Jump the Shark

Summary: In which the story behind Patrick's keychain is revealed, Kat comes face to face with the existence of the supernatural, and Dean and Sam meet their long lost half brother. Set sometime after Meat is Murder and Everybody Loves a Clown. Mildly AU.

Rating: T

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated with Supernatural or 10 Things I Hate About You. But if I was… oh, the things I'd do.

AN: I just want to thank everyone who reviewed from the bottom of my heart: Kim, nikki, mullu, Been there Done That.016, In the Pages, ann, Indie Sol, rach'na lasair, and unlovedtears 14! You guys are awesome. I'd also like to apologize for taking a year to update. No joke – it's literally been a year. Things have kind of sucked for awhile, and I feel like I'm starting to finally get back on track… and the writing is coming easier again, so yay! An update! Hopefully the first of many to come, in short succession.

Enough with the pity party, and on with the fic! Thanks again!

Chapter 8: Family Activities

Patrick would never admit it, but right now he's shaking.

He runs through the school halls, Dean's keys jingling in his hand, and ducks out the back entrance, racing for the Impala on the other end of the parking lot.

He's hunted before, but only spirits. Ghosts are peanuts. The lowest of the low on the scare-you-shitless-meter. He's never run up against a demon before. Demons are for the big leagues, and the league he's been playing in, he realizes now, is bush.

He slides into the driver's seat of the black classic, slamming the door and turning the key in the ignition. He takes a brief second to run his hands along the steering wheel, his breath catching in his throat.

Dean's car is magnificent. The rumble of that engine is the single most beautiful sound in the universe. Patrick is not going to tell him that.

He shifts gears and pumps that gas, wheeling out of the parking space and roaring around the back of the building, sidling up outside the window of his trigonometry classroom. He ducks out of the car, engine running, as Dean's head appears in the window.

"Dude," Dean snaps. "What took you so long?"

"Why'd you park so far away?" Patrick retorts.

Dean shakes his head, looking pissed, and vanishes, grumbling. Patrick frowns at the window, waiting.

He doesn't wait long. His math teacher's lolling head appears in the window next. He hears Dean grunting. Then Mr. Jenkins slides feet first out the window and lands in the bushes.

Dean jumps down next. Patrick stares at the body of his math teacher. "Dude," Dean growls. "Why didn't you catch him?"

Patrick blinks. "You didn't tell me to."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Pop the trunk."

He doesn't argue. He simply rounds the Impala's bumper and opens the trunk. Thud! Dean dumps the math teacher's body inside. Patrick frowns at the white, intricate symbol drawn on the inside of the hood for a mere second before Dean slams it shut. He's left with the impression of a star and a circle.

"Drive!" Dean orders.

Again, Patrick does not hesitate. He flies back around the bumper and dives into the driver's seat. Seconds later, Dean slides into the car beside him. Patrick throws the gear into drive and peels out of the parking lot.

"Hey!" Dean reprimands him. "Careful with my car."

"You told me to drive," Patrick defends himself.

"I didn't say drive recklessly!"

"Did you forget about the math teacher in the trunk?"

"Do you really want to get pulled over with the math teacher in the trunk?"

Silence. Patrick tightens his hands on the steering wheel, eyes on the road, foot easing off the gas. Dean sighs, hand rubbing his face.

"I can't believe I let you drive," he grumbles.

They're silent until Patrick reaches home and pulls into his driveway. Dean's the first one out of the car. "Sammy!" he bellows.

Patrick is slow to shut down the car and climb out. Sam runs out of the house just as Patrick shuts the car door. "What?" Sam asks.

"Demon in the trunk. Help me."

"What?"

"Help me, damn it!"

Patrick stares, useless, as Sam rushes back inside the house. "Open the garage!" Dean orders.

Patrick does as commanded, fishing in his coat for the garage door opener and then pushing the button. The door rolls up. Dean heads inside.

Sam rushes back outside, a dining room chair in one hand and a large duffel bag in the other. Patrick watches, wide-eyed, as Sam runs into the garage and starts throwing things down. Dean's got a heavy leather-bound journal in his hands now, and he's crouching on the garage floor, a large rock in his hands, scratching some sort of design on the cement. Patrick winces, knowing his mother will be pissed when she sees all this.

He still doesn't move. He's rooted to the spot. He can't decide where to go or what to do. Honestly, he's afraid. Not something he'll admit – ever – but he is afraid. There is a demon in his math teacher, his math teacher is in the trunk of Dean's car, and Dean and Sam are tearing up his garage. For the first time in a long time, Patrick feels lost.

