This story is actually an experiment in narrative styles, an excuse to throw Dean in a prison jumpsuit, and a blatant disregard for the true interpretation of a classic maxim.
Warnings for language, violence, and the author would like to personally advise those easily influcenced to break the law into avoid this story all together.
Silent enim leges inter arma
In times of war, the law is silent.
Trust me kid, this isn't a story you want to hear. Better take that beer of yours and go bug old Mal, he'll spin you a yarn that'll have your head spinning so fast you'll think you got slipped the mickey. Go on now, beat it.
Kids today, don't listen to a fucking word anyone tells them. Yeah, I used to be like that. Don't look at me like that, Sport. I haven't always been this old. Yeah, hard to believe, ain't it?
So you want to hear all the sordid details. Well you ain't the first. Most don't stick around past the first round. Whatever shit they're making you kiddie hunters out of these days just ain't as tough as it used to be. Aw, quite your whining, you want to hear or not? Yeah? Well buy me another damn whiskey, then.
What took you so long? You distil the damn stuff yourself?
You kiss your mom with that mouth? Hell, don't look so antsy, Junior. Swear all you goddamn want. Stand up for yourself. Yeah, better.
Alright then.
I was eleven when I first met them in Fitchburg, Wisconsin, and I won't lie. They didn't make the best impression.
Yeah, my people skills weren't as smooth as they are now, not back then, but I'm telling you, kid, I looked like a saint next to Dean.
At the time, they said they were with CDC. All I could think was that the admission process must have been pretty damn lax. Two doctors in leather and flannel. Tried to give 'em a King. Wasn't the first either, or the last, not according to Sam. That never sat well with Dean. He had a reputation to protect, I guess. A reputation I naturally felt the need to tarnish as frequently as possible. I'm telling you, the number of extra laps I got for leaving a copy of Gay Times on the Impala's front seat…
Yeah, where was I?
The shtriga, right.
Sam used to say that I had real bad luck. That my first supernatural experience should have been a nice, safe poltergeist or chubacabra. Corse, I'm not the kid whose mom burned to death on the ceiling of his nursery, but I sure as hell wasn't gonna say that to his face. I don't think he ever got over the fact that he couldn't protect me from the truth. That he couldn't spare me from the life he had lead.
Dean was much the same, but the man was a pragmatist. Shit happens. Deal. Yeah, we saw eye to eye in that respect. He wasn't above using me as bait for the crazy, ugly ass witch who sucked the life out of my little brother. She came damn close to killing me, and I remember thinking at the time that I hope she choked on me. Bitch.
What? Pissed with him? Hell no. I just thought he was nuts. Or else I was. But the man had a brother to protect, just like I did. We did our jobs, and nobody got hurt. Cept me. I got grounded. What? You try coming up with a good excuse for a half dozen holes in the wall.
Didn't expect ever to see them again, after that. Hell, I didn't even say thank you. They'd saved my little brother's life. That was what they did. I respected that, but no, didn't expect to see them again.
Still, it started an obsession in me. An obsession I fuelled in some pretty stupid ways. Then, bout three weeks after I turned seventeen, I heard it on the radio, damn near drove off the road, I did. Dean Winchester was back in Wisconsin. On trial for murder.
Was he guilty? Sure he was. Did that make him a killer? Not in my book. Dean was one of those guys who looked like they were capable of killing someone, he just carried himself that way. Even as a kid, I recognised it. Didn't question the truth of the statement when I heard it. I just knew that he would have had a damned good reason.
No. He was a good guy. A bastard and a prick, and a hundred other things in between, wont argue with that, but he was the best man I ever knew, and I won't hear a word on the contrary, you hear me?
Yeah, I'll take another Jim. Keep your pants on, I ain't mad. Not any more. I called him worse things to his face. Guy could take insults like he could punches.
Sam? Yeah, I was just getting to Sam.
You see it took me a week or so to get what I needed. Cost me a years allowance and three months' poker winnings to get the paperwork, and I broke more laws that week than I had in the five years previous. And I wasn't exactly a saintly kid. But I got there in the end. They'd been holding Dean in the fancy new police precinct about four miles out of the capital. For security reasons, they said.
Gave me some right funny looks, too, they did. 'He ain't never mentioned a kid.' They said. Corse he hadn't. I'd be damned if he'd even remember me. It'd been near six years. So when I got through security- 'just some photos of me and my brother. No, he's at school officer.' I hadn't a fucking clue why I was doing it. Guess I wanted to say thank you.
They'd handcuffed him to the table, and his poker face was damn near perfect. Didn't blink an eye when they told him that his son was here to see him.
He remembered who I was, recognised me after a second. Convinced me it was worth all the effort.
"Michael?" When they left us alone, he looked pissed. As if he couldn't believe what I'd done. I wasn't all that far behind him. Wasn't everyday I lied to police to visit a murderer I hadn't seen in six years. Hell, he hadn't even told me his real name. I'd had to find that out myself, and it had taken some time. But the Winchesters were famous back then, nearly as much as they are now.
'What the fuck are you doing here?' That's what he asked. So I told him. 'I have no fucking clue, man.'
Yeah, he looked a mess alright. Older. Tired. He told me to beat it. Go home to my mom and brother and forget all about Dean Winchester and the dark world he inhabited.
I told him to fuck himself. Think he smiled a little, can't remember. 'Come on, man. Where's Sam? We'll get you out of here. It'll be cool.'
Now you can think what you like about Dean, but the man loved his brother something fierce. Ain't nothing he wouldn't have done for him. Hell, there's little he didn't do. So you'll understand why I was so fucking shocked at his next sentence.
'Go home, Michael.' He told me. I ain't never seen a man look that hopeless. 'Sammy's gone, kid. Just go home.'
Hell, Junior, you wanted to hear this story. I never promised it would be sunshine and puppies. Trust was, there ain't nobody who knows what happened to Sam Winchester back then. Even after we found him, he didn't say a word to anyone. Not even Dean, far as I know.
What? Did Dean get out of prison? Hell yes. And I'm telling you, McQueen had nothing on him, kid. Was a thing of pure beauty.
No. you can come back tomorrow. I'm old. I'm bad tempered. You can come back tomorrow, or you can find someone else to tell ya. Corse, they're all dead now…
Yeah. I though you might. Same time. Get me a whiskey in, ya'hear? And stay away from Mal. Man talks out of his ass.
TBC