Dean stopped at the all-night convenience store. Motel Bluelight. Room 104. He kept repeating it. He didn't want to forget it. Inside, he grabbed some chips, five candy bars, batteries, children's Tylenol, and a two liter soda. The chubby guy behind the counter kept his eyes glued to him. Dean dumped the stuff on the counter.
"Thirteen-thirty-four." The man said.
Dean pulled out a twenty and gave it to him. He grabbed three comic books and had him add them to the tally. "These too." He needed something to read while Sam was studying. Really. Studying? Who did that?
After checking out, he knees were wobbly. He sank down and sat on the curb. Motel Bluelight. Room 104. That's where they were. John and Mary. Holy shit. Dean was almost ninety percent sure those two monster hunting bad-asses were his parents. He got up, hugged the bag to his chest, and headed towards the side ally. But his parents had died in the fire. Right? That's what he and Sammy's foster family had told them. He rubbed his face. But those two looked just like them. And they had the same names. Yeah. That was them.
"Then why didn't they recognize you?" He mumbled to himself. He turned down a small street to the left. It had been ten years. How could they recognize him? He looked a lot different at fourteen than he had at four. And he'd convinced John he was older.
The abandoned Ford sat at the end of the street. The wheels and hubcaps were gone. The hood was rusted. Tomorrow, he decided. He'd go talk to them tomorrow. He'd find out who they were. He needed to know if they were who he thought they were.
He walked up to the old car and knocked on the hood three times. The driver's side door unlocked. Dean smiled. Mostly intact windows and doors that locked. What more could he ask for in a car? Sammy's little face popped up in the dark window a second later. His hair was long and hanging down into his eyes.
Dean opened the door and clamored inside. The burger bag from earlier was crumpled on the floor. He locked the door behind him. "Hey. Brought you dessert." He tossed him the chips and two of the candy bars.
Sam frowned but took them. "I'm bored. And cold." He said. "How long are we going to stay here, Dean?"
Dean felt his stomach drop at the question. They weren't safe at the home and he'd gotten them away. But he didn't know what to do now. If John and Mary were really their parents than maybe they could go live with them again. Dean choked down the hope in that thought and fished out the batteries.
"For your flashlight." He said.
Sam smiled; a small sad smile that barely showed his dimples. "Thanks. I need to read the next chapter in my science book tonight."
Dean barely contained a derisive snort. Leave it to geeky Sam to grab his school books when they have to run for their lives. Really. The kid could have grabbed food or clothes or something more practical.
"I don't wanna get behind, Dean." Sam said.
"You're in fourth grade."
Sam fixed his light and turned it on. "Yeah. And I wanna be in fifth grade next year." He sneezed and wiped his hand on his sleeve. His lip curled down. "You should keep up too if you don't wanna repeat a year."
Dean shrugged. "Here." He fished out the medicine and worked on the child proof top. "Take some of this before-" Dean stopped. The same rotten stench he'd smelled earlier with the harpy hung in the air. He glanced out the dark window into the dimly lit alley. "Turn off the light, Sam."
"Why-"
Dean grabbed it and flipped it off. He motioned to Sam to be quiet. Sam's eyes widened and he scooted closer to him. Dean waited. His heart thudded in his chest, bouncing off the thoracic walls so loud that he was certain the whole city could hear it.
There was a loud screech. Dean pushed Sam down on the seat as something banged into the roof of the car. Then it moved, clinking across the roof and then the hood. Dean covered his brother and closed his eyes. Nothing happened. Cautiously, he opened them.
There at the window, lit by the half-light of the city, was the face of a wrinkled old woman. But it wasn't the one from earlier. Dean slid himself and Sam towards the opposite side of the car.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
It rapped on the window with a sharp talon.
He pushed Sam behind him. His little brother buried his face against Dean's back. Dean caught the thing's eyes.
"Shoo." He said because it worked with pigeons. "Go away."
The thing cocked its head. "You killed my sister." It rasped.
Dean frowned. "That wasn't me. I was just there." But he didn't think it understood the difference.
It screamed and Dean knew they were in trouble. It brought the talon back and smashed it through the window. The glass shattered, spraying him with small sharp pieces. It pushed its head through the now empty window frame.
Dean stared terrified. Then he started kicking at it. It got further inside. He kicked at its face. The harpy forced its left wing and talon inside. Dean pushed Sam further back.
"Go, Sam. Run!" He said. "Get outta here!" Dean landed a hard foot to its nose. It screamed and swiped its talon inside, catching on the thigh of Dean's jeans. It sneered and pushed closer.
Dean heard the door unlock and he and Sam tumbled out.
"Dean?" Sam said shakily from underneath him.
Dean jumped up and grabbed his brother's hand. The monster squeezed into the car, forcing its way through, and following them.
"Come on." Dean said, dragging Sam as fast as he could as he ran through the dark streets. Motel Bluelight was two blocks away. Dean didn't look back.
The door to the room faced the parking lot. Dean pounded on it.
"Let us in! Let us in!" He said. "John! Mary?" He pounded more. "There's another one. There's another harpy! Let us in!" He pounded harder.
