Disclaimer: Don't own them, but boy if I did!
A/N: Cheers for all the reviews, glad you guys are enjoying reading as much as I am writing : )
OoOoO
Eighteen years ago...
"But Dad, why do we have to go?"
The plaintive tones of a confused and hurt child caused John Winchester to abandon his packing and move to the bed, holding out arms that his son eagerly fled into.
Hugs, kisses goodnight, the pony ride on Daddy's back...they had all but vanished in the last four years and Dean would eagerly take whatever affection was on offer. He wasn't a baby like Sam who still needed to be coddled, on whom Dean could lavish his own childlike affection, but still, the big arms wrapped around him at that moment comforted him, made him feel secure.
And if there was one thing he had learned since Mom had died, it was that none of them were safe. Nightly terrors had become the norm, the things that went bump in the night terrifying the eight year old until Dad bumped back at them with fire and salt and holy water, and sometimes a gun.
"I'm sorry son," John said, resting his head on top of his little boy's hair. "It's out of my hands."
Dean pulled back, saw Dad's face looking like it did when he talked of Mom, which was hardly ever now. Sometimes Dean didn't like to think about her either. He had memories of her still, but they were vague, just a blur of long blonde hair and a loving smile, but nothing solid, nothing real except the pictures his father had rescued after the fire.
But even so, Dean knew he'd lost something special when she'd died, something beautiful that she'd taken with her.
"I have to say goodbye to Peter," he realised suddenly, with a pang.
Peter was his best friend, he lived across the street and went to the same school as Dean. In the afternoons and weekends they would hang out together and play soccer, before Dean's father called him in before dark. And Peter wasn't small like Sammy, whose little legs couldn't keep up with his big brother.
"You can't Dean," came the crushing, unequivocal reply. "We can't let anyone know we're leaving."
To his young mind, that one command had seemed grossly unfair to Dean and fat tears had threatened to spill over as his Dad stroked his hair. But Dean had swallowed them back, biting his lip. Only babies like Sam cried.
"Don't cry, don't cry," John had whispered, heartbroken. "Your mother would want you to be brave. Be brave Dean."
Then Sammy had started wailing, almost as if he was feeling Dean's pain, and Dad had left without another word.
It wasn't fair. They had a new home now, one without closets or dark places under the bed. Where the windows and doors were always bolted and lined with salt, and wards to fend off evil spirits were placed in every room. Dad could leave them to go off Hunting without fear for their safety now that Sam was getting bigger and Dean could look after him alone.
And now they had to leave again.
Dean slipped under the bed covers, but unlike most children, he knew they wouldn't protect him from the bad things that lurked in the darkness. He gradually fell asleep to the sound of his dreamcatcher clinking softly overhead...
Only to be woken later on by John speaking loudly downstairs, in an angry tone that scared the young boy. Worried that something might have wormed its way inside the house and that Sam might be in danger, Dean peeked over the balcony, relieved to see his father was only on the phone.
"Theo I swear if you come near either of my boys I will make you sorry. You are not taking them away from me. For God's sake, they've all I've got left." A pause. "Call your lawyers, do whatever the hell you want but stay away. And Molly too. Mary wouldn't want this." Another pause, "She was my wife!"
Then more softly, so Dean had to strain on tiptoes to hear, "I loved her and something killed her. Some thing. And you can't even begin to protect my boys from it."
He slammed the phone down so hard Dean jumped, preparing to flee back to the safety of his bed, when Dad covered his eyes and slowly slid down the wall, shaking. Biting his lip, Dean descended the stairs, his barefeet making no sound as he crept cautiously over to his father to place a small hand on his shoulder. John looked up abruptly, too quickly to cover his tears, his agony.
"Don't cry Daddy," Dean echoed, in a small, frightened voice, the childish appellation testament to his fear. Dad had never cried except when Mom had died.
Then John had grabbed him in a tight embrace, hugging his boy as if he'd never let go. "Don't leave me son," he whispered, fiercely. "Don't ever leave me. I wouldn't survive without you or Sammy."
"I won't," Dean solemnly promised, wrapping his arms around his father's neck.
"Goddamn them," John had hissed. "Goddamn them for doing this to us, making us run."
"Who Dad?" Dean whispered, with large eyes. Was it one of the dark things that their father hunted? It wouldn't be the first time they had fled when things became too dangerous for the boys. But their Dad had always returned later to kill off the monster, refusing to leave a job half-finished.
John sighed, wiping his eyes. "It's your grandparents. They want custody." As his son wrinkled his brow in confusion, he tried to explain in words a child could understand, "They want to be like me and your Mom to you and Sammy. They don't want me near you...they think I'm bad for you Dean."
And then the night of the fire had come rushing back to Dean, the night they had lost Mom. Since then he had been terrified something would take his Dad away too. John Winchester had always been a Superman-like figure to his oldest child, but Dean was maturing fast and was beginning to see that for a lie. And if their Dad was taken too, who would protect Sam? He knew he was too little to keep his baby brother safe all by himself.
