A/N
Thanks to all the people who put this story on alert. I promise I won't let you down and stop writing in the middle of it. I have a grand total of 1 ½ chapters ready to post after this one, and I'm hoping that since it's a 3 day weekend I'll get some more written. BTW, Happy Labor Day.
I'd also like to thank the very kind user T.L. Arens, who dropped a review into my mailbox. The baby is a boy…and I think this chapter will pretty much show you what type of a step-mother Maggie is. She doesn't have a huge part in the story, but she'll probably make a couple of recurring appearances, especially if I decide to integrate any flashbacks.
Anyways, here's the next chapter. It's kinda long. Hope you all enjoy it. Oh yeah, and my name's Lex. So, happy holiday weekend.
-Lex
Disclaimer: Ha ha, can't forget this. If I did, the ridiculous copyright company would probably come visit me with some scary guys in black uniforms. Well…I don't own Supernatural. So BRING IT. I've got a shotgun…loaded with something that packs a harder punch than rock salt.
Dean tapped his fingers nervously against the kitchen table, absent-mindedly playing with a few crumbs from this morning's toast that hadn't been cleaned up yet. He had yet to tell Samantha about his strange visit from Castiel. He had packed her little backpack anyway, with a spare change of clothes and a few toys, just in case Castiel asked them to leave. He had just managed to throw a few of his own things into a bag before Maggie came home, and he had had to shut his light off so she didn't know he was awake.
Now it was nearly 9 a.m., and he still had yet to receive John's thundering lecture. He had simply been told to wait in the kitchen while John and Maggie gave Chester—the new, infant-cute son—a bath. No doubt, Maggie was spilling the beans now.
The bathroom door clicked open, and then shut. John emerged from the hall, a measured look of annoyance on his dark face.
"Is it true, Dean?"
Dean could only imagine one thing that would cause John to ask that question. "Yes sir."
"What did I tell you about obeying your mother?"
"I did!" Dean insisted, trying to keep any whining tone out of his voice. "I unloaded the dishes, like she said."
"But you broke some."
"You're not supposed to put china in the dishwasher anyway, it says so on the back—" Dean stopped when he realized he was smart-mouthing again.
John almost looked amused. "That's not the point, Dean."
"I'm sorry?" Dean tried.
"You will be." Maggie's voice added as she joined the little group, bouncing a gurgling Chester on her slim hip.
"Maggie, I'm sure it was an accident, the boy's only—"
"Accident or not he has to learn!"
Maggie single-handedly undid John's belt buckle and yanked the leather through the denim belt loops in one swift motion, causing John—Dean's strong, pillar-like father—to stumble slightly from the force.
"The shed. We'll discuss Samantha's behavior when you get back." She held the clothing accessory out to John, who took it numbly. Dean slowly stood, heading for the door. He stopped in his tracks when he heard John and Maggie arguing.
"It's them or me, John!" Maggie yelled. John must have been trying to reason quietly with her. "Dean and Samantha…or Maggie and Chester. Take your pick."
"Look, Mags, I don't hate my kids! They're just…it's hard." John finished lamely, for once not raising his own voice.
"It's hard, they remind me of her, she was so pretty…" Maggie huffed, adapting her own whiney version of John's voice, mocking him. "Get. OVER. It! You're either with me, or you're on the street with them!"
Dean heard John sigh. "Go to the shed, Dean, wait for me there."
"Yes sir." Dean spun on his heel, eager to get out of the loud house. He tromped towards the door, not realizing until it was too late that his path was blocked. He found himself face-first against the rather intimate area of a pair of jeans that were being worn by a gigantor of a man, easily six-foot-four with a thick mop of shaggy brown hair.
Second intruder in less than 24 hours, must be a record. Dean smirked, wondering if this one would be as amusing as Castiel. Wait…Castiel! Someone will come for you tomorrow, be ready to do whatever they tell you...Castiel's admonition rang clearly through Dean's head. Is this the person he was talking about?
"Easy, Sparky." The man whispered, putting a firm hand on Dean's slim shoulder. He had a deep, soothing voice that cracked slightly, hinting that it hadn't quite grown with the man, and would soon deepen even more. I sure hope he's not due for another growth spurt too…Even now that the man was kneeling, Dean had to look up to see him. "Where's your sister?"
"In the bedroom."
"Go get her."
"I can't! They're—" Dean was interrupted by the sound of a vase breaking. At least it's not me this time, Dean thought happily.
"They won't see you. Just hurry, okay?"
Dean nodded and bounded out of the room, up the stairs and away from all the noise. He plucked Samantha from the bed, covering her mouth with his hand. She looked at him, trust oozing out of her chocolate eyes, and he smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring fashion. "It's gonna be okay, Sammy. All right? We're gonna be okay."
She nodded, and he grabbed both of their backpacks from the closet where he had stashed them. He headed for the stairs, his sister in his arms, when he had to stifle a gasp. He saw his father, standing stock still, hands held shoulder-high as he stared down the barrel of a gun. Maggie's gun. The one that John had bought her, insisting she learn how to use it. Well, she'd learned all right. Seemed to remember all those lessons, too.
"John, I swear—"
"Maggie, please…put the gun down."
"Choose, John. NOW!"
Oh heavens, they were still on that subject?
