WINTER BIRD
Summary: Young Winchesters. Post-Shtriga incident. In the aftermath of the emotionally scarring incident, Dean finds comfort in an unexpected source, and learns what it means to be a true hunter. Brotherhood AU
A huge shout-out to Ridley C. James and all the others who contributed to the Brotherhood AU. You guys rock! Also, title and inspiration by the song: Winter Bird by Aurora
Dean stirred from his sleep in the wee hours of the morning, his nightstand clock flashing 4 am and the windows showing the outside world was still dark. Instinctively, he reached for Sammy before remembering he was with Caleb.
The Knight's latest debacle with the Shtriga had incurred both The Scholar and The Guardian's wrath, the likes of which Dean had rarely if ever seen. Dean appreciated the fact that they had tried to do it behind closed doors, but he had more than once eavesdropped on their conversations and this time he had the added incentive of being caught smack dab in the middle of John Winchester's latest hunt.
Hearing his father bellow at him had made him feel guilty at his ineptitude but both Mac and Jim had pointed out that this latest fiasco was John Winchester's in the making.
On one hand, he didn't like anyone discounting and undermining his father like that, but on the other, Jim and Mac were family and they were pretty smart guys too. It was all too confusing and a part of him longed to be able to understand what it all meant.
Other kids didn't have to do what Dean had to and their moms were alive and their dads didn't up and disappear on them for long periods just to save strangers from things that go bump in the dark. Hell, Mac was the scholar and he was a wonderful and caring father to Caleb.
Dean just wanted someone to tell him what it meant and how he could fix it, fix dad because that would make Sammy's life easier. And he loved his little brother a lot.
In fact, it had been his clinginess that had the Pastor insist on some time away from each other. Dean hadn't appreciated it then, but now he could see that the Old Horse just wanted to prove that his little brother was always safe here. Dean had to admit he appreciated it, laying back and unwinding after so much responsibility was a welcome reprieve.
He lay in bed for a little while but sleep was a far way off now that he was awake. He twisted around slowly and purposefully, as if he were merely stretching, knowing that Caleb and Sam who were sleeping in the next room had the connecting door wide open and would be receptive to the slightest hint of Dean's restlessness. Knowing that Dean was feeling down the past few days had made Caleb and Sam clingy too, and they had been even more annoyed at the Guardian's mandate, insisting on camping out near Dean, which had been unsurprisingly shot down.
That didn't stop them from fussing over Dean, which only amped up his guilt.
It had been his fault, after all.
His first night at the farm had been restless. Sam's close call to danger had once again hit home the fragility of their mortality.
For all the dragon magic and fairytales, Athewm, the jade dragon was only just a little lost kid who could barely help himself, let alone hope to save the world. It was times like these that he understood with painful clarity the conundrum that had the hunters trapped within it's grasp.
Every hunter lost was another one down. Every monster fought was replaced by two. And every hunter that joined the good fight was another civilian lost. They could never win.
He stared at the moon, strangely disconnected from his morose thoughts and without knowing how or why, sneaked out from the window with practised ease.
Ever since he could remember, he'd sneak out from his room and to the pond in the middle of the night. He never quite knew why or how, but this was one siren call he'd always had trouble refusing. The mystical murmurings had always guided and calmed his very soul.
And he knew that they'd do so again, should he choose to go there.
But today, his soul guided him down another path. This one was shabby with overgrown plants, vines hanging over and trees making a thick canopy, giving a sense of safety and isolation. He still remembered well when he'd initially stumbled onto this part, a quiet mute kid looking out at his new-found reality.
If the others knew of this path, they'd perhaps try to tame it a little. Make it a little safer to cross.
John and Mac would fuss about, shake their heads. Too dangerous, they'd say.
After all, the thick shrubbery provided perfect cover for poisonous reptiles and insects. More than once, he'd seen frogs that had seemed larger than his palm and jumped more than was his height. Snakes sometimes crawled and hissed around corners and he'd once seen a brown thing-ey spit acid on a poor animal at least twice it's size. It didn't try to eat it, thank god for small favours. He's not sure that 7 year old Dean would have survived that.
So, even after so many years, Dean didn't tell anyone of his discoveries. The way he figured it wasn't any more dangerous than hunting. But, more than that, he didn't want to lose this sanctuary.
