Every time I think this fic is finished I hear John again. So, here it is, a third part to the journey. I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think. Thank you Red Hardy for the beta :)

Speed Bumps 3

"I want to get my hair cut." Sam's quiet voice startled John. It was dark in the small motel room and he squinted against the dim light to see the pale face of his son as the teenager sat on the edge of his bed, Dean snoring lightly in the background. The only light in the room was coming from the small desk lamp John was reading by. Sam had been quiet all day, barely saying anything to either him or Dean since the run-in he'd had with those three assholes. John wasn't sure what the men had said that had shaken the kid up so badly but he had a very good idea.

"Why?" he asked, tucking down the corner of the page of the book he was reading before closing it, determined to give his budding hunter his undivided attention. Not that he had anything against Sam getting a haircut but it was usually a bone of contention between them and never something the teen actively sought out.

Sam shrugged one shoulder trying for casual. "Just 'cause."

"I thought you liked your hair long." The man watched the boy carefully noting how Sam didn't look at him but fidgeted with a rough spot on the knee of the track pants he had worn to bed. Although he preferred hair regulation short, John'd never strongly enforced it either, remembering how much Mary had loved Dean's page boy haircut when his oldest was younger. So he cut Sam slack when Sam shared the same preference. He got Dean anyway.

Another shrug.

"Sammy," John sighed the name out quietly, "is this about what happened today? 'Cause those guys were just being assholes." That made the kid smile but it was weak at best.

"Yeah, but maybe if I had short hair like Dean…" Sam's words trailed off. A hitched breath made John want to bury those three guys and he prayed that he never laid eyes on them again. No one was allowed to make one of his boys sound like this. Ever.

"Maybe what?" the man pressed gently. He ducked his head low to get a look at the dark eyes that peered up at him through a fringe of bang, the kid did need a trim. "That those bastards wouldn't have cornered you outside our room? Hate to break it to you, kiddo, but shorter hair wouldn't have helped."

"Yeah, but…" Sam repeated, his words petering off too quietly for even John's sensitive hearing to pick out.

"But?" A change in Dean's breathing told John his older son wasn't so oblivious to this conversation anymore and a large part of him was relieved. If he screwed up, Dean'd be there to bail him out. As usual. "I'm sorry, son, I didn't get that."

"I said," Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly, "then they wouldn't look at me like I was a girl."

John actually chuckled. He couldn't help it. "Sammy, I can assure you, no one could ever mistake you for a girl."

Sam shot him a disbelieving look and the older man sighed heavily. Okay, time to be serious. "Son-"

"Never mind," the kid shot to his feet quickly and headed for the bathroom. "Forget I ever said anything!"

John winced in preparation of a slammed door and then frowned when Sam shut it quietly, effectively cutting himself off from his family.

"He's still pretty shaken up," Dean's voice unusually soft and sleep slurred offered from the bed as the older teen slowly sat up and rubbed at his eyes. He stifled a yawn and then followed John's gaze to the closed door. "Those guys really got to him."

"Has he said anything to you?" John directed his attention back to his oldest knowing Dean was Sam's confidant. There were no illusions between them about who Sam went to first.

Now it was Dean who shrugged as he stood up and scratched idly at his bare stomach, the sweat pants he'd gone to bed in hanging low on his hips. Even at the tender age of seventeen, Dean was all lean muscle and very catlike in his movements. John flushed with pride even as his older boy shook his head. Not that John would ever ask Dean to break Sam's confidence like that anyways. There was an unspoken rule. What was shared between his boys stayed between his boys unless it involved personal safety or was something that the other boy really felt John should know. And so far, that had only happened twice.

"You know Sammy," Dean mused as he crossed the room to the small bar fridge and pulled out two beers. Yeah, the kid was underage but the day Dean had been old enough to make his first kill was the day, as far as John was concerned, he was old enough to have a beer. He gratefully took the one his son offered and popped off the top. "Talks up a storm about everything else except what's really bothering him. Then it's the waiting game." And boy could Dean call it. For all the talking and openness Sam seemed to project, he was extremely tightlipped about the things that bothered him most. He'd bottle it up inside until the bottle cracked and everything spilled out with frantic urgency.

