So here we go, the big reveal. I struggled with trying to figure out a way that John might have left them money without actually 'leaving' them money - because come on, let's get real, no way in hell that John could have done so well for himself in his nomad lifestyle that he would have had anything significant to leave to his boys. I truly hope this meets with all your approval. Thanks so much for reading!
"I remember, Sam. I know what we're supposed to find here!" Dean repeated, sitting himself higher on the bed as Sam did the same, the younger man's eyes finally reflecting awareness.
"You remember?" Sam was confused. He hadn't expected this to be a case of remembering anything. And if Dean was able to remember something about this town why couldn't he?
"I've been here before...we, have been here before."
"We have?" Where the hell is he getting this? I don't ever remember coming here.
Dean remained patient, aware that he wasn't entirely making sense. "I wouldn't expect you to remember. You were just a baby."
Reassured that he wasn't completely losing his mind, Sam breathed a slight sigh of relief, yet cocked his head at Dean in search of a greater explanation.
"I just don't know why I didn't remember this sooner. I just–"
"Dean!" Sam snapped impatiently, no longer willing to try to filter through his winding thought process.
Dean's head jumped up, pulling from his thoughts as he looked innocently at Sam. "Yeah?"
"Just get to the point."
"Grandpa - mom's father - live's here. Or at least he did way back then. We came here when you were just a few months old to visit him."
"We have a grandfather?" Sam asked, as though the concept was utterly impossible. But then again, why shouldn't they. Just because he'd never known about him, or even been privy to a conversation about him - or any grandparent for that matter - didn't mean that he didn't have grandparents. His parents had to come from somewhere.
Chuckling a little at the surprise in Sam' s question, Dean nodded. "Yeah, Sam. We actually have four of them."
"I know, I just...how come no one ever talked about them? Why didn't we ever visit them?
Dean shrugged. "Mom's mother died when she was pretty young, and I don't really think her father approved of the lifestyle Dad chose for us after Mom died. I don't think Dad's parents really approved of it either. Dad never really talked about any of them much, but I can sorta remember these loud arguments he would have over the phone to someone - about us. I guess it was Mom's father, because he never called him Dad, but he referred to us as 'your grandkids.' I think the old man wanted us to come live with him, and Dad didn't want to split the family up."
Well that didn't help Sam's confusion one bit. "So if Dad and Grandpa had such a huge falling out, why would he have sent us here? Wouldn't he have wanted to keep us as far away from the man as possible?"
"I'm sure Dad never intended for us to know about a grandfather unless he wasn't around anymore. Just like he never meant for us to get into the bank box unless he was gone." Dean hesitated, looking down at his hands quickly as he waited to find out how his revelation would affect Sam. The topic of their father's death was still touchy, and he had never been this blunt about the fact before.
But Sam seemed far from interested in dwelling on his father just now. "So we have a grandfather - a link to Mom." His lips turned up into a hint of a smile at the prospect of finding some more family out there that he had never known about. It still surprised him that in all this time, all these years, he had never once wondered about grandparents. The thought had never crossed his mind.
"Yeah, I guess. But what that means for this search, I still don't know."
"Well I'd guess if we find our grandfather, we'll find out why we were sent here." For a minute Sam's eagerness disappeared as another thought invaded his mind. They still needed money. What if this was really just their father's way of making up for never mentioning the man before. Maybe this was him simply finding a way to reintroduce his sons to a man they barely knew existed. What if there was no money at the end?
He quickly suppressed those feelings, though, forcing himself to ignore the possibility of failure for Dean's sake. He'd been hiding so much about this hunt from his brother - what was one more fact?
Dean had never seemed to have even noticed Sam's break from reality, too busy was he searching for the phone book hidden somewhere in the bedside bureau. "If he's still in town, he should be listed in the phone book, right?" Dean asked, grabbing the book from the drawer and pulling it into his lap.
