The following is set after the third season, in which Dean did not, in fact, perish at the fangs of the hellhounds, but was rescued by his brother, barely in time to save his life. Shortly thereafter, he rediscovered Tara, a woman with whom he had shared a few short weeks, and the child that she had borne nine months after that. With a son to look after, and still feeling Hell breathing down his neck, he retired from Hunting, leaving Sam to carry on without him.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. I do not own either Dean or Sam, though if either of them wants to stop by sometime, I have pie. :D
~~~~~*****~~~~~
Next morning, Dean came awake all at once. He scanned his family, reassured himself that they were alright, and relaxed. His eyes slipped over to his brother. At first he thought Sam was asleep, but then their eyes met and Dean knew that he hadn't slept a wink.
Dean sat up and shook his head to clear it. "Everything alright?" he asked, and Sam nodded.
"Fine. Nothing happened all night. You slept alright?"
Dean cocked his head to one side, considering. "I guess. The kids...?"
"They're fine. Slept like rocks."
"Good."
Silence stretched between them, only to be broken by Jamie sitting up, rubbing his eyes, and crying, "Uncle Sam!"
He clambered out of the crib and threw himself at his uncle. Sam caught him in midair, grinning down at the little boy as he spun him around. "Hey, Jamesie!" Jamie giggled and hugged Sam tighter. At some point it became a wrestling match, Jamie trying desperately to tug his uncle to the floor. Sam finally gave up and collapsed, Jamie on top of him, and the little boy pounced, twisting Sam's arm up behind his back. "Give up, Uncle Sam? Give up?"
Sam laughed. "I give, I give!"
Jamie beamed at his dad and got off Sam's back. Dean grinned right back.
Mrs. Ackles' chose that moment to stick her head around the door frame. "Daniel, I've got - who's this?"
Sam pushed himself up off the floor and stuck out a hand. "I'm Thomas Samuels, ma'am. Dan's cousin. I pulled in late last night; Dan let me in. I hope you don't mind." He smiled at her with typical Sam charm, and she melted.
"Well, it's good to meet you, Mr. Samuels."
"Call me Sam."
She swept Jamie up and hugged him. "Daniel, I was just coming to tell you I had breakfast ready. I'll go set another plate." The rotund little woman hurried off down the hall, asking Jamie what he wanted to eat, leaving the brothers to follow with the babies.
"I wish we didn't have to lie to her," Dean muttered, picking John up. He sniffed the little boy's diaper, made a face, then reached for the shopping bag with the diapers.
Sam's head came up, startled. "Geez, Dean, you really have gone domestic."
Dean ignored him, busy cleaning John up.
"Dean? You remember what you used to do for a living? Was it journalist? Cop? Detective? Homeland security, Dean, remember that one? What's the sudden aversion to lying?"
Dean muttered something.
"What? I couldn't hear you."
He looked up from the baby. "I said, I'm tired of it, Sam. I like these people, I trust them. I don't wanna have to lie."
Sam rolled his eyes. "So, what, you wanna tell them the truth? If they believed you, and that's a pretty big 'if,' they'd be scared out of their skulls to know that monsters are real. If not, you're headed to a big rubber room, and there ain't no key on the inside, Dean! That's if they don't decide to arrest you. They think you're dead, otherwise you'd still have about a dozen outstanding warrants from all over the country."
"Keep your voice down!" Dean cautioned. He fastened John's diaper and then picked up Mary and proceeded to change her.
Sam's lips thinned, but he gathered up Johnny and headed for the kitchen.
Dean slowly cleaned his daughter, concerned hands checking her for any lasting damage, though he knew it was futile. Sam had lived for twenty-two years before showing any effects from his early brush with the demon. If their dad had seen any changes, he hadn't written about them, at least not in his journal. Mary seemed just the same as always, and even Dean's wildly out-of-control imagination couldn't see any demon markings on her.
She was dressed again in her sleeping jumper, which still smelled of smoke, and Dean had her in his arms, carrying her into the kitchen. Just as they were passing by the front door, the doorbell rang. Dean shifted his daughter to one arm and opened it.
"Sera! Mike! What're you two doing here?"
