A/N: Vivi here! Hope you're enjoying the story so far. It's gonna be a long one, I think. Definitely not as long as IM or FP (my other fics) but at least 20 chapters, probably. I have a rough idea for the end of the plot, but it's still forming. Anyway, enjoy!
Previously on John's Boys:
"We have to find that kid. Tonight." John turned his youngest around and nudged him toward the car as he grabbed the gun and ran to get in the driver's seat. Maybe they could catch up to him on the road…
Sam was confused, as John expected. "He's already gone, Dad. If he really wants his gun, he'll come back for it. We can just leave it here for him to find later."
"It's not about the gun, Sam. Buckle up."
An hour later, they'd been up and down most of the nearby roads and the one back to the city. Sam finally stopped asking what they were doing and just accepted that he wouldn't get a solid answer and that dinner would be late. John was convinced that Ross' car would break down along the highway, but it was nowhere to be found.
Until Sam saw tread marks going off the pavement. "Dad, look."
John slammed on the breaks- thank goodness for seatbelts, the last thing Sammy needed was another head injury- and jumped from the car as soon as it was in park. The tracks didn't look like they'd been made with any sort of speed, but still, it could have crashed. There were plenty of streams and ravines nearby. Hopefully 'Ross' wasn't at the bottom of one.
The marks in the dirt led them across a small meadow that had obviously been driven through. In the trees at the far side, well out of sight of the road, was the old Pinto, covered in downed branches with leaf litter thrown on top.
John brushed off one of the windows and peered inside after a brisk knock elicited no response. The car was as empty as it had been when they watched Ross leave in it. Except for the makeshift sling on the passenger seat.
"Dammit." John growled, slamming his hand down on the hood of the car and startling Sam.
"Seriously, Dad. What did he do that makes you want to find him so bad? Is it really that important?" Sam asked, growing more and more irritated as his stomach pleaded for food.
John almost turned around and told him they had to find his brother but… then he looked to his lanky teenage son and paused. What if they never found the kid who renamed himself Ross? A father couldn't just tell his son, who thought he was an only child, that he'd just met his long lost big brother and then watch the devastation on the kid's face when they couldn't find him, or worse, found him dead in an alley somewhere. "He didn't do anything. And yes, it is that important." I'll tell him when he needs to know. Right now, he doesn't need to know.
"If he didn't do anything then why are we looking for him?" Sam asked as they got back in the car.
"I need to talk to him." John said, getting back on the road and heading for the city. He must have hidden his car and hitchhiked the rest of the way. Didn't see him walking on the road.
"About what?" Sam asked, looking out his window, keeping watch for any sign of Ross that he could find.
"His family."
The remainder of the search proved fruitless, ending with Chinese takeout and two very pissy Winchesters. "Be quick in there, Sam." John yelled through the bathroom door at the motel when he heard the shower come on. "You're past due for your etho." Can't keep doing this. He needs to take it at nine, not midnight.
"Got it." Sam replied, his classic answer whenever he wanted his father to shut up and go away.
John sighed and scrubbed at his face as he sat on the bed closest to the door.
He may well have just met his oldest son, the one he thought he'd lost forever. And then lost him again. Dean.
Those same eyes haunted John at least once a week in nightmares that were too vivid. Too lifelike. Almost too much to handle sometimes.
Two little green eyes peering out at him from a baby blue blanket in the delivery room. Two bright green eyes smiling and laughing as he took his first steps into Mary's waiting arms, only to stumble to Daddy right after. Two curious green eyes begging to see the hazel ones lying in the crib just one more time before bedtime. Two dark green eyes that reflected the blaze that ended their normality forever. Two guarded green eyes that held a shotgun that would surely knock him over should he fire it. Two dull green eyes agreeing to watch out for Sammy while Daddy went away to work late one evening, called out unexpectedly by his current hunting partner with no time to find a babysitter for the night. Two black and white eyes boring holes into John's soul from the missing children section of the newspaper.
And now… Two terrified green eyes, so much older, longing for a safe place and someone to care whether they lived or died. Two desperate green eyes longing for a family they thought had long abandoned the search for them.
Two hazy green eyes burning with fever and closer to death than John cared to think about.
Tears were already flowing by the time he saw 'Ross' in his head, those green eyes alight with near hysterical fear as he stole back the only remnant he had of his family. His real family. John's family.
It had to be him.
