Silver Creek, Minnesota, 1994.
Time crawled by for Dean, confined to a chair just in case the cops came snooping. It was frustrating, having to sit down all the time when he was perfectly capable of moving around. He spent most of his time "upgrading" a pager for Doc Montrose, carefully pasting on strips of batman comic.
He was using a box knife over the slots for the speaker and the battery flap when she strode through the front door, tumbled brown curls cascading over her shoulders.
She draped herself on the couch next to him, boots dangling off the arm, "And how's my medical marvel today?"
She saw the answering grin creep onto his face and swung herself upright, gently bumping his shoulder with hers, "Quite the penchant for arts and crafts you've got there Dean." She teased.
"Shuddup," Dean fought the rising blush and bumped back against her, "Batman is badass." She stood and made her way to the kitchen where the enticing smells of dinner were wafting from, her laughter ringing through the cabin.
"Hey Dean," she waited until his eyes met hers, "Batman is totally bad ass."
He got to his feet with a groan and followed her through into the kitchen, tossing her the finished pager with a flourish. "Bat signal. You are now officially the Hunters' Doc on call. Hope you know what you signed up for."
He strolled past her and headed into the bedroom. His stuff was all packed into the panniers that Caleb had made him. The supple leather saddlebags fitted his dog form perfectly and had a clever tightening and release mechanism so that he didn't need human help getting them on and off.
It was almost as if Caleb had seen the future. As if he had known that Dean would need to leave his family behind one day in order for them to be safe.
He shrugged off the melancholy thought and went out to savour the time he could spend with his family and friends. He wished Sammy was here as well but he'd make do with what he had. After all, it was the most he'd have for a while.
Three days after the cops officially closed their investigation, the time came for Dean to strike out on his own. He didn't tell his dad. He just wrote a short note and snuck out in the middle of the night. Sure dad'll be pissed but it is better this way… safer. At least I'm saving him the trouble of telling me himself.
Ghosting through the woods like a wolf, he'd headed south west. The loam soft and soundless under his paws
He was six days and two hundred miles down the road in Hartington, NE, when the impala pulled in at the rest stop he was using to wash. He hadn't been in his human form for two days straight and was feeling distinctly grimy. He was in the middle of brushing away the dog breath when he heard the familiar rumble.
Grabbing the panniers and his collar he headed outside wondering why his dad had bothered to track him down. The way Dean figured it, he'd taken the initiative and left before his dad had to force him away in order to protect Sammy. Dad would probably yell for a while and then they'd say the goodbyes that Dean had been trying to avoid.
If it had just been him and dad, maybe he could have risked the hunters catching up with them. But there was nothing on this earth that would make him put Sammy in danger, certainly not some chick flick sentiment like homesickness. He'd never even had a home to be sick for. Everyone was better off if he was on his own. He'd even considered going to Bobby but didn't want to put the old Hunter in danger.
So what if he was a little lonely, not lonely…just not used to it… yeah right Dean, keep telling yourself that. Stupid pack animal instincts.
The grit of the forecourt crunched under his feet as he slunk around the back of the gas station. He stood with eerie stillness as he watched John harass the store clerk.
John shoved Dean's photo under the employee's nose. It was the only one he had, creased where he'd had to fold it to fit into his wallet. Bobby had taken it last Christmas and forced it on him, calling him an 'idjit' when he'd complained about the potential for leaving evidence behind.
In the picture Dean and Sam were sharing Bobby's old couch; Sam, with that studious expression he always got when he was doing his homework, furiously writing on a notepad and Dean with a book, of all things, although John recognised it as one of Bobby's tomes on demonology. Neither of them were looking at the camera, both completely unaware of the photo being taken, caught in a quiet moment of brotherly harmony.
The attendant took the photo off John with a frown, flicking long bubble-gum pink bangs out of his eyes as he glanced warily up at the taller man.