The couple on the porch was pleasant-looking, with young, open faces. The woman had a casserole clutched in hot pad-covered hands and a diaper bag over one shoulder; the man had a full car seat in one hand and two empty ones dangling from the other.
"Daniel! I'm so sorry about Tara!" Sera stepped in and deposited the casserole and bag on a side table, then swept Dean into a big hug, being careful about the baby.
"We came just as soon as we heard," said Mike, setting the three car seats down and taking his turn to embrace his friend.
"How are you holding up?" Sera asked, holding Dean at arm's length and studying his face.
Dean tried on a smile. From the feel of it, it was more of a grimace, and from the look on his friends' faces, not a very reassuring one.
"Oh, Daniel…" Sera hugged him again, and somehow ended up taking Mary away in her arms. "It's going to be okay, Daniel, it really, truly is. I know it doesn't seem that way now, but eventually everything will sort itself out, I promise you."
Dean didn't know what to say, and Mike gently sent his wife off. "I'll bet Mary's hungry. Why don't you take her and Emma to the kitchen? I'm sure Joyce needs some help, with three little ones."
Sera swept the full car seat up and took both infants with her, leaving the men in the foyer. From the kitchen a woman's voice trilled, "Sera Gamble! Welcome!"
Mike nudged the two remaining seats with his foot and gave an embarrassed cough. "We, ah, we thought you could use a couple of our old car seats. You know, just until you get back on your feet again."
Dean blinked at the still-crisp fabric and spotless plastic of the seats, one of which still had the price tag attached. "Old seats, huh?"
"Yup," Mike nodded and added in a forcedly-casual voice, "Old seats. Hand-me-downs."
"Good. Cuz you know, I couldn't take brand new ones. Emma needs 'em more than I do; that little girl's growin' like a weed."
Mike nodded again. "Yup, I know it. I told Sera, he won't take new, old ones are better. We've also got some clothes and such," he waved at the bag. Dean could see the corner of a shirt big enough for a four year old boy sticking out of the open zipper. "Growin' kids, you know, they run through outfits in minutes."
"Yup."
Neither man looked at the other, sharing uncomfortable silence, until it was broken by Mike, in a much more natural tone. "Daniel, why don't you come stay with us for a few weeks? It'll give you a chance to find your feet again without having to worry about anything. Sera and I are used to kids, three more won't be a problem."
Dean shifted on his feet. "I don't know, Mike…"
"Dan." Dean looked up. "Are we best friends or not? Look, I know you'd do the same for us if our positions were reversed. So let us help you, huh?"
When Dean still hesitated, Mike pulled a folded envelope out of the diaper bag. "Here," he said, handing it over. "Sera thought you might like to have this."
Dean opened it. Inside was a photograph. A family portrait, taken last month. He had one hand on Tara's shoulder, the other cradling John. Mary was in Tara's arms and Jamie stood beside his mother, beaming at the camera. Dean was smiling, looking down at his family. They'd taken several others, but Tara had chosen to send out this one. "It's so sweet," she'd said. "You can't stand to take your eyes off us for one second."
Dean swallowed hard, eyes burning.
"Dan!" Sam's voice broke his reverie. "Think you could take a look at the Impala? She's been making a weird sound when I start her up; thought you might know what's causing it."
Dean gratefully tucked the photograph into his pocket and preceded his brother outside. Sam closed the front door before Mike could follow. By the time Sam had the car started, Dean had his emotions back under control.
Sam looked sideways at him. "You're going to have to let it out sometime, Dean."
"Yeah? Well now is not that time."
His brother's mouth twisted. "You know you don't deal with loss all that well."
"I deal."
Sam didn't rise to the bait, sitting in silence next to his brother in the front seat, waiting.
And not in vain. Staring straight out the front window, Dean started. "I just feel like I'm a dream, you know? Like if I could just wake up, or go back to sleep, or whatever, things would be back to normal."
Sam laughed bitterly. "What's normal, Dean?"
Dean had to snort a bit at that. "You're right. Normal ain't for us. I had fate fooled for four years. I guess she wants her due."