The buzzing in his pocket went unnoticed until the fifth ring. John sniffed his nose and cleared his throat before answering. "What?"
"John?" The gruff voice on the other end said.
"Hey, Bobby. Got anything yet?" John asked, trying hard to keep his tone even.
"Yeah. Hunter named Al says that description fits the son of a friend a' his. Even went huntin' with the pair once in a while. Ever heard of Jerry Ross?" Bobby asked.
John finally knew where the name 'Ross' had come from. Still, the name sounded familiar. "Yeah… Yeah, that old drunk who killed a civilian he thought was a werewolf?"
"The very same. Jerry died about a year ago during a hunt. Turns out he was married to a woman named Lucy. They wanted kids and couldn't have 'em. Couple years ago, a hunter found a kid in a nest of vamps who didn't know his last name and had no ID. As you are undoubtedly aware, those blood suckers remember the scent of their prey for life. Well, a couple fangs got away in the ambush, so the guy decided not to turn the kid over to police. Didn't want a whole family to go down because the bloodsuckers scented the kid. He brought the boy to the Ross', thinkin' they'd take 'im and raise him in the life, away from any vengeful vamps. Well, they did. 'Cept Jerry was a mean SOB who started the kid on hunts before he even enrolled him in school. And neighbors called the cops on Lucy a couple times cuz they heard her cursin' and hollerin' and a kid yellin'. Police never did find grounds to arrest her, but that kid was always shakin'. At least, that's what Al told me. And every police report I found about 'im says he was scared shitless but would never tell the cops why. Hardly spoke two words in his whole life to anyone wearing a police badge. Even when they held him overnight for questioning. Kid was like… twelve, I think. They had a CPS rep and everything, but the boy ignored all of 'em. Jerry was none too happy when he picked the kid up the next morning. The officer doin' the report felt he should include that bit for some reason. Must've made an impression."
"How do you know all this?" John asked, overwhelmed by the flood of information and the menagerie of reactions pounding at his brain, waiting to be let out.
"Called a couple more guys who worked with Ross. Looked over his file at the station, and his credit card transactions over the past thirteen years. The purchase at a kid's shoe store gave me a start date, confirmed what the others told me."
"Damn." There weren't any other words for all the things that were rushing through John's mind at that particular moment.
"One guy he hunted with said the kid was somethin' fierce. Charged right into the fray, got the job done, but always got hurt. Every hunt. Scratches right down to broken bones, apparently. And Jerry would cuss him out in front of everyone, call 'im a clutz and a few other choice words. The kid just took it, I guess. When Jerry died, his neighbors heard a lot of fighting next door and some things breakin'. They saw a teenage boy leave the house and run down the road. Of course they called the cops, thinkin' it was robbery. Apparently the kid contacted a couple of Jerry's old huntin' buddies, asking for help, but no one stepped up. He tried for two months to find some help. Kid kinda fell off the map about… eight months ago." Bobby sighed heavily, as if he wanted nothing more than to end the conversation there. The pause that followed was weighted with so much more than silence. "John, I know what you're thinkin'."
"Is that so?" John snapped. How could everyone in his son's life just abandon him like that? How could they scare him, throw things at him, yell at him, leave him all alone?
"This ain't Dean, John. Kid was too old to be him when he was found." Bobby said softly.
"Then how old is he? Because he's the spitting image of the boy I left in that room twelve years ago." John couldn't stop seeing the fear in his little trooper's eyes as the tot stood in the middle of the grungy motel room with a gun as tall as he was in his hands, nodding when John told him to protect the baby playing with a toy clown in a playpen beyond both beds. Had John even imagined what could have happened that night, he would have taken his boys and never gone near Plainfield again.
It was too late for that now.
"He's eighteen but they found 'im when he was eight, John. Dean went missing when he was five and would only be seventeen now. You know that. Vamps ain't known for keeping humans alive longer than a month. Maybe two at the most if they're using 'em as a lure." There was silence on the line and John heard the shower shut off. "Dean is dead, John. I'm sorry, but it's the truth. You need to move on. You can't keep-"
"Thanks for the update." John said numbly, hanging up and throwing the phone full force into the pillows at the head of the bed. It's him. I know it is. That kid is my son and I'm going to find him.
"Dad?" Sam asked, his voice uncharacteristically timid and unsure.
Embarrassment swept through John; he ran his arm across his eyes before looking at the kid, trying to hide the evidence.
