The bunker was full of energy as books were sorted, rooms claimed, and supplies unpacked.
Three days since their arrival, and already the place felt more like home than any motel room ever had.
Dean whistled as he arranged weapons on his bedroom wall - a room he'd actually gotten to choose, with space for his things and walls that wouldn't need to be abandoned in a week.
"This place is awesome," he called out to no one in particular, his voice echoing down the hallway. The sword rested on his bed, never too far away.
In the library, Bobby had barely moved from his chosen corner, surrounded by stacks of ancient texts. His baseball cap pushed back, he flipped through a leather-bound volume with reverent care.
"This is just..." he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "Damn near everything I've spent decades hunting down, all in one place."
Sam moved between rooms, watching his family settle in with quiet satisfaction.
Only John remained restless, pacing through corridors, examining locks, testing security. His hunter's instincts wouldn't let him fully relax, not yet. Not with so many unanswered questions.
"Found the armory," he announced, entering the library with tension evident in his shoulders. "Weapons I've never even seen before. Some kind of... energy guns, maybe."
"Men of Letters were ahead of their time," Bobby replied without looking up. "This grimoire here's got spells I thought were lost centuries ago."
John nodded absently, his eyes tracking Sam as his youngest moved between bookshelves. The boy seemed too comfortable here, too familiar with the layout despite claiming to have seen it only in visions.
"Sam," he called suddenly, his voice carrying that particular tone that meant business. "My office. Now."
Dean appeared in the doorway, wiping gun oil from his hands. "Found something, Dad?"
"Just need to talk to your brother," John replied, already heading toward the small room he'd claimed as a command center. "Alone."
Sam followed, his expression carefully neutral. This was inevitable - he'd known that bringing them to the bunker would force certain issues.
John closed the door behind them, the click echoing in the small space.
"Sit down," he said, gesturing to one of the chairs.
Sam complied, maintaining his role as the obedient son while mentally preparing for what was coming.
John remained standing, arms crossed, studying his youngest.
"I've been patient, Sam," he began, his voice deceptively calm. "I've watched. I've waited. I've given you space to come to me with whatever's going on."
Sam stayed silent, knowing interrupting would only escalate things faster.
"These visions of yours," John continued, pacing slightly. "They're not new, are they?"
"Dad-"
"Don't." John held up a hand. "Don't start with half-truths. Not here. Not after everything we've been through."
The room felt smaller suddenly, filled with tension. John stopped pacing, fixing Sam with a look that had made lesser men confess their darkest secrets.
"How long?" he asked simply.
Sam measured his response carefully. "The visions have been getting stronger recently."
"That's not what I asked." John's voice remained level, but his eyes hardened. "How long have you been hiding things from us? From me?"
"I'm not-"
"The weather patterns, Sam. The shadows that move wrong around you. The way animals react to you. The protection symbols I keep finding everywhere we stay." John's voice grew more intense with each example.
"The way you sometimes speak Latin in your sleep – not exorcisms, something older. The headaches that hit me whenever I try to remember certain hunts."
Sam's darkness coiled tighter, protective and wary.
"Dad, I can explain-"
"Then explain!" John's composure cracked slightly. "Explain how my fifteen-year-old son can create a perfect replica of a key he's never seen.
Explain how you know the exact layout of a bunker that's been hidden for decades. Explain why Bobby's found books moved in his library that nobody admits to touching!"
Sam maintained his calm. "The visions-"
"Are bullshit!" John slammed his hand on the desk, the sound sharp in the confined space. "At least the way you're describing them. There's more to this, Sam. There has been for years."
His voice softened slightly, concern breaking through the anger. "I'm your father. Whatever this is – whatever's happening to you – we can face it together. But you have to be honest with me."
Sam felt the weight of the moment, the pressure of years of secrets bearing down.
"Dad," he tried again, keeping his voice steady. "Some things are complicated. The visions show me things I don't always understand myself."
John studied him, instincts and knowledge of his own son allowing him to read between the lines. "You're scared," he observed. "Not of the visions themselves, but of what they mean. What they might lead to."
Sam didn't deny it, letting that partial truth stand.