John just hated waiting for things to get that far. The hunter knew he was part of the problem and that Sam warred with the expectations John had for him and the expectations he set for himself, worrying too much about failure and projecting his own fears into John's perceptions. Which was completely mixed up, but that was his Sammy and, in the end, it was always complicated and fraught with miscommunication. God, things had been so much easier when Sam still thought John walked on water.

Dean took a long swallow, his Adam's apple bobbing as John idly played with the label on his own bottle. "I don't think we can afford to wait on this one, Dean," the man decided. "Sam didn't do anything wrong and the longer he festers about this, the more he's going to think he did."

Holding the bottle loosely in one hand, the seventeen-year-old frowned at the door. "I dunno…" he started slowly and John almost grinned. As mothering and over attentive as his first born could be when it came to Sam and when he wasn't the one tormenting the life out of his younger sibling, the young man still hated what he coined 'chick flick' moments, regardless of how much they were needed from time to time. He'd rather display it then say it. John chuckled softy at the thought. He'd made a rhyme…

Dean scowled at him but didn't say anything as John got up from the table, grabbed his beer and started for the motel room door.

"I'll be outside," he said as he gave his son's shoulder a strong squeeze as he passed, "if you need me." He felt some of the tension bleed out of the young man.

"Yeah…" Dean sighed out, then offered a weak grin, "No problem." Then he straightened up, sucked in a deep breath and like a soldier being sent to the front lines, approached the bathroom door. He shot John one final, doomed look and then raised his hand and rapped his knuckles against the wood. "You got two seconds to zip it up, bro, then I'm coming in-"

John was outside the room and had the door closed before he heard Sam's reply.

------

It was almost forty-five minutes before Dean left the motel room and stood behind John as the older man sat on the step just outside the room. He'd gotten tired of standing. The younger hunter didn't say anything but his breathing was ragged and the anger rolling off him was palpable. Something tightened in John's stomach and he didn't think it was possible to hate those three bastards any more than he already did but apparently he was wrong. If what Sam had told Dean made Dean react like this, then yes, John could find a new level of hate. Just for them.

"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, his long empty beer bottle held deceptively loosely in his grip.

"Those assholes," Dean seethed as he started to pace behind John. The older man slowly stood up and turned to face his son. Dean was furious. Absolutely furious. His fists were clenched in impotent rage, every muscle in his body pulled tight, his jaw clenched so hard, his teeth clicked. "Those fucking, god-damned assholes!"

John didn't say anything, just tempered his own reactions and let Dean vent.

"I'd love to reach right up their asses and yank their lungs out! And that'd still be too good for them! How dare they! How fucking dare they!" Statements, not questions. John listened quietly as Dean raved off an impressive list of even worse punishments until, after a full five minute rant of more four letter words than John even knew, the kid had to stop to take in a breath. Only then did John interrupt him.

"How's Sam?" he asked. If Dean was this upset, he could only imagine how distraught his youngest might be.

Dean paused in his ravenous quest to suck in enough air to start his new tirade and softened. It was actually amazing to watch. All the angry hardness was replaced with tormented affection as his shoulders dropped, his fists uncurled and a fond smile slackened his jaw. "He's sleeping," his voice lowered. "Poor kid. Didn't think he'd ever calm down, once I got him to start."

Pot calling the kettle black, John mused sadly.

"But he'll be alright," the conviction in Dean's voice made John nod and add his own strength to the cause,

"Damn straight he'll be." John wanted to ask Dean what Sam had said and was sure, given how upset his oldest had been that Dean would probably tell, but he didn't. He didn't want to breach Sam's trust in Dean and, at the end of it all, the bottom line was that no matter what it was, it was over. Sam was safe with them and that was all that mattered. John and Dean would see to that.

And the older hunter had no doubts that confiding to Dean what had happened in those few minutes between him getting cornered and his family showing up, would go a long way to helping Sam. He felt guilty that it was Dean who was sharing the weight of this instead of John himself, but at the end of the day it was probably better. Dean understood his brother in a way the kid's own father never could.

And sometimes it wasn't about the love. Sometimes it was about the understanding.

"I mean, c'mon," John slung an arm around Dean's shoulder and guided him back towards the door and a sleeping Sam, "How can he not be with such an awesome Dad and big brother looking out for him?"

Dean snorted and shook his head. He opened his mouth to say something but then thought better of it.

John laughed. Oh yeah, it was definitely about the understanding.

The End... for now, lol!!