And Sam realized he didn't even know the man's name. Hell, now that he thought about it, he didn't even know their mother's maiden name. "What name are we looking for?"
Damn, the bubble burst. Dean paused, his hand frozen on the folded phone book, just seconds from letting the pages fly in search of the man. Pappy. That's all he'd ever known the man as. It was the only name he remembered, and he shrugged. "Shit, Sam, I don't know."
Not to be deterred, Sam prompted the search. "Well start with mom's maiden name. That will narrow it down some."
Dean shook his head. "Damn it, I don't know. I don't think I ever knew."
Sam let out a sardonic chuckle, well aware that he was about to go into hysterics. "How does that happen?" he cried, arms flailing as he jumped from the bed and began to pace. "How do we spend our entire lives avenging Mom's murder and not know such simple thing about her. How can we know that some supernatural entity murdered her in cold blood and not know what her maiden name was, or what her parents names are. How the hell did our lives get to be so screwed up?"
Not knowing whether to laugh or to cry at Sam's totally rational outburst, Dean simply stared. The phone book dropped from his hands, sliding off the bed and landing with a soft thud on the carpeted floor. Crap, that's scary how right Sam is. How did we overlook such important facts about our own mother?
"Well?" Sam pressed when Dean failed to answer right away.
"I don't know," the older hunter finally replied, his voice low and uncertain. "It's messed up, though. You're right about that."
Silence followed as each brother thought on the major revelation; on the facts of this hunt; on the idea that they had had a family out in the world for so long, yet neither one had ever really known. There was a connection to their mother, one that should have helped to lessen the pain, one that very well could have changed their lives if their father had considered listening. And yet, they had no idea how to even find him.
"I guess we just have to start searching through records - maybe we can find a marriage license or something. At the very least we know Dad's name, so if we can find connections to him, maybe we can find out our Grandfather's name." Sam's suggestion was a sound one, and was met with an affirmative nod of Dean's head. Although the older Winchester also seemed a bit deflated as he glanced over to the clock.
"It's only quarter after four," Dean bemoaned grudgingly. "I doubt the courthouse opens until at least eight, and that's where we'll find all the records we need. The only thing we can do now is try to get some more sleep.".
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Sleep never came easy for the Winchester boys, but on that particular morning it was exceedingly difficult. For another couple hours, both Sam and Dean had lain in the dark, each silently going over the facts in their heads. They had both remained completely still, each trying to be totally quiet for fear that he might wake his brother, but as the first rays of dawn began streaming through a crack in the curtains, it became apparent that sleep had been a luxury afforded neither one of them in the remainder of that night.
Sam rose first, announcing his intentions for a quick shower as Dean nodded, head resting tiredly on his arm. When Sam emerged twenty minutes later, Dean collected himself, hobbling into the bathroom for his own shower. A silence had fallen over the room; not altogether uncomfortable, but clearly contemplative, each brother trying to make sense of the new revelations on the case.
"You want food before we go?" Sam finally interrupted the deafening silence as he noted with disappointment that it was still only seven am. Damn! Still an hour to wait.
Dean shrugged in answer, his mind working over time not only on going to the courthouse, but on his leg as well. Knowing Sam would be a natzi on the issue of wearing the prosthesis, that he would likely keep a mental timer as to how long he'd had it on, he realized he would need to bide his time. "Let's just do a drive through and come back here to eat."
For a minute, Sam feared Dean had already reverted back to his fear of th epublic eye, and the look he shot his brother conveyed that fear. But Dean was quick to defend his suggestion, dispelling the fear in one fell swoop.
"I just want to get to the courthouse as soon as possible, but I don't want to waste what little time I have to work with the prosthesis on sitting in a restaurant. If we get take-out and come back here, I still have time to put it on before we go over to look for the records."
"Alright, sure," Sam finally agreed, relieved that Dean had a logical explanation. "Let's get going."
