...
Give You the Sun
Chapter One
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The kid – James – is just three. Dean knows cause when he asks, the kid stares up at him seriously like it's the world's most important secret and holds up three grubby little fingers – two on one hand and one on the other.
There's no one for the boy to go to now. Dean knows that too. He'd guessed it was a poltergeist from the newspaper report on James' dad, but he hadn't gotten there in time to stop it from getting the kid's mum or his big sister Sarah. He'd barely gotten there in time to save James, though to the kid's credit, he doesn't cry out even once as Dean wraps up the cut on his arm; just watches him with big bright green eyes that make Dean feel like he's being weighed and measured.
He checks for aunts or uncles or grandparents or godparents or anything of the like when they get back to his motel room, and he comes up empty. The kid has no one (just like you, says a voice in the back of Dean's head, but he shoves it back into a little corner of his brain and tries not to think of Sammy being normal and Dad being a solo-hunter).
And yeah, there's Child Protection Services. But considering all the close calls they had with that damn agency when they were growing up (and the one time the suited men actually got a hold of them and it was a week before John was able to track them down and bust them out and make a break for it), Dean's not exactly a fan. Besides, he's seen enough movies that show what happens to kids in CPS, and he can't let that happen to James – not when he just risked his own life to save the kid and not when the boy's world has only just been torn apart and burnt to ash.
So where does that leave him? With a three year old kid who's not talking (Dean doesn't think he'd talk either, if he'd seen the things James has, so he hardly holds that against the young boy) and who has no where and no one to go to.
He knows what Dad would say if he were here. "He's not your problem Dean – let someone else deal with him." But, well, he kind of is Dean's problem, since right at this moment he's sleeping in Dean's lap.
And Sam too – Sam would be the voice of reason in this situation. "What are you gonna do, Dean, leave him at the motel while you go off on hunts, like Dad did with us?"
But Dad's off somewhere hunting on his own and Sammy's off playing College Boy, so neither of them are here to give their opinions and this is up to Dean. And, well, maybe he'll just take a break from hunting for a while. Just until the kid's settled a bit – recovered, both from his injuries and the trauma of loosing his family the way he did.
And then... maybe Dean will find a family to adopt James. Yeah. There's heaps of couples out there who want kids but can't have them, right? Well, Dean will just find one of those, and they can raise the kid.
They'll have to pass his tests, obviously.
He'll have his EMF reader in his pocket and he'll somehow get them to touch some silver, just to make sure there's nothing less-than-normal going on there.
And they'll have to be nice, and absolutely adore the kid, cause Dean's not gonna give him to just anyone who might not appreciate him, or who might have some kind of anger problem.
And they'll have to be solid, because Dean knows from experience how sucky growing up with just one parent can be, and he won't do that to James if he suspects the couple won't go the distance.
And they'll have to be at least vaguely well off, because another thing Dean knows is how much not having money sucks, and considering his already sucky start to life James at least deserves a decent education and the chance to go to College if he wants.
Yeah. That was what he'll do. Find a nice young couple that passes his list of requirements and let James stay with them.
Course of action decided, Dean wonders for a moment why the thought makes him feel a little lonely.
He doesn't get the chance to investigate the feeling though, because at that moment James shifts a little where he's tucked up against Dean (he'd crawled from the bed Dean had put him in up onto the couch and into Dean's lap, and Dean – somewhat startled and really quite unsure – had gone still and kind of just let it happen, and then James was asleep with his hands fisted in Dean's shirt and his head tucked into Dean's neck, and Dean had been stuck like that ever since). The kid lets out this frightened little whimper, and Dean clicks automatically back into big-brother mode like he never left it (like Sam never left him).
"Hey, little man, it's alright," Dean says, bringing one hand up to rest on the kid's dark tousled hair and the other to rub soothing circles on the boy's back.
James squirms frightfully and whimpers, not in reaction to the touch but in reaction to whatever nightmare is plaguing his sleep. Dean doesn't have to think too hard to guess what it's about.
"Shhh," he soothes, tightening his hold on the boy without even thinking about it and murmuring comfortingly into his ear. "I've got you. Hey – it's ok. You're safe."
James whimpers again and then draws back a little, and Dean follows the kid's lead, pulling back until he can see him – eyes bright with unshed tears – blinking at him like he isn't quite sure where he is or what's happening.
"Hey, you," Dean says quietly, mouth quirking in a comforting smile once he sees recognition cross the boy's features. "Bad dream?"