Dean's done drawing. He tosses the rock aside and then rifles through the duffel Sam's left on the built-in workbench. Sam plants the chair in the middle of whatever's on the floor. Both brothers rush out of the garage, Dean holding a beat up plastic water bottle.

"Trunk!" Dean commands.

Patrick opens the trunk. Dean shoves him out of the way and brandishes the water bottle at the prostrate man inside. When Mr. Jenkins – Maurice Hopkins – the demon – whoever he is doesn't move, Dean thrusts the bottle at Sam, who checks all around them for observers, and then Dean reaches into the trunk and hefts the demon onto his shoulders.

They hurry back inside the garage. Slowly, Patrick closes the trunk and follows. As he enters the garage, Sam and Dean tie the man to the chair.

"Close the door," Dean grunts.

Patrick does as he's told. The door lowers slowly, groaning and squeaking all the way. Patrick stays where he is and watches the other two men finish strapping Mr. Jenkins down. He studies the symbol – it's the same as the one drawn inside Dean's trunk.

The man's secured to the chair now. Dean and Sam step back, out of the circle symbol, leaning against the walls and staring at the demon. Patrick swallows and finds his voice. "What are you going to do?"

They stare at him. They stare at each other. Then Dean clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck, eyes on the floor. Sam forces a smile and fields the question. "We're going to ask him some questions. Then we'll exorcise him."

Patrick frowns. "How are you going to get him to talk?"

Sam just looks at him, his smile vaguely hopeless. Dean looks up at Sam. "Well?" he asks. "You going to take that one too?"

Sam glares. "Why don't you?"

"Guys," Patrick growls. "What are you going to do to him?"

"We don't know yet," Dean retorts.

Patrick stares. Neither brother will look at him. "Great," Patrick snaps. His fear is fading fast; his anger is replacing it. "Where are we right now?"

Dean frowns. Sam takes a deep breath. "Patrick…"

"In my garage," Patrick cuts him off. "My garage. You are planning on exorcising – possibly torturing – a demon in my garage, and you won't even tell me what you're going to do?"

Silence. Dean and Sam both shuffle about awkwardly, refusing to look him in the eye. Patrick shakes his head, his lips tight, glaring at them.

"What the hell is that circle?" he demands.

Dean sighs harshly. Sam glances at the symbol and takes a deep breath. "It's called a devil's trap," he explains. "If you get a demon inside one, he can't get back out."

Patrick is still shaking his head. He turns from them, pacing, and cracks his neck. His eyes travel around the garage, taking in all the clutter and dirt and grease, his fists clenching as he resists the urge to punch a wall.

The devil in the trap groans, and Patrick's shoulders tense as he swivels around. Slowly, Mr. Jenkins is coming to. Try as he might, Patrick cannot bite down the panic that tightens his chest muscles and upsets his stomach. His eyes are wide as he looks from one Winchester to the other, desperately yet silently begging for more instructions.

Sam tries to give him a reassuring smile, but Dean isn't even looking in his direction. He doesn't see the panic. Instead, he marches right up to the waking demon, careful to remain outside the circle, and glares at the poor possessed math teacher. "Hey!" he barks at the man. "Wakey, wakey, you evil son of a bitch."

Patrick swallows hard, looking to Sam again. Another not-quite-reassuring smile crosses the taller Winchester's face. The demon wakes up fully, blinking at his surroundings. It doesn't take long for his eyes to narrow and his mouth to twitch into a provoking smirk.

"Oh, tell me this isn't what this looks like," he drawls sarcastically. "An interrogation? Really?"

"You bet your ugly demonic ass this is an interrogation," Dean retorts, not skipping a beat. "Or it could be an exorcism. Your call, really."

The demon barks out a laugh. "Right. My call. Because you pretty boy bastards aren't planning on exorcising me as soon as I spill my guts, right? Please, kiddo. You don't become a demon by being naïve."

"I'll bet you don't," Dean smirks. "But let's face it; you're trapped like a rat with nowhere to go. No one's going to come for you. I got you here, in this garage, gallons of holy water at my disposal… and I'm pissed. You can either cooperate with me or face the longest, most painful exorcism of any demon's lifetime. Doesn't matter to me – I got all the time in the world."

"No you don't," the demon retorts, smug. "You've only got until Thursday. And you also don't have the stones to torture me right."

"Try me."