Sam met his brother's eyes. "We'll get your 'normal' back, Dean, if only for the kids, I swear to you."
"Hey, don't go swearing what you can't deliver, Sammy."
"Mm."
The silence stretched between them, interrupted by the crackle of the police scanner. "…Dean Winchester, a.k.a. Daniel Wincester, last known whereabouts 1509 Durand Court. Consider armed and dangerous. Repeat, an arrest warrant has been issued for Dean Winchester…"
The brothers looked at each other in alarm. Dean's hand flew to the handle, but Sam stopped him.
"Dean, we have to get outta here!"
Grim faced, Dean shot back, "Not without my kids, I don't!"
Sirens reached their ears. "We don't leave now, you get arrested and you leave your kids anyway, with less chance of getting them back than if we run. Now come on, let's go!"
Dean shot an anguished look back at the Ackles' house as Sam threw the Impala into drive and they tore away up the street.
~~~~~*****~~~~~
Dean ducked out of sight for the first few miles, but once safely out of town, he turned on Sam. "Damn it, Sam, why'd we have to leave?"
Sam turned on his brother. "Why's your real name being bandied about on a police scanner? We couldn't stay, Dean, and you know it. We'll just hang out for a few days, let them think we've left, then sneak in, pick up your kids, and blow the joint."
Dean huffed in indecision, gaze wavering all over the place before settling on the rearview mirror. "A few days? You're sayin' that a lot, Sam, and every 'few days' gets longer. I can't go a few days without my kids. They need me, Sammy. I'm not letting them get taken to some goddamn foster home. Jamie'll remember it, even if the babies won't..." His voice trailed off in horror.
"What?" When Dean didn't reply, Same repeated, "Dean? What?"
"Six months. Sam, turn around. Turn around! We gotta get my kids now!" He made a grab for the steering wheel and Sam had to hit the brakes fast to stop them from crashing.
"Dean, are you nuts?! What's your problem? What about six months?"
"Six months, Sam, that's what's the problem! Every psy kid last time was infected on their six-month birthday, right? Right?"
Sam was perplexed. "Well, the ones we know about, yeah. Dean, what's your point? The twins' was yesterday night. It's over."
"Remember Andy and Webber?"
"The psychic twins? Yeah, so?"
"So they were twins. Both of 'em were infected. Both."
"So maybe this time 'round he only chose one."
"Yeah, or maybe he has to wait for tonight to infect Johnny."
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Twins, Dean. Born on the same day?"
"Twins, Sam. Gestated at the same time? Johnny was born six hours after Mary. Mary was born at eleven PM on April twenty-first. John was born at five AM on April twenty-second."
Light dawned in Sam's eyes. "And tonight is October twenty-second."
"Six months for John. The demon's coming for him tonight."
"Dean, you sure about this? I mean, there's no omens, no proof."
"There wasn't anything before Mary's, either. You think I'd've missed anything demonic in my own backyard? Literally?" He stared at Sam, urgency radiating from his eyes. His brother sighed, tossed the car in gear, and turned around. "Fine. Well, we've got a few hours. We'll get a motel, I'll snoop around, find the kids - only four people know what I look like, so that shouldn't be a problem."
"Unless your name gets paired with mine. And why are you the one who gets to look for my kids? They're mine, aren't they?"
"And they'll be using your kids as bait to catch you, Dean, be smart about this. I know you don't like this, but you're going to have to live with it."
Dean grumbled, but settled back in his seat. "Alright. Fine, we'll do it your way."
"Good." They drove in silence for a minute before Sam turned to look at Dean. "You're not planning anything stupid, are you?"
"What? No! 'Course not."
"Uh huh. Your word, Dean."
"My word on what?"
"That you won't do anything stupid."
"Like what?"
"Like whatever it is that's got you giving in so easy, Dean!"
Dean looked hurt. "We're brothers, Sam, how could you even think that?"
Sam wasn't fooled. "We're brothers, Dean, how could I not?"
"Fine." Dean caved with bad grace. "My word, then. I'll stay wherever you put me and play tiddliwinks 'til you get back."
"'Tiddliwinks?' You feelin' okay, Dean?" He sought his brother's gaze in the rearview mirror.
