Just a quick update, like a gasp of air before I continue drowning under assignments.

Apologies for the delay on this fic in particular. It's actually one of the most complex to write because it takes place within a jam-packed time period for Supernatural itself. I've never been a fan of just inserting a new character into events from the show, but I also don't want to just ignore everything that took place. That means research and tweaking. On top of that, in the vague June/July period we're in right now, in the Supernatural timeline, six episodes happened - including the finale. I have to work out how to blend the story that was with the story I want to tell. It's not hard work, but it is busywork. :)

*Slight edit to remove a potentially word?

Repercussions

The next morning, just before dawn, John Winchester slipped silently outside, duffel over his shoulder, and closed the door behind him with the barest snick of sound.

"Hey Dad."

He jolted, eyes snapping over to the tall shadow that slunk out of the night, pepsi can in hand.

Dammit. He'd thought Sam was in the bathroom. Hazel eyes swept over him, brow lowering in immediate understanding.

"You're ditching him with us." Sam accused flatly, his face disbelieving even though his tone very much wasn't.

Why, why did his son have to be so quick to think the worst of him? …Often correctly.

"Sam, nothing has changed since Chicago, regardless of Harry." John whispered sharply. "It's no safer to be together now than it was then - it's less, in fact, because now we've got a civilian unlucky enough to share genes with us. I don't want to 'ditch' Harry, but I don't want to drag him into danger any more than I wanted to with you boys, and you can take better care of yourselves than he can."

Sam just glared. In Sam-speak that meant he could see the logic in his father's argument, even if he was too angry to concede it.

"He's not trained like you boys were." John lowered his voice even further. He didn't want to argue with his son – he never did. "And he's injured and they've already come for him at least once. I trust you boys to take care of each other and now I need to trust you to take care of Harry too. To keep moving, to teach him how to watch his back - and yours. Not forever, just long enough for me to get these final pieces in place. I'm sorry to ask this of you – I am. But, accident or not, he's a Winchester and he's defenceless without us. I need to take care of the demon – for your Mom, for Jess, for all those other families but most of all – for you boys. To keep you safe from him. I can't let him finish whatever he's got planned."

He risked raising his hands to Sam's shoulders, which – whilst still tense – were slumped a little.

"So I need you boys to step in and take care of him for me – just until I'm done. Then.. then you can go back to school, Sammy. Dean can find a job or a woman or whatever he wants and I'll raise Harry like I should have raised you boys – able to protect himself but also able to live in the normal world if he wants to."

Sam looked shocked at this inadvertent admission of parental failure, but didn't let it slow him down.

"At least stay and have breakfast first." He half-demanded, half-pleaded. "There's no need to skulk off before dawn - and the last thing Harry needs is a dad who promises protection, then throws him at two complete strangers and takes off."

John turned away abruptly, before Sam could see how much his words had cut him.

"Fine." He muttered. "We'll find a diner." He felt more than heard Sam relax behind him.

That was one change in their relationship he was glad for - less antagonism, on both their parts. Stanford had been a shock and lesson for them both.

Sam, for all he still disagreed with his father - on almost everything - was less aggressive about it. And John, faced with a son he'd regretted losing for years, and who had suffered something close to his own loss... well, maybe he was a little less aggressive himself.

Poor Dean had been the only one to inherit Mary's ability and inclination to keep things level, to get all sides and compromise rather than go straight for the throat.

Speaking of Dean...

"How's your brother doing?" John quietly asked the night. Sam sighed softly and came to stand next to him, looking out over the parking lot.

"I'm not 100% sure." He admitted. "But if I had to guess... I'd think he's feeling a bit betrayed." At John's incredulous look, Sam shrugged a shoulder and smiled slightly.

"He'll get over it." He predicted. "After all, it's not like you knew about this kid and hid him from us." John kept his gaze steady, didn't even blink. "But, you know..." Sam hesitated and fell silent. John could guess the rest, though.

He'd tampered with Dean's perception of his father as a grieving husband and, by having a child with another woman - even by accident - with the memory of Mary. Of course, Dean had known his father wasn't a monk, but... well, there was a big difference between knowing something and choosing to believe it.