The demon snorts. "I'm not alone in this body, Winchester. You and your fellow caped crusaders aren't really going to hurt an innocent, defenseless math teacher, are you?"

Patrick stares at Dean, waiting for an answer that won't make him vomit. Sam shares the panicked look. Dean just glares at the smug demon in the chair.

"Poor Mr. Hopkins and his critical angina," the demon simpers. "I can last days in here, but him? How long do you think he'll last once things get ugly in this garage?"

Patrick swallows, staring at Dean. Sam's staring at him too, and Patrick gets the impression that as experienced as Sam might be in the demon department, he too doesn't know what Dean's about to do, and it shakes him.

Dean's quiet, but only for a moment. He leans forward, smirking at the demon.

"It's already ugly in this garage," Dean announces. Then he snatches the water bottle off the ground and showers the demon with it, right in the face.

Mr. Jenkins (Mr. Hopkins?) screams as the water hits him, steam billowing into the air, and Patrick jumps, glancing over his shoulder, suddenly in a panic about the neighbors. Dean doesn't even flinch. "Where's your yellow-eyed boss?" he barks. "And what does he want with Patrick?"

The demon laughs again. "Fuck you."

Dean sprays the holy water a second time, and again, the demon screams. Patrick's back hits the wall before he even realizes he's backing away from the scene.

"Wrong answer," Dean growls. "Guess again."

"Give it up, boys," the demon drawls. "I'm not telling you a thing."

Another splash of holy water and another terrifying scream. "Stop it!" Patrick bellows.

Dean ignores him. "I can do this all day, you bastard! Start talking!"

"Dean," Sam says quietly. "Maybe we should…"

"What?" Dean snaps. "Lighten up? Take it easy? It's a demon, Sam, and it's been going after our brother. Either shut up and help me, or take the kid in the house."

Sam sighs and falls silent. Patrick stares at him incredulously, too pissed off for it to register that Dean just called him his brother. He shakes his head and levels a glare at the oldest Winchester. "It's not just a demon," he says. "My math teacher is in there too. You're going to hurt him."

"Oh, my bleeding heart," Dean grumbles sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He returns his attention to the demon. "You ready to start talking?"

"And interrupt the show?" the demon simpers. "I love a good family feud."

Dean shrugs. "Your one way ticket to Hell, then." He splashes the demon in the face with holy water once again, and another scream echoes in the garage. "Sam," Dean orders. "Get Dad's journal."

Patrick is still stock still against the garage wall. His fists are clenching at his sides as he glares at his brothers. Sam runs to do Dean's bidding and starts digging through his duffel bag, positioned on the workbench at the back of the garage.

"Let's try this again," Dean says, pacing in front of the demon. "You tell me where your boss is and what he wants with my brother, and maybe I don't send your ass to Hell. Or, you can keep sitting there, smirking and making smartass comments, and I'll start exorcising you right here and now. I'll take my time – hours, maybe. You ready for that?"

"Bring it on," the demon retorts, his eyes black and glassy, and his voice a rasping hiss. "You whiny little bitch."

Dean smirks. "Sammy?"

Sam moves away from the workbench slowly, that same leather-bound journal from before cradled in his hands. "Yeah, Dean?"

"Start reading."

Sam swallows. Patrick stares at him, and Sam does a half-ass job of avoiding his eyes. "Exorcizamus te," he reads aloud. "Omnis immundus spiritus…"

The demon groans, its head lolling and its eyes rolling.

"Ready to talk?" Dean smirks.

"I'll see you in Hell," the demon spits.

"Have it your way. Keep going, Sammy."

Sam looks hesitant, but only for a moment. "Omnis satanica potestas…"

The demon starts groaning again, and Sam stops. "Keep going," Dean orders.

Patrick watches the scene, wide-eyed. Sam is still hesitating. "Sam!" Dean barks. "Keep going."

"Yeah, Sammy," the demon drawls. "Don't worry; I can take it."

Dean flings more holy water in the demon's face. He moans, head whipping back and forth, as steam rolls off his skin. "Shut up," Dean says.

"When I get out again," the demon hisses. "I will track you down and peel your skin from your flesh!"

"Looking forward to it," Dean bites back. "Sam, will you keep reading already?"

Sam swallows. "Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii," he reads. "Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica…"

The demon cries out in agony. Sam hesitates. "You can end this," Dean taunts the demon. "Just tell me what I want to know. We'll call the whole thing off."

"Fuck off, you self-righteous prig!"

Dean chuckles. "Well, you can't say I didn't try. Finish it Sam."