"Sam," John's voice grew gentler, taking on the rare tone he used when his boys were truly hurting. "Whatever this is, we're family. We handle it together."
For a moment, Sam almost broke – almost told him everything. About the future he remembered, about Azazel's plans, about vessels and angels and the apocalypse waiting in the wings.
But he was too used to this want to let it overwhelm him - to for a moment actually be himself and not don a mask. He buried it down immediately.
"I'm trying to protect you," Sam said finally, the words true even if the context wasn't. "There are things I've seen that... that would change everything."
John's expression hardened again. "That's not your job, Sam. I'm the father here. I protect you boys, not the other way around."
"Dad-"
"No more deflections!" John's patience snapped, his voice rising. "I've watched for years as my son changes into something I barely recognize! The secrets, the abilities, the knowledge you shouldn't have – it stops now!"
His voice had risen to a shout, echoing through the bunker's halls.
"You don't understand," Sam replied, his own voice rising to match his father's. "You can't understand!"
"Then make me understand!" John roared.
The door burst open, Dean and Bobby rushing in, drawn by the shouting.
"What the hell's going on?" Dean demanded, eyes darting between his father and brother.
"Nothing," Sam said quickly, rising from his chair. "Just a disagreement."
"The hell it is," John countered, turning to Dean and Bobby. "Sam's been lying to us. For years. About everything."
"Dad-" Sam started.
"No," John cut him off. "I'm done with the evasions. The half-truths. The 'it's just visions' excuse. Something's happening to my son, and I want to know what it is!"
Bobby stepped further into the room, his expression grave. After a moment of silence he spoke, "John's right, Sam. We've all noticed... things. Been noticing for years now."
"Like what?" Dean asked, his hand unconsciously drifting toward where his sword would be.
"The weather that changes with his moods," Bobby listed. "The way he knows things he shouldn't. The Latin he speaks that none of us taught him."
"That's not-" Sam tried.
"The way shadows move around him," John continued. "The protection symbols that appear wherever we stay. The headaches that hit whenever we try to remember certain hunts."
Dean looked between them, conflict evident on his face. "Sammy?"
Sam's darkness coiled tightly, sensing the walls closing in. He needed to control this situation before it spiraled further.
"I told you about the visions," he said, forcing his voice to remain steady. "They're getting stronger. I don't always understand what I'm seeing."
"Bullshit," John's voice was quieter now, but harder. "This started long before any visions. This started when you were a child, Sam. When you were barely old enough to talk."
The room fell silent, the accusation hanging heavy in the air.
"What are you saying, Dad?" Dean asked, his protectiveness of Sammy clearly warring with his trust in their father.
"I'm saying your brother's been hiding something from all of us," John replied, eyes never leaving Sam. "Something big. Something that's been changing him for years."
Sam felt the moment slipping away from him, his carefully constructed narrative crumbling under his father's relentless pressure.
"You don't understand," he repeated, frustration leaking into his voice. "You can't understand!"
"Then help us understand!" John shouted back. "For God's sake, Sam, we're your family!"
"It's not that simple!" Sam's control slipped again, his voice rising to match his father's.
"Why the hell not?" John demanded.
"Because I can't fucking tell you!" The words exploded from Sam. The lights in the room flickered as his composure cracked fully. "Don't you understand? I can't!"
The outburst left them all momentarily stunned.
"Missouri said it herself many times," Sam continued, breathing heavily. "I have the potential to be the strongest psychic on the planet. I've seen things – terrible things. Blood and death and horror that would break you to know!"
His voice cracked slightly, genuine emotion bleeding through.
"And your minds – they're not protected like mine. You could be possessed, spelled, mind-wiped..." He shook his head frantically. "I can't risk it. I can't risk you knowing."
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by Sam's ragged breathing.
Bobby was the first to speak, his voice soft but firm. "Sam," he said carefully. "We understand you're trying to protect us. But you gotta give us something here."
He stepped closer, his gruff exterior softening. "Just one thing. How long? How long have you been having these... experiences? And don't tell me it's recent. That's a load of crap and we all know it."
