Chapter Text
No more arguments. The boys had learned that once John Winchester made up his mind, silence was survival. The Impala shadowed the Chevrolet pickup across countless miles as they drove through blurry themed diners and neon-lit motels, until the rain-drenched forests of Washington signaled the journey’s end.
Sam stared out the window at the foggy town of Forks, Washington and reads the town’s population sign of 3,120. Not the smallest town they’ve been in but not the biggest either. His head replays the last argument before they hit the road, as Dean feverishly argued to their Dad not to leave them alone, to not leave him alone.
John knew the boys wanted in on this hunt more than anything, but he couldn’t have any weaknesses in his way when tracking the yellow-eyed demon down. Sam and Dean were the only weaknesses he had left after Mary, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to lose them to the yellow-eyed freak as well. He only had the journal of trails and leads to go off on, “So, this is it. This is everything I know.” John said, throwing the leather journal onto the table after explaining to his boys why he had to go.
“Let us come with you, we’ll help.” Sam pleaded with John. But John had already made the decision official to send Sam and Dean away for a while instead of bringing the two of them alongside this hunt. “No.” John whispers, finality in his tone.
Dean gave a pleading look to his father, his voice going unheard from their earlier argument should’ve hit home for him but Dean couldn’t back away from something like this, not Mom. Yet, John shot him a look that smothered any words that might’ve left his mouth.
That was that, and the boys began to pack their bags up. They didn’t carry much to begin with, always on the move from motel to motel, just some laundry to pack into the bag. Walking out of the motel, Dean and Sam threw their bags into the back of the busted up pick-up truck, "What're you boys doin?” John rang out, standing by the Impala, “Did I tell ya that we all were going in that?” he said, before throwing the Impala’s keys at Dean.
Shrugging at their Dad’s words the two dug their respective bags out from the backseat of the pick-up and loaded them into the Impala’s. “Hey Dean, why don’t you touch up your car before you get rust. I wouldn’t have given you the damn thing if I thought you were gonna ruin it.” John said with a bitter tone, as Dean stayed quiet and kept his head down.
Sam was reeled from his thoughts as the sound of The Hombres began to blast from the radio and Dean began to tap to the tune against the steering wheel. “Oh come on Dean. Really? Let it All Hang Out?” Sam complained, and picks up the collection of tapes to find something tasteful.
“Drive picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole Sammy.” Dean says. The two continue to argue back and forth on whose taste in music is better, but one thing is evident. Shotgun shuts his cakehole, and The Hombres play the entire way into Forks before the boys stop into a diner, Carver Cafe.
Dean orders a cherry pie and fries with some coffee, then starts flirting with a writer on their laptop seated next to him on the counter. Sam orders a salad with O.J like the health-freak he always is, but does steal a couple of fries when Dean’s back is turned. John just orders a coffee–black, before going to talk with a man who waved him over after recognizing him when the trio walked through the door.
Dean was unsuccessful in his attempts to flirt with the writer, and unsuccessful in his sweep around the rest of the diner stands before a pinboard with work wanted papers posted all over, ripping a couple of number tags here and there. Making his way back to Sam, “Why couldn’t we have just stayed with Bobby?” Sam says to Dean. “Because Bobby is out on a hunt of his own, you know that.” Dean replies back, shoving the gooey cherry bits from the pie into his mouth.
“You don’t like it here in the rain all day and night, Forks town?” Dean quips at Sam.
“What’s there to like about this place? Just a bunch of trees and puddles.” Sam says, rolling his eyes slightly.
“Cheer up Sammy, you got me. Could be worse.” Dean retorts.
Yeah, it could be worse.