Sam's hair was still soaking wet, dripping all over the carpet, and he wore only a towel around his waist, held tightly in one hand. What instantly concerned John, however, was the fact that he had his other hand pressing against both his eyes and his face was twisted in pain. "Sammy, what happened?" John asked, going to his boy and attempting to remove his hand from his eyes.
"I had a seizure in the shower." Sam whimpered as John finally got his hand away. Those normally bright, hazel eyes were red and inflamed, looking all kinds of painful when they could open even for a split second at a time. "Got soap in my eyes."
"Did you rinse them out yet?" John asked quickly, already knowing that he would say no.
"Kinda. The water was hot and I couldn't see which knob was which." Sam said, squeezing his eyes shut again.
John didn't get to shower that night. Instead, he sat with Sam in the bathroom as they let the tub's faucet drizzle lukewarm water over those burning eyes. John had to watch, just to make sure Sam didn't have another seizure and inhale water or drown himself. Eventually the eyes stopped burning and John put a few medicated eye drops in each eye to help them heal; the drops had become a staple in the Winchester med kit after this same incident happened the first time, some seven years ago. Sam was finally able to eat and take his meds around 12:30, before conking out for the night. John, not wanting to wake him and cause the kid any more grief, settled for just washing his face and shedding a few layers before falling into his own bed.
After he salted the door and windows, of course.
"Thanks for the ride, man." Dean said, jumping awkwardly and somewhat painfully out of the bed of some old guy's pickup truck. So glad those meds are still in my system. Without his sling, though, his shoulder was beginning to burn more than usual. He'd left it behind, knowing that if anyone saw him wearing it, they'd think him an easy target. And that was the last thing Dean needed tonight.
The outskirts of the city were nice. Big suburban houses with grassy lawns and neatly maintained landscaping. Every so often, Dean would wander out here and sleep between the houses and their shrubbery, where no one could find him unless they were actively looking. He only came out here, though, when he really needed rest. There was no way to make money out in the 'burbs. Nowhere to lift food or dive for mostly edible scraps. And the cameras. There were personal security cameras everywhere, with motion activated lights. When he got caught, Dean would usually just say he was looking for his dog who'd run off in the night. That worked most of the time; when it didn't, there was always the 'run fast' option.
Tonight, Dean chose a little brick house, hoping that it had absorbed some of the sun's heat that day. It must've, because when Dean wedged himself between the scratchy brick and the pokey twigs of the shrub by the porch, the house wasn't freezing cold. It wasn't particularly warm, but it was better than nothing.
A small shiver ached its way through Dean's body and he curled tighter around himself. Would love to have a sleeping bag right about now.
Once Dean had his beads, nothing crossed his mind except run for your life. Even looking back in the rear view mirror of his car and seeing the shock on John's face as he didn't give chase hadn't eased Dean's panic. He hid his car as soon as he found a good place, leaving the key on the front wheel and tucking his beads safely away in a hole in the passenger side seat. It was better that he not carry those things; chances were that he'd lose whatever he carried if someone else wanted it. Dean was in no condition to defend himself well and he knew it. So he waited in the ditch until he saw headlights that didn't belong to that awesome classic car he'd passed at the trailhead. He could fake health and hitch a ride to the city as long as no one looked too close. And they rarely looked close.
The ride there was freezing cold, but at least he made it alive. That old man was nice enough, but he wouldn't let Dean into his nice warm cab. Dean understood. He knew he didn't look trustworthy.
But now that he was here, huddled pathetically against someone else's house, Dean began to wonder. 'I have no intention of leaving you out here alone'. What kind of hunter risks his life and his kid to help a stranger with nothing to offer in return? He must've had a reason. Wanted a lacky to do all his dirty work, steal for him. Or make some extra income for him. No way I'm ever doing that again. Could've just been trying to set a good example for Sam, I suppose. Kid looked like he was still young enough to be impressionable. Smart little dude though. Maybe there's a bounty on my head and he wanted to cash in. Somebody figured out that Jerold would've lived if I'd been there to help him and they want revenge. Could be Lucy, she'd do something like that if she had the money. But she probably doesn't. Probably even lost the house by now.
