A/N 1: I know that I have 2 unfinished fics here, and I do plan on finishing them at somepoint...
So I decided to get back into writing Fanfiction after reading this wonderful prompt:
Kidnapped from Beckalooby at OhSam on LiveJournal:
Sam was taken as a small child, by humans, bad ones, and raised under a different name, abused, turned against the whole world. Although his father gave up, Dean never stopped looking for his brother, after John dies, he forgets about hunting monsters and turns his full attention to finding his brother. Eventually he tracks him down, but Sam is not the kid he remembered, he's angry, he fights, bites, scratches anything that comes near, maybe he's mute etc. (Or maybe he's too compliant, does things Dean says without even blinking, he takes orders scarily fast like he's been trained to just do anything anyone says without question.) Doesn't believe a word Dean says even when he shows him pictures of them as kids (maybe Sam has a very distinct birthmark that is in the kid pic and on him now as a teenager.) But through hard times and Dean saving Sam's life over and over, he sees this stranger might actually be his brother after all.
DISCLAIMERS: I don't own Supernatural or anything to do with the show. I'm merely playing around with characters invented by someone else, and a plot given to me by someone else :)
The Family That Should Have Been
Dean knocked on the door of the shabbiest looking house in the street. He thought to himself that his brother would probably have had a house on a street like this one, but not this house, and for all he knew his brother could well have a house on a street like this somewhere and he'd be none the wiser. Jamming the pain and grief that came up any time he thought about his brother down with an inner iron fist he steeled himself as he knocked on the door again, almost putting his fist through the partially rotting wood. 'How the hell they are allowed to keep their house like that in this type of suburbia I'll never know...' he thought, huffing to himself as the door opened to reveal an even shabbier looking middle aged man.
"Good afternoon sir, Daniel Bespoke?" the man nodded as Dean continued "I'm Agent Brian Rudd, FBI, mind if I ask you a few questions regarding your wife, one Marsha Bespoke?" Dean said, flashing his 'FBI' badge as he spoke.
"Don' see why you guys are here" Daniel said narrowing his eyes as he looked from Deans face to the badge and back again, "Some'a your guys already been down to look around and didn't find anything worth lookin' into so they upped an' left."
"Yeah that's actually why I'm here, they sent their findings to my department, so I've been sent down to tie up a few things and complete their investigation, now if you don't mind Sir, I'd really appreciate if we could do this inside?" Dean replied while motioning to the door. Daniel stepped aside and invited him in with a wave of his arm. Walking in front of Dean, Daniel sat down on one of the couches while motioning to Dean to sit down on the other one, as he picked up a stubbed out half used cigarette from the ashtray on the table in between them, re-lighting it. "So...um... what did you wanna know?" Daniel asked.
"If you could just recap what you told my colleagues that would be a great start Sir, and if there's anything else I need to know I'll pick it up with you at the end". After that Daniel Bespoke told Dean the story of how his wife had been quite literally ripped apart in front of his very eyes, while he was held immobile against the wall by some kind of invisible force, "that wall there in the kitchen" Daniel said pointing into the kitchen. He'd told Dean how the front door had burst open in a gust of wind, the same gust of wind that held him against the wall while holding Marsha in the same manner but in the middle of the kitchen floor. The invisible force had cut of his "darling Marsha's voice", stopping her from screaming as he was held and forced to watch her skin being torn from her body, then her organs being torn open and finally her heart disintegrating to a powdery dust as it took its last beat, her body falling to the floor.
"I'm sorry you had to see that Mr Bespoke, I really am. I know how hard it can be to lose a loved one," Dean said - and know this he did, having lost his mother and father and having had his little brother missing for 14 years now - "Can you think of anyone who would want revenge on your wife? Is there anyone she had wronged in her life?"
"What in the hell kinda... No, Marsha was a great person. Everyone loved her! How dare you..." Daniel said as his voice raised with each word, and as Daniel stood up, Dean stood up too thinking 'yeah sure she was buddy, that's why your getting so overprotective and cagey'.
Instead Dean said "Ok, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down Sir" and holding his hands up in a placating manner he calmed his voice and continued "It's just that usually in these kinds of cases the victim has been targeted as some kind of revenge" and sat back down as Daniel did.