But Dean was looking out the window, refusing to make eye contact. "Somethin' Tara always said."
They pulled into the motel just long enough for Sam to rent a room and Dean to sneak inside, and then Sam was off in the Impala.
~~~~~*****~~~~~
Dean tried, he really did. But TV couldn't hold his interest, the radio didn't pick up anything but pop - "Hannah who?" - and there was only so much cleaning and sharpening that could be done before the job became counterproductive and he polished his weapons away. At last, with a grunt of frustration, he went for a walk.
He kept his path local, avoiding streets where people would know him and places where cameras were likely to be. By degrees, though, he found himself at the church.
He stepped into the sanctuary and sat down on one of the pews near the back, stood up and edged closer to the middle, then gave up and came all the way to the front. He looked up at the crucifix, then away, then back again, and away.
A hand on his shoulder made him start. "Oh, Father Tom, it's you," he said in relief, recognizing the man who stood there, a kindly smile on his old face.
"If there's anything I know how to recognize, it's anxiety. Walk with me, my son." He led Dean out to the little cemetery attached to the refectory and the two wandered amongst the tombstones.
"What's on your mind, my son?"
"I - a lot of things, Father. I wouldn't even know where to begin, even if you'd believe me." Dean couldn't meet the old priest's eyes.
"I have a great capacity for belief, my son. Try it from the beginning, and we'll work up from there."
They stopped and sat on a stone bench. Dean huffed out a deep breath and looked sideways at his companion. "What do you believe in, Father?"
If the question startled the old man, he didn't show it. "I believe in God our Father, in Christ His Son, the Holy Spirit, and all His angels. But that isn't what you meant, is it?"
Dean shook his head. "No. What I mean is, God is good. Do you believe in - in a countering evil? Demons, devils, evil spirits that walk the earth, that sort of thing."
The priest considered this seriously. "Well, I believe in the Devil, certainly. I suppose I never gave much thought to the rest."
Dean watched his companion out of the corner of his eye. "What would you do if I told you those things are real? Demons, witches, ghosts, things out of your worst nightmares and more, the whole lot of 'em?"
The priest was quiet for a moment. "This has something to do with why you're so worried? I have to admit, I was expecting something a bit more...temporal...in nature…Dean." Dean recoiled, and he placed a hand on his young parishioner's shoulder. "Be easy, my son. Daniel or Dean, you are in my church. Secular authority may not recognize the laws of Sanctuary, but I have not yet cast aside the old traditions. So long as you are on church grounds, I will not report you."
Dean...failed to relax.
The old priest sighed. "Daniel - Dean - I know what the police say. That you're wanted for murder, robbery, assault, grave desecration of all things, escaping from custody, and a host of other offences in more than a dozen different states, as well as faking your own death. Twice. Somehow, I'm having a hard time reconciling the man I've learned to love and respect with the young man they say you are. Help an old man out, will you?"
The younger man shook his head slowly, considering, weighing his next words. "It's true, Father," he said finally. "Everything they say I did, I did. Well, no, a couple of the murders were someone else's work, but all in all, I'm the man they want. I'm a killer, thief, crook, fugitive, you name it."
If he was hoping for a reaction from the old man, he was to be disappointed. The father put his head to one side and said, "Yes, I heard all that from others. What do you have to say about it?"
Dean blinked. Then a half-smile twitched his mouth. "You're a man of surprises, Father. Are you sure you want to hear this? It's pretty shocking."
A wry eyebrow cocked itself at Dean. "What could be more shocking than finding out you're a fugitive from the law?"
"The 'why' would give you a pretty good run for your money…" He sighed. "I'm not getting out of this, am I?" A shake of the other man's head, and Dean quit stalling. "The beginning, huh? Ho-kay, uh... when I was four, a demon killed my mother and set my house on fire. Dad barely got my little brother Sam and me out, then he dedicated his entire life to hunting the thing that killed her, and in the meantime killing every evil bastard he came across - werewolves, ghosts, angry spirits, poltergeists, demons, that sort of thing. I got into it pretty early, so did Sam. We learned literally at our father's knee how to make bullets, shoot to kill, exorcise, you get the picture. The stuff I'm wanted for? All done in the name of duty. People don't understand it when you're digging up relative's bones and burning them - it's the only way to put a ghost to rest," he answered the priest's inquiring glance.