The wiry teen paused and licked his lips nervously, "Why are you looking for him?" John's narrow eyed glare had the kid straightening his spine and lifting his chin. He swallowed convulsively. Kid knows somethin', hasn't even asked which one I'm looking for. It was the first spark of hope he had felt in 6 days.
He had never expected Dean to be gone from the cabin. He'd had a few minutes of ohshitnotagain before he'd spotted the note on the kitchen table. The note that said it wasn't safe. Not safe, as if he hadn't spent the last ten years keeping his boys safe. As if he hadn't taught them to shoot and fight. As if he hadn't drilled it into their heads to always salt the windows and doors and sleep with a knife under the pillow. Didn't keep him safe though did it. The traitorous thought whispered through his mind as he stared down the store clerk.
"He's my son."
The kid tried to regain his composure and crossed his arms, raising a sardonic eyebrow. "Why'd he run away?" John was so wrapped up in trying not to punch the cocky little bastard that he almost missed the slide of icy blue eyes towards the forecourt window. He turned automatically only to find Dean leaning against the impala, shading his eyes against the morning sun.
The spark of hope burst into flame, his feet barely touched the floor as he sprinted out of the store.
"God damnit Dean, what the hell were you thinking?"
His father had clearly spent the last six days building up a good head of steam because he didn't let Dean get a word in to answer despite the furious question. Dean hunched his shoulders and waited for the tsunami to subside. It didn't, or at least the ear splitting tirade was replaced by an equally thunderous silence. The ominous quiet continued in the impala as they drove up the I-29.
He struggled to find the words to explain the worry he felt for Sammy and for his Dad. That every minute he spent with them was just another minute he was putting them in danger.
"Dad, I…" All the words he wanted to say were stuck in his throat. He could feel them lodged just behind his Adam's apple. The oppressive atmosphere in the impala forcing them back into his gullet. He wanted to pour out his heart, to say all those chick flick things that he would make fun of Sammy for. But he couldn't find the words. Instead he let the silence wash over him - an inexorable tide that left him floundering for an explanation.
The son and the brother in him, and yes the dog in him too, wanted to stay. To forget about Hunters and Demons and things that go bump in the night. But his time as just a son and a brother had ended in flames on a chilly November night ten years ago. Dean was a protector, a soldier, and now, he had become a threat. Maybe he hadn't done it the right way but leaving was the right thing to do. It was the only option. His last act of fraternal devotion. To leave and keep Sammy safe.
When he finally forced words out his voice squeaked in a way it hadn't since he was thirteen. His dad received him in silence. He continued to drive in silence. Once they reached Singer Salvage he left the car in a silence so profound that Dean wondered if he'd ever hear his dad's voice again.
Bobby's truck was parked haphazardly in the yard along with an unfamiliar silver sedan. The presence of an unfamiliar car made him hesitate for a moment before he entered the house, but the smell of jet fuel and sand once he was inside made the owner of the sedan pretty obvious. Jack's here. Dean hurried his steps a little in his dad's wake, summoned by the angry line of the older Winchester's shoulders.
The rest of the day had gone just as badly. Dad had shut himself in Bobby's library straight away, slamming the door with a resounding thud. Sam had barely spoken to him, stalking off and muttering something about a "normal family" that even Dean's doggie-enhanced hearing couldn't catch. He hadn't expected Sammy to be pleased but he thought maybe he'd get a hug. Some sign that Sam had missed Dean as much as Dean had missed him. Even Jack and Bobby hadn't waited long before disappearing. But at least they heard him out over breakfast before they too left him to his own devices. They'd obviously read his note. That was demonstrated when Bobby cuffed him about the ear, before he'd even opened his mouth, and called him, "Idjit" in that frustrated tone he seemed to reserve for Winchesters. "You don't think I can handle a couple of ornery Hunters with no more sense than God gave a fencepost." Jack had watched in silence as Bobby had waxed lyrical about the stupidity of Winchesters in general and the stubbornness of one in particular while flipping pancakes and burning bacon. They'd departed with one last, "You're staying and that's final" thrown over Bobby's shoulder.