"I'm sorry Agent, I just can't get over it, and I get angry every time I think about it, and how I was just stood there and couldn't do anything to help her..." Daniel trailed off as Dean replied "I understand Sir, no harm meant. Now I'll need to examine the house, starting with the kitchen..." Daniel interrupted him, cutting him off "The other guys who were here already done that, why d'you gotta do it again? They miss something?" He stopped what he was saying as a thinner, younger, and altogether scruffier looking boy walked into the room from the kitchen wearing a vest and trousers that looked like they were both far too wide for him, carrying a neatly folded pile of washing. Dean stood up extending his hand "Hi there, Agent Brian Rudd - FBI, and you are...?"
The young man just looked at him with widening eyes and then to Daniel, taking a step back from Deans hand and into the wall in the process. "His name is Andrew, he's our son." Dean turned to look at Daniel opening his mouth, but before he could get his question out Daniel said "Andrew has a personality disorder, he doesn't really speak to strangers, can't even get him to speak to us at the best of times." Walking over to Andrew, Daniel put his hand over his shoulder squeezing it, and Andrew seemed to flinch at the touch. "Why don't you go on upstairs Andrew, I'll be up to see you when I'm finished talking with Agent Rudd here" Dean noticed that Andrew seemed to pale slightly at that, but that he turned and hurried up the stairs, almost dropping the pile of washing in his haste. That wasn't what troubled Dean the most though, it was the mark on the guys upper right arm that looked like a very old burn scar 'What the hell? No, no way' he thought, while trying to compose himself. He hadn't seen a mark like that in a place like that since the night before Sam had vanished.
"Uh, I think we're finished here for now anyway Mr Bespoke" Dean said, suddenly needing to be out of that house and back in his motel room in front of the laptop, digging up more information on the Bespoke family than the basic information he already had. "If I need anymore information then I'll be in touch in the next few days". As an afterthought he added "Is there anytime that's not convenient for me to call in and speak with you? I'd really like to tie this up as quickly as possible".
Daniel looked him up and down before replying "No I'm usually always home, except for Tuesday mornings when I go grocery shopping". All the while thinking 'Ohgodohgodohgod' and stopping himself from running up the stairs to question Andrew, Dean managed to respond "That's great, I'll be sure to call in tomorrow then after you're finished shopping".
After leaving the house Dean almost ran to the Impala, and once he was behind the wheel of his baby he turned back to look at the house, Daniel only just getting to close the door. Dean drove around to the next street, almost doing an emergency stop as he pulled over to the side of the road and put the car into Park. He pulled out his wallet, taking out one of the two photos with the well worn folds in it and opening it up. It was a photo of Dean, John and Sam, the three Winchester males on a camping trip in the Woods, one year before their little family had been torn apart and had never been put back together. Sam had a bandage on the top of his right arm in the photo, which was what Dean was currently focusing on. 'No it's too easy, it can't be, can it? How? Oh God, what if? And dad said... But how? Not possible' Dean tried to reason, and this inner mantra repeated as he wiped the unshed tears from his eyes, put the photo back in his wallet, put the car back into drive and drove to the motel to gather much more need information on the Bespoke family and 'Andrew'.
After hearing Agent Rudd leave the house and watching him drive away, Andrew ran up to the cluttered attic, knowing that it would only delay the only inevitable outcome by a few minutes at best. 'Why the hell weren't you paying attention, should have stayed in the kitchen till the Agent was gone. What the hell have you done? Why do you always muck everything up?' he inwardly reprimanded himself. Hearing Daniels boots coming up the stairs he shifted further into the corner he'd curled himself up in, wishing that one of these days he'd get lucky and the wall behind him would actually open up and swallow him whole. "Andrew! Get the fuck down here now!" he heard Daniel calling out for him as the footsteps grew that little bit closer "Don't make me come up there an' find you, you know what happens when we play that game!" Although he did know what happened when they played that game, after 14 years he still remained hopeful that one day Daniel wouldn't find him and that he could put off the inevitable beating. He felt his hair grabbed and he was pulled out of the corner by the grip on his hair.
"Ah! Please don't. I promise I didn't know anyone was in!" Andrew said, hoping again to stop the beating that was to come, but knowing better than to try to move Daniels hands from his hair. "I didn't know blahblahblah... How many times do we have to go through this Andrew?" Daniel said as he released his grip on Andrew, pushing the now trembling 21 year old to kneel on the floor in front of him. "Maybe I should just put the bullet in your head that I should have put in there years ago huh? Then my problems will maybe all be over" he continued, circling Andrew like a predator circles it's prey before the attack. Daniel hit from on his back and he fell forward onto the carpet, hitting his face off the floor. He was then kicked on the side a few times with Daniels steel toe-capped boot before being rolled over with the same boot. Gasping for breath, he felt himself being pulled up by the hair again, and the next thing Andrew saw was Daniels fist coming towards his face and everything went blank.