"Anyway, four years ago – wait, you know Jamie wasn't exactly legitimate when he was born, right?" The priest nodded, expression neutral. "Anyway, five years ago, Tara and I had a night together. Four years ago, some sh- uh, stuff happened that really put the fear of God into me, or, well, the fear of hellfire. I had a brush with death that was a lot narrower than what I was used to." He rubbed his hand across his chest, the memory still vivid. "Anyway, 'bout that time I ran into Tara again and found out that I had a son. You have to understand, Sammy and I had one really messed up childhood. It's one reason I never got serious about any girl I ever met – I never intended to have a family, not doing what I did. So here's Tara, a woman I really cared for, and little James, there in her arms whether I wanted him or not. And what with having literally stared into the flames of Hell, I figured I'd put in my due. I'd saved enough people, killed enough evil, risked enough, lost enough; I was owed a break. I gave my little brother my car, put up my weapons, changed my name, and gave Tara a ring. Researched a house and land and got a mortgage. Learned how to live in one spot for longer than a few weeks at a time. Got a job. Got religion. You remember how skeptical I was at first, Father."
Father Tom nodded. "I imagine that it was difficult to believe in anything good after having seen so much evil."
Dean nodded. "Darn straight. When you baptized me, I felt…new, somehow. I was Dean Winchester the Hunter for my entire life, and then suddenly I was Daniel Wincester, Husband, Father, Civilian. I wanted to put Dean behind me. Thought I'd succeeded, too."
He fell into brooding silence that threatened to stretch forever. Father Tom gently coaxed him, "So what changed?"
Dean sighed. "The demon came back, the one that killed Mom, or something like him. Has to be something different," he muttered, half to himself, "Sam and I killed Azazel six years ago. He couldn't come back, not from that." He swallowed hard. "Then last night, Tara died the same way Mom did. Pinned to the ceiling over Mary's crib, demon fire ripping through the place."
Father Tom laid a hand on Dean's. "And you think this means you have to go back to your old life?"
"There's more to it, Father." Dean struggled with himself for a moment before speaking. "See, the demon - chooses kids. Lets 'em grow up with their families and then whisks 'em off to be pawns in some evil game. The last time a batch of kids was taken, all Hell broke loose, and I'm not speaking figuratively here. I'm not going to let it happen again, not if I can help it; I'm going to hunt that bastard down and send it straight to oblivion. I'm not letting it take my daughter, and I'm sure as hell not going to risk my son."
"Are we talking about Jamie or Johnny?"
"Johnny. See, the demon selects kids on their six month birthday. Mary's was yesterday, Johnny's is today."
The Father glanced at his watch. "Leaving you about eight hours to get him safe. May I offer you the services of my church for a sanctuary? At least until the danger to the babe has passed."
"I appreciate that, Father, and I might just take you up on it. It all depends on how soon Sam can find my kids."
"'Find'?" Tom echoed.
"When we heard that the cops were looking for me, Sam and I were in the car and the kids were inside. I had to leave 'em, or get arrested. Lucky thing Sam was drivin' or I'd be in jail right now."
"So, you have no idea where your children are?"
"None." Something in the priest's tone made Dean look at him. "Father, do you know something I don't?"
The priest sighed. "I don't know why I believe you, but I do. Your children are with Sera and Mike. They insisted, and Bill agreed that familiar faces were best for the kids right now."
"That's great!" Dean leaped to his feet and took three steps towards the rectory exit before stopping and turning, running his hands through his hair anxiously. "Thanks, Father. I really, really appreciate this."
"Just make sure those children always have their father. God bless you, my son!" Father Tom called after Dean as he sped for the motel at top speed, already whipping out his cell phone to call Sam.
~~~~~*****~~~~~
Sam picked up on the first ring. "Hey."
"Sam? My kids are over at S-"
"-era and Mike's, yeah, I know, I'm looking at it right now." Sam peered through the hedge. "I'm scoping the place on foot."
