Alright, Sammy, Dean said quietly. The other boys were asleep, Dean had waited until well after midnight to wake Sam. They couldn't lay salt lines or put down any obvious protections, not without Sonny and the others asking questions they wouldn't answer. So instead they had to get creative.
You got the list?
Sam nodded. He pulled a slightly crumpled sheet of paper from underneath the mattress. It was covered with sketches of symbols from a variety of cultures and religions, all meant to grant protection from the things Dad hunted. Each sketch was annotated in Sam's chicken scratch with notes of every piece of information the smaller boy remembered from Uncle Bobby's lessons on protection symbols. Dean ruffled his hair.
Good job, Sammy," he whispered as he dug a pair of butterfly knives out from between the mattress and the headboard.
I'll get the doorframe, you get started on the bed posts.
Sam grabbed one of the knives and flattened the paper as much as he could without making an unreasonable amount of noise in a pool of moonlight. He'd start with standard devil's traps, he decided.
Dean stared at the machine with trepidation. He side-eyed Sonny.
When I said I knew machines, he said dryly,
I meant cars.
You don't need to know any more about a lawn mower than where the gas goes, how to turn it on, and that you push it to make it go. Don't worry. Ain't brain surgery, Sonny replied with a chuckle. Dean still wasn't too sure about this whole thing. He figured this was one of those things dads usually taught their sons. You know, normal dads. Who lived in houses with white picket fences and yards and apple pie lives. He really didn't want to admit to Sonny that he had no idea what he was doing. He knew what Sonny thought of his dad and his home
situation. It wasn't exactly what Sonny thought, but Dean couldn't exactly explain in a way that would make Sonny understand about all the things that went bump in the night and why Dad was the way he was. He sighed.
Look, most kids' dads are playing catch and teaching their sons to mow lawns. My dad was a little more survivalist and self-defense drill sergeant. I know cars because ours had to keep running. Plus my uncle owns a junkyard.
Sonny gave him an assessing look.
Alright, so I'll show you how. But it's still on your chore list, so I ain't gonna do it for you.
Yeah, sure, whatever, Dean said gruffly, ignoring the small, warm feeling under his ribs.