December, 1987
The tykes were lost, that much was obvious.
The Host was standing outside of Caritas, taking a breather after a particularly grueling reading. There was nothing good in that Meevillis demon's future, that was for sure, and sugarcoating it had been tiring. He hated giving bad readings, but luckily the Meevillis wasn't a really aggressive type. Still, it brought the whole nice mojo he worked so hard to cultivate down a notch when a reading like that came through the bar.
He caught sight of them from across the street as he stretched his back out, thinking about how much too old he was getting for this stuff et cetera. He stopped mid-stretch. Two little human boys alone in the demon district? Bad news. At least for them. He watched them, hoping to see a parent pop out of an alley or something, preferably a parent with lots of firearms. No parent was forthcoming—maybe demon dinner already.
The older boy looked eight, maybe nine, the little one maybe half that. Big brother held the kid's hand in a white-knuckled grip, his eyes darting around nervously. The little one clutched his stomach with his free hand. "'M hungry, Dean," he whined. Whined quietly—it would have been inaudible to a human from the distance they were away from him—but whined nonetheless.
"Shh," the older one—Dean whispered shortly, his brow furrowing. "We'll eat when we get back to the motel."
"There's no food there," the little one argued, then quieted at the look on his brother's face. "Okay."
They hung by the buildings, creeping along like nervous little mice. Dean's eyes barely seemed to blink as they kept a keen lookout. They had the look about them of experience, of having hidden professionally for most of their young lives. They walked quietly, almost soundlessly. Lorne leaned against the wall and raised a cigarette to his lips, radiating nonchalance as he pulled a lighter out of his pocket. He didn't want to attract the kid's attention, but he wanted to alarm him as little as possible if he was seen, and that meant not trying to hide.
Maybe it was serendipity, maybe random chance. Lorne didn't make the mistake of caring much about the difference between the two. But when the little boy started to hum, Lorne almost lit his suit on fire with the lighter.
Loneliness and fear and pain and confusion and love and longing and love and loyalty and family and lack of home and lack of sleep and lack of Mom and where is Dad and I'm so hungry and why's Dean so sad and why's Dean mad at me. Two little boys sharing Christmas by themselves in a dingy motel room, exchanging found and stolen presents, Dad elsewhere doing What Dad Does. Asking too many questions about Mom and Dad until Dean shuts down and says go to sleep Sammy you talk too much. Asking Dad questions about Mom and Dean until Dad says Sammy when you're older but right now I have a headache. Dad coming home covered in blood but at least he came home. Moving again to a new motel room in a new town in a new state.
And beneath it all a whisper of something cold and dark and ancient. Just a whisper. But it was there.
Just as he was wondering what big brother would read like, Lorne saw a shadow tailing the boys. He stifled a groan. Great. He couldn't let that bright little soul get hurt.
Big brother seemed to realize that something was behind them, but was quickly distracted by the something to their left as Lorne crossed the street. He tensed, pulling a blade out of his tiny jacket. When Lorne stepped into a pool of light cast by a street lamp, Dean gasped and shoved Sammy behind him. Lorne simply winked and put a finger to his lips.
Ignoring Dean's look of confusion, he arrived next to them at the same moment that the other demon arrived behind them. Dean whirled around, not sure where to panic first. "Krevlornswath," the demon growled. A Thraxis, if Lorne was making it out right. Only way to tell for sure would be to see if its blood made his skin burn—well, more like Dean's or Sammy's skin burn—but there was no need for that. "Have you laid claim to these human pups?"
"Oh, well, laid claim," Lorne laughed, tucking the lighter into his pocket and dropping the cigarette on the ground, grinding it under his toe. "How quaint. We do try to be more progressive around here, sweetie; one doesn't really lay claim to human children anymore. At least, not in polite company."
"So they are unclaimed," the Thraxis growled, but it was a more pleased-sounding growl this time. Difficult to distinguish but Lorne had practice. "You will not mind then if I partake."
Dean thrust his blade at the Thraxis, who chuckled and plucked it out of the boy's hands. The kid looked so surprised that it was almost laughable, if that surprise hadn't been so quickly replaced with terror. Lorne took a step between the kiddos and the Thraxis. "They got a little tired of some of the more off-key karaoke over at Caritas and took off," Lorne said, his voice even but firm. "They almost missed their dinner, though." Sammy looked up at the word dinner, evidently less alarmed by Lorne's appearance than his brother.
"Caritas," the Thraxis growled in disappointment. "Then they are protected under your...sanctuary."
