Which was why he was scrubbing his hands over his face in a tired attempt to wake himself up. Two cups of straight black coffee hadn’t helped, and Sam was still giving him concerned looks. The concern, though, Dean thought, probably came from what they were currently doing.
“Dean, they’re probably inside the house right now.” Sam glanced from the circuit box to Brian’s house then over to his brother. “We can’t just break in and expect to avoid bumping into them.”
Dean pried open the gunmetal gray box and eyed the wiring. Flexing the pliers he held, he rolled his eyes at Sam. “Did you lose your observational skills along the way, Sammy? That family is a bunch of Jesus lovers. Didn’t you see all the crap they’ve got all around the house? It’s Sunday morning, and there is no way they’d be anywhere but at a church somewhere. Besides, there’s a car missing.”
Sam focused in on the drive and noted that, indeed, there were only three cars instead of the four that had been parked there the day before. “Okay, maybe you’re right.”
“Wanna say that again?” Dean smirked.
“No. Are you almost done?”
“Keep your pants on, Sammy. I’m a hunter, not a freaking miracle worker.”
Even if the line between the two wasn’t always so clear.
Brian rubbed tiredly at his eyes and sipped more of the coffee that still sat in his mug. Then, he turned his attention back to the papers that filled the kitchen table. Or tried to. Bills had never been his forte, and Leighanne usually took care of them anyway because he was never home when it was time to send them in. Not that he had planned it that way, of course.
“Electricity…done.” One down, five million to go. Or so it felt.
It was Sunday, and, again, Baylee was sleeping well into the day as he’d spent yet another sleepless night in Brian’s bed. Those exterminators better come back soon, he thought. He couldn’t afford to be exhausted when he went back to LA for more recording or whatever it was they were supposed to be pretending to do for the album that kept getting delayed.
“Not going there,” Brian told himself. “It’ll just piss me off, and it’s Sunday.” Not to mention the fact that he wasn’t actually at a service today. He was just too tired, and there was no way Baylee would make it through the service.
So he sat and went through his bills and came to the conclusion that domesticity—at least, the part of it that involved such mundane things as bills—was not for him. Sure, he loved the vacuum cleaner. In fact, he enjoyed doing the dishes, too. But bills? No, thanks.
“Whoa. I sound like a woman in my own head.” Except that his wife would probably bash him over the head with one of his beloved (and clean!) frying pans if she heard him say that it was just like a woman to enjoy cleaning the house.
Before he could berate himself for sounding like such a whacko in his own head, he heard it. And froze.
There was a distinct creaking sound coming from the front of the house. In fact, it sounded just like his front door, and he would know because he hadn’t gotten around to applying WD-40 to the hinges so Leighanne would stop yelling at him about the loud squeaking the door made whenever it-
Voices. Were those voices he just heard? And footsteps. Those were definitely footsteps. He had intruders in the house, his alarm system hadn’t erupted into fitful sirens and beeps, and the footsteps were moving through the foyer and-
Yup. The stairs up to the second floor made creaking noises, too. It wasn’t the newest of homes, so it was to be expected. Except that now the creaking alerted him to the fact that his intruders were going upstairs.
Baylee. Baylee was upstairs. They were coming to kidnap his son!
That jolted him into action. Grabbing the first handy object that he could find, he crept as stealthily as he could down the hall. He flattened himself against the wall beneath the stairs and listened. The voices had lowered to whispers, but he could tell the tone easily.
His burglars and would-be kidnappers were arguing.
Unbelievable.
And then Brian looked down at what he held in his hands. A broom. Also unbelievable. What, he thought, would he do with a broom? Bash them in the heads with a broom, break its handle, and it probably wouldn’t render the intruders unconscious.
Why, oh why hadn’t he called 911 first?
“Freeze!”
Sam didn’t know what was funnier. Brian’s comical expression as he brandished a broom at them from the bottom of the stairs or Dean staring at Brian with a starstruck expression as his finger rested a hairs-breadth from squeezing the trigger on his gun. Not that rock salt would hurt Brian necessarily. But the whole scene was too damn funny.