"And Harry?" He ventured after a moment. Sam snorted.

"You kidding? Dean's already adopted him, even if he won't admit it yet. Give it a few weeks and he'll be teaching the kid how to drive and pick up chicks - at the same time."

At this, John smiled a little. Dean had an enormous heart, for all that he normally reserved it for his tiny family. If he could accept Harry, the both of them would benefit from it. Harry would get a chance to experience family that cared, and Dean would have someone to look up to him again - someone to provide what Sammy had quite harshly - if rightfully - grown out of.

"And you?" He asked, even more quietly. He had the vaguest of awareness that the youngest child tended to resent it when a new one came along - an echo of a concern he'd had over twenty years ago when baby Sammy was born - and on top of that, he was bringing in a competitor for Dean's motherly/brotherly affections.

Sam hummed, tilting his head in a sort of sideways shrug.

"I'm not quite sure." He admitted honestly, but with a smile in his voice. "He's so... puny. And I've never had a younger brother before." He hesitated a second, before continuing. "And... I dunno. I guess, I'm kinda worried that I won't... y'know."

"Measure up to Dean?" John asked knowingly, sliding a glance at his son, who just looked away, shrugging his answer. Measuring up to Dean had always been a source of anxiety for Sam. First as a young boy who wanted to be just like his cool older brother, then a rebellious teen seething at being compared to him.

But if there was one thing John knew, it was how much Sam loved his older brother, and still thought the world of him even when his strides towards independence and teenaged short-sightedness had him tearing his brother down.

Having his own younger brother was like a test and a treat and a trial all at once.

"It's just... weird." Sam concluded softly. "In my head, I get that he's my brother. But I guess, I don't really feel anything yet. Nothing more than I'd feel for any kid that had supernatural shit on his tail, you know?" His son spoke hesitantly, as though expecting an admonishment.

John just chuckled.

"I'm pretty sure that's normal, Sam." He said dryly. "I'll just be grateful if you boys can get along. I'd be reaching for the holy water if you started hugging or managed it without any fights along the way. Sooner or later, that kid is going to come out of his shock and you'll get a nice dose of teen attitude with a side of Winchester stubborn. Then tell me how you feel about him."

Sam laughed quietly.

The two of them together like that, close and connected in quiet humour, was the best moment of John's life in years.

Repercussions

Harry could hear his new… family… through the motel's thin walls. He'd woken to cartoons on the telly, Dean sitting on his bed half-watching as he sharpened a massive knife and John and Sam bent over a couple of books on the small table by the window.

In the privacy of the bathroom, standing under the shower, Harry listened to low voices talk and picked at the plastic taped securely over his wounded shoulder. When John had suggested he wash up, Dean had pulled him aside almost absently to apply it, as though he'd done it a dozen times before.

It was the same way he'd changed his bandages last night. He'd taken off his ring, scrubbed up quick and thorough then removed the slightly stained dressing from his shoulder more gently than even the nurses had. He'd cleaned it more gently too, taking a squirty bottle of something and a cloth and dabbing away blood and pus without hesitation - but through it all his face had been set, emotionless, and he hadn't met his eyes once.

Awkward was an understatement.

These men, these two... tall, broad shouldered men who called John 'Dad'… they were his brothers. But it. It didn't mean anything. Not to any of them. Harry was just some strange kid thrown into their lives. And Harry himself?

All his life, he'd dreamed of some other family coming to take him away from the Dursleys. He'd even daydreamed about being the illegitimate bastard Vernon had slurringly accused him of, once he was old enough to understand what it meant. He hadn't even cared about what that meant for his mother, at first, too busy being wrapped up in the sheer possibility that some day some stranger on the street or at the door would stop him and say 'Hey, that's my son, and he's coming home with me'.

-blood in the back of his throat, screaming,

the stench of human insides, something alien in his body-

Wish granted.

He flinched with a hiss as previously-lukewarm water suddenly scalded him. He fumbled with the cold tap, feeling his magic shift uneasily under his skin. Ever since it happened, his magic had felt unsettled - almost nauseous. Maybe it was because it wasn't only his.