Patrick watches the youngest Winchester's shoulders slump in relief. He reads through the rest of the rite, the demon in the garage groaning and screaming the whole way through. "Benedictus Deus," Sam finishes. "Gloria Patri!"

The math teacher's head falls backward, and with one final scream the demon is expelled, a cloud of black smoke billowing out the man's mouth and slamming into the ceiling with a flash of fire.

It's too quiet. The garage is still and silent; a strange electricity in the air. Patrick watches his math teacher's head slump forward on his chest. He swallows and makes his way over to the devil's trap.

"That was a waste of time," Dean grumbles. Patrick ignores him. He comes to a stop by his math teacher's chair.

"Mr. Jenkins?" he asks. "Er… Hopkins?"

He gently pushes his fingers into the man's shoulder. Suddenly, the man's eyes fly open and he gasps for air. Patrick jumps, stumbling backwards. Sam shoves him out of the way.

"Where am I?" the man asks, fear in his voice.

"It's all right," Sam says soothingly, leaning over the man in the chair. "You're safe. Here, let me help you out of those."

He starts cutting the ropes, freeing the man. "I couldn't control my body," the man mumbles. "Someone else was controlling me… the things he made me do!"

"Shh," Sam murmurs. "It'll be ok. We'll get you home."

He looks to Patrick. "Keys?"

Patrick stares at him a moment. Finally, he snaps out of it and pulls the keys from his coat pocket. Sam catches them.

As Patrick stands uselessly in the garage, Sam and Dean support the man from the chair, out the garage, and into the driveway. He turns towards the window and sees them put the man in the Impala. Sam climbs into the driver's seat as Dean shuts the passenger door. The engine starts, and Sam backs the car down the drive. Dean sees them off, and then heads back to the garage. Patrick turns from the window and runs his hand through his hair.

Dean steps into the garage through the small side door and heads straight for the mess in the middle. "You all right, kid?" he asks, barely sparing Patrick a glance.

Patrick glares at his back. "Just great."

"Sorry we didn't get any answers," Dean goes on. "That demon wasn't talking. It was time to send him packing."

Patrick says nothing. He tightens his jaw and glowers at his brother's head and says nothing.

"I got this," Dean says. "I'll clean up. You head on in… raid your mother's liquor cabinet or something."

He chuckles at his own joke. Patrick turns and leaves the garage, letting the side door slam behind him. He stands in the drive and stares at his house. There's a case of beer in the fridge, and his mother's pretty lax about things like that… she won't get pissed if he drinks half of it.

Patrick doesn't want to go in that house. He doesn't want to be here. He wants to be anywhere that doesn't remind him of an exorcism.

He spares a look back at the garage, and then grabs his bike. He pushes it down the driveway so as not to alert Dean. Then he climbs on the bike and starts her up. In seconds, he's on the road, wind whipping past his face, headed for the part of town he wishes he could avoid. Still, that's where he's going.

He has nowhere else to go.

Dean cusses when he hears the motorcycle in the driveway. Dropping the chair he'd been in the middle of moving, he rushes out of the garage just in time to see the back wheel of Patrick's bike disappearing around the bush at the end of the drive.

"Damn it!" he roars.

There's nothing to do about it. Sam's got the Impala, Izzy's car is in the shop, and Dean's stranded at the Veronas.

He's pissed.

That damn kid. Dean wants to throttle him. It doesn't matter to him that the exorcism must have freaked Patrick out. The way Izzy talks, Patrick wants to be a hunter. Patrick tracks ghosts and takes them out and gives her a new gray hair every other week. If the kid wants to hunt, he has to learn how to take down a demon.

He hopes he's scared the kid straight, he decides. Maybe now the kid gets it. No one wants to be a hunter. If he can stay out of the life, he ought to.

Sam will yell, Dean is sure. He'll be pissed. He'll say they shouldn't have exorcised the demon in front of the kid. He'll say they need to be more sensitive. Dean doesn't care about that so much. That's Sam's thing.

Sam will say Patrick needs more training. That they need to show him the ropes. That the kid's a target and nothing's going to change that and he needs to know how to protect himself. Dean disagrees.

Patrick should be left alone. He needs to be safe, locked away in Padua with his mom and his auto shop classes and his pretty girlfriend. No demons, no ghosts, no Winchesters.

Sighing, Dean turns around and heads back into the garage. The place is a mess, and he has a feeling Izzy won't be happy when she sees it.

He kind of doesn't care about that either. Who is happy, anyway?