The timing was perfect; and at five minutes to eight, Sam and Dean were back on the road heading over toward the center of town where they knew the courthouse to be. Dean was driving once again, and he couldn't help but smile as he noted the old worn spot in the carpet, now finding itself hope to the foot on his prosthetic leg. In a very cliched move, he had popped Back in Black into the cassette deck, prompting Sam to roll his eyes heavily into the back of his head, but secretly, he was pleased that Dean was beginning to feel comfortable in his life.
They courthouse was easy to find. Its ancient stone structure loomed large and eerie cozied up among several decidedly more modern buildings, and Sam couldn't help but wonder if there might just be a few ghosts haunting the halls of the building. He glanced over to Dean as they both got out of the car, eyeing the man with apprehension. Suddenly he wasn't so sure he wanted to find out about a grandfather; wondering what they would do from that position. It wasn't like it would be easy to just walk up to the man after all these years and announce themselves to be his grandkids. And how 'bout some money for us while you're at it, old man.
But they pressed forward, chins held high in mock strength and bravery as they made their way across the street to the couple hundred year old structure. For a minute, Dean contemplated attempting the narrow, steep steps, wondering just how well the calibrated ankle really worked while at the same time despising the symbolism of the more modern ramp twisting up the side of the building. But a firmly placed hand on his shoulder steering him away from the stairs had Dean grudgingly making his way toward the ramp.
"Better to reach the top victorious rather than to stumble halfway there," Sam insisted quietly, cringing as he considered what could happen if Dean tripped on his way up. He knew without a doubt in his mind that Dean would have insisted in attempting to actually walk up the stairs, and it wasn't that he doubted Dean's abilities, he just doubted his knowledge. Dr. Jennings had yet to work with him on stairs, ant these stairs were scary at best. Sam almost felt nervous considering tackling them with two good legs, so steep and scary were they. He cringed to think what it would do to his brother if he failed on his first attempt.
Once inside, though, was another story. Leave it to their own version of bad luck - Winchester style - to find the ancient elevators marked 'Out of Order' and the records room of the courthouse to be two floors down in the dank basement of the old stone building. The interior stairs, if anything, were steeper and more narrow, and Sam's stomach churned as he noted the winding quality and the downward slants worn into the wooden steps. They creaked as the boys made their way down, Sam slowly leading the way as he braced himself against the rails in anticipation of a potential slip and fall from his determined brother. Dean had refused Sam's assistance, but had at least agreed not to attempt to step on the leg until he had had the opportunity to work with Jennings on that.
Sam breathed a sigh of relief when they made it to the bottom fully intact and no worse for wear, and he picked up his speed as he led the way down the hall to where the records were stored.
"Where should we start?" Sam finally asked, after the records clerk had pointed them in the direction of the catalogued records, offering locations for each of the varying departments. If he had to guess, the gears had been turning in his brother's head during the tense silence through the stairwell. He quickly discovered he was right as Dean immediately shot out his answer.
"Wedding records. You normally get married in the bride's hometown, right? So it's pretty likely that Mom and Dad got married here. We should look for them."
Nodding eagerly, Sam quickly started after his brother and the wedding records. They missed it the first time, flipping just past the paper that announced their parents nuptials in the old and musty collection of records. Something encouraged Dean to go back and look again, and he practically ripped the form from it's location in his excitement.
"This is it, Sam. Their wedding license." He ran a finger slowly over the type-writer recorded announcement, suddenly feeling closer to his mother just by seeing the newfound information on paper. One look at Sam, and he knew his little brother was feeling the same sense of connection.
"Her name is Angelli," Sam breathed out in a hushed whisper. "Like angel."