“Dean?” Brian’s expression turned to a confused frown. “Sam? What are you doing here? Why are you breaking into my house?” Then, realization dawned as he studied the two leather-clad men. “You’re not really pest control workers! You’re burglars, and you cased my house yesterday. You-you are horrible! I’m calling the police.”
Dean jolted out of the “moment” he’d been having. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Brian. Baylee won’t be safe if you call the cops.”
“Are you threatening my son?” Broomstick brandish. “If I wasn’t so sure this would break, I’d knock you out with it.” Okay, that was a lame threat, Brian scolded himself. “If you shoot me, it won’t be good either.”
Sam rolled his eyes and stepped between the two men. Holding up his hands so Brian could see that he held nothing, he came down the stairs until he stood two steps above Brian.
“Look, Brian. We’re not here to hurt you, and we’re definitely not burglars,” Sam began in the gentle tone he had that always reminded Dean that Sam would’ve been a great hostage negotiator for the FBI or something.
Brian wasn’t convinced. “Right. So why is Dean pointing a gun at me if he wasn’t going to hurt me?”
Sam looked over his shoulder and raised his brows. “Dean.”
“What?” Dean was clearly disgruntled. His plans were backfiring. First, the house hadn’t been empty, and now they’d have to explain everything about what they were here to do. And, second, all those hours of classic rock hadn’t cured him. Damn it. He lowered the gun and put it away. “Better?”
Sam turned back to Brian and managed a small smile. “Sorry. He’s been like that since he was born. But neither one of us is planning on hurting you. Or Baylee. I promise.”
“Are you psycho fans? I mean, my dogs were once stolen, but you guys are definitely better because you’ve made it into my house. I must say, I’m impressed by that.” Brian didn’t know why he was babbling at his intruders. He should just call the police, but, then again, Dean did have that gun. And how could he know that Sam wasn’t carrying one either? Then, he looked into Sam’s eyes and saw the innocence and honesty that Dean had long-since shed. “You’re not psycho fans.”
Sam shook his head. “No. Brian, this is going to be really hard for you to believe, but there’s someone else in this house.”
“What, besides you and Dean?”
“I know you’re mad that we broke in, but we’re really trying to help you.” Sam could see the beginnings of speculation in Brian’s eyes. “Baylee’s been seeing something in his room at night, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s just normal childhood fear. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“You won’t be saying that when it kills your kid or steals his soul,” Dean commented.
“Dean!” Sam was horrified. This was not the way to get through to Brian.
Brian was already affected, though. His eyes had widened as he stared up at Dean. “Where do you get off saying horrible things like that? It’s not true, is it?” he asked Sam. “I mean, there can’t really be a monster in Baylee’s closet, right? That’s just an old tale, and, besides, monsters don’t really exist.” Right?
“Uh…well, yes. They do exist.” Sam sighed. “Brian, I know it’s really hard to believe, but there is a monster in Baylee’s closet, and we’re here to exterminate it. I had a vision about Baylee and whatever is-”
“Wait.” Brian held up a hand. “You have visions? Like the scary movie, supernatural kind of visions? Is that even possible?” No, he told himself, it wasn’t possible. God did not work that way, and He most certainly would not have put monsters, of the kind Sam described, in Baylee’s closet. Right?
Sam decided now was not the best time to launch into a lesson on why he got his visions because that would bring up the whole matter of the yellow-eyed demon. And mentioning a demon would probably send Brian straight to church. As it was, the man was clutching the cross dangling from the chain around his neck as though it were a lifeline.
“I have visions, and they’ve been coming true for the most part. Or they will come true unless Dean and I get to the root of the problem and destroy whatever evil spirit or whatever is disrupting people’s lives. Baylee’s in danger, and we’re here to help you. You have to believe that.”
Brian still looked unconvinced, and Dean decided enough was enough. They needed to see Baylee’s closet, and they couldn’t keep wasting time. “Seriously, if we wanted to kill you and burglarize your place—which has some pretty nice and expensive things, by the way—we would’ve done it yesterday. Why would we waste our time coming back?”
“Dean-”
Brian cut Sam’s annoyed tirade off before it could really get going. “In a weird way, that makes sense. I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but,” he glanced from Sam to Dean and back, “I think I might actually believe you.”