"Well, why don't you go in there and get 'em?" Dean demanded.
Movement caught his eye and Sam watched as two cops made another slow circuit around the block. An unusual number of neighbors were out raking leaves and digging in flower beds, only not much raking or weeding was getting done with all the furtive looks around. "I think it's going to be a little more difficult than a smash-and-grab, Dean."
"Sam, we've got less than three hours till dark. That's when the demon strikes and we've gotta have them out of there by then."
Sam ducked behind a hedge as he replied, "Just John."
"What?!"
"We only need to have Johnny out, Dean. We can come back for the other two later, if it comes down to it."
"Son of a bitch! You can't be serious, Sam! These are my kids we're talkin' about! I'm not leaving even one of 'em behind! Besides, you know how it goes; we grab John and then they move Mary and Jamie, and then who knows when I get them back, huh? Think, Sam!"
Silence from the other end, then, "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. Sorry, Dean, I wasn't thinking."
Dean leaned against a telephone pole, running his hand over his face. "Darn right you weren't thinking. Don't go scarin' me like that, Sam, I'm already twitchy as a cat." A passing car horn blared and Dean jumped about a mile.
"What was that?"
Dean flinched guiltily. "What was what?"
Sam glared at the bushes in lieu of his brother. "Dean, are you outside?"
"I might be..."
"Dean, you promised you'd stay put!"
"I tried, Sam, I really did! But you know how I get. Man, I was goin' stir crazy in there!"
"Well get back to the motel now before someone sees you! I'll meet you back there; we have plans to make."
Dean turned the corner and stopped in his tracks. "Holy shit!" He ducked back behind a fence just in time to avoid a searching glance from the Sherriff's men, who were parked outside the motel door.
"What is it? Dean?"
"Uh, Sam? Scratch the motel. Meet me at the quarry - take Viola Road as far as you can go and hang a left."
"The quarry? What's there?"
"Safety. Call me when you get there. And Sam? Hurry."
~~~~~*****~~~~~
A few minutes later, the Impala bounced up a rutted road and pulled to a stop just inside a man-made canyon. Gravel littered the floor and huge piles of loose stone too small to be of any value slumped up against the limestone walls. Sam stepped out, flipped open his cell phone, and started dialing, only to realize that there were no bars. "Crap," he muttered.
A hand on his arm made him jump. "What th- Dean! Holy shit, man, you scared me!"
Dean pressed a flashlight into Sam's hand. "Follow me," he said, and led him back towards the quarry entrance.
"In here." He pulled aside some bushes and ducked under a shallow outcropping of stone, into a cave that was large enough to stand up in. Sam shined his flashlight over the walls, noting a dark tunnel just off to one side. Demon traps were painted on the floor and ceiling, salt lines were everywhere, with more bags of rock salt sitting in the corner. He recognized protective runes carved into the walls and gave a low whistle. "Geez. Paranoid much?"
Dean's mouth twitched. "You're not paranoid if they're really out to get you."
"Conspiracy Theory, Dean?"
"Huh?"
"You know, Mel Gibson, Julia Roberts? Never mind."
Dean took a seat on the floor and ran a hand over his haggard face. "So what's the plan, Sammy?"
"You don't have one?"
"Yeah." Dean nodded. "Get in there, get my kids, run like hell. I'm kinda depending on you for the details."
"It's not going to be easy. You picked a good town, Dean."
"How so?"
Sam's mouth twitched. "You've got a neighborhood watch that actually watches. The whole town is out to save your kids from you. They're not carrying badges, but I'm willing to bet that most of those folks would be more than happy to make a couple of citizens arrests."
Dean groaned. "Oh great. Got any other good news for me?"
"The kids are on the second story, and their window doesn't have any convenient roofs or branches outside it. There's an alarm, and it looked like a couple cops were planning to stay the night on the couch."
Dean glared at Sam. "I was bein' facetious."
Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean. "I wasn't. And since when do you know what 'facetious' means, anyway?"
His brother ignored that. "So what's our plan of attack, Sammy?"
