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John blinked and rubbed his eyes. The words in Singer’s book were starting to blur. It was beginning to feel like there were no answers out there, but he needed to solve this hunt. Three teenagers had died already, choking on their own blood.
“Okay, close your eyes,” Dean’s voice commanded Sam, breaking into John’s concentration. There was a pause, then Dean asked, “What color?”
“Um… green?” Sam’s voice responded tentatively.
“Nope! Blue.”
Sam made a frustrated noise while Dean laughed. “Okay, Dean, your turn,” Sam said. Across the room, John restarted the same paragraph for the third time. “Dean, stop cheating!” Sam cried. “Close your eyes!”
John let out a huff.
“It’s red!” Dean yelled.
“Aw, man, how do you do that? They all taste the same to me.”
“I don’t know, man, it’s easy. Maybe you’ll get it when you’re older,” Dean taunted. John started the paragraph over again.
Sam raised his voice. “Shut up! Just give me another one!”
John rubbed his eyes, trying to ignore the headache that was threatening to overtake him. Realizing he really hadn’t absorbed much from this page at all, he regretfully moved his gaze back to the top.
“Then close your eyes, bitch!”
“You’re the bitch, you jerk!”
“Boys!” John finally snapped. He looked at his kids, who were both now staring back at him. They were seated on the floor across from each other, and Dean had his hand in a bowl of M&Ms. “I need quiet. Please . Quit it with the candy.” When Sam opened his mouth to protest, John continued forcefully, “I mean it. Do something else.”
“Yes, sir,” they both responded despondently. John felt a pang of guilt for the harsh tone he’d taken, but he stopped short of apologizing. They knew not to be loud during research time. They knew how important this was; he’d certainly told them enough times.
John had made it through almost two pages before whispering started up again. He felt a brief flutter of annoyance, but clenched his jaw and said nothing. Whispers were fine, he could tune out whispers.
And he did, too, until half a page later, when he heard a loud, “What? How did you know?” from Dean.
He was going to ban M&Ms from this day on, he swore it.
But, the voices thankfully quieted back down and allowed John to concentrate once more.
That was, until Dean started tugging on his sleeve, repeating “Dad Dad Dad Dad Dad,” over and over again.
John closed his eyes and let out a long-suffering sigh. “Dean, we’ve talked about this. When I’m reading, it means I’m doing important work. I can’t save lives without doing this, so you have to let me, okay?”
Dean’s eyebrows furrowed, just like Mary’s used to when she was thinking. A pang seared through his chest. “I know, but you gotta see this one thing. Then we’ll be so quiet, we promise. Right, Sam?” Behind him, Sam nodded solemnly, seriousness betrayed only by the smile threatening to pull up the corners of his lips.
Against his better judgment, John replied, “Fine. Just this one thing. But that’s it, you hear?”
The grin on Dean’s face warmed John’s heart a little. “Okay, watch. Close your eyes, Sammy.” When he did, Dean turned to the two cups in front of him. In one, he poured water from the tap. Into the other, he tipped water from one of the jugs John kept, the jugs with rosaries in them, full of blessed holy water. “Okay. Here’s number one,” Dean said and put the first glass into Sam’s outstretched hand. The boy took a swig, and a smile spread across his face. He put the glass down blindly. “Now here’s number two,” Dean said in the same neutral tone. John watched as Sam drank that one, too.
Dean flashed a grin at John before asking, “Okay, Sammy. Which one is the holy water?”
Sam opened his eyes and said proudly, “Number two!”
John’s eyebrows raised, and the muscles in his shoulders tightened.
Dean piped up, “He hasn’t missed one! We’ve done this, like, ten times, and I missed six, but he hasn’t missed a single one!”
John clenched his jaw. “Sam, is that true?” he asked carefully, and Dean’s smile faltered just a little. The crease between his eyebrows was back.
Sam, though, nodded happily.
“Show me again,” John ordered, his tone steely. His sons exchanged confused glances, but Sam shrugged and obediently closed his eyes. “No, Sam. This time, turn around.”
Sam frowned. “I wasn’t cheating!”
“I know, son. I believe you. But do it anyway, please.” His tone allowed no room for argument. Sam sighed and swiveled to face the wall.
Uncertainly, Dean grabbed the cups again, but John took them out of his son’s hands with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
This time, he poured the cups himself. “Okay, kiddo, turn around and keep your eyes shut.”
Sam did as he was told and held out his hand with an uncertain smile, his hazel eyes still clenched shut. John handed him the first glass, watched with piercing eyes as he drank it, then did the second.