Sam looked between them – his father's determined face, Dean's confused concern, Bobby's knowing gaze. His darkness settled slightly, recognizing the moment of truth had arrived.
"Since I was six months old," he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
The confession hung in the air, heavy with implications none of them could fully grasp.
"Six months..." John repeated, the color draining from his face. "The night of the fire. The night your mother..."
He couldn't finish the sentence, the connection too terrible to voice aloud.
Dean moved closer to Sam, instinctively protective despite his own shock. "That's not possible, Sammy. You couldn't remember anything from that age."
"I don't remember it," Sam clarified carefully. "I just... know things from that night. Like the knowledge was burned into me somehow."
It wasn't the whole truth, but it was closer than he'd ever come to explaining his situation.
"Yellow-Eyes," John whispered, the pieces connecting in his mind. "The demon did something to you that night. Something that gave you these... abilities."
Sam didn't correct him. Let them believe it was demon blood alone that explained his knowledge and powers. It was safer than the truth.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Dean asked, hurt evident in his voice. "All these years..."
"I was scared," Sam admitted, this part entirely truthful. "Scared of what it meant. Scared of what you'd think of me."
John sank into a chair, the weight of this revelation visibly aging him. "All this time," he murmured. "All this time I've been hunting the thing that killed your mother, and it... it did something to you that night."
"Dad," Sam moved toward him, genuine concern in his voice. "This doesn't change anything. I'm still me. I'm still your son."
"Of course you are," John replied immediately, looking up with fierce determination. "Nothing changes that. Nothing."
The conviction in his voice made Sam's heart settle, a weight lifting that he hadn't realized he'd been carrying.
"But Sam," John continued, "no more secrets. Not about this. Whatever's happening to you, whatever these visions are showing you – we face it together. As a family."
Sam hesitated, sensing both the danger and opportunity in this moment.
"Some things..." he started carefully, "some things I see are still forming. Still changing. Telling you could make them happen faster, or differently."
"Time-sensitive information," Bobby nodded, understanding dawning. "Like knowing too much about your own future."
"Exactly," Sam seized on the explanation. "But I promise – anything concrete, anything that puts us in immediate danger – I'll tell you."
John studied him for a long moment, hunter's instincts warring with fatherly concern.
"Okay," he said finally. "But Sam – I'm watching. And if I think you're hiding something that puts this family at risk..."
"I understand," Sam nodded, relief washing through him. Crisis averted, at least for now.
Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder. "So, psychic wonder boy," he said, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "Any lottery numbers you want to share?"
The tension broke slightly, Sam offering a small smile. "Doesn't work that way, jerk."
"Worth a try, bitch," Dean replied, the familiar exchange comforting in its normalcy.
As they filed out of the room, Sam caught Bobby's knowing gaze.
The older hunter nodded slightly – an acknowledgment that while he accepted Sam's explanation, he didn't quite believe it was the whole story.
But that was okay. Bobby had always been good at keeping his own counsel.
John remained seated, looking suddenly exhausted. "Sam," he called as his son reached the door. "One more thing."
Sam paused, waiting.
"Whatever this is," John said quietly, "whatever's happening to you... we'll figure it out. I promise."
The sincerity in his voice made Sam feel a twist of guilt. His father was trying – really trying – to understand and support him.
"I know, Dad," he replied softly. "Thank you."
As he walked away, Sam's mind raced with adjustments to his plans. This confrontation had been inevitable, but it had come sooner than expected.
Gabriel would need to strengthen the protections around their minds, ensure that Heaven and Hell couldn't extract what little they now knew.
The bunker would help – its wards were some of the strongest on Earth. And having a base of operations would accelerate his preparations.
The Coalition's network could expand, Rowena's teachings could continue, and Dean's growing abilities with the sword could develop in relative safety.
Still, a line had been crossed today. His family was watching more closely now, questioning more deeply.
He would need to be more careful than ever.
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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all liked the chapter!
Been a while. Don't worry, this isn't dropped. I've just been thinking on where to take this story.
So, hope the characters were in character, since its been a while since I wrote the previous chapters, and honestly, I only read like the last two or something.
I'll need to refresh my mind on the earlier bits to not write things wrongly.
Well, I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)