He clung onto his father, fingers digging into Dad's shirt, stifling the whimpers that threatened to emerge.
"They just don't understand," his father had said, brokenly, rubbing his child's back. "Our world isn't their world anymore. And you'll never know how sorry I am that you'll never be a part of it son."
OoOoO
Present...
"Dean?" Theodore Madison was peering at the two cold and bedraggled boys who had appeared on their steps, but his startled look was reserved for the older of the two.
Sam nudged his brother who seemed to be having a deer caught in the headlights moment. It did the trick and Dean closed his mouth, regaining his composure.
"Theo, Molly." Tight-lipped, he nodded briefly to each of their grandparents, jamming his hands into his coat pockets, not offering any more.
To Sam he looked like all he wanted to do was take the steps three at a time back down to the road, jump in the impala and speed away before hugging became a life or death issue. Patting his shoulder, amused, Sam moved passed him, not abashed in the slightest when Theo threw him a hearty embrace and Molly hugged him, then stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
"Hey there grandma, grandpa," Sam said to them, softly. "I'm really sorry for the short notice, we were passing through and thought we'd stop by and say hi. If it's any trouble at all we can find a guesthouse for the night…"
"Not another word Sam." Theo's rich voice brooked no argument. "You are both welcome here day or night. I thought John would have at least made that clear to you."
"After all, you are our daughter's children," Molly added, reaching out to usher them in.
Dean's palpable reluctance to enter was cunningly subverted by her herding technique because his brother looked stunned to be suddenly standing inside the house before he had a chance to turn down their generosity.
Sam couldn't understand why he was so reluctant to be spending time with their extended family. They'd never seen much of their grandparents growing up and to Sam, they represented a world entirely alien from the one they had lived in with Dad.
A world full of possibilities, of stability and love. Of staying in one place rather pulling up stakes every time their Dad got a new lead or discovered a new evil to hunt and kill. A world without guns and crosses and holy water, of endless motels and farewells to brief friends.
And then there was the delight of cards for Christmas and Easter, presents for birthdays that Dad sometimes forgot. Of course, none of those things reached him or Dean on the day intended, their father was too careful and a permanent address non-existent. But apparently John Winchester had set something up so his boys would at least reap the benefits of having wealthy grandparents.
And a year before he graduated high school, Sam had managed to contact these mystery benefactors of whom neither Dad nor Dean would speak. They hadn't been the monsters he had been brought up to believe, merely a traditional couple still grieving for the loss of their only daughter.
People who just wanted to get to know their grandchildren and lavish upon them the kind of love that they could no longer give to Mary.
"Uh look, maybe I should just..." Dean was saying and Sam instantly recognised it as a prelude to a getaway plan.
"We appreciate you letting us stay," Sam interrupted, giving his brother a firm look. "Right Dean?"
Somehow, he knew Dean was swearing silently at him by the glare, but Sam just smirked, lapping it up. Anything that could make his supposedly badass brother embarrassed or awkward was worth it.
Shaking his head, Dean turned to surreptitiously size up the place, exits, entrances, items handy for bludgeoning his little brother to death with no doubt, while Sam mentally whistled at his grandparents' new place.
He knew Mom had come from a wealthy, New England family, but also knew she hadn't spoken to them in over three years the night she died. John hadn't exactly endeared himself to them either and Sam couldn't help but see so much of that in Dean. Both men walked their own path, refusing to balk or break when it came to other people.
But Dean had learned to lie, to charm like a seasoned con-artist using his good looks and fast tongue to get him where he needed to go. He'd once told Sam sincerity was dangerous, that once you played it, you couldn't turn back, that it could leave you weak and wide open.
The truth hurts, Sammy, he said. Most people, they'd rather have the lie.
"I'll go finish supper," Molly was saying, smoothing down her apron. "It should be ready any minute."
She patted Theo as she moved back to the kitchen, the smell that wafted out from behind the door heady and delicious and Sam couldn't help but recall the days when Jess would cook for him. He was no slouch in the kitchen either, but there was something about food prepared so lovingly, her little flourishes, the thoughtful touches of candles and good china and fine wine.
And he didn't know how much longer he could stomach the junk food that Dean and his iron-cast stomach seemed to thrive on.
"Maybe we could help," he suggested, but Theo chuckled.
"I'm afraid your grandmother's not one for letting us menfolk into her domain," he told them. "Now, if you hand me your car keys, I'll head out to grab your things and bring them inside."
It was an innocuous offer but Sam realised in sudden worry what his grandfather might actually discover inside the trunk. Weaponry of a size enough to arm a small militia and registered under a bogus name to boot. The startled look Dean shot him told him his brother had guessed the exact same thing.
"No," both brothers said, in unison, before Sam hastily added, "We don't want you going to any trouble, grandpa."
Theo stared them both down with a frown that suggested he wasn't fooled. "You boys hiding something in that car?"