“Which one is the holy water?” John asked quietly, calmly. He could feel Dean’s confused eyes on him.
Sam opened his eyes and laughed. “Number two again!”
John’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Again,” he barked, and Sam flinched. John couldn’t make himself apologize.
Sam turned around anyway. “Dad, what are you-” Dean started, but John shut him up quickly with a dangerous glare. This time, John filled both cups from the tap.
“Okay, Sam,” John said, and Sam turned around to face him, eyes still clenched shut. “Number one,” he said, before pushing the first cup into Sam’s hand. After Sam drank, he repeated the process with the second glass. “Which one’s the holy water?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light.
Sam’s eyes flew open, and he happily said, “Neither! You can’t fool me that easy!”
It was like John had been dunked in ice water. His lungs refused to expand, his hands trembled, and it was all he could do to keep his voice from shaking when he asked, “Sammy, can you taste holy water?”
Sam giggled and responded, “Yeah, can’t you?” He said it like it was obvious. Seeing John’s pained expression, his face fell a little. “Can’t you?” he asked, more uncertainly this time.
John didn’t answer. He was worried about what would come out of his mouth if he did. Instead, he asked in a false display of calm, “What does it taste like?”
He could feel Dean’s gaze, but he refused to look. He couldn’t take his eyes off Sam.
“Uh, it’s kind of prickly. It’s like… my tongue falls asleep,” Sam replied casually. But he bit his lip. Clearly, John was confusing him.
Dean jumped in and said, “See? He’s got some great taste buds!” John glanced toward him, and Dean had this careful expression, like he knew exactly what John was trying to stop himself from thinking.
Sam laughed and replied, “No I don’t! You’re the one that can taste M&M colors!”
Dean tore his gaze from his Dad and said to Sam, “Well, I guess we both have good palates. We should be chefs.”
“You couldn’t be! I’ve tasted your mac ‘n’ cheese!”
Dean responded by closing the distance to Sam and tackling him, causing Sam to let out a scream, followed by peals of laughter. Dean was tickling him and yelling, “Take it back! Take it back! Say uncle!”
John had to suppress the sudden urge to yank Dean off.
“Okay! Okay, fine!” Sam gasped in between laughs. “I take it back! I take it back!”
“That’s what I thought!” Dean teased. When he sat back up, Sam gave him a good-natured shove.
John stood. His knees were like Jell-O.
“Wasn’t that cool, Dad?” Sam asked expectantly. John could hear the nerves in his voice.
John nodded jerkily. Fists clenched, he opened his mouth, but words wouldn’t come. He gritted his teeth and changed directions, ordering, “It’s late, and I need to get some work done. You boys get ready for bed. Now.”
“But Dad, it’s like, 8 o’clock,” Dean responded indignantly.
“Now, boys! Do as I say!” he yelled, a little louder than he meant to.
His kids exchanged wide-eyed glances, but they both trudged to the bathroom without responding. Before the door closed behind him, he heard Sam ask his brother, “What’s wrong with Dad?”
John wasn’t sure he was the one with the problem. He winced at the thought, then walked to the fridge and poured himself a glass of whiskey. Unsure of what else to do, he sighed and sat back down in front of his book. He stared at the page, once again not really seeing the words. This time, it had nothing to do with exhaustion.
His eyes flicked to the jug of holy water that sat innocently in the middle of the floor. He couldn’t verbalize it if he was begged to, but he felt like something fundamental had changed, like his family was never going to be the same. He pressed his palms into his eyelids and tried to convince himself he was being stupid, that this didn’t mean anything, that it was just a human defect and nothing else.
He forced himself to inhale. Once again, he picked up the book, begging his brain to allow him back to normalcy, but he knew he wasn’t going to figure out this hunt tonight, not anymore. Frustrated, he threw it back down on the table.
In the bathroom, his boys spit toothpaste into the sink and whispered back and forth.
John’s hands moved to his journal. Automatically, he let it fall open to the most viewed entry, the one on the thing that killed Mary. His fingers hovered over the picture of his wife that was carefully pasted into the corner, yellowed with love and with age. His eyes, though, were drawn to the words about the thing itself, to the monster with the haunting yellow eyes that had pinned Mary to the ceiling and cut her stomach open and burned her alive…
And for some reason, had stood over his baby’s crib while it did it.
For the first time, John considered the idea that maybe, just maybe, this hadn’t all started in Sam’s nursery by coincidence. Maybe it was for a reason.