Between one breath and the next he was there again, could feel it again; his Aunt's blood spraying hot and hard over his face, the power of his mother's sacrifice rising and burning, unfocused and unstable and burningburningburning.

He shook his head sharply and lifted his face to the now-comfortable spray, eyes and mouth open. It stung, kept him in the here-and-now and if maybe some tears joined it, nobody had to know.

His skin prickled again just as the water temperature plummeted, so cold it hurt.

He jerked away, thrashing past the curtain to stand shivering and dripping in the centre of the room. A reflexive shout caught painfully in his throat, right alongside everything else since the night real evil had murdered his family. He coughed, trying to clear it, but choked instead. Even the air was freezing. He'd noticed it in the hospital too. Whenever he got caught up in his memories - flashbacks, the doctor had warned him - the temperature just dropped.

Or things moved.

Accidental magic, just as useless as it had always been his whole life. For every locked door bursting open there'd been a dozen wigs turned blue - and blamed on him - or levitation to the roof - which got him the cupboard - or blowing up Aunt Marge - which he'd been convinced at the time would get him either killed by his Uncle or expelled from school. Nine times out of ten, accidental magic just made things worse and here he was with unsettled magic and a supposed-father who said he and his sons hunted things. Things like what had attacked him. Things like Harry.

He grabbed a rough towel and wrapped it around himself, clumsily secured it with his bad hand - he might never get full use back, the doctor had said - and reached out to turn off the shower with his other. Maybe Mr Winchester, John, his muggle father, would explain more about just how he thought he could protect them all, where wizard magic and his mother's sacrifice hadn't been enough.

Maybe he should just leave, just get away from these unfortunate strangers before they went the way of the Dursleys. In more ways than one.

Repercussions

The Winchesters entered the diner like they owned it.

It stemmed from years of familiarity with diners in general. They had a pattern of behaviour, of movement and even of seating order.

That stumbled a bit when instead of being passively guided to sit by the window, as Sam had been at his age, Harry set his feet and silently waited for them to sit first.

An onlooker wouldn't have seen anything beyond a slight hesitation, oblivious to the tense moment of rapid recalculation.

After a beat, Sam moved to the window seat that John had been steering Harry towards and Dean sat across from him. It left Harry sitting next to Sam, who had enough reach and strength to grab the kid and haul him away from any danger if need be and put John across from their youngest to guard from any demon-possessed waitresses or other threats.

Sam kind of found it a bit funny, especially considering the fact that Harry himself had no idea how rebellious he'd just been. When he was a kid, any attempt to sit anywhere but by the wall or window was met with a firm, warning 'Sammy'.

It was understandable that the kid didn't want to be boxed in by three tall and unknown men, or maybe he just didn't like window seats, but he highly doubted he'd get away with it for very long. John and Dean both were too protective - and controlling - to let it slide.

Still, he slid an amused look at his brother, who rolled his eyes at him as he inspected the menu with an absently practiced eye. Sam followed his lead, watching from the corner of his eye as Harry just stared blankly down at his own.

The kid hadn't slept well last night. One of the reasons Sam had been up before his Dad tried to sneak out was simply because Harry's infrequent shifting made it difficult for him to drop off. Dad, on the other hand, was an expert at forcing himself to sleep only to wake before dawn. Now, though, the kid's eyes were puffy and he could probably do with some coffee - which reminded him, shouldn't he still be on medication?

He asked as much, to which his father produced a bottle of pills that Harry completely ignored. Sam poured him a glass of water anyway.

"Harry." John said. His eldest sons recognised it for the order it was. His youngest just reached out for the pills - and put them in his pocket.

Sam suppressed a grin, something that was a little easier to do when a glance at Dean showed not a similarly hidden amusement but something much more closed off and neutral. What was up with him? Was he still pissed at Dad's infidelity to a dead woman - even if that dead woman was Mom? It wasn't unprecedented for his big brother to simmer silently and bite anyone except their father, but a night's sleep was usually enough for him to settle for the occasional barbed remark if not forget entirely.

Holding a grudge was usually his job, and it felt weird to be the one rolling with the punches.

Then again, Mom had never been the half-healed wound to him that she was to his brother.

