Heroes
By: Maygin
Summary: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."
- Edmund Burke (1729-1797)
Authors Note: I have nothing to note… but hi! Great to see ya back :
Chapter 5
"So what's the deal?" Dean turned to the woman currently laying a baby some parent had just dropped off into its assigned crib. He gave her an impatiently confused look as he picked up a few scattered toys. "You haven't wanted to revisit the 'Saw' torture chamber since your last visit two months ago… why the sudden interest again?"
Dean tossed the toys back into a bin in the corner of the room, searching for a good excuse. "I just… wanted to offer something back to the community."
Marris smirked, "I thought you said the Great Dean Winchester was an offering in and of itself to the community."
"Apparently they just can't get enough of me."
Marris rolled her eyes, "Whatever, I'm gonna go see if the bottles are warm yet." She paused at the doorway with a grin, "You gonna be alright here all by your lonesome?"
Dean frowned at her and then addressed the room full of cribs, "Alright, who here wants Marris to stay, raise your hands." He made a show of looking around and then gave a mock-sincere shrug as if to say, I don't know what to tell ya.
"Your father must've been a saint. Do me a favor and take attendance while I'm out?" She tapped the clip board hanging on the wall before closing the door to the nursery.
Dean picked the clip board off the wall and perused it as he walked to the middle of the room. "Okay… Davidson," he bent down a little to better see the identification cards slotted in the cribs. "Check… Macavey…check, Ellis, check… Brayman- Paul," He looked to the far wall, "check. Brayman- Rachel… check." He paused, frowning at the attendance sheet. "Brayman… Sarah." He searched the room, finally coming to a crib labeled 'Sarah Brayman'.
The little girl watched him with a small happy face, sucking on her fingers. Dean leaned down and read the hand-written identification card. "Sarah Brayman -- Date of Birth Unknown -- Church Member as of September 24th, 2006." Dean blinked, "That was yesterday," he mumbled out loud.
He stood to his full height again and stared down at the little girl who stared back with wide, curious eyes. He tilted his head as a thought suddenly occurred to him. He leaned forward and checked the side of the crib… sure enough at the head hung a necklace exactly like the other Brayman's.
"I see you found our newest inductee."
Dean whirled around to see Father Jim walking into the room. "Uh yeah… cute as a button," he smiled appeasingly.
"You'll have to forgive me but, I didn't expect to see you again Dean. Last time you were here you seemed a bit… uncomfortable."
"Yeah well, I like to keep people on their toes," he replied smoothly.
The Father grinned knowingly, "I'm sure you do." He reached down and teased the little girl below him. Dean stood by awkwardly. Father Jim noticed, "I like to come here while the choir sings," he explained. "Our music minister is a very passionate man… but you know what they say; without a well trained army, a great leader among men is simply just another man."
Dean snorted and then casually leaned against the wall. "So how did this one come into your hands?" He gestured to the newest recruit.
Father Jim smiled lovingly down at the child. "She was left on the doorstep last night. Whoever left her rang the doorbell and ran. Never got a good look at them."
Dean nodded, arms crossed over his chest. "Does that happen a lot?"
The Father paused, eyes fixing on the other man. "Does what happen a lot?"
"People just leavin their babies and running."
Father Jim stood now facing the other man. "I suppose it happens here and there."
"What about the other kids in here? Any of them come to you like that?"
The other man watched Dean warily, carefully choosing his words. "A few."
Dean nodded again, looking down at the painfully bright colored carpet. "Why Brayman?"
Father Jim tilted his head in confusion. "I'm sorry, I don't understand the question."
"A few of the kid's last names are Brayman… I'm assuming they're your 'drop offs'." He shrugged, "I'm just curious why you use the name Brayman."
The Father's eyes lowered slightly, becoming slightly distant. "Jeremiah Brayman… he was a church member here many years ago, though he traveled all over the country. He was a great servant among God's children." He looked back down at the squirming baby, a nostalgic smile on his face. "He died a long time ago."
Dean's interrogation mode wilted away at the genuine look of respect the Father so obviously held for the dead guy. He cleared his throat, "How did he die?"
The Father's eyes locked onto Dean's, "Protecting another."
