Heroes

By: Maygin

Summary: "The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." --Edmund Burke (1729-1797)

Note: Some of you have been asking what the heck has been keeping me so busy… well I'm currently working full time and going to school… I know, I know – who isn't right? There have been other things goin on too, but I'll spare you the dramatic details. Anyways, you asked. SO... here is Chapter 11! I hope this satisfies a lot of plot desires I know I've been hearing. I should be finishing up with my class here in the next two weeks, and barring no disasters… I'll actually have time to work on the continuation story!! As my closing note, I'd just like to say… I'M SO EXCITED ABOUT TONIGHTS EPISODE!!!!!!!!! …yes, that's right… I just used 9 exclamation marks. Nine bad boy expressions of blissful euphoria. The world will never be the same again.

Chapter 11

"I'm comin… geeze!" Dean growled as he stuffed a few more pairs of jeans into his duffle bag before making his way towards his apartment door which currently sounded like King Kong was knocking on. "What?!" He swung the door inwards and lost all sense of annoyance at the seething expression before him. "Marris."

"I saw you last night."

He froze, "You did?"

She tilted her head, "Spotted your car at the warehouse just as it was tearing around a corner."

Dean stalled by picking at some loose paint on the doorframe. "Look Maris-"

"What were doing there Dean?" she blurted out, anger seeping into her voice. "You told me you had an emergency, so unless you suddenly gained the power of prophecy then I find it hard to believe that your emergency involved abandoned warehouses."

Dean licked his lips, reveling in the irony of her flippant remark. He took a deep breath, again trying to find something to say.

"Start talking Dean or so help me I will come to my own conclusions on this and believe me, it's not pretty."

"It doesn't involve me in a dress does it?" he asked lightly.

Her stare sucked the humor right out of his comment. "Have you ever heard of the Copycat Syndrome?" Dean's brow quirked, he tried not to snort at the ridiculous jumble of words she'd just spat at him. She still however didn't seem to find the humor of it all. "It's a term psychologists use for people, cops, agents -whatever… when a person becomes so obsessed with finding a specific individual that they start displaying some of the same criminal characteristics."

Dean felt his own temper flare up, "You think I'm turning into that thing?"

"You tell me."

He shook his head, "I don't have time for this."

"Well make it." Her voice was cold. "I'm ready to call Jameson on this Dean."

He paused, taken aback. "You'd call the cops on me?"

"I'd do a lot more to protect a friend." They stared each other down, both silently fighting for king of the hill. "You spend all your free time pouring over those case statistics Dean, you don't sleep- you obsess over this and I'm worried about you."

"That thing destroyed my family," Dean finally growled.

"And now it's destroying you," she spat back.

Dean sneered. "That's a bit melodramatic Marris, even for you."

"I imagine that's supposed to be some kind of insult?"

"Two words for ya Marris- get laid."

The snide expression on her face suddenly dropped. The argument died and all that was left were the limping wounded. Dean's own anger fell away, replaced with bitter guilt. He really hated his mouth sometimes. He couldn't apologize either; it would've been too cheap and they both knew it. He ran a frustrated hand across his face.

"Look Marris," his voice was soft again and he hesitated a moment, "give me one day. If I don't have a good excuse for you at that point I'll turn myself in."

He waited anxiously, watching her stoic expression.

"One day," she finally agreed before turning and making a quick exit through the stairwell.

He sighed, "Good one Dean."

--S--

Dean pushed the door to Jimmy's open, the clanging bell loudly announcing his presence. He rolled his eyes, making his way towards the kitchen door ignoring some of the non-regular patron's looks. He pushed it open slightly and peeked in, "Hey Marcus; Mable here?"

Marcus' head whipped around and he smiled widely, flipping a pancake. "Heeey man! How you doin?"

"I'm doin great, you?"

