Hero's
By: Maygin
Summary: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."
Edmund Burke (1729-1797)
Quick Note: Now I know some of you are probably wondering where Sam is in all of this… I don't want to give away any plot points or anything- so allow me to just say this… trust me ;) Yeah, yeah, yeah- I know, it's lame and you want more than that. But trust me, and remember that if I absolutely HAD to choose, Sam is my fave and I hate tragedy stories. So keep on reading!
Chapter 1
"You know I don't get it."
Dean looked up from his beer to one of the many companions gathered around the table in the noisy bar. The other man was shaking his head in frustration as he picked up an overly salted chip. "How is this guy even still around?" There were murmurs of agreement around the table; Dean simply nodded, wiping the condensation from his bottle. "I mean he's been doing this for what- forty, fifty years? He's gotta be an old geezer by now. How does someone not notice some geriatric moseying around their house in the middle of the night?"
"The guy's good," one man acquiesced.
"He's a psycho is what he is."
"Yeah but it's creepy ya know? I mean no one's ever even seen this guy."
"Could be a woman for all we know."
Dean watched the conversation amongst his companions with detached interest.
"What- you think some woman who couldn't have kids took a one way flight to loonyville and feels the need to take her anger out on women who can?"
"And their babies."
The young man who had first spoken paused, looking around the table. "That's just disturbing."
"Welcome to the job rookie," one of the older men said tiredly before taking a swig of his beer.
The younger man just shook his head toying with the chip in his hands. "It just doesn't make sense."
"It's not supposed to, that's why they call them psycho's."
"You think they'll ever get 'im?" The companions grew awkwardly quiet, eyes passing over the table.
"We'll get 'im," Dean's voice was quietly firm, staring at the scarred table-top, nursing his beer.
One of the more muscular men at the table cocked his head and raised his own bottle. "I'll drink to that." The other men murmured agreements and clinked their glasses together. Dean joined in, staring straight ahead as he took a long swig. The muscular man smirked at him and slowly shook his head, "But I'll tell you one thing Winchester, you keep tinkerin around with that stupid laptop while I'm sleeping and I'm gonna shove one of them hoses up your a-"
"Hey- language in front of the rookie," another of the men clapped his hands around the youngest man's ears.
Dean grinned at his muscular friend, "You are one cranky son-of-a-gun you know that?"
"Papa bear needs his sleep." The man stated to a knowing audience.
A quiet mutter carried around the table. "That's not all Papa bear needs."
A moment of brief silence surrounded them before the table erupted into laughter. 'Papa bear' loudly set his beer on the table and threw a scowl across the way. "I know that did not just come out of your mouth rookie." The guilty young man threw his hands up innocently. "You been hanging around Winchester too much."
"You're always throwin blame around aren't ya?" Dean accused good-naturedly.
"I'm gonna start throwin you around if you don't start doing down-time with the rest of us. I'm tired of you wakin me up man."
"Lord knows you need your beauty sleep." Dean said, joining in with the laughter steadily growing amidst the rest of the bar's noisy patrons.
S
Matthew Brayman skirted around a corner of the dark alley, his jacket lightly scraping against the brick buildings he was hugging as he stayed close to the shadows. He stopped near the edge of the alley, nervously looking up and down the dark, quiet street. He jerked around as two stray cats suddenly appeared, hissing and fighting over a mouse that was desperately trying to escape with its life. The tall young man swallowed the large lump that suddenly lodged in his throat and looked back into the dark street. He backed further into the shadow of the building as a car sped by, its lights dimly illuminating his hiding spot.
A soft gurgle joined the hissing of the cats causing Matthew to look down at the tightly wound bundle being held close to his chest. He shifted the package into one arm and pulled the light blue blanket aside revealing rosy red cheeks and a pair of bright blue eyes. He smiled slightly at the cooing baby, gently caressing its cheek with his finger. The baby squealed and grabbed his finger with its tiny hand. Matt's eyes burned as he watched the precious charge.
The little mouse suddenly made an appearance, skittering around the corner into the street. Matthew kicked his foot out, causing the alley cat precious seconds as it jumped back in surprise and then made a wide circle around him towards the street and around the corner. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on the baby's forehead before tucking the blanket tightly around him once more and making his way across the dark street.
He came to a stop in front of a large wooden door and leaned on the bell. He kept a nervous eye on the street behind him; moonlight being the only illumination up and down the abandoned area. He took a step back as a latch was suddenly undone on the large door before him. Soft, yellow light swept across his young face as an older man in a disheveled robe pulled the large door open.
Matthew swallowed, "Father."
The older man frowned in worry as he took in the anxious man before him, and more importantly the precious bundle in his arms. "Matthew," he sighed, knowing full well what he was looking at. "I'd like to say this was unexpected but after hearing about the fire yesterday..."
"Six months old... just like the rest." Matthew shifted the child slightly, unconsciously tightening his hold. "The mother didn't make it."
"They said the baby didn't either... I should've known better."
"Do you have room for him?"
The older man reached out and accepted the charge, "There's always room in God's house for lost souls."
Matthew turned sad, dark eyes to the elder man before him, clearly hearing the hidden meaning behind the statement. He gave a small nod. "Thank you Father Jim." He turned then and stepped back into the street.
"Matthew," the Father called, one arm holding the child, the other resting on the door frame, "Have you talked to anyone?"
Matthew stopped in the middle of the street, turning halfway towards the old church. "Who would believe me?" he asked with quiet finality.
Father Jim watched with heavy heart as the young man disappeared within the shadows of the surrounding buildings once more. "There are some, child," he whispered into the night before turning and closing the Church's heavy oak door.
TBC…