The door opened slowly. Dean tried to push inside but was stopped by a strong arm. He looked up and saw John gazing down at them. He had his other arm tucked behind the door.
"What's all this?" He sounded distinctly unhappy.
Dean breathed in and out rapidly. He pulse beat hard against his neck. "T-There's another one." He said. "A-Attacked us."
John peered at him and then out into the parking lot. He opened the door wider. Dean ran inside dragging Sam behind him. John had a pistol in his other hand. Mary stood in the corner holding a knife. She set it down at the same time John closed the door and put his gun in the back of his pants.
John turned to him. "You think there's another harpy?" He said.
"Well, duh." Dean pulled Sam close to him. "It tried to eat us."
John and Mary exchanged glances. Dean had the distinct impression they didn't believe him. "Why would I make that up?" He said, suddenly angry. "It attacked us."
Sammy peaked out from behind him. "Yeah." He added.
"There's another one." Dean said, feeling the adrenalin rush ebbing. His head spun and he reached out to Sam to steady him. "T-there's-" His body suddenly gave out. He heard Sam shouting for him as the floor rushed towards him. John caught him about two feet above it.
"Whoa there." John said. He lifted Dean back up and maneuvered him to lie back on the bed. "Let's get a look at you."
Sammy hopped up next to him, his little face wide with concern. "Dean?" He asked in a small voice. He snuggled close and glared at the adults.
Mary appeared beside the bed with a medical kit. She glanced curiously at Sam and back at Dean. "Are you alright?" She said with her brow arched in concern.
Dean nodded. "Yeah…just whoozy."
John looked him over. His eyes stopped on his leg. "That's a pretty bad gash you got, Dean." He said, carefully pulling the fabric back.
"Okay." Dean said. Now that he was lying down he realized his leg did hurt.
"Hmm." John said. "You're lucky it's not deeper, son."
Mary frowned down at the cut. "It needs to be cleaned and dressed." She pulled out butterfly bandages. "We'll get you fixed up and then we'll talk about what you saw. Alright?"
"Okay." Dean blinked up at her. He felt himself shaking. It wasn't from the wound. He was sure Mary was her. He was sure of it. "I think you're our Mom." He blurted out. She stared down at him, her expression shifting from concern to disbelief with a touch of anger. Dean closed his eyes. That wasn't the reaction he'd expected. Or maybe it was, but it wasn't the reaction he wanted. He let unconsciousness pull him under as it all became too much to handle.
***
Sam scooted closer to his brother. He glared up at the woman. "Don't look at my brother like that." He said. He shook Dean. "Dean?" He said.
Dean turned his head and mumbled, but didn't respond.
Sam didn't like these people. "Dean?" He tried again, his voice shaking.
The man Dean had called John held his fingers against Dean's neck and then felt his forehead. "He's alright. Just needs a little rest." He eyed Sam curiously. "He's had a rough night. He'll be okay."
Sam felt the hard expression fall from his face. He looked back at Dean. "Are you…are you sure he's okay?"
"Yeah, son. I'm sure." John said. He pulled at the rip in Dean's jeans and began cleaning the cut with alcohol wipes. "We'll get him fixed up."
Sam nodded. He didn't want to trust these two. But Dean had brought them here. And Dean wouldn't have done that unless they were okay. Sam looked up at Mary again. Dean thought she was their mother? That's what he'd said before he passed out. He took in her blond hair and pretty face. She did look the way Dean had described except she seemed to be frozen in place. Sam stifled a cough and hugged his arms to his chest.
Mary took in a shaky breath and focused on him, apparently out of her paralysis. "Honey, how old are you?" She said in a concerned voice.
Sam shrugged. Dean usually told people he was older than he was. He said it was safer that way. But Sam didn't think that would work for him. He was small for his actual age. "I'm nine." He said.
"And you and your brother have been living out on the street?" She said.
Sam bit his lip. He wasn't going to answer that. That was none of her business.
John bandaged the cut and then caught Sam's eyes. "How old is your brother?" He asked, suspicion heavy in the question.
Sam should lie. He knew he should. But John kept staring at him with such an authoritative air that the truth came out before he could stop it. "He just turned fourteen." He said quietly.
John's eyebrows went up and Sam knew he had blown it. Dean had obviously told him he was a lot older.
John cursed under his breath. "He just turned fourteen?" He said.
The need to defend his brother overcame him. "He's mature for his age." Sam told them. It was something people usually said about Sam and never about Dean. But Sam thought it applied to his brother just fine. Not that he'd ever tell him that. But still. Sam coughed into his sleeve.
John laughed, but he didn't sound amused.
Mary sat down on the bed beside him. "What's your name, sweetie?"
"Sam." He said his voice dropping to a whisper. "But Dean calls me Sammy." He caught her eyes. "No one else gets to call me that though." He wanted them both to understand that it was Sam to them. He looked down to his brother and back up to her. "Are…are you really my mom?" He said. "Dean said you died in a fire."
Mary smiled at him, but her eyes looked big and worried. "I'm not sure, Sam." She said.
"Yeah." Sam smiled back and looked away. "Me neither." He said.