James nods solemnly.
"It's ok. It was just a nightmare. You're safe."
James looks decidedly unconvinced by that statement.
"Do you want to go back to sleep?"
A flash of fear crosses the kid's face and he shakes his head strongly.
"That's ok," Dean says comfortingly. "You don't have to. You wanna watch some TV with me?"
James thinks about that for a long moment, then blinks and turns around in Dean's hold until he's facing the television, curled into the hunter like a puppy.
When Dean removes one hand to reach for the control to hunt for something kid-friendly, James makes a frightened sound of protest.
"Hey, it's alright," Dean soothes, bringing his arm back to wrap around the kid as soon as he's got the remote. "I'm not goin' anywhere. You're safe."
The boy seems happy with that statement, and he sinks further into Dean as the hunter starts channel surfing, eventually settling on some music video station that's playing stuff from a bygone era.
They sit in silence watching grainy old music clips for maybe fifteen minutes before Dean looks down to see James sleeping soundly, snuggled close against him and with one tiny hand curled around Dean's wrist, keeping his arm in place.
Dean's lips quirk in a sad smile at the sight.
The kid lost everything only a few hours ago and now his only comfort in the world is a lonely twenty-two year old who never finished school and who knows more about chicks and cars than he does about kids.
Dean blinks as he realises that they're actually quite similar, he and James, only after his world had been destroyed he at least still had Dad and Sammy. This kid doesn't even have that, and all because Dean was too late getting there to save the rest of his family.
"I'll make sure you're looked after," he promises the sleeping boy in his arms, his voice quiet and soothing. "I swear."
-:-
"So I've got this friend Bobby," Dean says the next day around a mouthful of bacon. "He's got a big ol' house, and a huge yard too. Has a tyre swing and everything. Whatd'ya say we visit him?"
James says nothing – just looks at him silently with a bit of pancake wilting in his fingers, the maple syrup dripping slowly – but Dean is quickly learning how to read the boy's version of silent communication and decides that he reads disinterested agreeance in James' face.
Really, Dean figures that where to go next is probably last on the kid's personal list of concerns.
They'd come to the diner after Dean had woken up that morning to a pair of solemnly inquisitive eyes staring at him steadily, the gaze remaining unbroken even as the boy's stomach gave a muted rumble that announced it's emptiness.
They'd packed up and shipped out of the motel room pretty soon after that and hit the road, Dean with his duffle and the kid with nothing but the clothes he'd been wearing when Dean had carried him out of the house the night before, and Dean had tried not to think about the fact that with every inch they drove he was taking James further and further away from what had once been a full and happy life.
They'd pulled into the first diner they passed, and Dean had hunted around in his duffle until he found a zip-up jacket that he'd helped James into. It was huge on the kid, and Dean had to fold the sleeves up practically three quarters of the way (and even then the edges were hanging over James' hands, bound to drag into every bit of dirt available), and the body of it hung down past the boy's knees, but it covered the clothes that had been torn and a bit bloodied the night before.
If anyone asked, the hunter would just say that James had gotten into a mud puddle and Dean had forgotten to bring a change of clothes.
Now, watching James pick his way unenthusiastically through his pancakes, Dean winces a little as his sleeves keep falling into the plate. They're dark with syrup already, and though Dean couldn't care less about the state of the jacket (he can hardly be averse to getting his clothes dirty, not in his line of work), he's a bit concerned about where all that stickiness will go when they get back in the car.
"Ok, so we'll go to Bobby's," Dean decides, scooping some fallen egg back onto his toast and preparing to cram it in his mouth. "But first, we're gonna go get you some more clothes. As much as my jacket on you attracts the ladies, we won't be able to get away with you wearing my stuff for long."
And it's true – as they'd entered the diner a pair of young women having breakfast outside had crooned to each other about how cute the little boy in his daddy's jacket was, and the waitress who'd met them at the door had fussed over him while he and Dean were guided to a table.
"And some toys too, ok?" Dean says, thinking about the long trip to Bobby's and wondering how on earth he's going to entertain a three year old that whole way. "What about action men. D'you like action men?"
James looks down at his plate and fiddles a bit more with his soggy pancakes.
"So that's a no," Dean correctly interprets. "What about drawing? Do you like drawing?"
James doesn't look up, and Dean decides to just work it out later.
"It's ok," he says, spotting the waitress from earlier making her way over to them again. "We'll go to a toy store and you can pick out what you like, ok?"