Patrick parks the bike on the street. The sun is setting, and he bets that the Stratford family is inside eating dinner. They seem like that kind of family – you know, the sit-down dinners, talk about your day types.

He checks for Doc Stratford's car, but doesn't see it. Kat's Volvo is parked in the drive though, so he knows she's there. He decides to use the front door this time.

He knocks, hoping she'll be the one to answer. But the world is against him today, and instead he gets perky little Bianca.

"Hey Patrick," she greets him, with an irritatingly knowing grin. "Here to see Kat?"

Patrick stares at her, trying to keep his face blank. "Yeah."

"In her room… but you better be quick. My dad's on-call tonight, so he could be home any minute… and if he finds you two upstairs…"

Patrick's already pushed past her and started the climbing the staircase. Bianca lets loose a harsh, exasperated sigh, and slams the front door. "You're welcome!" she calls after him.

Kat's waiting for him in the doorway to her room with a sly smirk and a cocked eyebrow. "So," she greets him. "Have fun with your older brother the FBI agent?"

Patrick stops in the hall and just looks at her.

"So is your brother really the FBI?" she asks, still looking devious. "Or should I be calling the cops? Because impersonating a federal agent is a serious offense, you know."

Patrick grabs her around the face and smashes his lips against hers.

She makes a startled sound in the back of her throat, but then she grabs onto his arms and kisses him back. He backs her into her bedroom and kicks the door shut behind him.

He doesn't want to talk. He can't talk. What is there to say? He doesn't talk about his feelings, he doesn't cry on people's shoulders. And even if he did, how could he even begin to articulate what he's seen today? She doesn't know anything about demons. She doesn't believe in demons. He can't talk about it. And if he could, he still wouldn't say a word.

His lips are still on hers, his tongue crashing into her mouth. She fights with him, trying to kiss back harder than he can, and Patrick lifts her off the ground and falls onto the bed, pinning her beneath him.

Suddenly, she breaks free, her hands on his shoulders. "We can't," she says breathlessly. "My dad… he could be home any minute…"

"I don't care," he replies, and starts kissing his way down her neck.

She stifles a moan and he smirks into her skin. "Patrick," she hisses. "This is not the time or place."

"Mm-hmm."

"I need to see clean test results so I know you don't have an STI!"

Patrick frowns then, lifting his head up to stare at her. "What was that?"

She shrugs, her face serious and unflinching. "We have to get tested first. That's how I do things."

He stares a second more, and then he shrugs too. She's Kat, and this sounds like something she would say. He's actually not that surprised.

"Can we at least make out?"

She scoffs. "Am I your sex toy?"

He snorts, and then smirks. "Nah. Not until I get tested."

She gives him a hard shove and he rolls off her, sighing as he sprawls out on her bed. Kat raises herself up on her elbow and frowns down at him.

"Are you ok?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Sure."

She scoffs again. "Right. And I'm obviously a complete idiot, so I totally believe that."

Patrick groans and rubs his eyes with the palms of his hands. "I don't want to talk about it."

She nods and looks down at the bedspread. "Ok."

They fall into a long silence, heavy with tension and unasked questions and the memory of an exorcism Patrick would like to forget. He always said he wanted to be a hunter, but to be honest, most of that was backlash against John's wishes. John had always told him he had to finish school and do something else.

Then he'd turned around and raised his two oldest kids to be hunters. Damned hypocrite.

Patrick thinks he gets it now. John, for all his faults, wanted better for his last son than he'd been able to give the first two. Still, he's not sure it will matter in the long run. Even if the demon doesn't kill him, even if he gets a shot at normal… Patrick thinks he might be doomed. He thinks he might not have a choice, that he'll always come back to what he knows, that he'll become John… or Sam… or Dean. He thinks…

He wants to stop thinking. So he rolls over on his side and cups Kat's cheek with his hand, pulling her down for another kiss. She responds, gently, and when he pulls away, she's frowning at him again.

"I'm not your stress ball," she tells him. "You can't just make out with me whenever you're upset. I'd like to know exactly what I'm putting out for."

Patrick grins at her. "You're not really putting out at all."

"Seriously."

He drops the grin and sighs again. "I can't really talk about it. I just wanted to see you."

Patrick regrets that comment immediately when he sees it go straight to her head. She smiles at him, this weird little light behind her eyes. He's said something that genuinely makes her happy. She almost never looks this happy.

He feels like an asshole, partly because he's still not ready to give her what he thinks she's expecting, but mostly because he's afraid he's going to get her killed.