"Are you sure?"
It was a rhetorical question and Mary knew it, but she still felt the need to dryly reply, "I think it's a little late for second thoughts, don't you?"
John just barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes, instead opting to take another lap around the living room of their little Kansas home. It wasn't anything special, really. It had a few bedrooms and some bathrooms decorated with truly awful flowery pink tiles (they couldn't quite afford to get it redone, but it was on the to-do list) and a fenced-in yard perfect for some tykes to run around and play in.
Of course, they were still working on that last part.
"Beds are made? Dressers full? We have enough toothbrushes?"
Mary turned with an exasperated sigh to her husband. "Unless something's gotten in and mysteriously done off with their stuff, then yes, all of those are quite ready, and I'll thank you to stop asking questions you full well know the answers to."
Well, one couldn't take any chances, Mary knew, so she'd carved some protective runes into the bedroom the boys would be sharing, and there was a line of salt on the ledge outside the window. Just in case.
Old instincts die hard, after all.
Mary tugged her shirt into place, tucking a stray bit of hair behind her ear. She only just managed to keep her hands steady and ignored the voice in her head that sounded like her father's telling her the importance of steady hands, steady breath, steady shot.
From outside, gravel crunched. John whirled around as though someone were invading, lips pressed hard together in an expression many would mistake as disdain but was really just nerves. Not that John would ever admit he was nervous, of course. He'd done a tour in Vietnam, thank you very much, and the thought of facing what was currently sitting in his driveway was not giving him nerves, or making the palms of his hands slick, or his heart stutter in his chest. No, he was just... anticipating the change, was all.
Mary released a hissing breath, smiled with what she knew was genuine affection, and opened up the front door.
A harassed-looking woman stood with three boys on her porch, all looking younger than twelve, all staring up at her with mistrustful eyes.
"Hello," Mary said a little breathlessly. "I'm -"
"John and Mary Winchester? I hope so, otherwise I'm in the wrong place." She sniffed a bit, but didn't so much as crack a smile. Mary stepped to the side just long enough to let her husband shake the woman's hand and sent the boys a winning smile. The youngest glanced up at her, pressing harder into one of the other's side. Those two were brothers, she knew. When no introduction was forthcoming, she capitulated and stood farther back.
"Please, come in." Mary ushered them through the little entrance hall and into the living room. The boys seemed to move almost as one entity, clumping together on the couch as the adults settled on the loveseat and recliner.
"My name is Ada Jameson," the woman said brusquely. "I'm the boys' caseworker. Obviously you've taken the classes and such, so you know about the responsibilities expected of you as long-term foster care parents." The Winchesters nodded. They'd slogged through an astounding number of legal hoops to get their license; home checks, background checks, mental and physical check-ups, hours and hours of classes and training. "I'm just here to provide some information on these three."
She sighed, then, leaning back, and unearthed a briefcase. Setting her glasses back farther on her nose, she rifled through some papers.
"Boys, why don't you introduce yourself?" Ada said as she continued searching for whatever paperwork she needed to give to John and Mary.
The silence that had seemed contemplative from the couch now turned icy. Finally, one of the boys spoke.
"She already knows our names," he snapped. "That's how this goes, innit?"
"It's polite. Please do as I say." She emerged with bundles of paper in hand, several individual stacks of slips bound together by a clip. Interestingly enough, she also came out with a plastic baggie. Pills in bottles shook and rattled as she placed it on top of the paper and handed the whole pile to John, who looked resigned at the thought of more signing.
"Fine." He raked a hand through his hair, but his other was kept firmly tucked at his side. Mary watched the dynamics with interest. "I'm Dean. This is my little brother, Sam. Don't call him Sammy, only I get to do that." Green eyes sparking, he glared around the room until he was satisfied he'd made his point. Jerking his head to the other child, he finished with, "This is Jimmy. He doesn't like being touched. And he doesn't always talk too much." He finished with a snort, as if that simple task had been below his stature to complete.
Mary smiled a bit as little Sam pressed his face into Dean's jacket, knuckles white from the grip he had on Dean's worn jeans. Dean narrowed his eyes at Mary's continued observation, and she could practically feel the distrust rolling off the boy in waves. Jimmy said nothing, staring off and up into the corner of the room, lips just barely parted, as if he were listening to something riveting.
She suspected she knew what the pills were for, now.
"On behalf of our agency," Ada said quietly, shoulders slumping slightly as her true weariness became slightly more evident, "we'd like to thank you for taking all three of them in on such short notice."