James looks up at him at that, a yes in his eyes even if it's nowhere else, and then he puts another piece of mangled pancake in his mouth.
"Hey cutie, how're you doing?" the waitress says, arriving at their table with a huge smile and Dean's second coffee, and Dean's instinctive reaction is to shoot her a grin and say, "Hey, yourself," but he catches himself just in time and instead looks down as James burrows into his side, peeking out at the smiling waitress from behind the folds of Dean's jacket.
"He's a bit shy," Dean says, smiling apologetically and dropping his arm absentmindedly around James' shoulders, but the waitress doesn't seem to mind in the slightest.
"He's such a sweetie," she croons, straightening and smiling that smile that women always get when faced with an adorable child. "You look just like your Daddy."
"Oh, he's not mine," Dean corrects, the words slipping from his tongue like they were planned out. "But I'm raising him."
And then he pauses, because, wait – what?
That's... not what he was supposed to say.
He was supposed to come up with some lie – something like, "No – he's my nephew. I'm giving his parents a break and looking after him for the day," or something equally as vague and misleading.
But what he's just said is not even close to anything like that.
The most surprising part though – the thing that hits him with sudden and startling clarity – is that what he's just said to the waitress is… the absolute total truth.
And doesn't that just come as a shock.
He's not going to give James up – who was he ever kidding?
Sure, it might have taken him a while to realise it – he likely would have gone through the process time and time again of meeting with prospective families before scrapping them as unsuitable until finally coming to the conclusion that no one would ever be good enough for the little boy.
And yeah, he only just met him yesterday. But he ran out of a burning building with the kid in his arms, and that's way too much like what happened with Sammy for a protective instinct not to have been formed in the hunter, and besides that, it's starkly clear that James is attached to him already, and judging by the warm fuzzy feeling Dean gets in his stomach each time James snuggles into him, he's pretty attached to the kid as well.
And yes, he's a hunter, and he was raised by one too.
But all that means is that he knows what not to do. He won't make the same mistakes his father made.
He's got no idea when it was exactly that he decided all of this, but he suspects it might have been a while ago and he's only just realising it now.
The shock is enough that it takes him a moment to realise that the waitress is speaking again, and something in the tone of his answer must have signalled to her that there was a bit more to the story.
"His parents?" she asks hesitantly, like she knows she doesn't want to know the answer.
Dean grimaces a little and shakes his head, and her expression dissolves into one of devastated sympathy.
"Oh, sweetie," she says to James, who's still watching her from behind Dean's jacket, and she rushes off for a moment before returning with a chocolate muffin that's bigger than Dean's fist, on the house.
They finish up at the diner not long later, and Dean drops some cash on the table and takes James into the bathroom to clean him up as best he can before putting the maple-syruped child back into his car.
It's a lost cause, and Dean sighs a little at the smears of syrup that are covering the sleeves of the once clean jacket and simply carries James out to the Impala, tosses the dirty jacket into the back seat and fishes out another one, which tents the kid even worse than the last one.
They drive for an hour or so, heading in the general direction of Bobby's place, and the whole time James stays silently curled into Dean's side, and Dean keeps one arm draped over the kid's back whenever he doesn't need both hands for driving.
He drives extra carefully (and he's always careful anyway, because he never wants anything to even come close to breathing wrong on his car), because while James is strapped in, it's an adult seatbelt he's wearing and that's gonna do more harm than good to the small boy in the event of an accident.
Finally, Dean sees an exit that leads to a city big enough that it's likely to have a mall, or a shopping strip at the very least.
Twenty minutes later they're parked at this ridiculously huge shopping complex, and James is sitting on Dean's hip with his head tucked into the hunter's shoulder as Dean moseys on in there like he actually knows what he's doing.
He's got no clue, really.
Malls are hardly Dean's most familiar stomping grounds even on the best of days, and he doesn't think he's ever actually been into one to buy clothes (mostly, when he goes into a mall it's to see a movie, or occasionally because it can be a pretty good place to pick up chicks – he tends to buy his clothes from second-hand places, even now that he's on his own and could probably afford some brand new stuff).
He's certainly never been to a mall to go shopping for kid supplies. And James is no particular help – he simply sits on Dean's hip and watches the other shoppers with quiet watchful eyes while the hunter struggles through his first ever kid-clothes shopping venture.
He's standing in the middle of the kids section of some big department store, probably looking just as lost as he feels when a store clerk decides to help him out.