There was something so mystical and magical about the hidden wild; it had captivated the child since he was very young. Perhaps it was the rawness of something untamed and untouched, purity that touched his very soul.
He wandered farther dejectedly. Despite his best attempts, his father's voice was stronger, realer than the world around him. He could still recall with crystal clarity the cracks in the motel's wall, the tense horror of a hunt gone unexpectedly wrong.
Their eyes though, they were the worst part. His father had stared at him with cold hostility, like he had never seen him before. His disappointment had been a tangible thing that had suffocated him for days. Sammy's eyes had enhanced it, the bewildered anxiety of knowing that something had gone terribly wrong, but unsure of what it was.
Had dad not been around, Sammy would've died before they even really realized what had happened. And dad and Mac and Caleb and everyone else would never have forgiven him. He'd have lost everything.
He stared into the dark for a very long time before he turned back. Even though he really didn't want to.
When Dean woke up the next day, it almost felt like he had never truly fallen asleep. He was comfortable but not content, bed sheets tangled around his legs, and the sweet sounds of nature gently drifting from the open window in his room at the Farm.
While normally it would've been enough to satisfy the ten year old, today was a different matter entirely. The happenings of that night had haunted him in his sleep, cruelly showing no reprieve. He had twisted and startled awake when half of his body had ended over the bed, scrambling back into the covers, frustrated at the world in general.
He had returned back some time in the early morning, hoping for reprieve, for peace. He had gotten neither. The Velveteen Rabbit on his bed stand hadn't moved an inch since his first night here, when Jim had carefully cradled his soul, comforting him in his misery.
Even when Dean had looked in his eyes, pleaded for a lie, Jim hadn't promised him that he'd ever get to be real, that he'll ever be loved the way he had craved. He had just wanted a promise that one day, someday he'll be truly loved and adored, that one day he'd get to be real. He hadn't gotten his wish. The memory was unbearable in its agony, but somehow comforting in its morbid honesty.
The bed didn't feel comfortable but the thought of waking up and moving about wasn't appealing in the least. A reminder of his little brother's fragile mortality and his father's disappointment was more than enough excitement for the little boy.
He lay there in turmoil for what seemed like forever until Sammy and Caleb finally stirred in the next room. He closed his eyes to feign sleep, wishing so hard for the oblivion that he did manage to doze off. But, when he woke up, he felt terrible.
First, he panicked when he realized that Sam and Caleb weren't in the next room, before realizing that they were in the protective fortifications of the Farm and nothing could get them there. That lethargic feeling of having overslept didn't help matters.
He walked over and saw Caleb's hastily scribbled note taped on the door, saying he had run off to some errands and would have taken him along had he been awake. He crumbled the note into a ball, irritated. As if he even cared where stupid Caleb went. He hadn't wanted to go anyway.
He stumbled down, feeling real annoyance, bordering on anger, that Pastor Jim hadn't woken him up. He slipped onto the dining table where Pastor Jim and Sammy were both having chocolate chip pancakes. His favourite.
The sight, instead of cooling his temper, raged it on. What he normally saw as doting on the old man's part now only seemed patronizing. He pushed around his breakfast on the plate, ignoring the duo's suspiciously cheerful conversation.
He stabbed the pancakes with his fork over and over again, turning them to mush.
Sam giggled," It's small enough to eat now, Dean." But, Dean just clenched his jaw and ignored his brother.
Sam quietened down, intuitive enough to understand that something was bothering his brother. Sam hated it when Dean was sad or hurt. He looked to Pastor Jim for help to make it all better, but the Guardian just eyed his heir with sadness in his eyes, knowing that when Dean hurt, he shut down, hard and fast.
Dean, on the other hand, was trying not to strangle the two. It was a surprise to Dean whose emotions had normally ran cold. Though he acted belligerent, he was far more forgiving and patient with his family than any kid had a right to.
Besides, it had been his fault, from an objective point of view. It was perhaps the first time that he didn't care. He was sick and tired of his father's messes. Last time, he had run off to Alabama to escape it. Caleb hadn't sheltered him. Hadn't dragged him away from hunting, telling him he was alright. Had just brought him back. This time, he knew better than to run. There was no-where his father wouldn't find him and come drag him back, kicking and screaming if need be.