"It's not a problem," Mary assured her, smiling at Sam. Dean looped an arm around the young boy's thin shoulders, making Sam relax just a fraction. "We're glad to have them."
"James is on several different types of medication," Ada continued, nodding towards the baggie. "His medical information - including the prescription periods - are in the dossier. You'll probably want Dean's help, he's been with James for several years and knows the ins and outs. Be extremely sure to read the warning labels, some must be taken with food and some must be taken at a certain time every day."
Dean muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath that Mary didn't catch, but John cut in.
"We won't tolerate that kind of language here, young man," he said sternly. "No need to lose privileges your first day."
Taken slightly aback, Dean blinked and said quietly, "Sorry, sir."
"Where will the children be staying?" Ada asked, looking over the rims of her spectacles at John.
"Upstairs, first door on the right."
Ada nodded to the three children. Dean shouldered two of the three little bags they boys had brought in, Sam taking the final one, and lead the trio towards the staircase, where they disappeared with all the elegance of a stampeding herd of wildebeest.
"There are a few things I need to say before I take my leave," the woman said crisply, gesturing for the adults to move into the kitchen, "along with some final paperwork. Please, sit down."
Mary offered her a drink, which she declined, but poured herself a glass of water as she and her husband pored over the paperwork and added signatures and initials where necessary. Once they'd finished, they pushed it across the worn table surface to Ada, who shuffled it a little bit before stowing it back in the slim briefcase at her side.
"I'll be brief," she said, folding her hands on the table and peering at them. "Extraneous details are in the packets I've given you." She nodded to the paperwork that was theirs to keep.
"We were made aware that they were considered 'special needs'," Mary offered.
"In all honesty, the only one with actual special needs is James." Ada massaged the bridge of her nose. "Where to begin..."
"Take your time," Mary encouraged, sipping from her glass. John was a silent, steady rock to her side.
"Dean and Sam have been in and out of foster homes since Dean was four and Sam six months. Their mother was killed in a house fire and their father took off, who knows where. He still hasn't turned up. They had always managed to stay in the same foster home until a placement when Dean was nine and Sam five, at which point both proved to be excellent escape artists and met up somewhere in the city. They picked up the runaway James, last name unknown, and have refused to be separated ever since."
"Jimmy is a runaway?" John clarified. When the caseworker nodded, he asked cautiously, "Have they found his birth parents yet?"
"No," Ada confirmed. "There was no missing persons report that matched his age and build and no Amber Alert for a missing child of his description. Either his parents don't know he's gone - somehow - or don't care to get him back. Hence foster care."
Mary's fingers itched for a knife for a bare moment. That any parent could just abandon their child to the streets, or leave their children behind in their grief. It was deplorable. Her hunter instincts wondered if a shapeshifter hadn't been involved, somehow.
"James has shown signs of schizophrenia, and has additionally been diagnosed with attention deficit disorder and a possible placement on the autism spectrum. Other doctors have suspected other various things, but those are the most definite at this time."
The Winchesters nodded. John asked curiously, "Schizophrenia? Isn't he a little young for that?"
Ada smiled grimly. "In this case? Not at all." She bit her lip absently before sighing. "Might as well tell you," she murmured. "Between placements, Jimmy had... an incident. He attempted to dump a pot of boiling water on himself because - because he believed an angel was watching him and would prevent him from being harmed." She shuddered. "It was a very close call. We're still not sure how he managed to avoid being seen sneaking into the kitchen." She met the shocked gazes of John and Mary. "He will need to be watched," she warned.
"Of course!" Mary said.
"What about Dean and Sam?" John said gruffly. "Are they on any medication?"
"Not at the moment, but they are fiercely protective of each other. They were placed in an abusive home several years ago and are still recovering from the after-effects." She nodded to the packets John still had clutched in his hand. "The police have a restraining order placed against their former foster parent, Gordon Walker, but he was last spotted on the west coast so you should be fine. He treated Sam very - poorly. Do not be surprised if the brothers do not separate themselves in your presence for a good, long while."
Some part of Mary's mind tucked away the name for future investigation. It sounded familiar, which could have meant that Walker was involved in the hunter circuit, but then again, it could have been mentioned on the news and she just recognized it from there. Child abusers, while not exactly frequent, often made national headlines, ones that even their sleepy little town tuned into.
"That should be it," Ada said finally, into the silence that fell on the couple after the anvil of information just imparted. "Samuel and Dean are scheduled to go to counseling once a week. Therapy, you know. Anyways, we'll call you later tomorrow and give you the details, and you can expect a home check the second weekend of next month." She nodded, standing.
