A/N: Hi! Thanks for reading. Hundley: It's December 1984. Dean is five, Sam is nineteen months. John is thirty, Bobby is thirty-two, just too thoroughly clarify. Glad you enjoyed the characterizations of the angels. Thank you for reviewing! ncsupnatfan: Thank you so much for your review. I always look forward to hearing from you. I'm so glad you enjoyed! As for plot… Spoilers! Keep reading.
I do not own Supernatural or its characters.
Chapter 15
Dean heard a knock on the motel door. He stared at it, confused and suspicious. Daddy was after a poltergeist and Dean didn't expect him for at least another two days. It could be the maid, but she was relatively punctual so it wasn't likely. Still, Daddy always told him not to open the door for anyone, and after seeing Terminator the night before, Dean wasn't particularly inclined to disobey. The person pounded on the door again.
"Hey! CPS! Open up, we need to talk to you!" More pounding. Dean stood up. He wasn't sure what CPS was, but he doubted it was anything good. He carefully took the revolver out of Daddy's nightstand and slipped it into the back of his jeans. If a murderous android, or monster of any kind, showed up, at least he would be armed. Not that he had ever fired a gun. Still, no time to worry about that now. The pounding continued as he slowly made his way to the door. He unlocked it and opened it to look up into the face of a large, scary-looking man in a suit. The man smiled, "Hello, young man. Your Daddy home?"
He knew he wasn't ever supposed to tell strangers he was home alone, Mommy had told him that, not that he had ever been home alone before she died, but now he was and he hoped it worked, "Yeah," he said, his voice quavering a little.
"Okay. May I talk to him?" Oh no. What did he say to that? He searched for an answer, "Uh, no. He's in the shower. Is there anything you want me to tell him?"
The man ignored the question, instead cocking his head inquiringly, "I don't hear any water running."
"Uh… yeah, well, uh…"
"I just want to talk to him." The man pushed past him and walked through the motel room. Dean relocked the door and followed him. The man knelt down, "Look, I'm just here to help you. I'm going to take you and your brother to a nice place. Don't you want to go to a nice place?"
Dean hesitated, torn, "What's it like?"
The man chuckled, "Well, there's other kids, like you, and a bed, and a playground and lots of toys, and nice grown-ups who'll take care of you."
He thought. It might be good for Sammy, a good stable place, like home. What if the man wanted to take them home? A vision of his mother rose before his eyes and he felt tears start to well up, "Will Mommy be there?"
The man smiled, "No, but there'll be other nice people. And someone to look after your brother so you don't have to. You'll be happy. You can have friends, and play as much as you want. How about it?"
The man stood, moving away toward the bedroom. Dean thought, it sounded nice. Then he thought of his family. The man had made it clear his Daddy wouldn't be around, Mommy either, and if Sam wasn't going to have Mommy, Dean certainly wasn't going to deny him his other parent. Besides, he didn't trust someone else to take care of his brother, no matter how 'nice' the man might claim them to be. Sammy was his responsibility. Decision made, he walked into the bedroom to find the man reaching for Sam. His blood boiled. The man had no right to go near the child. Dean pulled out the gun, trying to stop his shaking hands. He was terrified and, desperate to hide it, he remembered how action heroes acted. Maybe if he acted like them he would feel braver. He held the pistol out in front of him, "Get away from my brother." His voice wavered but he ignored it. The man glanced at him, pausing and putting the toddler back down as he stared at the gun in surprise, "What?"
Dean cleared his throat, this time sounding a little braver in his imitation, "I said, get the hell away from my brother, you son of a bitch." The man sighed and started slowly toward him, "Come on, give me the gun."
"No."
"Look, I'm just trying to help you."
"Maybe I don't need help."
"You obviously do. Look, a five-year-old, a baby, and a gun shouldn't be left alone in a motel room for days on end. It's not safe."
"Take one more step and I'll shoot."
He stopped, shaking his head and smiling condescendingly. He turned back to Sam's crib, "Yeah, I don't think so."
Dean took careful aim. A shot rang through the small room and the man dropped to the floor, screaming and clutching his thigh. Dean fell to the ground after firing, surprised by the kickback. Sam started to cry. Dean stared in shock for only a moment before tearing his eyes away from the morbid sight. They had to get out. The gunshot was loud and people would show up soon. Thinking fast, he grabbed his duffle and shoved everything into it that he thought he could carry. Pulling a chair to the back window, that thankfully faced onto woods on the edge of town, he climbed up and pushed the window open, before throwing the duffle out and climbing down to grab Sam. Now he was faced with a problem. He could already hear people at the door, and that lock wouldn't hold forever. But how to get Sammy out? Thinking of a solution, he carefully set the boy on the wide windowsill and eased himself out. He landed and turned back to the window, holding out his arms, "Come on, Sammy! Jump!"
Sam looked down. He was terrified, and it looked like a long way to the ground. Dean gestured to him again, "Please, Sammy. I'm sorry but it's the only way. You trust me, don't you? Jump!"
Sam looked back inside at the man, now lying unconscious on the floor. He looked back at Dean's pleading face. He did trust him. He jumped, and Dean fell to the ground as the boy hit his chest.