"Hole in one," Lorne said, shrugging and spreading his hands sympathetically. "Rules are rules, babe."
"You cannot make an exception?" the Thraxis growled pleadingly.
Lorne shook his head. "Sorry, honey. No can do. These kiddos are all sanctuary'd up. Can't ruin my reputation by letting them become dinner. It's bad for business."
The Thraxis demon slumped and walked away, but not before handing Dean back the knife grudgingly. He stared at the knife and then the demon, utterly baffled, before brandishing it again in a less-than-intimidating battle stance. The Thraxis rolled its eyes before leaving.
Once he was gone, Dean turned the knife to Lorne. "Who are you?" he asked, trying to pitch his voice down. He almost got all the way to mezzo-soprano.
"The guy who's giving the two of you a hot, free meal," Lorne replied. "Let's go inside, kids. It's cold out here."
Sammy was all ready to up and head into Caritas, but Dean grabbed his brother's arm. He still held the knife pointed at Lorne. "You're a demon," he said.
"You're a sharp one," Lorne replied. "Was it the green or the horns that gave me away?"
"Demons kill people," Dean said with conviction.
Lorne shrugged. "Sometimes. Sometimes people kill people. Right now this demon isn't going to kill you people, so if you want some free food and a phone to use to call your mom or your pops, you can follow me. If not, feel free to see how well that little butter knife works against Chaos demons." Lorne stuck his hands in his pockets and tilted his head. "Your choice, sugar."
Dean thought about it for a moment, his eyes flicking from Lorne to his little brother. The tot's distress was palpable, even through his silence. He finally met Lorne's gaze, and he said, very quietly, "If you're gonna hurt one of us, it's me, okay? Leave Sammy alone."
Lorne had always had a soft spot for humans. Cows, as his people put it. Here in LA, he did try to stay out of human/demon politics...just a messy business, and bad for his business. Caritas was a sanctuary mostly so that he didn't have to clean a lot of blood out of the upholstery. But he wasn't unfeeling (which was why leaving Pylea had been in his best interest). This little boy couldn't figure out why he was still alive, and was willing to deal for his brother's safety. Lorne hadn't cared that much about anybody in a long, long time.
He crouched down by the boy and led the tip of Dean's knife against his heart. It couldn't hurt him, of course, not even if the boy decided to stab, but he knew it would be read as a gesture of good will. Dean watched him out of suspicious eyes. "Babydoll, nobody's getting hurt tonight," he said. "We're gonna go to my bar across the street and get some food into the two of you and call somebody to come pick you up. And that's it."
He let go of the knife and stood up, extending his hands to the kids. "Coming? 'Cause we hold hands when we cross the street."
Sammy waited for Dean's cue. Taking a deep breath, the older boy slipped his hand into Lorne's, and Sammy followed suit. Lorne straightened and walked the two boys across the street.
When they were at the door to Caritas, Lorne looked down at them. "Now, when we get in, there's gonna be a lot of people like me in there," he said. Dean's eyes widened. "Looking a bunch of different ways. But nobody's going to hurt you. My place is called a sanctuary, and that means nobody hurts anybody else inside. Okay?"
Dean looked like he wanted to argue, but Sammy let out a little whimper and clutched his stomach with his free hand. Dean gave in and nodded.
They walked into the bar, and Lorne could feel Dean's palm grow clammy in his hand. The boy didn't seem to know which way to turn to keep the best eye out. Sammy seemed more entertained than frightened by the array of colors and shapes of Lorne's patrons. Lorne led them through the crowd, past a Brachen demon singing "You Shook Me All Night Long", and sat them down at the bar on the side furthest from the door.
Lorne motioned for Brad, the half-demon kid who was his newest bartender, and shouted over the singing, "Get Francis to whip these kids up some burgers." Brad nodded with a friendly grin to the kids, which only Sammy returned, and left to do as Lorne said.
"Who do you want to call?" Lorne asked Dean.
Dean hesitated before answering, but reluctantly said, "Our dad."
"What's your dad's name?" Lorne asked.
Dean's face shut down so fast Lorne was surprised the kid didn't get whiplash. "I know his number. You don't have to look him up."
That sat wrong with Lorne, and he leaned over on the bar to get a better look at Dean. "That tone of voice tells me there's something up with your daddy you don't want me to know about. So I'll give you the phone once you give me your daddy's name."
Dean shook his head stubbornly.
"Our daddy's name is John Winchester," Sammy supplied helpfully.