A sudden clearing of throat sounded from across the room. Both men's heads turned to see a short, curly-gray haired woman wringing her hands and looking quite nervous. "I'm sorry to disturb you Father… but I think it's time for you to take the pulpit. The choir is already into the seventh verse of 'How Great Thou Art'."
The Father's head jerked slightly with a frown. "I thought there were only four verses to that song."
"There are." The elder woman said with a knowing look.
Father Jim took in a suddenly urgent, deep breath and turned an apologetic smile to the younger man beside him. "It looks as if I'm needed… desperately."
Dean snorted and waved the man out. Marris stepped into the room with a confused look on her face.
"What took you so long?" He asked accusingly.
She set the crate of bottles down on a small table. "Well, I stopped to use the restroom on my way back and it was as if the entire congregation had suddenly decided to take a bathroom break." Her face screwed up as she thought back. "I think some of them were crying."
Dean laughed out loud.
--S--
"Hey Dad!" Dean pushed his way through the door with a large brown-paper bag in one hand; the other jiggling the key, trying to get it un-stuck. "Where ya at?"
"Kitchen," Came the distant reply.
"I got Chinese," he announced, twisting the key back and forth.
"I thought you were getting pizza," his father called back.
"Yeah well I got Chinese instead."
John Winchester appeared in the front hall of his apartment and casually leaned against the wall with a beer in his hand, watching his only son with growing amusement.
"You know-" Dean set the bag down finally and kneeled before the door with great annoyance, yanking forcefully on the key, "I keep tellin ya to get this stupid thing fixed. I mean you take apart and put together car engines every day and you're telling me you can't fix one lousy friggin lock?" The key suddenly pulled free just as Dean gave a mighty jerk, splaying him across the floor with a thud.
John smiled down at his boy who simply laid there glaring up at him. "It works fine for me."
"Of course it does." Dean slowly rolled to his feet and snatched the bag from the floor, kicking the door closed before following his father into the living room. "So what'd you get tonight?"
"I don't know; some movie with Bruce Willis. You want a beer?"
"Yeah." Dean set the bag of food down on the coffee table and picked up the DVD sitting on the television. "Sixth Sense- hey I've heard this is pretty good. I've been wantin to see it."
"Good," John walked back into the room, "head's up." He tossed a beer to his son who caught it expertly.
"Thanks. Hey I gotta make a call real quick, be right back."
"I'll get it set up."
Dean pulled his cell from his back pocket and walked into the front hall hitting a speed dial. He grabbed the stairwell and sat on the second step, listening to the ringing. "Jameson, it's me. Yeah, I was wondering if you could do me a favor," he paused, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean I've already met my quota for the year?" He listened a little more. "Whatever man; need I remind you who introduced you to Marci in the first place?" He nodded, vindicated. "Uh-huh. Look, I need a background check on a guy… the name's Jeremiah Brayman; died a while ago." He switched the phone to his other ear. "I don't know, maybe ten… twenty years back. May as well do thirty just to be safe." Dean winced as he listened to the other man's protests. "Well that's all I got," he defended. "Wait, wait, wait… he was a member of the church on eighth street for a long time. Can you cross reference their records?" Dean rolled his eyes, "Yeah I know you're a busy man, but that's what you've got rookies for right?" He grinned knowingly. "Yeah, well while they're at it, can I get a broad search listing of the victims who've died in these arson fires in the last- say… three years? No, just the kids." Dean kneaded his forehead. "Yeah… yeah okay. Thanks man."
He flipped the phone shut and sighed before dragging his weary body back into the living room. "Hey, do you know how to spell Baklava?"
John swallowed the beer he'd just taken a swig of. "It's with a 'K'," he answered flatly without turning to look at him.
"No, I know how to spell it," Dean answered defensively. "I just want to know if you know how to spell it."
John turned apathetic eyes towards his son. "They change the password again?"
Dean glared at his father. "Start the movie."
John grabbed the controller and turned it on. "You do know this isn't a porno right?"
Dean's head jerked around. "Are you serious?"
John slouched further into his chair shaking his head, "If I hadn't seen you come out of your mother's ass myself, I'd swear you weren't my kid."
Dean suddenly choked on his beer, mid-swallow. John grinned and took a long swig of his own.
TBC…