare out the window like his gaze could bore a hole in the glass.

Also a very real possibility.

John gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were starting to pale, and so far the only sound that wasn't the engine was Sam's own uncomfortable shifting every few minutes.

They'd managed only three more days at Bobby's before John gave the word. By that point, Dean had failed to disappear while they were sleeping, which left only two other options. Either stay at the Salvage Yard and help fix the bike, or go with John and Sam to their next destination. Which, incidentally, was what lead to the road trip from hell.

If someone didn't speak, or at least turn the radio on, Sam thought he might die.

"Do you have a hunt lined up?" Oh, finally. Salvation. Dean didn't seem like he'd speak to either of them unless they addressed him first, but then again, it seemed like he couldn't stand the suffocating silence either.

John didn't relax at all. "We're not -"

"You can't expect me to sit on my ass until my bike is ready. If hunting makes it go by faster -"

"Let me rephrase. You're not hunting. Not with that hole in your chest, not now, not ever."

This couldn't be John Winchester.

Sam had to wrestle with being angry about it. He'd never known his father to be anything but obsessed with the demon and mowing down any monster that happened to be in his path. After Dean had died, it had gotten so much worse. That was when Sam started training. Before, John had at least been content to let Sam stick to books. He was safer, that way. But once Dean was gone, he changed. Whatever margin of safety that Sam had been comfortably residing in was nonexistent now. He needed to be able to protect himself. From monsters and people.

And now John was practically throwing it all away just to keep Dean from blowing up. Or worse, blowing them off completely.

Sam squashed the thought as soon as it manifested. He had to keep the circumstances in mind. This wasn't normal, and it wasn't going to be. He knew that Dean could, and probably would, ditch them at the drop of a hat.

"You can't really stop me."

This couldn't end well. The word stop started repeating itself like a well practiced mantra in Sam's head. But John didn't leave it alone. But they both know it couldn't go unsaid. Conversation had to happen sooner or later. Maybe sooner was better.

Best to just get it over with, John thought. He took a deep breath and started again.

"I don't know what you've been getting into for the last couple of years, but it's going to stop. Right now," the car fell silent again. He had to remind himself about the swords sitting in his trunk. Goddamned swords. The amount of things that Bobby found in the kid's cache was large enough to stock a small armory.

Or at least to take up most of the space in the trunk of the impala.

"We're going to lay low for a while. No hunting."

Dean scoffed. "And what, be the Brady Bunch, holed up in some rent-a-shack until my bike is ready? What are you gonna do when I'm gone again? Keep playing happy family while I'm right back to what I've been doing?"

Gone again .

"Dean, stop."

"Or you just going to drag Sam back into your revenge quest, because it's a little late to try and be a normal family. If you hadn't fucking noticed."

"Stop. Lower your voice and watch your language around your brother, " this time, Sam scoffed, slumping down in the back seat. It's not like they were saints. He'd heard worse out of John's mouth plenty.

"You're in no condition to try and hunt right now. And I'll be damned -" he hesitated, "I'll be damned if what little bit of time I get with you is wasted on chasing down some spook that can wait for the next hunter to come along."

Maybe Sam wasn't angry that their long term goals were being derailed. Maybe he was jealous that they finally were, and it wasn't even for him.

At least it wasn't too late. At least he was still a kid, and still had a chance to be a kid.

"So, Brady Bunch it is then."

It was Sam's turn to speak. He stayed quiet and cool, and as soon as he opened his mouth, Dean was looking at him in the rear view mirror. "Why did you come if you hate us so much?"

At first, he might have argued. Instead, he looked pained. John noticed, even if he had to keep his eyes on the road. "...I don't hate you."

"That's not what it sounds like. All you've done is complain. Dad's really trying and you don't care!"

"You think this is easy? You think I can just pretend like none of this is as wrong as it is?"

John was quick to interject before Sam could stick his foot in his mouth, which a quick glance at him through the mirror showed his was just about ready to do.

"No, we don't expect that from you. If you did hate me, you'd have every right. But nothing is keeping you here but you. The last thing I want is for you to hurt any more because coming with us was the wrong move."

"Pull over."

"Dean - "

He shook his head, already gripping the handle. "Just pull over!"

John complied, if only to prevent his son from showing just how far he was willing to go to get away. Dean threw the door open before the car came to a complete stop, disappearing down the incline into the treeline at the edge of the grass. A handful of cars zipped past the shoulder, unaware of the conflict.

"Shit!"

Sam craned his neck and strained his eyes, trying to find the origin of the curse. It was getting too dark to see well. "What's he doing?"

Putting his fist through a small tree.

Sam didn't bother announcing it. Instead, he said what he'd been thinking for a good few hours now. "I think we should have stayed at Bobby's for a few more days."

"This still would have happened. And he would have kicked all of us out."

Or maybe just John. Sam might have to go wherever his dad did, but Bobby wouldn't have kicked him to the curb intentionally. And for the duration of their short visit, he'd seemed a lot more concerned with Dean's wellbeing than anything else. The old man was hard to read, but he'd made a point to keep anything from stressing the kid out. If he knew something they didn't, they'd never find out. But his overall edge had been toned way down.

Whether they would have had to leave sooner rather than later, it still begged the question. "Where are we going?"

"Safe house in Montana. Already stocked up on supplies."

Sam thought about it. He might vaguely remember staying there once as a tot. But any inkling he got of a memory was fuzzed out, and he had to wonder if it was something that they did while that hex bag was clouding their heads. Nothing from those years seemed very clear anymore.

"We're really not doing any hunts while we're there?"

"No, we aren't. I'm going to go get him, lock the doors." The emphasis on we did not go unnoticed, although it went unacknowledged. John was already on the other side of the car, walking across the grass by the time Sam finished rolling his eyes. He reached over the backrest of the front seat and pushed the locks down, before settling back in his spot. He craned his neck trying to see through the darkness.

When John found Dean, the kid was out of breath and clutching his hand. John spotted the upper half of a young tree, laying across the ground a few feet away. The older trees blocked out the moonlight, and the smell of wild animals was trapped in the sticky summer air. God only knew what else was running around those sticks.

"I know it's been a few years, but you know better than to wander around the woods at night."

Dean's labored breathing slowed to a less concerning pace, and leaned back against the trunk of a tree. There was blood on his hand where his skin had split on the bark, but his hand itself didn't look too bad off. And despite the lack of a clear sky, it looked like moonlight was hitting Dean's skin directly. He was perfectly clear in the blurry darkness.

"Real fuckin funny."

John sighed. "I'm being serious, Dean."

"Didn't bother you when I had to wander around the streets at night. Or every night after, for that matter."

"You had a good life when I went back. You were safe." That was the only thing that mattered. That he was safe, that both of them were safe. He'd do anything to change the circumstances, to keep them both with him and give them that apple pie life they'd been missing out on. And he'd been a damned fool to think that safety would last for Dean. For any one of them.

"That's supposed to make it all better? That's supposed to fix anything? Because it doesn't!" Dean was yelling at him now. Maybe he'd feel better when he was done.

"You're right." With that, Dean stopped, snapping his mouth shut to switch from angry to astonished. John continued. "I agonized over it for years, and finding out you died nearly destroyed me, but it doesn't change what happened."

"Then why didn't you come back sooner?" He didn't give John the chance to answer. Instead, he shoved his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie and started walking back to the car, where Sam awkwardly pretended that he hadn't been straining to listen.

Left alone on the edge of the forest, John looked up at the star less sky and sighed. "I don't know."