Lorne's eyes widened while Dean smacked his little brother in the head. John Winchester. Hoo boy. While the Hunter tended to stay in the heartland, demons talked. He wasn't a bad Hunter, and what he lacked in finesse he made up for in sheer damned determination and just a dash of luck. Not a great person to have on your tail, especially if you literally had one. Dean turned back around to glare defiantly at Lorne, as though to say what now. "John Winchester let his boys wander around Los Angeles in the middle of the night, alone?" Lorne asked. "Is your dad okay?"
Dean crossed his arms and hunkered down in his chair.
"He's probably worried sick about you, wherever he is," Lorne pressed. "Let's call him, shall we?"
Dean said nothing as Lorne leaned over the bar and took the phone off of its base. He handed the phone to the boy, who glared at him as he took it and punched a number in. He hung up shortly thereafter and handed the phone back to Lorne. "He'll call," Dean said confidently.
The silence as they waited was disheartening. Sammy looked fine, his feet kicking as he watched the action of the bar, but Dean's eyes were losing their fire as the minutes ticked on. Even Francis' excellent burger wasn't enough to bring the little guy's spirits up, although he certainly ate it willingly enough. Both boys ate like they hadn't seen food in days.
When the phone finally rang Dean nearly jumped out of his chair grabbing for it. Lorne held it away from him. "Could be someone else," he said gently, and Dean settled back into his chair glumly. Lorne clicked the phone on. "Caritas," he said.
There was nothing on the other line for a moment. "What have you done with my boys?" John Winchester finally asked. He was breathing heavily and his voice sounded ragged. Injured, no doubt. Lorne winced at the notion of a bleeding man coming into Caritas.
"Mr. Winchester," Lorne said cheerfully, winking at Dean. "Glad to hear from you. Here's Dean." Lorne handed the phone to the boy, who took it in both hands.
"Dad," he said, and then paused. His face, which had just been so joyful, turned solemn. He nodded. "I know, Dad. Something broke into the motel room. No, I salted everything, I'm sure of it. I don't know how it got in. I got Sammy out. He's fine."
Lorne shook his head. Not we're fine. He's fine.
Dean furrowed his brow. "I had to, Dad. Some demon almost attacked us outside. He stopped it and took us into the bar. He gave me and Sammy some burgers." A pause. "They don't taste like poison."
Lorne snorted.
"Can you come pick us up, Dad?" Dean's voice was small as he asked it, scared and lonely. "No, I don't...I don't know exactly where we are." He looked up at Lorne, who took the phone back.
"—trace your steps," John was saying. "Think, boy, think!"
"Or I could just give you the address," Lorne said simply. John fell silent. "Might be more efficient than trying to yell it out of your kid."
"Don't you hurt my boys," John said quietly. "Don't you touch them."
Lorne sighed dramatically. "Oh, honey. Four years on the job and still so much to learn. Nobody hurts anybody at Caritas. You can thank the Transuding Furies for that. Your boys are safe as they can be, just waiting for their pop to come pick 'em up."
Lorne gave John the address and directions, and just before John was going to hang up, added, "Are you injured?"
A pause, then, "Yes."
"Bleeding?"
"...yes."
Lorne swore in Pylean. "Look, I have some vampires in the bar tonight, it might not be a great idea for you to—"
The dial tone told him that John didn't care.
Lorne put the phone back on its base and turned to Dean, who was staring at his empty plate. "Still hungry, hon?" Lorne asked.
Dean shook his head.
"You've got a lot on you, don't you, little man?" Lorne said quietly. Dean turned to him but said nothing. "Protecting little bit over there while your dad's out hunting. How old are you?"
"I'll be nine next month," Dean said with the fierce defensiveness of a kid who's about to have a birthday. Eight no longer cut it to describe him.
Lorne nodded. "You're a big kid, I know. But it's okay if it's hard, sometimes. Lots of grown-ups wouldn't hold up that well under that kind of pressure. You've seen some scary stuff, haven't you?"
Dean nodded while Sammy munched away on a french fry, oblivious. "I gotta keep Sammy safe," he said softly, barely audible over the music. "It's my job."
Lorne patted the kid's back. "You do a good job of it, Dean-o," he said. The boy didn't reply, but Lorne saw the softening of his posture, and the smile he tried to keep off of his face.