"I'm doin," Marcus grinned and snickered. He tossed his head towards the back of the kitchen, "Mable's in the back-"

"Dean Winchester! I know you ain't in my kitchen!" Mable's voice carried loudly over the noisy clanging and sizzling of Marcus and his grill. Dean actually backed up a step as the larger woman strolled towards him with a handful of old, dull knives in her hand. "I got customers out there who don't want your dirty hands all over their food." She playfully shooshed him out, following him through the doors. Dean obediently stood in front of the counter as she dropped the silverware into a basket and then turned to him with a big, motherly smile. "Now, what brings you here? Did you actually come to eat my food this time or to just shove it around on your plate as if I didn't raise five children of my own?"

Dean ducked his head, a little embarrassed he'd been caught all those times. "Listen Mable I uh…" he looked up again. "Sa- well… Matt and I are leaving town."

Mable's brow furrowed slightly, "Matthew? My little Matthew?"

Dean snickered; he was really going to have a field day with that one when he got back. "Yeah, Brayman… well, Winchester now."

Mable blinked, not holding back the obvious look of confusion that had taken up residence. "You gonna explain that or just leave an old lady out to dry?"

Dean sucked in a deep breath, he'd meant to just come here to say his good-byes and somehow thank her for what she'd done for him and his dad all those years ago, not spill the beans. "It's kinda funny actually… turns out Matthew, or Sam is my long-lost brother." He smiled cheesily, realizing just how ridiculously soap opera he'd just sounded.

Mable licked her lips in thought, leaning forward to rest her upper body on folded arms. "You don't say."

"Yeah," Dean said a bit more guardedly. He didn't know how he expected her to react, but calm acceptance wasn't exactly it.

"Huh," Mable said distantly before breaking out into a large smile. "The good Lord works in mysterious ways doesn't he?"

Dean frowned in surprise, "Excuse me?"

Mable shook her head, the smile still firmly in place. "So Matthew's your little brother," she stated happily rather than questioned and then broke out into a boisterous laugh. "I tell you the Lord never ceases to amaze me with the way he just weaves things in and out of our lives."

"You did hear me correctly right? …Matthew Brayman; tall, shaggy lookin guy that frequents here is my long-lost brother… "

"I heard you boy!" Mable laughed joyously again, slapping his arm. "I'm just glad he'll have someone to watch his back now… and keep you under control." Dean looked slightly offended. "So," she sighed loudly, calming down a bit, "you boys are leavin town," she baited.

Dean looked down sheepishly at the counter, "Yeah, I just figured I'd come by and say thanks."

"Where you boys headed?"

Dean shrugged, "I don't know yet… we're just gonna do a road trip type thing… get to know each other ya know?"

"You're wise to get outta town," she said knowingly, lowering her voice.

Dean paused, watching her expression. "What do you mean?"

"I mean there are only so many times that creature is gonna let Matthew spoil its plans before it bites back."

Dean's forehead smoothed out in shock as he realized Mable was in on the whole deal. "How do you…" he floundered. He leaned forward and whispered a bit harshly, "You know about the fire demon?" Mable pursed her lips, nodding her head. "And the other Brayman kids? Father Jim? The fires?" Dean leaned forward again, "And you know about… you know," he gestured towards his head, "his blessing and everything?"

"Well of course I know he's special," she said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Me and Father Jim go way back; I've known about Matthew's blessing ever since he was just a little bitty thing," she gushed. "Why do you think I baby that child so much hm?"

Dean gave a little shrug, and then smirked as the realization that Sam had a lot more people looking after him than he realized. "Huh." He stood up straight again, contemplating all the possible moments he'd been in the same diner as his brother and not even known it. "Thanks for all you've done Mable…for everything."

"Oh don't thank me," she patted his hand knowingly with a big smile, "I'm just doin what the good Lord asked."

Dean shifted awkwardly to his other hip. "It's Sam by the way."

"What's that honey?" she asked, leaning closer.

"Sam… his real name is Sam." He cocked his head, "But call him Sammy if you wanna piss him off."

Mable's hardy laugh was always a comfort to any soul who wandered into her den. Dean knew he would miss that too. He would have to remember to visit her whenever they were in the area again. "You two are gonna be a force to be reckoned with out there."