Dean scrambled to his feet, "Good job! Come on Sammy!" He slung the duffle over his shoulder and grabbed up Sam. Then he ran. He didn't know where they were going, he hadn't the faintest idea what they were going to do, but they couldn't stay there.
Dean had been wandering aimlessly for hours. It was dark and cold and he was getting very frightened. He stumbled on a root and fell to the ground, then he started to cry. He had been through so much today and he just couldn't take it anymore. He curled up and wept, allowing himself to be vocal in his sobs. He didn't want to be a soldier, he couldn't. He had been strong for so long and he just didn't have any strength left. He was done.
"Dee?"
Sam stared at his brother. It was a strange sight, Dean curled on the ground crying. Actually, he couldn't recall ever seeing it before. He cautiously approached the boy, wondering what to do. How was he supposed to repair this malfunction? He smiled slightly as he remembered what Dean did when Daddy came home from… whatever it was he did. He threw his arms around his hero, "It's otay, Dee." The sobs stopped, "Sammy?" Sam gripped him tighter. Dean was sad. Maybe if he just held him, Dean wouldn't be sad anymore. Being held always helped him when he was sad, after all.
Dean lay, calmed a little by his brother's hug, but it didn't change anything. "Go 'way, Sammy," he said. He just wanted to lay there, crying, until he died. Maybe if he was dead it wouldn't hurt so much. Sam shook his head stubbornly and clung to him, "Dee."
Dean's sobs died to hiccups, and he lay quiet in his brother's arms. He couldn't die. What would Sammy do tonight if he was gone? He had to get them help. Dying could wait. He thought. They needed help. He had a list of emergency numbers he had copied out of Daddy's address book a couple of weeks ago when the man was asleep, and some change he had found in a pair of Daddy's pants in the motel. It wasn't much, but maybe it would be enouph. He thought he remembered a pay phone at a gas station, and he thought he knew how to get there. If he was careful, doing this quickly, in and out, and Sammy stayed quiet, there was a chance he could call someone without being spotted. Decision made, he got to his feet, "Come on, Sammy. We gotta get moving."
Dean stood inside the small booth, wrestling with the receiver and struggling to reach the numbers. He once again silently thanked Pastor Jim as he read off the numbers and entered them in. The phone started ringing.
He had begun to wonder if anyone was actually going to pick up when he heard a grumpy voice on the other end, "Hello?"
"Uncle Bobby?" He was so happy to hear the man's voice, and his came out rather more wavering then he had intended.
"Un- Who is this?"
"It's Dean. Dean Winchester."
Bobby's voice softened, "Hey, Dean. It's been a while, kid. What is it now, a year? Ten months? What can I do for ya?"
Dean started to cry as the story spilled out, "…I shot him, Uncle Bobby. What am I supposed to do?"
"You said he was CPS?"
"Yeah."
There was a pause, "Okay, first off, where are you? City and state."
"Uh, this town somewhere. Nebraska, I think."
"That's an awful lot of ground to cover, boy. Any way you could narrow it down?"
He thought hard, trying to remember, "Uh, I think it's called Fayetteville, maybe?"
"Fayetteville?"
"You know it?"
"Yeah. Well, no, not exactly, but I did a job there a couple of years back."
"What sort of monster?"
"What sort of-" Bobby paused. Now was not the time to start ranting. Still, he vowed to kick John Winchester's ass next time he saw him. Telling Dean about monsters was just unacceptable. As was leaving them alone to get picked up by CPS. He listened to the five-year-old trying not to sob in fear on the other end of the line. He sighed, "It's okay, Dean. Everything's gonna be okay. Now listen. There's an abandoned house outside town. I want you to wait for me there."
"Okay. Um, how do I get there?"
Dean heard the hunter unfold a map, "Well, that depends. Can you tell me where you are?" Dean described his location as best he could and Bobby gave him directions, "Go there, and stay put until I can get to you. Can you do that?"
Dean nodded, before remembering Bobby couldn't see him, "Y-yes."
"Good boy. See you then." Dean hung up, then exited the booth and walked to the woods, toward the parked baby and duffle.
Dean walked cautiously into the house. Well, not really a house. It was a two-room cabin that looked ready to collapse any second. He looked at the sleeping Sam in his arms, "Hey, Sammy, wake up. I gotta put you down." Sam whimpered a little and opened his eyes, staring at Dean pitifully, "Dee?" Sam touched his face, almost as if to reassure himself that the older boy was really there.
"Yeah, Sammy, it's me. Hey, what's wrong, buddy? You have a bad dream?" Sam looked away.
"Whatever. Suit yourself." He set the eighteen-month-old on the floor and started unpacking the duffle. His attention was attracted back to the baby by a loud wail, "Oh, come on." Sam sat, face red, wailing as loudly as he could, well on his way to a tantrum. Dean wished that he could join him.