The day didn't go well. When Caleb came over with the excuse that he was out helping John and Mac on some hunt, Dean had viciously thought, likely story. More like John Winchester sent over his protégé to ensure that his soldier didn't tow the line.
Considering that Caleb hadn't reacted to that thought, Dean was relieved that Caleb most likely wasn't snooping around in his head. Caleb was an insanely powerful psychic, but more than that he was devoted to Dean.
Since he'd laid his eyes on the young, hurting boy, he'd seen glimpses of a little brother he'd always wanted but never got to have. So from a very young age, his abilities had morphed around Dean. It rarely escaped Caleb's notice when Dean was troubled or hurt, even if they were states apart. He'd once been told that he was the Polaris on Caleb's chart. His guiding north.
It had earned both the boys each other's unabashed adoration but today just wasn't a good day for Caleb to run interference.
So, it was for the best, really that Caleb was a little preoccupied. A confrontation likely wouldn't end well for the other side. Dean knew that he seldom brought the people he loved into the crossfire, and doubted it'd end well if he started now.
So, he made sure to keep out of Caleb's way, declined The Guardian's every request and ignored his little brother's attempts at cheer.
They were starting to lose patience with him and he had barely just started.
He went to bed early to avoid The Knight and The Scholar's arrival. They were investigating the Shtriga that he had let loose. The guilt only amped up his turmoil.
He didn't even bother to eat. He had no desire to be caught up in that inevitable confrontation.
Besides, what was the point? Sam was always the favourite anyway.
Days pass and Dean wanders, lost. He doesn't understand, not really and his emotions make it harder. Every day he'd avoid the Farm and everyone in it, go out and explore much like he did when he was very little. Back before Caleb and Dean had become best friends and his dad was always too busy for his own son. Back when Sammy wasn't allowed to be his responsibility because Pastor Jim was almost always around, and encouraged him to go out.
He had hated it back then, because he had just lost everything and he had nothing to distract him from the fact. He'd roam about and just replay all his worst memories, the fire and the heat. He'd have preferred chores and distractions to it all.
His days now hold a semblance to those times, and he already feels lonely.
Mac and John haven't come back yet. They'd only stayed for a few hours to organize themselves before leaving, and hadn't gotten to talk about his actions yet. Dean had gotten no absolution for his crimes. Caleb, Sam and Jim are all there, willing to help, but sometimes you just gotta figure things out on your own.
"Dean?," John softly knocked on the door.
John had often pushed Mac's buttons, but he had never seen the calm doctor so angry before. John understood his mistake, he really did and had even apologized once, which was practically unheard of.
But, Mac's temper had raged on, higher than ever before as days passed. Normally, he'd have pushed back just as hard, even if he knew that it was his fault, but there had been something so primal and angry in the Scholar's eyes that the Knight had wisely retreated.
The Shtriga getting loose didn't help matters. The children who had been infected would die, and there was nothing more to it.
They had turned back, weary, defeated and angry.
It was only when they got back at the farm that John truly understood the doctor's ire.
Jim had greeted them coldly, almost angrily and John had recoiled in surprise. It took a while to realize that it wasn't their own emotions they were feeling, but a loop from Sam and Caleb.
Sam and Caleb were both psychics, and albeit Sam was untrained and ignorant of his talents, and Caleb just a fledging in his abilities, they had great potential. And when their brother was hurt, it had sent them all reeling, as one.
If John ever doubted their destiny, their bond forged in tragedy and pain was always a good reminder. Them against the whole damn world.
It made him proud, but a part of him ached because he was a part of the world that they would willingly condone, to save their own. He was the outsider staring in, the guest house who was welcome as long as he didn't trouble the residents.
When no answer was forthcoming, John opened the door, stepping in. He glanced over at the empty bed where Caleb and Sam had shared their miseries in the previous nights, now empty as it was 7 in the evening, and only a heartbroken child still lay in his bed, drenched with worry.
Normally, it would've kept Sam and Caleb hovering nearby, but this was a conversation that needed no audience and they had thus sent them out. Sam's glare promised retribution, and John had no doubt he'd keep his word. Sam was the solid ground, calm and collected, but utterly cold to anyone or anything that had the potential to hurt his brother.