"I always knew she was an angel," Dean whispered back, the rare moment of sentiment going unnoticed as he continued to stare at the yellowed paper. He found himself reading far too much into the coincidence of the naming, began wondering if maybe there was something to it. Angels and Demons. Good versus bad. He wondered if maybe his mother, their mother, had been put on this earth to serve a higher purpose - to protect Sam from the monsters. Wondered if maybe she had appeared to them back in their house not as a spirit, but as an angel. But as quickly as the thoughts came to him Dean forced them out of his mind. It was too far-fetched; too impossible. Why he found it so much easier to belief in evil than in good, Dean would never truly know. But that was the way it was.
The moment of silence, of remembrance, passed slowly. But eventually it had to end, and as was often the case, Dean chose to break it with an abrupt shift in conversation. "Hey, look there. Her father's name is on the license, too. Anthony - we're looking for Anthony Angelli."
Sam glanced over at Dean, surprised at the sudden turn in his voice an attitude. All of a sudden he was talking as though this was just another case; as though it didn't mean one single thing to him. But after hearing the choked up response about their mother being an angel, Sam couldn't help wondering if Dean might be over compensating for something. "You alright?"
"Huh? Oh...yeah," Dean nodded, not a hint of conviction in his voice. "I'm just eager to get this over with. I want to know why the hell we're here."
Unable to argue with that logic, Sam pushed his thoughts aside with the idea that Dean never quite seemed like himself anymore. There was a much deeper issue at stake when it came to Dean's emotional state, and the musty basement of a two hundred year old courthouse was hardly the place to be airing that laundry. "So I guess we just move onto the residency records," Sam agreed. He closed the drawer, replacing the marriage certificate in its rightful spot before doing so, and followed Dean several rows over to continue their hunt.
Once again, finding the information was easy now that they knew what they were looking for, and Sam pulled the residency record on their grandfather out from its spot with shaky hands. This was it - their last stop, the last link in finding the long lost relative. After this, there was no turning back; no convincing themselves that they didn't know where the man was and, therefor, couldn't talk to him.
He held onto the paper for maybe just a little too long, both excited and fearful for its contents and unable to decide which held the stronger bond. With a loud, frustrated sigh, Dean reached over and tore the page from Sam's hands. "What does it say, Sam?"
Dean held out the paper just far enough that Sam could look over his shoulder, and together they scanned the list of three addresses within Independence, Kansas. The first two had a start date and an end date associated with them; but the third only held a start date. 2003–????
"So that must be where he lives now," Sam acknowledged, voice still hedging on the brink of indecision. Excitement or fear.
"Yup. Let's go." Dean wasted no more time reading the records or hanging out in the dark basement, instead turning and making his way from the room as quickly as possible. Sam dogged his heels, hovering closely as he made tedious progress back up the stairs before backing off as they made their way from the building to the car.
A quick glance at the map and Dean was quickly heading through the town to their address of choice. Five minute later, they pulled up in front of their destination, somewhat disappointed at where they were, but still hopeful.
"You're sure this is the right address?" Sam asked, looking up at the multiple storied Nursing home that stretched in front of them.
"Positive."
"You think he's even going to know who we are - I mean, you think he'll remember that we ever existed?" he prompted nervously.
"I guess," Dean replied, not nearly as confident as he had been seconds earlier. "Not every one who goes into nursing homes has some kind of dementia. I guess we'll just have to go in and find out."
So they did; nervously making their way through the front door to a check-in station across the entrance hall. Sam hung back, allowing Dean to take the lead. His mind was constantly working overtime as he worried over his desperation for this search to be successful. They needed the money - Dean needed the money.
It hadn't escaped his notice that Dean seemed so much more confident while wearing the prosthetic; that he wasn't nearly as concerned with people's stares - and rightly so as it was apparent that fewer people did stare while he modeled two complete legs. That, in and of itself, gave Sam an even great amount of desperation at finding a way to pay for the prostheses. So he was far from happy when his thoughts returned to the aide speaking with Dean, hearing her reply in answer to his request to speak with Anthony Angelli.
"I'm sorry, sir. You won't be able to speak with Mr. Angelli."