Sam opened his mouth, unsure how he could even begin to lie to a man he respected, whose respect meant a lot to him. As usual it was Dean with the smooth and cocky reply.
"Chick mags, you get what I'm saying Theo?" he said, with a sly, slightly embarrassed grin. "I'm pretty sure Molly doesn't want that kinda thing in her house."
Theo folded him arms, unmoved. "Son, I may be old but I'm not stupid. You had a smart mouth on you as a child and I see John never bothered to straighten you out. So...keys." He held out his hand, his look suggesting that the mountain had better come to Mohammed or else.
Dean was obviously out of ideas from the 'now what' glare he shot his brother, but Sam could only shrug. Reluctantly, his older brother dug into his pocket, hefting the keys before dropping them into Theo's implacable grip.
"Yeah well, no joyriding in her Theo," he muttered, in defiance.
Theo chuffed out what might have been either a laugh or a snort of disappointment, then disappeared out the door.
The moment he was gone, Dean rounded on Sam.
"What the hell are you thinking Sam?" he demanded in a low, angry voice, then pointed a finger at the kitchen door. "Bringing us here, to these people?"
"'These people?'" Sam echoed, taken aback. "They're our grandparents Dean. Family."
"No," Dean bit back. "Our family is me, you and Dad. Theo and Molly aren't a part of that. They never were."
"Because Dad would never let them!" His own temper threatening to flare, Sam lowered his voice in case Molly could overhear. "They tried Dean, but Dad kept us on the move so much..."
At that his brother took on a guarded look, one that Sam had learned to read over the years. Dean knew something, was hiding something from him.
"What?" Sam demanded, folding his arms in a move reminiscent of Theodore Madison. "You think there was something wrong in them wanting to look after us while Dad was out Hunting? Because let me tell you, we'd have been a hell of a lot safer."
"Oh grab a clue here Sammy," Dean whispered fiercely, disgustedly. "You think if something came after us, they'd have been able to stop it? With what? Theo's walking stick and Molly's doilies?"
"Maybe those things wouldn't have come after us in the first place," Sam pointed out, pleased at his rationale. "Dad pissed off a lot of those monsters. Come on Dean, don't you ever wonder what it would have been like to have had a proper home, a normal family?"
"No and you know why? Because Dad needed us."
"For what? Bait? Cause I sure as hell know it wasn't for drinking buddies since we were kids." Sam took another calming breath. "For God's sake Dean, we grew up thinking Poltergeist was a documentary and the Exorcist a how-to guide, that should at least tell you how screwed up we were."
"And you'd rather have had all this I suppose." Dean gestured derisively at the room.
At that Sam was rendered speechless. Why was it so hard for his older brother to understand that Sam wasn't cut out for the Hunting life. For twenty years they'd lived together, fought together and for much of that time he'd been, as Dean had so cutely put it, like Marilyn from the Munsters, craving normality over shoddy motels and silver bullets and constant life or death situations.
The months the brothers had spent together again on the road hadn't changed that, nor had Jess' murder. Sam realised with something akin to sorrow that Dean didn't realise he intended to leave again once they found the killer. Like Deighton, it was a side trip on his road to normality, a deliberate wrong turn that he hoped would bring him some peace from his guilt over Jessica's death.
"You know I would," he answered his brother, honestly. Most people might prefer a lie over the truth, but he knew Dean would take the truth any day. "You know me Dean, and you know how much I hated our lifestyle."
"Yeah you bitched about it enough."
Whatever reply Sam was about to retort with was quashed as Theo came back in through the door, dropping their packs off at the bottom of the stairs. Sam stared at him in some trepidation, Dean looking trapped and ready to form another smart lie, but the older man just raised his eyebrows expectantly.
Sighing silently in relief that he hadn't discovered their hidden cache of weapons, Sam glanced at his brother. They had to talk, this wasn't something Dean could just shrug off like a close call or minor injury. It was going to become an issue at some point, a 'chick flick moment' whether Dean was comfortable with that or not.
"Why don't you boys go wash up and I'll see what's keeping Molly?" Theo suggested, perhaps sensing the tension, before heading towards the kitchen.
Sam snagged his brother's coat sleeve before Dean could walk away from him. With the foul mood his brother was in, he had a bad feeling dinner wasn't going to turn out too well. "I know you're not happy with this," he said, almost apologetically. "But please Dean, try and get to know these people. They do care about us."
"Huh."
The non-committal grunt wasn't what Sam hoped for. "Just...try and be nice, ok?" he pleaded, with the persuasive look that usually got him his way with Dean, at least when they'd been growing up.
Dean turned to face him, visibly impatient. "Oh I will be," he promised, darkly. "Just enough to get what I can out of them about this murder and the library haunting. And if you wanna play the good grandson, be my guest, just don't expect me to pucker up to these people and like it."
Yup, Sam realised in dismay as his brother stalked off, dinner was going to be very bad.
END OF CHAPTER THREE