Supernatural Poughkeepsie Sam Age 8 Dean Age 12

Dean's POV

My class is next to the exit. I always beeline it for freedom the moment the bell rings. Sammy's is a ways down the hall. We move so often it can be easy to screw up the bus number of the week so I always wait for him; if we fuck up, we've fucked it up together and can get unlost together. Getting separated would be bad.

Speaking of my bouncing, baby brother…

"Dean! Brock asked me to come over to his house! He has a Nintendo and a trampoline! Can I go? Please, Dean, please!"

And when I say bouncing, I do mean bouncing. He looked like he was already on the trampoline, kind of like Tigger on his tail.

I swiped a hand across my mouth, a move used to stop your thoughts from spewing out of your mouth before you've had time to think. Thoughts: Dad is paranoid. Dad would say no. Dad's not here. I'm in charge. Dad tends to dump us a few hours away from the supernatural crap, therefore, the town is safe.

Sammy's big, doe eyes were pleading with me to say yes.

"Where does Brock live?

"5 blocks from the motel. Please, Dean!"

"Two hours. I walk there with you, so I know where you're at and when I come to get you, you leave, no questions asked."

Sam grabbed me in a quick hug, "Thanks, Dean!" Then he ran over to Brock and announced, "He said yes!"

I heard Brock respond, "You asked your brother? Shouldn't you ask your Mom or something?"

I instantly tensed. Dad isn't the only paranoid one. We've had visits from Child Protective Services a time or two. We have to watch what we say to keep adults from knowing that sometimes it's just the two of us.

Sam's bounce slowed for a moment, but more like he was thinking of what to say, not like the second question hit him with grief like it did for me. Sam has no memories of Mom.

Sam replied, "Dean's in charge until Dad gets home."

I sighed with relief. Vague, but true, just like I was teaching Sammy to do, because he still struggles with pulling off a decent lie.

I walked the midgets from the bus drop off to Brock's home and reminded Sam to behave himself.

"I will."

Then he scampered off to be a kid; it made me smile. It'd be nice to have friends to hangout with, like Sammy was doing. But I'd seen his heartache each time we left a town and he realized that his 'best friend' of the month was going to be another person he'd never see again.

We were better off depending on each other, not making bonds with everyone we come across. But Sammy hasn't figured that out yet and he needs these moments of freedom.

I made my way back to the motel. The phone was ringing when I entered.

"Hello."

"Dean, where have you been?"

You don't lie to Dad, but sometimes you can get away with truth, but vague. "Exercising, sir." Walking counts as exercise, right?

"Dean, Poughkeepsie."

My body froze. That was our code for 'drop everything and run'. We'd never had to use it, but it was one of those procedures Dad had trained me for.

"Bobby's or Pastor Jim's, sir?"

"Pastor Jim's."

"Understood."

"Dean, be safe."

"Yes, sir."

My heart was rocketing into my chest so hard my ribs hurt. I checked my pocket for my knife, checked my gun for bullets, grabbed Sam's and my duffels, and hightailed it for Brock's house.

I stashed our bags behind some bushes then hammered my fist on Brock's front door. Brock answered it along with Sammy. I didn't even get a word out.

"No, Dean. You promised! It hasn't even been an hour."

"I know kid, and I'm sorry. Dad's orders."

"He just doesn't want me to have any friends. I'm not going."

The code word had gotten my act in gear so I said it to Sammy, "Poughkeepsie."

"Huh?"

Shit. Part of letting Sammy be a kid meant he didn't know squat about the supernatural. Dad and I were still training him on how to fight, so when the time came, he could defend himself. But code words for there's some evil shit coming your way didn't mean squat to Sam.

I couldn't be his brother right now. I had to be his parent and get him the hell out of here. "Samuel Kenneth Winchester get your butt out here this instant."

"Make me."

We did not have time for this. My brain was filling with flashes of the monsters I'd seen on the few hunts Dad had let me join in on, and the stories he told me, after Sammy was asleep, about the cases he was on. I didn't know what we had on our tail, but I knew we needed to ditch town faster than Dad could drive to get to us.

"Three," I gave the start to the countdown that would lead to a few sharp swats to the ass if Sam didn't obey.

He paled and glanced over at his friend, then back at me, and barely above a whisper said, "You wouldn't."

"I would. Two."

I felt a sag of relief when in the next moment Sammy's hand was in mine. I ached a little when I saw he was struggling to hold in tears at being embarrassed in front of his friend, but that couldn't be helped, we had to go.