~~~~~*****~~~~~
"I can't believe you talked me into this," Dean growled, tugging at his blouse as they left the gas station. The attendant raised his eyebrows, blinked, then went determinedly back to his newspaper. Dean glared.
Sam laid his hand on his brother's arm. "Dude, chill. We've gotta make this look realistic."
"Realistic??" Dean's low voice was strained as he adjusted his skirt. "Tell me this, Sam; why do I gotta be the girl?"
Sam slapped Dean's hand. "Quit that. It's because they know you as a macho man who wouldn't be caught dead in drag, because they're looking for a man or two men and won't give a couple a second thought, and because you're the only one who could fit into the dress."
Dean brushed furiously at a curl of the blonde wig that persisted in dropping over his eyes. "You picked it out deliberately, didn't you?"
"You really think I'd do a thing like that?" Sam asked, looking hurt.
Dean glared.
Sam smirked.
"When this is over, you're dead."
"You really want Jamie to see you kill his favorite uncle?"
"Favorite, my ass – foot. You're his only uncle." But Dean finally quit messing with his wardrobe and started towards the car.
Sam caught up. "Slow down. Relax a bit. Let your hips swing, and take shorter steps."
"These shoes hurt my feet," Dean grumbled.
"Hey, just be glad they didn't have any high heels in your size." Sam looked sideways at his brother and grinned. "Though I'd've paid money to see you pull this job off in pumps."
"If you'd tried it, I wouldn't have waited til this is over to kill you."
"Seriously, shorten your stride. And take my arm."
"What?!" Dean stopped short and glared at his brother. "No way in hell I'm doin' that!"
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you wouldn't, which makes it perfect. Now take my arm, and let's try and act like a normal couple out for an evening stroll, alright?"
"'Evening stroll?'" Dean echoed, but he – reluctantly – tucked his hand in the crook of Sam's elbow.
"And relax. Okay?"
Dean glared. "You are so dead after this."
They walked in silence for a few moments. Then Sam said, "I wish I had a camera," at the same time that Dean said, "Thank God you don't have a camera."
The brothers looked at each other, smiled, and got in the Impala. Sam fired her up, flipped on the headlights, and then they were off down the road.
~~~~~*****~~~~~
Bill and Craig were stationed inside the Gamble's house. They were making a slow circuit of the lower floor when two strangers approached the front door.
"A woman and a man. Think it's him?"
The streetlight glinted off Sam's profile and Bill shook his head. "No, that's not Daniel."
"Still, let's be careful." Craig motioned Bill to get behind the divider, where he had some cover but retained a good view of the front door. Then the younger cop, his piece out but kept out of sight behind the door, opened it.
"Hello!" Sam stuck out his hand. "I'm Richie Kotzen; this is my wife, Kim."
"…hello." Craig said, peering at the shortish figure with the crazy hair and big hands that stood beside and just behind 'Richie.'
The stranger continued. "We were just driving past and we noticed you have a lovely example of Thomas Kinkaid's work in your living room. I'm a huge admirer of his work; I was wondering if I might have a closer look?"
Craig blinked. "What?"
That was when Dean hit the door hard, knocking the gun out of Craig's hand, skirts swirling as he lashed out and caught him a solid right to the jaw. Sam was inside a second later, bulling Bill to the floor as he came flying around the corner, hitting the cop's head against the wall with a solid thump and knocking him unconscious.
Craig spun back around, and his eyes went wide when he got a close look at Dean.
"You?!" he gasped, just before Sam knocked him out from behind.
They stopped and listened. "Nothing," Sam breathed. "Good." They were just headed up the stairs when a terrified scream ripped though the silence of the house.
"Jamie!"
Dean took off so fast he left his shoes on the stairs. He skidded into the kids' temporary bedroom, wig skewed over one eye. "Jamie!"
The little boy was standing between the window and the crib, facing down a towering figure in black. "No!" he shouted. "Get away!"
The thing stretched out a limb towards the babies and Jamie leapt up, grabbing hold of it with his entire scant weight. "No!"
"Jamie!" Dean grabbed his son, lashing out with his foot. The creature spun into the wall, but came back instantly, intent on the crib.