In his dreams Andrew sometimes dreamt of living with an older man and a young boy, it all seemed so familiar and yet unfamiliar at the same time. It always started out as a happy dream, where he had the family that he longed for but had never had, but he was never called Andrew, the man and boy called him Sam. The dreams always ended in the same way though. The man and boy always turned him away in different ways, sometimes they threw him out in the street with his belongings, or with nothing, sometimes they threw him out of a big black car while it was still moving, or they dropped him off at an orphanage, sometimes they killed him on the spot for what he was. Although the scenarios were different, the words always the same "You're filthy, a whore, dirty boy, evil, user ... need to be punished ... don't deserve to be loved...don't deserve a family" He always woke from those dreams sitting bolt upright, sweating and gasping for breath.
Bolting upright out of his most recent dream, where the man and boy had thrown him into the Bespokes cellar, Andrew noticed he was in his bed, which not only meant that Daniel had hit him so hard with that punch that he'd not regained consciousness through the rest of the beating, but that Daniel had also carried him down to his bed. Andrew couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through him at that thought as his hand instinctively moved behind him. He found that he was aching all over. There was also blood on the sheets he was lying on, which meant he was sleeping on the threadbare carpet tonight while the sheets dried. Getting up he did a once over of his injuries in the broken mirror, 'more of the same', which to Andrew was a black eye, burst lip, bruised ribs and a few cigarette burns, sometimes more sometimes less. He then checked the time and the clock read 4.30am, he went downstairs and started cleaning up the living room before making Daniel his breakfast.
It was this time alone before Daniel woke up that Andrew got what little enjoyment he had in life. It was the only real time he had to be truly alone except from when Daniel went grocery shopping. Instead of trying to run, which he'd tried twice, during that alone time and paid for it for two months after each attempt, Andrew found that he preferred the time alone. He could sit on the furniture and put the TV on, always making sure to smooth out the cushions and turn the TV off so that the set had time to cool down before Daniel got home and checked it.
As Daniels breakfast was cooking, Andrew continued tidying the array of empty beer bottles, crisp packets and burnt pieces of foil from the living room table thinking to himself 'looks like he had a good night last night' closely followed by 'he's still gonna be pissed when he gets up'. As if on cue, around 7am, he heard Daniel moving around upstairs and he hurried back to the kitchen dumping the rubbish in the bin. Having already set the kitchen table for Daniel to have his breakfast, Andrew put out the fried breakfast to Daniels specifications and just managed to put the plate on the table as Daniel walked through the door from the living room. "Gettin' sloppy there are we?" Daniel said as he sat down in front of the meal. Andrew stood to the side of him and after tasting the first bite Daniel said "You can sit now" around chewing on the second bite, and Andrew sat in the seat across the table from him. "Now Andrew, while I'm out today you are not to let anyone in this house, and I mean anyone, are we clear?" Andrew nodded and Daniel carried on, "And if for some reason that FBI guy comes, don't let him in. But I know you and how much you like to slip up, so, if he does find a way in Do Not let him into any other room but the front room. You got that?" Andrew nodded. "Think you can manage that one simple task?" Andrew nodded again, not taking his eyes from the table and said "Yes Mr Bespoke".
"Good, now you go and make yourself breakfast" Daniel said around another mouthful of food, and he sat and watched Andrew prepare his slice of toast and glass of milk. By the time Andrew had made his toast Daniel was halfway through his fried breakfast. He brought it back to the table and put it down as Daniel motioned for him to sit, and waited for Daniel to finish his breakfast before eating his own. After Andrew was finished his toast and milk Daniel got up and slapped him on the head "Did I tell you to start eating asshole?" he asked. Andrew looked at the table again and said "No, I'm sorry, I should have known better to wait for you. Sorry" while wishing that this wouldn't be one of those mornings where he was made to bring it back up and eat it again as a lesson. Thankfully Daniel was feeling a little generous that morning as he said "Good enough I guess. That was your one and only slip up today Andrew. Remember that!" and walking towards the kitchen door, he turned round and said "I'm gonna get ready and go to the store now. This place better be sparkling when I get home, FBI visit or not". Andrew responded with "Yes Mr Bespoke" as he got up and ran the water to wash the mornings dishes.
A/N: So there we have the first part. Please let me know what you all think!