John and Mary escorted her to the door and watched as she walked off, nearly stumbling on the gravel driveway in her sensible heels but just managing to catch herself on the hood of her van. John chuckled, but sobered immediately when Mary smacked him on the arm, glaring at his rude behavior.
"Well," she said, watching Ada drive off, "shall we go greet the horde?"
"I suppose," John said, smiling, leaning in and kissing his wife. He hadn't seen her so happy in months, and her joy filled him with warmth in turn.
The pair headed upstairs, careful to make their footfalls loud enough to hear from the bedroom. They didn't want to startle their new charges, after all. John flashed a grin over his shoulder at Mary and knocked on the wooden door frame.
Inside, the boys jumped, the springs of the bed they'd been sitting on creaking quietly. Sam dived for Dean, who stared defiantly at John.
"May we come in?" Mary asked.
"'S your house," Dean muttered.
"This is your room," Mary countered. "As long as you're not in danger, if you don't want us in your room, all you have to do is say so. This is your space, okay?"
Dean's mouth fell open, startled. From his chest, the Winchesters heard a soft gasp of surprise, the first noise they'd heard Sam make the whole day.
"We just want to go over some house rules, if you're feeling up to discussing it," John offered.
"Sure," Dean said slowly. "But, uh, don't sit on the beds?" He said it like a question, and Mary immediately knew he was testing the boundaries of the 'your room' edict. John seemed to understand as well and stepped forward, leaning on the dresser. Mary dared to go a little farther inside and sat down on the rug, smiling up at the surprised boys.
Dean's face colored a bit as she smiled gently at him and his brother. Jimmy glanced down at her for a second before resuming his open-mouthed staring pose from earlier.
"So, just a few things to start out with," she began. "John and I are in charge - we've made these rules not to constrain you or force you to do our bidding, but to provide you with a good experience and a solid foundation for the day when you're out of the system and living on your own."
"Most of the 'don't' rules are common sense," John said from the doorway. "No fighting, no messing around with sharp stuff or electrical things without one of us to supervise, try not to break anything, you know? Easy stuff."
Mary nodded. "I stay at home during the day while John works," she explained, "so I'm always available if you need help with anything."
"Sure," Dean said quietly. "Are there - I mean - do we have, y'know, chores 'n stuff?"
"Yes." Dean couldn't quite contain his pout, which made both parents chuckle.
"We have a very basic chore chart set up, and a good reward system to go with it," Mary said, brushing her hair out of her face. "Every week, you'll draw one chore slip from our chore jar. Every day, if you do that chore without asking, you get two points. If I have to remind you to do it, you get one point, and if you don't do it at all, you get no points. There's a list of rewards on the fridge that you pay points to get - for example, one week with no chores is twenty points, understand?"
There were a couple of nods from the bed.
"If you think the chore isn't really age appropriate, say, like asking Sam to do the dishes, we'll let you re-draw. We won't force you to do anything, but all actions have consequences, so keep that in mind. If you are behaving inappropriately, or have broken a common sense rule, you will get punished - we won't spank, but you will lose privileges."
Mary adopted a thinking pose, trying to remember if there was anything else that needed to be said. She twisted around so she was facing her husband. "Anything I'm forgetting, John?"
Satisfied with her eloquent and gentle delivery of the house rules, John just shook his head. "Nope, that about covers it. Anything else we'll announce when it's time."
"Excellent." She made a small noise as she pushed herself to her feet, brushing the non-existent dust off her rear. "Well, that's it, I suppose. We'll get out of your hair for the time being. Dinner'll be at around six thirty, and feel free to come downstairs any time if you'd like."
Dean glanced at Jimmy, then at Sam, before finally meeting Mary's eyes. His smile was tentative but much more open than any other expression John and Mary had seen all afternoon.
Satisfied, John and Mary left the boys be, closing the bedroom door behind them.
A/N: There are a couple things not technically correct regarding foster care, but I tried to keep most of it true to source. Suspend your disbelief and enjoy, haha. :)
This is literally the first story I've ever sat down to write where I had an entire plot worked out beforehand. Theoretically it means I'll actually finish it (cough Wish cough), but this is meant as a stress-outlet, not a stress-causer. Be prepared for sizable gaps between posts.
So Mary is from a hunter family, Jimmy is on meds because he's talking to angels, Walker may or may not have hunter connections... what could this mean for our Winchester family? *evil grin*