Last but not least and never forgotten, There’s No Place Like Home!
Idly stretched out along the margins of their dad’s journal, Dean slid his whetstone along his knife, admiring the silver gleam that caught the light while Sam frowned down at a passage in John Winchester’s heavy-handed scrawl.
They’d spent most of the morning and the beginning of the afternoon like that. Dean got his exercise when Sam needed to turn the page, and Sam persisted in trying to kick him out of the way instead of letting him get up on his own.
They always found their own balance.
Both of their bags were left off to the side, next to the journal. Once he was done checking over his own knife, Dean was planning on going over Sam’s just as assiduously. They needed to keep the only weapons they owned in tip-top shape. They couldn’t risk the precious knives for anything. Any other weapon their size wouldn’t come close to the craftsmanship or quality. Dean would be damned if he let Sam’s weapon fall out of repair, the best defense his little brother had against the too-big world.
“Y’know, I was thinking,” Dean said aloud, breaking their easy silence.
Sam arched his eyebrows in Dean’s direction. “Thinking? You do that?”
“Smartass.” Dean stared up at the ceiling high above. He had one leg casually kicked up on a knee, and was lying flat on his back. “But anyway, I was thinking we might want to see if we can get Jacob some more practice on the guns. He could use it.”
Sam shrugged, walking past Dean. He whapped Dean’s boot with a hand as he passed, making Dean briefly flail when his balance was lost. “We’ve got some time while we’re in town if there’s any gun ranges around. I doubt his parents or the neighbors will appreciate it if he starts taking potshots at cans in the backyard like at Bobby’s.”
Dean sat up. “We’ll just have to–”
Sam never found out what he was going to say.
The sound of footsteps trudging up the stairs made it through the walls. Dean twisted to look towards the door, only faint concern on his face. It was early for Jacob to be back, but the cadence and floor-shaking impression they could feel was nothing like how Mike and Mariana walked around the home.
Sam turned as well, but a shock ran up his back. The world almost dropped away as the door was tossed carelessly open, slamming against the wall and nearly jarring them from their feet.
The figure wasn’t as tall as the human they’d grown used to seeing over the last few months. He was thinner, too, not nearly as muscled. His head was topped with pale blond hair and his eyes were blue like ice. Aside from the arrogant demeanor of someone that clearly thought he owned whatever ground he walked on, one fact darted right through the brothers’ hearts like steel bolts.
It wasn’t Jacob.