"Dude," He cut in, before his father - not very good at handling disobedience at the best of times - lost his temper. "You might feel alright now, but trust me: If you wait until it hurts to take some painkillers, you'll spend the next hour miserable. You don't have to take 'em, it's your body. We're just trying to spare you something we've all regretted doing, that's all."

He went back to his menu, knowing from the angle of Dean's that both of them were only pretending to read it.

At his side, silent and stiff, Harry fished out the pills and took one.

Recommended dosage was two, but some things you just had to learn through experience.

A waiter made his way over, lanky and greasy and just as enthused to serve them as they were to be served by him.

The three elder Winchesters rattled off their orders but when their server turned to Harry…

Sam's newfound younger brother just looked down, fingertips clenched white around his menu, shoulders rising defensively. He didn't say a word, just breathed slightly more erratically as the silence dragged on.

Shit. Sam thought, eyes flickering to meet Dean's - which were a shade more normal as they sparked with equal concern and recognition. He's heading for a panic attack.

"He'll have a salad, dressing on the side, toast and scrambled eggs and a small side of bacon." Sam rattled off. At least one of those things should be acceptable, especially considering the nauseating effect pain and heavy painkillers could have.

"And juice." Dean added gruffly, not looking at any of them. "Orange."

The server noted it down unenthusiastically and meandered off to put their order in. Sam took a sip of water to hide his fond smile. Orange juice had been Dean's cure-all weapon of choice when they were kids.

Server gone, their Dad leaned forward.

"Here's the deal, Harry." He said quietly. "I'm going to tell you what I know, and what I suspect. I know you've been… unwilling to speak since what happened to you-" Lightning fast, Sam and Dean exchanged another look. Not shy, then. Traumatically mute.

"-but anything you can tell us about what attacked you will help us prepare and help us hunt it down and kill it."

Harry's gaze never lifted from the table, although it skated from one Winchester to another.

He opened his mouth. Shut it. Swallowed.

Sam's fingers itched for his laptop. He didn't like going into situations blind. He wished his father had mentioned that Harry was suffering from something like PTSD earlier so he could research it a little, have an idea of how to approach it - and most importantly, know what not to do. He felt a twinge of familiar annoyance at his father for just bulling on ahead.

Harry didn't say anything. Their dad continued.

"According to the forensic report, there was one very unusual substance found that they couldn't explain. Sulphur. In our experience, that's generally a sign of demonic activity."

Dad's low, calm voice seemed to be helping. Harry was still wound tight, but no longer breathing so erratically. The background noise of the diner's morning rush was helpfully both comforting and concealing.

"Demons can possess humans, especially when they're emotional or upset, and use their bodies for a time." Dad continued. "They generally either leave on their own after they've caused enough destruction or are exorcised by hunters like us. They generally don't look any different, although if someone's behaviour is unusual - or their eyes are black from edge to edge - it's a pretty strong sign. And the sulphur, of course."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. Thinking? Or reliving? If he freaked out in the middle of the diner, Sam would have to act fast to prevent him accidentally damaging his shoulder further.

"Sometimes their eyes are a different colour." Their dad continued after a pause, groping carefully for a sign of comprehension, or recognition. "Red maybe - or yellow."

All three of them stilled. They expected yellow to cause a reaction. Harry was a Winchester, if it were to be a demon…

Harry swallowed again. Shook his head. Refusal or denial or retreat maybe. Sam sighed and sat back, fiddling absently with his cutlery.

"Red eyes."

Three sets of eyes shot to their smallest, youngest member. Harry's head was ducked so far down he was basically speaking to his chest. His shoulders trembled with tension and his hands were fists under the table, but he was speaking.

"R-red eyes."

Sam's mind started churning through what it knew of red-eyed demons - or monsters, since he didn't actually know much about the former. Dean just stared, still slightly distant but absolutely focused on Harry. Their dad breathed out slowly and nodded.

"That's good, Harry. What else can you tell me? Did they say anything? Did you hear a name?"

The head of black hair just shook again, harder this time. The teen's entire body shrunk in on itself, edging away from Sam and visibly shutting down. For a second, Sam could have sworn the knife in front of him moved.