Dean had "gone dog" pretty quickly after that - ironically finding solace in the very thing that had caused this mess in the first place. He'd padded outside where he had been greeted by a pair of over excited bundles of fluff. At least the dogs still liked him, well except for Cheney but he's a grumpy old fart anyway.
When Jack came and found him he was curled up in a stripped out old Ford with Aspin's head on his flank. It was warm and comfortable and he didn't have to think about all the ways he'd screwed up his family. Jack was following in the gambolling footsteps of Bobby's latest addition, Perry, who was leading Jack right to him and looking inordinately pleased with himself. Traitor. The GSD puppy scrabbled at the car door whining, and barking. The racket was swiftly followed by excited yips as Jack took pity on the pup and lifted him through the window. Then Dean had a face full of delighted puppy as Perry burrowed into his chest. His ears flopped back and forth against Dean's muzzle and he grumbled irritably. Jack leant against the frame and ignored the disgusted look Dean shot him as he began to talk.
"I know you think you can't stay with your family, but running away isn't the answer either Dean. It isn't safe out there on your own kiddo." He held up a hand forestalling the growl of disagreement, "I don't care how tough you think you are, you're still only 15. So you can shut up and listen. I've had an idea."
Jack continued outlining his plan, "The military is always looking for people like you Dean. Smart, innovative, able to think outside the box. They'd be lucky to have you and I think you'd be happy with them too. The Airforce is…" No way is dad gonna be happy with that, Semper Fi all the way. Dean could feel himself reluctantly gaining more interest as Jack spoke. He could have a place again, people who needed him. Sure he'd miss his family, but they'd be safer without him.
"I take it you're happy with this plan?" Dean's tail stilled from where it had been beating against the door frame and he chuffed, embarrassed.
The man smiled at the young dog's very human expression of chagrin, "There is one more thing Dean. I've been talking with Bobby and I know you've been working damned hard to make all your teachers lose interest in you. But that has to stop. From now on you're going to be working your butt off to get your grades up so you can get accepted into the Academy." He sent Dean a glare at his disbelieving whine, "You're smarter than you think you are kid. Now it's up to you to go and prove all those pompous blowhards wrong."
Jack walked through the junkyard, shaking his head incredulously at the hour-long conversation he'd just had with a dog. Or a kid in the shape of a dog at least. This whole skinwalker thing confused the hell out of him. If he hadn't been stone cold sober he'd have thought that he'd hallucinated the whole thing. Guess you never know what kind of creature is lurking around. He froze at the thought and came face to face with the oldest of Bobby's three dogs. The Rottweiler, Cheney, was sitting in the bed of Bobby's truck, his head cocked in interest, Bobby wouldn't keep anymore skinwalkers around right? His thoughts turned to Aspin, the German Shepherd who had snuck onto his bed last night. Nah. He dismissed the thought. One skinwalker was more than enough for Bobby.
He wondered what John would make of the plan he and Bobby had come up with. He'd probably fly off the handle, but Jack honestly thought that the military would be a good career for the kid. For the first time since Charlie died he felt connected with the world again. He had three years to get things in place, to give Dean the future Charlie never had the chance for. With the ingenuity, intelligence and sheer grit Dean displayed, he just knew that the kid would be a credit to any service that managed to grab him.
Even better, Dean would benefit from the military too and most likely come back a changed man. He resisted the quirk of his lips that threatened to show as he walked back up the porch steps. He'd most likely have to bash some thick skulls together to make this plan work, but he had absolute faith that he'd manage.
For the first time in a long time Jack O'Neill had a smile in his eyes as he sauntered along. Win-win.
A/N: The prequel to this story is called "Instinct" and can be found here s/10627883/1/Instinct, The sequel is called Ashes & Temples and can be found here, s/11866012/1/Ashes-Temples