Dean may be the big brother, and Sam may never see him as nothing short of an invincible dragon, but there was a deeper, more primal part in Sam that recognized the need to protect Dean even when he didn't need it, that saw his brother's worry or sadness, recognized his brother's hurts with far more ease than John could even dream of.
Caleb hadn't been any better, his eyes promising violence should John hurt his little brother, which had him biting back the urge to reprimand Caleb because he was Dean's father, goddammit.
It was only a sly voice whispering in his mind, You may be his father, But are you his dad, are you really? That had him biting back the urge.
He glanced over at the other bed, fully expecting to see Dean awake, but the kid was sprawled, no care in the world.
She was there, she was always there when he needed her, ethereal and beautiful. Her face was covered by the hood, hiding her face, giving her an aura of mystery. Without even looking around, Dean could see the landscape that had plagued his dreams for so long.
Ice had frozen in beautiful rivulets all around them. Much like the weather, time seemed to die, sluggish and slow. There was no one except them around, there never could be, it was the way it was meant to be.
As always, he was struck by the absolute silence that plagued their dreamscape, for there was no one except them. No matter where he went, there was always something, anything crying out. Even at late nights, at the Farm, far away from civilization, crickets chirped and night predators growled in the dark.
In the distance, despite the thunderclouds rolling out that were already drowning out the aging winter sun, the moon shone out, bright and confident, the only source of luminance, lighting her skin in a glow.
He stared around, as always fascinated no matter how many times he'd already been here. He finally looked up to her who had let her lips curl up in an indulgent yet patient smile.
"I…," he was embarrassed to feel his eyes sting. All the guilt and pain creeped back up in her calming presence. He swallowed hard a few times to dislodge the lump stuck in his throat. When he glanced back up, she was still there, still patient, neither making any move to comfort him nor denying him his moment of weakness.
It was more comforting than he'd expected, especially knowing that she wasn't being patronising. She'd come for him, and she always would when he needed her too. She was his, just for him.
Sam always wanted what he had, always more. And John Winchester never put anyone's happiness as a priority, not even his own sons'. And Caleb, though Dean knew loved him dearly and would do anything for him, was still selfish, still human. He'd never trade his brothers for anything, not even her, but the child found dear comfort in his imaginary friend, and it's not like it was hurting anyone.
"I don't want to be a hunter anymore," he finally blurted out, his chin trembling.
She leaned back, her cloak flaring gracefully, lips curled in a thoughtful frown, the only part of her face that he could see. "I see."
Her calm acceptance in face of his defeat did it. The waterfall he'd been holding back finally broke through his will-clad dam, and tears streaked down his face, racing to get away, which was a futile endeavour as they froze on his cheeks.
Not that it stopped them as more joined them, and finally drew ragged sobs from his throat.
Dean was forever grateful for her ability to always know what he wanted before even he did, as she calmly, gracefully collected him to her chest with ease, regardless of the fact that he was much older than the age to carried around and wasn't all that light.
She didn't shush him or ask him to quieten down, merely let him rest while he wailed out his sorrows like a toddler. Her calm disposition went a long way in not making him uncomfortable for baring out his heart like that.
She let him get out of her lap, let him collect himself. When he looked up, she awaited him with an enigmatic smile.
"Why not? Don't you want to help people?" It took a while for Dean to revert back to their original topic. He looked down, embarrassed. Said nothing. She waited patiently.
"I don't want to be a burden to anyone. I don't want to slow anyone down. I don't want to hurt anyone." He finally admitted, his voice trailing to a whisper.
She hugged him, smiling softly in a way she rarely did. In that moment, Dean longed for his mother with a fierceness that he hadn't had in years, and felt as she was smiling at him, was right there with him, no matter how impossible.
"See the moon, young one?" He did. It was beautiful. He always fell so easily in love with beautiful things.
She didn't wait for his reply. "Merlin loved the moon. All his guardians inherited his fondness for it." And there it was, her secretive I-know-something-you-don't smile.
"Guardians have distances and darknesses within them that no one can comprehend or even touch, which is why night is their sacred ground. Because even the righteous and the good have to accept their dark sides so that the ugliness may not become a monster that consumes them whole." She eyed him lightly.