A quick glance showed that neither brother nor father seemed to have spotted it though. Maybe the table had just been bumped.

Their server returned, lank hair hanging dangerously close to the dishes resting on his arms. He plonked them down on the table without bothering to make sure everyone got what they ordered, then left again.

The three of them silently exchanged dishes, Dean snagging Harry's eggs on toast to quickly cut them up for him first. Then he glared at Sam's grin, like Sam would mock him for being considerate of a kid with reduced function in his dominant arm. Sam widened his grin, just to be obnoxious, and shifted his legs away from Dean's retaliatory kick.

Harry stared blankly at the array of food before him then sighed almost silently and pulled the salad closer to pick at.

Dean rolled his eyes at the choice but Sam felt inexplicably a little smug. Maybe being a big brother wouldn't be so hard after all.

Repercussions

After breakfast, in which John tried to make Harry eat more and Harry responded by ceasing to eat at all - just what he needed, another passive-aggressive son - his original plan reared its head again, this time with three witnesses. In the parking lot, standing between their two cars, Sam glared at him and Dean watched him with his horribly blank 'nothing is affecting me, no really, who needs their heart anyway' dutifully non-judgemental expression. Both knew exactly what their father wanted to do now.

He turned to Harry, resting a hand on his shoulder without thinking. Harry startled, but didn't move away.

"I'm going to leave you with your brothers." He said bluntly. He'd always been a 'rip it off fast' kind of guy. Harry just sort of froze under his hand, then jerkily looked up at him. Jesus his eyes were green. Dean could never claim that colour again because Harry had him beat hands down. It was almost supernatural in intensity. It didn't help that they were currently wide in distress and looking up at him like he was tossing him out the back of his truck to distract a pack of werewolves.

Sam snorted derisively. He and Dean shifted in that unconscious way they had, standing shoulder to shoulder against him. Hopefully, not also against Harry.

"I've been tracking something big and I'm adding your red-eyed demon to the list. It's dangerous, actively going after them, so I want all three of you boys out of it. Dean and Sam have grown up with hunting, they'll be able to teach you what you need to know to take care of yourself. They'll show you how to ward against demons too, so you don't have to worry about… whatever happened, happening again. Just stay with them, until I've finished this, and they'll keep you safe for me. Once everything is over, I'll find a place and raise you properly, I promise. All three of you will be on the road a lot, so keep an eye out - see which part of the country you'd like best to live in. Once we're all safe, everything will be… normal. I promise."

He didn't look up at his other two sons. He didn't dare. He shifted his hand to the back of Harry's head, fingers sliding through his hair in a careful ruffle, then pulled away and opened the door of his truck.

"Dad-!" Sam blurted. It was too much to hope he'd stay quiet. He ignored him, getting in his truck and shutting the door on "-we can help!".

After a moment, he wound his window down. He locked eyes with his middle child, let his weariness and pleading leak through.

"You can help, by staying out of it. By staying safe. Hunt things, watch out for your brother - both of them - and keep your heads down." He paused. "The end is almost here, Sam. I can feel it. I know you miss your girl. I know you want revenge. But I don't want you turning into me, trying to get it. Be safe."

He wound up the window, started the car and drove off without a single look back. He couldn't afford it. Leaving his sons wasn't half so easy as they no doubt assumed. He loved them. They made the world a better place just by being in it.

And that was why he couldn't risk them. That was why he had to run this last mission on blackout, and just trust them to take care of themselves.

And now, to take care of Harry.

Sighing, he checked his phone. A tracker, someone who kept an eye out for patterns but didn't actually hunt themselves, had sent him a message. He hesitated, but copied the coordinates and forwarded it to Dean's phone. Hunting kept the boys moving, which helped keep them off the radar, above and below.

And if it helped keep them off his tail as well… all the better.

Repercussions

Three brothers sat silently in a sleek black Impala, each staring out a different window. Something beeped.

Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open.

43°0′23″N 89°25′53″W

"Well." He spoke, voice rough with everything he wasn't saying. "I guess we're headin' out."

To be continued

Yes, Sam drinks Pepsi. That should have been all the sign his family needed as to his diabolical fate.