May 20, 2006

"Dang it!" Dean shuffled across the linoleum as he tried to reach the last bolt holding the old garbage disposal in place. The twelve-year old model in the Beretta family kitchen had finally had enough Italian cuisine and had decided to only make irritating gurgling sounds instead of functioning properly. As a result Dean and Sam were helping Dad install a new one while Mom was out playing bridge with her friends.

"Need me to adjust the light?" Sam offered, angling the flashlight upward, and in the process blinding Dean.

"Gah! No!" He swatted the light away, frustrated. "I've got it…" He managed to loosen the last bolt and plucked out the old disposal, only for it to spew over a decade's worth of disgusting residue all over his hair and face. Oh come on!

An hour later the new disposal was installed and working, and Dean desperately needed a shower. The old disposal's gunk was mostly off of him, but his hair reeked. "Dad, mind if I use the shower? I wanna get some of the junk in my hair out of my hair."

"Sure. Just make sure you don't use your mother's good towels!"

"I won't, I learned that last time!" Dean called back as he closed the bathroom door and cranked the shower to its highest heat setting.

Alright Sam, don't pussy out now… "Hey dad, can I ask you something?" Sam leaned against the counter, his minimal confidence in his question barely helped by the fact that Dean had just left the room.

"Sure, what's up?" Andrew replied, putting the last of the tools away in his toolbox.

"Am I adopted?"

"I first met Mary Winchester at a church bake sale. The Winchesters weren't Catholic, but I knew them well enough from different social functions. I recognized her and introduced myself. She was a lovely woman, kind and smart-and at the time she was expecting her second child, that was you Sam…" Paula smiled, "She was so happy, looking forward to having another bundle of joy in her life. We hit it off and I invited her over for lunch, which she gladly accepted. A few months later she had Sam and she made your father and I the godparents… After the fire it was revealed that Dean's godparents-a distant cousin of John's had passed-and that no one else in the family had decided to step forward, so we offered to look after you."

"You were nearly catatonic when we first brought you home." Andrew said, turning to Dean. "You didn't speak at all for almost a month, and even then, only after a fair bit of therapy. We guessed that you repressed everything before the fire because when you started talking again you never asked about before."

"We didn't mean to lie to you. We love you just as much as your birth parents would have, and I promise you that we had meant to tell you…" Paula trailed off.

"But we never really knew how to." Andrew finished.

The room was silent for a moment before Dean exhaled deeply, "Thank you. I want you to know that this doesn't change anything. You're still my parents and I love you." He turned to face Sam, "You couldn't leave well enough alone. I'm pretty pissed off at you right now. I told you to drop it." He shook his head, "I can't deal with you right now-I'm heading out." And with that he shut the front door a fair bit harder than usual.

"Dean, I know you didn't want me to dig into things, and I'm sorry. But I just want to know the truth… please pick up…"

Sam clicked the phone shut, it was the eighth message he'd left and Dean hadn't responded. He was back at home now, sitting in the living room. He exhaled as he sat and fingered a piece of paper, picking it up off the table. The number wasn't local-but there weren't many other options-I need answers.

"Hello?" A man's voice said on the other end of the line.

"Hello, my name is Sam Beretta and I was told you might be able to help me."

"Who gave you my number?"

"A woman called Missouri Moseley." Sam said, hesitantly.

"Alright, what's going on?"