I grabbed both our bags with my left hand so my right could stay in Sammy's. The tears were dribbling down his face now, "No, Dean. I don't want to move."

I didn't respond. This wasn't the time for the heart-to-heart.

We kept walking. I kept my eyes peeled for monsters, well meaning adults, and potential cars to steal.

Flashback

Dean, Age 8

"Swap spots with me, Dean." Dad slid across the bench-seat and urged me to climb over him and behind the wheel.

"Uh, Dad."

"Hop to."

I obeyed, because I'm supposed to obey Dad, but I also tried to explain again, "Dad, I'm 8."

"And I'm teaching you how to drive." He held out his keychain. "Key in the ignition, son."

I fumbled with it.

"Flat side down."

I flipped the key over and stuck it in.

"Now pull the lever and slide the bench up so your feet can reach the pedals."

I had to put it so far forward that Dad's knees were pressed up against the glovebox and his legs were bent.

"Turn the key."

My lips were tingling because I wasn't breathing right. I was excited, and scared, and I wondered if that's how people feel on roller coasters? I turned the key and the engine roared to life.

"Now put your foot on the break and hold it down."

"Which one's the break?"

"The one on the left."

I pressed it down.

"Good. Now shift her into drive, the D."

I grabbed the stick I'd seen Dad use to switch gears and shifted it to D.

"Now ease your foot off the break and gently press the gas, the one on the right."

I wanted to do it. Driving looked like a hell of a lot of fun. But sometimes it was still hard for me to find that balance between obeying Dad and obeying the law and there was really no way to do both right now. We already bent the law plenty, what with me raising Sam while Dad was away, digging up corpses and burning them (way creepy, but part of the job), living off scammed credit cards, and breaking and entering to get information or to steal cursed objects. Sometimes you had to do wrong things in order to do what's right, I got that. But I wasn't sure why Dad was teaching me to drive at 8.

I had to check again, even though Dad doesn't like it when you hesitate to follow an order, "Dad, are you sure?"

"Dean, I leave you boys alone, and I trust you to look after your brother. But if something dangerous comes your way, or if I get injured on a hunt, I need to know that you can drive the two of you to safety."

I wished I hadn't asked because those words switched the day from rare, one-on-one time with Dad to another layer of responsibility I was being trained to take on. I nodded my understanding and moved my foot to the gas pedal.

I instantly forgot the responsibility aspect. This was thrilling! She purred. I pressed the pedal harder and got her speeding down the straight, country road. I was grinning like mad.

"Alright, slow her down, Dean. No break, just ease off the gas a bit. Good."

I wanted to keep going fast, but I also wanted Dad's praise, not his wrath, so I lifted my foot some and the car slowed a bit.

"When you drive, you want to stick to the laws."

I chuffed, trying to hold in a laugh. The laws? I was 8, and I was driving.

"The speed limit, Dean. You need to stick to the speed limit, take turns slow, obey stop signs and stop lights. And until your body can fake being 16, only drive at night."

This was a really insane conversation, but Dad and I had conversations about demons, witches, ghost, and werewolves, so maybe this conversation was only insane for normal people.

"It's daylight now," I responded.

"Nebraska has a whole lot of nothing. We're 20 miles from anyone who'd even notice. Let's practice turning."

The lesson went on and was repeated on other countryside roads during the day and at night. By 12, I was a decent driver.

Present

"Dean, where are we going? Where's Dad?"

"Pastor Jim's. We're meeting up with Dad there."

"But how are we going to get there, Dean? He's hours away. Shouldn't we go back to the motel and wait for Dad to pick us up."

"He can't, Sammy. We're supposed to meet him there."

"But why? And how are we supposed to get there? It's too far to walk."

I stopped and looked at Sam, "Enough with the 20 questions. Now, I need you to play a game."

"I'm not playing the quiet game. That game sucks."

"Not the quiet game. This one's called, Find the Hidden Car."

"What's that mean?"

"It means you look for an empty car that is hard to spot."

"Sort of like Where's Waldo?"

"Exactly. But just like the car's hidden, you've got to hide that you're telling me when you find one. Just keep walking and tell me something like, 'It's behind the bushes of the blue house.' Got it?"

"I'm not dumb, Dean."

"I know you're not kiddo. Eyes sharp. See if you can find one."