"Look, Sammy, I know you want to be held, but I have work to do." The screaming intensified. "Sam please," Dean begged. He didn't know how much more he could take. He continued to arrange the room, ignoring the screams as best he could. There wasn't much, he had left most things behind in the motel, there was a limit to what a five-year-old could carry for miles, after all. Suddenly, going through it all, he panicked. Somehow, in all the confusion, he had forgotten to pack any food. What did he do now? Sammy had to be hungry, he knew he was, and Uncle Bobby wouldn't be there for ages. How was he supposed to fix this? He slid down the wall and sat, head in his hands. He was so tired and cold and miserable. He just wanted it all to be over.
Sure enouph, Sam cautiously approached him a few minutes later, "I hugwy, Dee."
Dean looked up at the toddler, his eyes large and sad, "I'm sorry, Sammy. I don't have anything."
Sam stared at him, lip trembling as he threatened to cry, "But… I hugwy."
Dean's eyes began to swim with tears, "I'm sorry," he repeated, then looked back down, "Please don't ask again."
Sam started to choke out sobs, soulful puppy dog eyes pleading with him.
Dean looked up, annoyed, "All right!" He scrambled to his feet, tucked the gun in his pants, hung his hunting knife on his belt, and made for the door, "I'll be back soon. It's gonna be okay, Sammy. I'll make it okay, you'll see. Just, stay here and… be good. Okay?" Sam nodded. Dean sighed, and walked out the door. Well, he supposed he was going to get some food now, from somewhere.
He walked down the street, watching the storefronts as he considered his options. He didn't have money, and even if he did he couldn't risk talking to people, not with a price on his head. Besides, it was late, and at this time the podunk town had almost shut down. The streets were empty, and almost all the stores were closed. He eyed one, a convenience store he expected would probably have everything they needed. He shook off his mother's voice, niggling at the back of his mind telling him not to steal. These were special circumstances. Now how to get in.
He looked around and saw a large rock sitting beside the road. He picked it up, testing its weight. It was heavy, but not so much that he couldn't throw it. He eyed the window of the convenience store. He knew from TV he wouldn't have long after the window broke. He would have to be fast to avoid police. Not only that, there would be cameras from which the police could instantly identify him. He could only hope they were sufficiently hidden and that Uncle Bobby appeared before the police found them. He lifted the rock, and threw it.
The alarm was louder than he had expected, but he didn't have time to worry about it. He slid off his jacket and slid it over his hand to protect himself as he cleared a large enouph hole in the smashed window to slide through. He fell painfully to the ground on the other side, then got to his feet, ignoring the cuts gained from the glass littering the floor. Dean grabbed a plastic bag, and made his way through the store, grabbing baby food, diapers, wipes, bottled water, a can opener, and some spagettios for himself, along with a couple of other things they needed. Then he moved a stepladder to the broken window, and left the way he had come, dropping the bag to the ground, then jumping out after it. He hit the ground, then broke into a run. He had to get out of there before the police appeared.
"Sammy?" He whispered as he walked back into the cabin. Fear clutched his heart as he got no response, "Sammy!" He called, dropping the bag as he ran through the house, desperately searching for the toddler. What if something had happened to him? This house was not particularly stable, and the December weather was freezing. What if Sam had fallen through a rotten spot in the floor, or frozen to death? Tears dripped down his face in his panic as he thought of another possibility, what if a monster had him?
"Sammy!" He called. Finally he heard crying. He ran, following the sound, until he found his brother, curled up beside the wall, crying and shivering desperately. He picked him up, "It's okay, Sammy. It's okay, I'm here now. Here, I'll warm you up." Dean tucked the baby into his coat and made his way back to the bag of groceries, now mostly on the floor beside the bag. He grabbed a thing of baby food and carefully started feeding the toddler, keeping him wrapped up in an attempt to warm him, while praying that Uncle Bobby showed up soon.
Bobby showed up late the next morning, walking into the cabin to find Dean curled up against the wall, shivering and crying. He knelt down beside him, "Hey kid, how's it going?" He glanced around, "Where's your brother?" Dean opened his coat slightly, revealing a toddler curled into his torso, clutching Dean's shirt in his tiny fists as he stared at Bobby. Dean spoke, "He's so cold."
Bobby's eyes went wide and he cursed as he hurriedly took off his coat. How could he have missed how chilled both children were? He wrapped it around Dean, "What happened?"
"I just went out for a minute. Sammy was hungry, I had to get him something to eat. When I got back-" He sniffed, "I never should've left him. Daddy told me to take care of him." He rested his face in Sam's hair, "I'm sorry, buddy. I messed up." He looked back at the hunter, an expression on his face that broke Bobby's heart, "Is he gonna die?"
The man's face set in determination, "No, not if I have anything to say about it. Come here." He lifted the child into his arms, carrying him to the car and turning on the ignition, "Okay, now I've turned on the heat. You two should be just fine. Just give me a sec while I clean your stuff out." Dean didn't acknowledge his words, merely curled tighter around his brother and pulled Bobby's coat further around him. The hunter smiled slightly as he walked back to the cabin. He loved those kids.
He got in to find the car heated up to a sauna. Looking in the back, he saw Dean was still shivering, albeit, less. He turned on the radio and drove off to the sound of Janie's Got a Gun by Aerosmith.