The next shiver sent a big throb through his stitches. But they took care of me. The… the Winchesters. Better than Jerold and Lucy ever did. They gave me medicine so I didn't have to feel the pain all the time, and food too. John let me use his sleeping bag two nights in a row. Sam offered me his food a couple times, kept me from falling over myself every other step. Really seemed like they cared about me. Dean bit his lip to keep it from shaking. Too bad they don't. No one does. Not even Dad, if he's even still alive. There's no way he'd want me back after I… I… Dean shook his head, using the dizziness and stars to his advantage. It kept his mind off of… that day.
Early the next morning, John was sitting in his car, still holding his phone. He'd already spoken to a police officer; they hadn't arrested anyone with Ross' description that night. He talked with the local hospital and all the local clinics. No one who looked like Ross or had his injuries had shown up there either. John even called the local morgue. No John Does matching Ross were there and no one had been brought in that night. That meant that Ross was still out there ruining his shoulder, letting his side get infected, aggravating his concussion, and growing all sorts of nasty crap in his lungs. With no pain medication.
I'm coming, Dean. Just sit tight.
"Up and at 'em, squirt." John said as he returned to the room, his sense of urgency renewed. Sam had slept a full eight hours, which was usually the minimum he needed to function well throughout the day. Hopefully it was enough; John had a feeling they'd be out late again.
"Mmm." Sam groaned, tugging the blanket closer around himself.
John tugged the kid's foot on the way to the bathroom, causing more unhappy noises to come from the bed. Sleepy Sammy always put a smirk on John's face. The kid was just like his old man used to be, way back when.
Sam was dressed and more than ready for breakfast by the time John finished his shower. The pair set out, both already aware of their task for the day: find Ross. Sam still didn't know why, but he wasn't going to pester his father until after breakfast because coffee needed to happen before John was awake enough to not shoot him down at the first inquiry.
So as soon as they left the diner and medications had been taken, Sam laid into him. "Why do we need to find Ross so badly? He obviously doesn't want to be found and you said he didn't do anything wrong. I don't get why we're looking for him in the first place when we should be moving out. You used the burner card here, Dad; the cops are gonna catch up to us if we stay much longer."
"I understand that. Problem is, the man is sick, Sam. You heard him coughing. You saw his side." John said as they drove slowly through the city, doing a preliminary sweep before starting their search on foot. He was glad for the bright sun that day, allowing him to see further down streets and into alleys than he had been able to yesterday. What he was not glad for, however, was the forecast for heavy rain and possible sleet that evening and all night long. John had a sinking feeling that if they didn't find Ross today, they never would.
"Dad, he's a grown man. If he needs help, he'll get help."
"Not Ross. He can't. Sam, he's homeless, in case you didn't notice." John glanced over at his youngest, who wore a skeptical expression.
"How do you know? We only just met the guy."
John had to consciously stop himself from palming his face. "You saw his clothes before we stitched him up, right?"
"Yeah."
"Tell me about 'em."
Sam frowned, trying to remember. "He had a gray hoodie, jeans, and sneakers."
"More detail, Sam."
Sam groaned; this was not the direction he wanted to take this conversation. "The hoodie was kinda threadbare and old and scratchy, his jeans were torn in a couple places, and the sneakers were muddy with the rubber separating from the fabric. The sole kinda flopped around when he walked."
"Now tell me about how he looked when we found him. And not the injuries the wendigo made."
Sam looked out the window and racked his brain for the image Dad was asking for. It was pretty obvious by now that Ross was homeless; Sam hadn't put the pieces together until just then. He'd assumed all the unpleasant bits of Ross' appearance were just due to his most recent hunt. "Uh… His hair was kinda long and greasy. He looked really tired. Skinny. And he smelled."
"Remember how he almost fought us over that silver bullet?"
"Yeah."
"And how fast he ate that first day?"
"I guess."
"How he said he had no way to repay us?"
"I get it."
"I'm not even going to mention the car."
"You just did. Dad, I get it. So Ross might be homeless. Why does that matter?" Sam asked, fully aware of how easily John had twisted the conversation to his favor. Still, Sam didn't know why they had to find the guy if they were just going to dump him at a hospital and take off. Any policeman or upstanding citizen would do the same. Why should Dad risk jail time just to be the first to find Ross?
John looked at Sam in surprise. "Mr. Bleeding Heart over here doesn't understand why I want to help a fellow hunter who might be in a life threatening situation?"
Sam stopped for a second. Life threatening? He just has a cold and some bumps and bruises. The guy walked twenty miles out of the woods with us. How is he already on death's door? "Why do you say that?"
"The understanding part or the helping part?"
"The life threatening part."