"Would you like some help, sir?" she asks politely, and Dean's so relieved that he forgets to hit on her. It probably wouldn't have gone down particularly well anyway, since he's got a three year old clinging to him and most chicks aren't particularly into dads, and that's what Dean looks like right now.
The girl – a blonde, Dean notices belatedly, and probably around the 19-to-22-year mark (perfectly his type if he weren't a little preoccupied at the moment) – leads Dean around and shows him first to the three-to-five-year-old boys clothing section (where Dean grabs anything that looks around about James' size) and then to the isles with the car-seats, where she guides him through which would be the best one to buy considering James' age and the type of car it will be going into. Finally, she sets off to lead him to the toy department, and glances back over her shoulder as she goes.
"You're pretty new to this, huh?" she says, smiling.
Dean huffs a laugh. "Yeah. Pretty new," he agrees. Like, yesterday new. "It's that obvious, huh?"
"Well, most Dads don't know their way around a department store at the best of times," she says, one of her cheeks dimpling as she grins, "but you had this whole new level of deer-in-the-headlights that kind of singled you out. Is his Mom working today or something – is that why you got landed with the shopping trip?"
"Ah, no," he says, clearing his throat a little. "No – she's ah… she's not around."
The girl's mouth makes a little 'o' as she realises she's just stepped in it good and proper. She's probably thinking that he got some chick pregnant as has now been landed with the kid, and she's rather a bit mortified at her tactlessness.
"Oh – I… I'm really sorry," she says, and she sounds really quite embarrassed. "I just… speak before I think. It wasn't any of my business – "
"Don' worry about it," Dean says casually as she starts to get herself more and more worked up over not much at all. "You were just makin' conversation."
She sends a little smile at him, and then gestures awkwardly to the isle beside her.
"Well, ah, this is the toy department. This isle here and the one next to it has the three-to-five-year-old toys, and there's two isles of plushies down towards the end. I'll, ah… leave you to it."
She darts off, still embarrassed, and Dean shrugs to himself and parks his trolley full of clothes and a child-seat (he honestly never thought he'd see the day where he'd be pushing a trolley down an isle with one hand and holding a kid with the other, and damn does that trolley-kid business take some serious coordination) and lifts James down to the ground.
"Ok," he says, squatting down next to the kid as James fists his hands in the leg of Dean's jeans. "This is your forte, bud. I don't know what kinda toys you like, so you're gonna have to help me out, ok? You can hold my hand," he tacks on at the end, holding his hand out, because James looks reluctant to let go of Dean's jeans.
The kid blinks up at him and silently slides his tiny hand into Dean's much larger one, and the hunter sends him an affectionate grin that makes a young mother a few metres away melt a little at the sight.
Dean takes the lead, stooping over to the right a little to accommodate the little boy holding his hand, and they set off down the toy isle.
"You pick anything you want, ok?" Dean says, gesturing with his free hand to the range of toys around them. "It's a bit of a drive to Bobby's place, so we'll grab a few things."
James spots something he likes and quietly makes a beeline for it, pulling Dean along with him, and points to the brightly coloured Playdoh set.
"Playdoh, huh?" Dean says, making sure to keep his voice cheery, thinking woefully about his car. "Ok then, Playdoh it is. Hey - what'd'ya say we keep it for when we're in the motels though, yeah? Don't wanna loose any under the car seats, do we?"
Ok, so that's not at all why he doesn't want the kid playing with Playdoh in the Impala. Whatever. Original leather, man.
The Playdoh goes into the trolley and is joined shortly by a colouring set that Dean spots a minute or so later, and then by a bright green and white keyboard that James pulls off the shelves that plays a different melody for each key pressed.
"Wonder if this thing's got headphones," Dean mutters to himself as a tinny rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star plays itself out after James hits one of the keys.
They grab a few more things from that isle – both things that James chooses and things that Dean spots that he reckons the kid might like – and then make their way to the stuffed toy isle, where Dean is very nearly overwhelmed by the sheer amount of fluffiness.
There are stuffed animals of every possible species and colour ("Huh," Dean says at one point, holding up a pony for inspection. "Didn't know horses came in pink…"), and James eventually pulls out a bright orange-and-black tiger and a white-and-grey wolf.
"You want both of them?" Dean asks, squatting down to James' level as the kid carefully studies both animals. The boy's gaze drops away for a moment before returning to Dean, and then he presses the wolf into Dean's free hand.