Sam found us a grey sedan behind the bushes of a beige house. No one could be seen through the giant picture window into their living room. How could people live like that?! All exposed for others to see what was available to rip off?

The sedan was unlocked. "New game, Sammy. We're the ones hiding now. And the goal is not to get found. Scoot across to the passenger's side then curl up in a ball on the floor." I stuck our bags on the floor of the backseat, then hid on the driver's side floor.

I knew Sammy was going to grow bored of the game and start asking questions, so I tried to distract him, by reading to him from my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle's comic. The turtles kickass in the cartoons, but in the comics they kickass while swearing up a storm and talking about hot chicks. Sammy was mesmerized and it kept him quiet and hidden until dark fell.

The home was still empty, so I felt safe stealing the car. I took out my knife and shimmied, upside down, under the dashboard.

"Dean! What're you doing?"

The kid was freaking out, popping his head up to look out the windows, as though the cops were going to suddenly appear and cuff me.

"Chill, Sammy. This'll only take a mo."

Flashback

Dean, Age 9

"Alright, Dean, find the two wires. Good. Now slice them. Cut off a bit of the shielding from the tips. But keep your hands off the metal. You hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

"If your hand touches the metal when the two wires connect you'll get the bolt of electricity intended to start the engine, so you need to mind that rule."

"Yes, sir."

"Now, touch them together."

It was magic. The engine roared to life. I felt so freakin' powerful, like one of the Green Lantern dudes. I don't think my grin went away for hours.

Present

The engine kicked over. I grinned. Dad may have had me practice on 20 of Bobby's junkers, but it still felt like magic, every single time.

"Alright, Sammy, hop up. Buckle in."

"Dean! You can't steal a car!" But he said it as he obeyed me and was buckled in by his last word.

"Can and am, little bro. New game. Watch the signs. Tell me the speed limit each time you see one and warn me about stop signs. Got it?"

"Yes, but."

"No buts, Sammy. Just read the signs."

I eased the car out of the driveway and onto the road. Sam didn't voice that I was too young to drive. He'd sat in the back plenty of times when I'd practiced driving. He'd even begged enough that Dad had allowed him to drive a few hundred feet down a country road on his 8th birthday. But Sammy, being Sammy, instead of getting a kick out of it, was suddenly freaking out about the possibility of getting caught by cops. Dad hopes that by 10, Sam will be mature enough to try again.

It was dark and we'd already been on the edge of town, so it only took a few minutes to get to the highway.

I kept an eye out for movement of big baddies along the road and for roaming cops. Driving without Dad, away from an unknown threat had my nerves on edge. Every stray shadow made my hand itch for my gun. But I was doing double duty protection: don't let Sammy get hurt and don't let Sammy know there's stuff that can hurt him. If there was a real threat, I'd go for the gun.

An hour out of town and no other cars in sight, my nerves calmed enough to notice our growling stomachs. "Sammy, hop in the back and grab the beef jerky from my duffle." We had our dinner of dried meat, minus anything to drink, which was probably good because I had no plans to stop for pissing in the woods. Cars were supposed to be stolen and ditched, not stolen and re-started. I didn't want to risk stopping her then stranding us if she wouldn't start up again.

Sammy fell asleep an hour after bedtime and we arrived at Pastor Jim's around 11p.m. He carried Sammy inside and I carried our bags.

Still don't know what was after us, but Pastor Jim is the type of pastor that protects his flock with a full on arsenal, so I knew it was safe to stand down.

Brock's House

Old Yellow Eyes made his way through the hedges. Brock, spying him, gave one last bounce on the trampoline and made his way over to sit on the edge of it, Azazael sitting down next to him.

"How's our boy doing?"

"He tries to pretend he's living a normal, apple pie life. That's the vibe he attempts to give off. But he has no clue how to do it. Kind of hard to pull off, 'My life is hunky dory,' when you're gaping in awe at a pile of toys on a bedroom floor that has its own TV and Star Wars bedsheets. His eyes got huge again when Brock's mom said we were having lasagna for dinner. Like he's never had a home cooked meal before."

Azazael smiled and asked, "Aren't you Brock?"

Brock's eyes flashed black. "Only until you assign me the next body to befriend Sam in. But how about being a pal and holding it off until after dinner. It's been decades since I've had home cooked lasagna."

"Be my guest. I always reward my demons for a job well done. Your job was well done, wasn't it?"

"Slow burn, sir, just as you asked. Town by town, make him jealous and resentful of the life he's stuck in."

"Good, that's good."