The Line chapter 2

There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves , we feel no on else has a right to blame us.
~Oscar Wilde

John Winchester cursed the five o’clock, bustling traffic for about the tenth time. He slammed the palm of his hand into the Impala’s steering wheel, glaring at the long line of cars, twisting like an endless metallic snake before him. “I hate New York,” He growled.

John cut his eyes, a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “Only when they play the Red Sox.”

The teen rolled his eyes, knowing exactly why his father was angry. “And you also hate it when Caleb’s right, huh?”

John shrugged. “Maybe I miss him. A little. ” He turned to Sam. “But if you tell him I said that, you’ll never see seventeen. Got it?”

The younger Winchester nodded, and glanced out the passenger window, watched the cold steel and glass rushing by. “I miss him, too.”

“He and Caleb should be back tonight.” John sighed as the traffic flow started up once again. “When I talked to Caleb this morning he said that they were just getting on the road.”

“Sounds like.” John chanced a look at his youngest son. “You still pissed about not going?”

The teen continued to look out the window, not willing to rehash the argument he and his father had gone through when he’d wanted to go with Dean and Caleb.John had been unreasonable, as usual. Nothing Sam said made a difference. John Winchester always knew best. “So, Caleb was right about Duran.” Sam felt a little vindicated when he saw his father grimace.

John tightened his hold on the steering wheel. “You’re not going to let it go until I say it, are you?”

“Alright then. Caleb was right. Duran didn’t need help with a vengeful spirit. He wanted to bring Kline’s son back.”

“Is that possible?” Sam turned in his seat. “Wouldn’t that make him like a zombie?”

Sam frowned. “They’re going to swap souls, or allow the spirit of Kline‘s son to possess the body? Can that be done-on a permanent basis? Possessions usually destroy the human form, eventually.”

John shook his head. “Honestly, son, I don’t know. And I don’t want to know.”

“He may be a strong medium, but just because he can contact the dead, doesn’t mean he can hold them here on this plane. That takes something very powerful.”

“Do you?” Sam carefully watched his father’s face in the fading light of day. The sharp planes and rugged lines gave away nothing.

“Are you hungry?” John asked, breaking the silence and effectively changing the subject, as well as ending the conversation without any resolution. “Because I’m starving. How about we grab some steaks and use that fancy grill of Mac’s?”

“Whatever, Dad.” Sam turned back to look out at the sunset, a sudden ache to see his brother overwhelming him. The physical intensity of the longing almost brought his hand up to his chest as the muscles there seemed to clench in pain and his heart sped up. He took a deep breath and rested his head against the window, taking some solace in the feel of the road as it hummed through his brother’s car.

John glanced over at the teen and sighed. Once again he’d managed to say the wrong thing. He would be glad when Dean got back, if only for the buffer he offered between him and Sam. It hadn’t been a pleasant three days, and John had doubted his own stubborn decision to not let Sam go on the hunt with his brother on more than one occasion .

After all, it wasn’t like John didn’t trust Dean. His oldest had watched out for Sam for sixteen years, doing a damn better job at parenting than he had. Maybe John didn’t want him to go, just because Sam wanted to go. And if that were the case, then John would have just one more thing to be pissed at Caleb about. It really did irk him when the man was right.