"But I am not a guardian," he finally whispered.
"Does it matter?" No, he supposed not. That was the whole point. If even guardians had dark sides, then he needed to accept his too. She was right. He had let the ugliness consume him.
"I wished he was dead," Dean finally numbly admitted. "When he stood there and looked at me like that. I… He said he'd only be gone awhile, but he was gone so long and I was bored. Sammy likes colouring and Dr. Seuss, and it's not his fault because he's just a kid, but I was so bored. So, I put him to bed and I went out. And then…" He choked and let it be.
"It was my fault, but after that, I kept thinking about it. I had wished my own father was dead." He quietened down, then started again with an exclamation. "But I don't! God, I don't want him to die or go away. It was my fault and I just…" His breath hitched. "I think he knows. The way he looked…He'll hate me forever."
"The water can overcome all manners of travesty," she offered lightly. "It can move over rocks and even corrode them, and destroy entire civilizations when upset." She lightly slid to him. "But, it is also the source of all life. Much like the moon symbolizes hope."
He wasn't sure he understood but… "I don't want anyone else to ever get hurt on my watch." Emotionally or physically.
"I can't promise you that they won't, but that as long as you try, there is hope." She opened the palm of his hand and slid something in his hands. He palmed the stone in his hands.
"Fuchsite. The healer's stone." She whispered, already fading away. "To help you move past your emotional wounds."
"Now, WAKE UP!"
He startled up, almost ramming into Mac who was leaning above him.
"Wha.."
"Easy there," he said with professional authority, but he could sense the almost panic in the doctor's eyes.
Before he could say anything, John I-have-no-patience Winchester was butting in. He pushed Mac aside, and in that one second, Dean recalled back to all his insecurities, all that guilt. He was half afraid that John would look at him and tell everyone what he had thought, would hold him responsible for what had happened.
The moment passed and John was hugging him, hard. There were tears in his eyes, which Dean only knew about because there was a wetness on the back of his shirt which couldn't be anything but. He glanced at Mac over his father's shoulder, perplexed and was surprised to see the defeat in the usually solid and calm doctor's eyes.
"You wouldn't wake up," he whispered in a haunted tone. "We don't even know what happened. Hospital…We need to…"
"There would be no need of that," Jim butted in, winking at Dean. Dean felt a rush of affection for the old man. Everything felt okay now that the imminent crisis seemed to have passes over, at least temporarily. Dad didn't hate him. And Sam was okay. He didn't even question the old man's calm omniscience in the face of an unknown potential crisis. It was part of the old horse's mysteries.
Besides, it didn't seem all that important right now. Nothing did in the face of his father's acceptance and love, which he had worried was lost to him forever. Yeah, he had messed up but he could do better next time. Nothing felt insurmountable with his family at his side.
"Why don't you go outside and play with Caleb and Sam? I dare say they've missed you." Yeah, Dean had missed the two jerks too. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud.
Jim overrode John's and Mac's protests, a knowing gleam in his eyes.
Dean happily jumped down from the bed, a thick black cord with a beautiful healing stone wrapped around his wrist gleamed for all to see.
It is said that there are two wolves within us, the good and the bad; and the one that is fed well rises up to dominate our characteristic qualities. However, domination does not negate the fact that the second one lies hidden, just out of sight. While we have all seen Dean's devotion and love towards his family, his memories and thoughts that were drenched in bitterness lay just out of sight, over-shadowed by the good wolf.
Winter bird is inspired by the hidden parts, the ones that make you falter and question.
The important thing is to accept both the good and the bad, and rise above your tragedies and pain like a winter bird in the dark.
On a sadder note, I don't think I'll be writing any more Brotherhood fics. It's an undeniably wonderful AU, filled with hope, faith and love, but sadly, it seems I was too late to this show. There are hardly any authors of this AU now, but even worse, very few readers. Though I'd love to keep writing anyway, there's no use beating a dead horse. Thanks to all who reviewed, followed my previous fics, and this one. It means the world to me.
Of course, enough reviews may make me reconsider my take, so if people out there are still interested in this AU, I'd love to meet fellow fans