"Just this one?" Dean asks, but James hugs the tiger a little closer to himself.
"This one's for me?" Dean guesses, holding the wolf up, and James blinks a yes at him.
Dean's lips quirk in a smile.
"Thanks, bud," he says. "Now what'd'ya say we get you out of my jacket and into some proper clothes, then we'll grab some food and hit the road, ok?"
James makes no motion of protest and so Dean drops his wolf into the trolley and picks James – who keeps a firm hold on his tiger – up and they head towards the pay station.
"Thank you, Nick Mason*," Dean mutters to himself a short while later, pocketing his credit card and pushing the trolley full of bags out of the department store and heading towards the nearest bathroom, thankful (not for the first time, and certainly not for the last time) that James' parents apparently believed in toilet training early. He doesn't know how he'd've gone with the whole nappy business if James had still been using them.
Fifteen minutes later he's got the kid changed into a brand new set of clothes – tiny little jeans with a yellow Bob the Builder t-shirt and a red zip-up jacket with a hood – and Dean tucks the dirty clothes and the jacket that James had been wearing into one of their many bags before setting off in the direction of food.
James mangles his Happy Meal and Dean wonders how much of the food actually ends up going into the kid's mouth as opposed to mushed on the tabletop, and when the boy discovers the juice that came with the meal he sits there and drinks and drinks without even taking a breath until half the juice is gone.
"Huh," Dean says, watching the kid practically inhale the drink. "So we should buy some juice for you then."
By the time they're finished lunch, Dean can tell James is running pretty low on energy reserves – the kid keeps scrunching his nose and rubbing at his ear, and Dean didn't raise Sammy from six months old to not be able to notice the signs of a rapidly tiring child.
He doesn't know if James is the tantrum-when-overtired type or not, but he doesn't really want to hang around and find out so, after dashing into a supermarket and grabbing supplies for the road (including more juice boxes than you could poke a stick at) he hurries back out to where he left the Impala and sets James down in the front while he sets about setting up the child-seat.
The instructions say it should go in the back, but Dean knows without asking that that's just not gonna work. The two of them have been together for nearly 24 hours, and so far James has only relinquished his hold on Dean for long enough to latch onto him somewhere new, so locking the kid down in the back seat where he can't reach Dean isn't going to end well.
After much confusion and more than one pinched finger (damn clasps), Dean finally succeeds in securing the child-seat to the front passenger seat, and he loads James into it quickly, chucks all their bags into the back seat and sets off, gladly leaving the huge shopping complex in his rear view mirror as he heads towards the interstate.
James is still holding his new tiger close, and he's looking steadily at Dean as they drive along.
"What's up, bud?" Dean asks, glancing away from the road long enough to throw the kid a questioning glance.
James glances down at his tiger, then back up at Dean.
"Where's mine?" Dean guesses, and James blinks.
"It's in the back – with all the other toys."
James' gaze doesn't waver.
"You want me to get it?" he asks, and James blinks again. The hunter waits until they're on a straight stretch of road and then reaches into the back and keeps his eyes out the windshield as he fishes blindly about until he feels a soft fuzz against his fingers, and he draws out the wolf triumphantly.
"Here you go," he says, presenting the wolf to James, but the kid draws back a little and looks significantly from the wolf to Dean.
"Oh – you want me to hold him?" Dean finally deciphers, and James blinks at him.
"Righto," the hunter says, and settles the wolf in his lap. James looks happy with that, and the boy settles back into his chair to watch the road slip by.
Not five minutes later, the kid's sound asleep, the tiger tucked safely in his arms.
Dean glances over and smiles a little at the sight, then turns back to the road and continues driving, the wolf still snug in his lap.
…
AN: So, there's chapter one. What did you think? I really enjoyed writing it – the image of Dean with a kid is just…. Oh, I melt. Like that mother in the toy section, I just melt.
Keep in mind that Dean's quite young when this is set – Sammy's just headed off to College, so Dean's 22. I've taken some liberties in that Dean and John are already hunting separately, when the show implies in the first episode that it's a fairly recent thing.
I hope you enjoyed it – I'm a little nervous about this whole story arc, to be honest, so any positive feedback you sling in my direction will be massively appreciated. The next chapter will involve more Dean-James bonding and them arriving at Bobby's. Future chapters will include John finding out, and Sam finding out, both of which will be dramatic, I assure you.
Bundi
( * Nick Mason is one of four band members for the British band Pink Floyd.)