Dean took him up on the offer of a second burger, and Lorne sat watching him eat, wondering how long it had been since these kids had eaten a good meal. And even as he ate, Dean kept a sharp eye on the rest of the bar, glancing back at his brother every few moments to make sure he was okay. He tried to give half of his second burger to Sammy, but Lorne just had Francis give Sammy his own.
Lorne knew when John got to Caritas, because suddenly his bouncer wasn't inside the door anymore. He glanced at Brad, who nodded and came up to the boys, chatting with them cheerfully. He stood up and walked quickly to the door.
"It's okay, Sid. I've got it from here," Lorne said, stepping between his six foot seven vampire bouncer and the man who looked like he was about to bleed out on the ground.
The vampire pulled away with effort. "Boss—" he said, but Lorne cut him off with a gesture.
"Get inside," Lorne said. "I'll handle this." Sid retracted his fangs with a quiet sound and tore himself away, closing the door behind him.
Lorne led John to the wall, where the man leaned heavily to support himself. "My boys," he whispered.
"They're fine," Lorne said. "Eating burgers. Not poison burgers, by the way. Why on Earth would I poison your kids' burgers? Not really a typical demon MO. But I digress. I tried to tell you not to come here. Caritas is a sanctuary, but honey, you're a walking buffet right now."
"Bring me my boys," John breathed. Lorne could see him starting to lose consciousness. Whatever he'd been fighting had gotten him bad—or something on the way over had tried to finish the job. Los Angeles demons, like Los Angeles humans, were a different breed. John wouldn't have been ready for it. "Please," the man whispered.
Lorne sighed the sigh of the unjustly persecuted, and turned to Sid. "Have anybody who works here who doesn't drink blood bring the car around," he said. "Call a doctor to whatever address this man gives you, and bring the boys outside."
Sid looked skeptical, but took the address from John and went inside.
"Why are you helping me?" John rasped, struggling to keep his eyes open. Lorne rolled his.
"If you're complaining, I can let you bleed out," he said. "But really, just very inconsiderate of you to do it in front of my bar."
"Why," John pressed.
Lorne met his eyes. "Because you got two kiddos in there who need whatever excuse for a dad they can get," he said. "There's some crap ahead for those boys. The little one, he's something else. And your Dean? That kid's an old man ahead of his time. I'm helping you so he doesn't have to do it all alone."
John nodded unsteadily. "Dean is a good boy," he slurred. "I wish he could be a little boy again."
"Dad!" Lorne and John both looked up as Sid ushered the boys outside before slipping back into Caritas. Dean ran in front of John, stopping before he got close enough to touch, and Sam stopped right behind Dean's shoulder. John straightened, staggered, and caught himself. He crouched down with some difficulty, and opened his arms. His boys approached carefully and hugged him gently. This was not the first time John had barely come home, Lorne could tell. The Hunter looked up at the demon, shaking his head slowly. "Thank you," he said. "I don't understand. But thank you for keeping them safe."
"You need to get off the coast," Lorne said shortly. "I don't know what you were hunting here, but somebody else can handle it. You need to get these boys out of town."
"You know you have a vampire infestation in the warehouse district?" John asked, his voice hard. He was a man who didn't like being bossed, Lorne could tell, but both of those boys were going to get killed if he didn't take them out of California.
Lorne rolled his eyes. "Sugar plum, everybody knows LA has a vampire infestation. Who'd you run into?"
"Female. Blonde. Short. Old, very old."
Lorne shook his head, disbelieving. "Darla. I'm really, really surprised you made it out. She must've gotten distracted."
"Molotov cocktail to the eye will do that to a vampire," John muttered.
Lorne's car pulled up on the road, expensive and shiny and about to be bled all over, before the Host could make a comment revealing how much he enjoyed the mental picture of Darla getting Molotov'd. He walked up to the back seat and opened the door. The boys climbed in eagerly—Dean in particular seemed to be in gleeful awe of the car—but Lorne put a hand on John's arm before he could get in. "You get these boys off the coast," he said softly. "I'll know if you don't. Demons talk."
"Or what?" John challenged.
"Or CPS will get an anonymous tip about a neglectful father holing his boys up in some shifty motel," Lorne said simply, and John paled further. Lorne patted him gently on the shoulder. "Have a good ride," he sang, closing the door as John fell onto the seat.
He watched the car drive off, and in the back seat saw Sammy waving at him.
After a moment, he waved back.
As he walked slowly back into his bar, the Host found himself wishing he could have provided those lonely little boys sanctuary for more than one evening. Because if Sammy's reading had told him anything, it was that sanctuary would be a rarity in their lives.