"Sam, he's got some very traumatic injuries. He has no way to get medical supplies or antibiotics for his pneumonia. That kind of infection can be fatal. You should know that. Clinics don't take kindly to the homeless, and neither do police." John glanced over at Sam again. "Ross could very well die from his chest infection alone. With all the injuries and blood loss on top of that, it's just a matter of time."
"So… so if we don't find him…" Sam's eyes widened as he imagined what would happen to Ross overnight, if no one helped him. He could see Ross walking through the woods or along a road while the rain and sleet started. Nobody would stop to help him. The shivering would tear open his sutures and, if they got bad enough, might contribute to dislocating his shoulder again. It would only be a matter of time before Ross would slip and fall down the embankment of the road, out of view of any ignorant passerby. He'd stop shivering soon after that. The muscles in his heart would get too cold to allow it to keep pumping and he'd… he'd…
Sam tried not to think about all the dead animals they passed on the way into town. He liked Ross. No way would that happen to him, not with Dad looking. Sam would help, of course, but he knew Dad would find Ross eventually; Dad always found his target.
"Right. He's got no one else. We're the only things standing between him and the great beyond."
"How do you know?" Sam demanded, bothered by how much Dad thought he knew about their new acquaintance. The guy hadn't even told them his real name. There was no way for Dad to look him up or find any information on him. "You don't even know him."
"I had Bobby ask around. One of his contacts knew a man whose 'son' matched Ross' description. The man is dead, and apparently his wife ran Ross out of the house. The kid called the dead guy's hunting buddies but not one of them offered to help him. The last time anyone heard from him was eight months ago. For all we know, he could have been sick that whole time, Sam." John said, the labored wheezes that he listened to for two nights in that tent echoing in his mind, urging his foot closer to the floor of the car.
"He got kicked out of his own house?" Sam asked, trying to understand. "What kind of mom would do that?"
"That woman was never a mother to Ross. Bobby told me she abused him. Both of his so called 'parents' did. I guess the old man just wanted some young blood to help out on hunts." John said with venom in his tone.
"Well no wonder he was so hesitant to accept help." Sam said quietly. He knew he and Dad weren't always on the best terms, in fact they rarely were, but he also knew Dad would never hurt him and would always help him out if he needed it. Dad was reliable, trustworthy. Sam couldn't imagine trusting someone who hit him or told him he was worthless all the time. From what Dad said, it seemed like Ross had never known the kind of unconditional support that a real family offered. It was written all over him, now that Sam thought about it. The old clothes, the poor living conditions, the way his ribs stuck out a little… What a way to live. Nobody deserves that.
John watched his son out of the corner of his eye, seemingly lost in thought. What if I introduced the idea of having a brother slowly? So it wouldn't be so much a shock as it would be… kind of a realization. John thought as a light clicked on in his head. "Remember when he said Ross wasn't his real name?"
"Yeah."
"Ross was the last name of the guy he hunted with, his 'father'. Turns out his real name is Dean. Everyone just knew the kid as Ross, though." John said. The name of his missing son felt strange on his lips, numbing to his ears. He'd spent so long hiding it from Sam that it felt… wrong to say his name. I was protecting Sammy. John tried to convince himself as the guilt washed over him. I wasn't trying to erase Dean from our lives, I was just… protecting…
"So why didn't he use his last name instead of theirs?" Sam asked. "Because it sounds like he was never a part of their family."
"He didn't remember his last name. He was taken from his real family when he was very young. Bobby and I aren't sure what happened before the Ross' got him, but it was bad enough to make him forget his own name." John said, suppressing a shiver of nerves. His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel; he hoped Sam wouldn't notice.
"Wow." Sam's eyes were wide at that little fact. He looked to his father in what could only be interpreted as helplessness. "When we find him… We're gonna help him, right, Dad? Help Dean?"
John's smile was small and short lived. "Yeah, Sammy. We're gonna help Dean."
A/N: In case you haven't realized it yet, Sam has a condition called epilepsy (a popular theme in SPN fics I've noticed). However, these are not the tonic-clonic seizures that most fics feature. In my story, he has absence seizures. They're mostly harmless but extremely annoying and can be dangerous if they happen at bad times. The 'etho' John keeps bringing up references ethosuximide, which is a drug to prevent this type of seizure. We'll explore more of Sammy's past in the upcoming chapters... See you Monday! And leave me a review! Questions are welcome too, of course.