"No!" Dean dropped Jamie on the bed and grabbed the thing in his hands.
He screamed, his hands burning, but he refused to let go, grappling the creature back.
"Dean, duck!" Sam yelled from the doorway and pulled the trigger. Rock salt sprayed through the air, peppering the creature…wounding it, but not destroying it.
"The knife, Sam, the knife!"
Sam drew the demon-killing blade, but the thing retreated, perching on the windowsill just long enough for the men to see a flash of red eyes, before the creature dissolved into a cloud of flies that buzzed off into the night.
Thunk!
"Hey!" Sam wrenched a baseball bat out of Mike's grip and used it to fend off the next attack.
"Dean, get the kids, we're outta here!"
Dean grabbed Mary, reached for John and realized that Jamie already had him, then picked up both his sons and ran for the stairs, Sam right behind him.
They hit the Impala at top speed, Dean and the kids piling into the back as Sam peeled off with a squeal.
Dean laid the crying babies on the seat and pulled Jamie close. "Here, let me see," he said, gripping the boy's hands. "Where does it hurt? Did it burn you?"
Dean's hands were red and blistered, but the small arms in his were intact, little-boy flesh unmarked.
He caught Jamie's eye. "Jamie? You grabbed it, right?" The little boy nodded. "It didn't hurt you?"
Jamie touched the charm Dean had given him. "My necklace got hot. It saved me, like you promised, Daddy." He wrapped his arms around Dean's neck in a big hug.
"That's right, Jamie. You saved your brother; good for you."
Sam was watching in the rearview mirror. "I'll get us somewhere safe, Dean," he promised.
~~~~~*****~~~~~
The dawn was just peeking above the trees when they pulled into a snug little cabin by a lake. Sam fumbled with the key ring before finally picking the right one and unlocked the door.
Jamie was asleep on Dean's shoulder as he carried the boy in, the twins in car seats clutched in Sam's hands. They laid the kids on a bare mattress; Dean draped his coat around his oldest; he'd changed back into jeans and a T-shirt in the car. Sam poured salt in thick lines in front of the windows and doors.
"Here, man, I'll do that," Dean tried to co-opt the job, but Sam shook his head.
"I'm fine, don't worry about it."
"Still hyped from the drive?"
"You know how it is; you get into a groove and you just gotta keep moving."
"You tired at all?"
"Nope. You?"
"Nope."
Silence.
"So."
"So."
"You got anything to drink?"
Sam huffed a laugh. "I might have some juice mix. Maybe a few old beers."
"Huh." They walked out onto the porch, looking out over the lake.
Sam leaned on the porch rail. "Look, man, I'm sorry about all this. This whole thing is just crap."
"You're tellin' me."
They stood in silence for a few more minutes. Then Dean sighed. "Look, Sam, I know you're waiting for the big chic-flick moment, but it's not gonna happen. Not yet, anyway. Tara hasn't even been dead for thirty-six hours yet. I'm not gonna get the chance to bury her. I've got nothing left from my old life but three kids and a photograph. That's even less than what Dad had.
"I know I'm lousy at coping. But I can't crash now, Sam, I can't. There's too much riding on me, too many people depending on me to be there, to be strong, to have all the answers."
"I'm not." It was a simple declaration. "Look, Dean. You're safe now. I'm here, and I can take care of things for awhile. You go ahead and do whatever it is you need to do to deal. Then we can move on. But I built this cabin so I had somewhere to go to lick my wounds, to rest, recuperate. We'll stay here for as long as it takes."
Dean's eyes had a hint of a sheen to them. "Thanks, Sammy." His voice was husky.
Sam pushed off from the rail and went inside to take inventory, leaving Dean behind to stare out at the lake and just…deal.
~~~~~*****~~~~~
A feminine hand reached out and clicked a piece onto the elaborate game board. "And my piece is back in play."
Her opponent slowly applauded. "Masterfully done. I'm impressed – I'd thought my trap would last longer."
"You just have to know your pieces." The woman smiled secretly to herself. "Your move, Beelzebub."
Her opponent reached forward and moved his own piece. "Let the games begin. Again."
~Fin~