"Maggie, I can't! Please—don't make me." John's voice held a pleading, hurt tone that Dean didn't think he had heard before in his life.
"Can't do it, huh?" Maggie readjusted her grip on the revolver. "Fine. You don't have to."
John's face fell slack with relief—just before the immediate shock set in as Maggie's bullet slammed into his shoulder. Dean's ears rang ominously, barely registering his father's grunt of pain. Samantha screamed in horror.
"Unggh!" John fell to his knees, clutching his right arm.
The door slammed against the wall, Dean guessed that the man had chosen this moment to make his entrance.
"Drop the gun!"
Dean and Maggie whirled to face the voice, the revolver barrel was now aimed at the stranger. Wow, you're gutsy, Dean thought as he took in the sight of the tall man standing in the sitting room. Even with Maggie's gun trained on him, the man remained perfectly calm.
"What are you doing in my house! Get out, get out, get OUT!" Maggie screamed, waving the gun at him. The man held out a badge.
"Agent Ross, Child Protection Services. We received a call from the neighbors, they said they thought they heard a domestic dispute, and that children might be involved…I guess they were right." He glanced at John. "Hang in there, sir, I've already called an ambulance."
"Already?" Maggie raged. "How long have you—"
"I knocked a couple of times—nobody answered. I heard the gunshot and—"
"And barged into my house!" Maggie wailed. "You have no rights!"
"And neither do you, you gave yours up the moment you touched that gun with children present."
Dean wasn't sure that was completely true, but didn't think that now was the appropriate time to bring that little detail up.
"So what, you're going to arrest me?"
"No…I'll let the cops do that." He nodded at Dean. "It's okay, kids. I'm gonna need you to come with me."
Dean began to finish his escape, practically jumping that last six stairs and running to safety (or what he thought was safety) behind the C.P.S. agent.
"That's it, kiddo. Nice and easy, don't upset your mom."
"I'm NOT their MOTHER!" Maggie screamed. "Can't you see?" even though Dean knew the man couldn't see what Maggie was so aggravated about.
"Calm down please, ma'am."
"They were pretty dumb, sending you here on your own for a domestic dispute." Maggie spat.
The man nodded toward the door. "My partner's outside."
Dean poked his head around the open door, and saw last night's intruder, Castiel, leaning up against one of those classic black cars that he couldn't place the name of. That stupid trench coat still hung on the man's slender frame. It was wet—sopping, actually—and Dean realized that it was raining heavily. Pouring was more like it, and there Castiel was, standing in it, seemingly unfazed.
John—who Dean had pretty much forgotten about until now—groaned. Agent Ross rushed to kneel at John's side. Maggie's gun followed him.
"Sir? Can you hear me?"
John nodded weakly.
"It's gonna be okay, the police will be here soon."
"De'n…Saman'a" John mumbled.
"Your kids? They'll be fine, they're coming with me."
John nodded, clasping the man's bicep in an iron grip despite his weakened state. "Do I…I know you?"
The man patted John's uninjured shoulder reassuringly. "Nah, I don't think so. Hang in there, buddy. Just hang—hang on a sec." The man took off his Abercrombie & Fitch hoodie, pressing it to John's shoulder despite the fact that it looked a little damp.
"Get away from my husband!"
"What, the one you shot?" Agent Ross huffed.
The gun, still in the hand that had temporarily dropped to hang by Maggie's side, was now pressing into Ross's shoulder.
"Get. Away."
Don't hurt him…oh God, please don't let her hurt him! Dean prayed, even though he wasn't sure he believed that praying would help. He felt a hand on his shoulder and jumped. It was Castiel.
"Dude, you gotta stop sneaking up on us."
Castiel ignored him. "Come with me, Dean. Please, and your sister."
Dean nodded his consent. "What about Ross? My Dad?"
"Your dad will go to a hospital. S—…er, Ross, will come with us."
Dean looked at Samantha, who was ramrod stiff and wide-eyed in his arms. Castiel reached for her, and Dean slowly—oh so slowly—relinquished his bundle of joy. Castiel headed for the car, holding the trench coat over Samantha's head, but Dean wasn't sure he should leave yet.
"Get away or I shoot." Maggie hissed.
Ross nodded. "Okay—fine. You win." He rose to his feet. "But if you want him to live, you gotta keep pressure on the—oomph!"
Maggie's high-heeled boot connected with his shin.
"Ow! Lady, that hurt! "
"Out."
Ross blew hair out of his eyes and regained his balance. "Cas," he called. "Am I supposed to take Chester along wi—"
Another gunshot rang out, and the C.P.S. agent crumpled to the ground. Dean gasped, felt himself being pushed out of the way as Castiel barged back into the house. Maggie fired at him too, once—twice—then twice more, but Castiel ducked, and the bullets hit the wall, raining crumbs of plaster to the floor. I can't get away from the freaking crumbs…Dean thought—it was his last thought before nausea washed over him as he spied the puddle of blood underneath of Ross's head.
I can't say that I feel guilty leaving you guys with a cliff-hanger. Cuz I don't really. I made you a promise that I would keep coming back until the story ended…and as you will see, I keep my promises.
Does anybody even read Author's Notes? I'm not sure. I don't think there's mistakes in here. If there are, go ahead and point them out. I use spell-check…but that's Word. And we all know how PERFECT that is. Uggh…oh well. Until next time.