Dean smiled, "I don't know about that… but we definitely plan on stirring the pot."

Mable rested her hands on Dean's folded hands and leaned in close again, lowering her voice. "Listen, I spoke with Father Jim and he told me that Matth-" she caught herself with a smile, "Sam's been havin a little trouble dealin with his gift."

"If you can call it that," he mumbled.

Mable's lips pursed as she reached up and gave him a swift tap beneath his chin to get his attention. "The Lord doesn't give gifts lightly. He obviously blessed Sam for a reason. Just like he blessed you with a brother. You think you just happened to stumble upon your little brother twenty-two years after you lost him and in the middle of a big city like this?" She shook her head. "The Lord has his reasons, and it's not our job to understand em, just to do what we can with what he gives us."

Dean cleared his throat, finding the countertop suddenly extremely interesting. Mable smiled and gently patted his hands again.

"Well, I don't mean to preach to ya. What I wanted to say is that I have a cousin who is also one of the blessed." That got Dean's attention. "In fact, she lives in your old neighborhood… Lawrence right?" Dean nodded silently. "Well I'll call her and let her know you might be stopping by. She's a good woman Dean; I believe she can help Sam."

Mable placed a small piece of paper into the young man's hand. Dean looked down at the hand scrawled note. His brow quirked, "Missouri?"

Mable's own brow quirked with a smirk. "Mm-hmm. And if you're any kind of smart, you won't say anything about the name… it's a bit of a touchy subject."

"Got it." He slid off the stool and looked at her with appreciation. "Thanks Mable."

She smiled, "You take care Winchester. And come back and visit me sometime."

"I promise." He turned and headed towards the door, slipping the piece of paper into his back pocket.

"Oh and Dean!" Dean paused in the doorway, looking back. "Be mindful of your thoughts around her."

Dean frowned slightly, but decided he was better off not asking. He turned and let the door to the diner shut; the clanging bell sounding in the background. He jerked his head with a smirk; he was really going to miss that stupid bell.

--S--

"Hey," Dean called as he stepped into the small quarters. Daylight saturated the room through the bar-covered windows.

Sam looked up from the large book he was pouring over. "Hey, what took you so long?"

Dean actually looked a little disgruntled. "Just because you have like two things to your name doesn't mean I do. It's not easy packing for an undetermined amount of time to who knows where."

"Wow… I didn't realize you were such a girl."

"Shut-up." He scowled playfully. "If you must know I had to tie up some loose ends… oh and I ran into someone I thought you might like to meet," he finished suspiciously.

Sam's easy-going smile slowly dropped away as he watched a tall, well-built, dark-haired man walk into the room. He winced slightly as he stiffly, but politely stood to his feet, wary of the older man who stood there next to Dean, just staring at him. "Hi," he offered. The other man continued to just stare and Sam could swear there was something akin to tears beginning to swim in the other man's eyes. Sam felt very much like he'd been put under a microscope. He glanced briefly at Dean who had a mischievous smile on his face.

"Sam," Dean spoke up and rested a hand on the older man's back, "this is Dad." Sam's eyes widened and turned back sharply to the other man, taking his turn now to stare in shock. "Dad," Dean continued, "this… is Sammy."

The room fell into a silent void where it seemed only shocked curiosity and uncertainty seemed to preside. Sam's mind was blank; he couldn't come up with a single thought, as if his entire brain had abandoned him and all he was left with was to stare at this man in front of him and wait for something to happen. The feelings and emotions were there, swelling beneath his chest and traveling through his veins, but he couldn't make heads or tails of them. He almost took a step back as the other man hesitantly walked a few steps towards him.

Dean stood silently off to the side watching the highly charged and yet delicately sensitive scenario play out. He'd stopped by his father's apartment after he'd left the diner and spent the next hour trying to delicately explain everything that had happened in the last month and a half. And amazingly enough his father had latched onto every word. Dean quickly realized that after twenty-two years of wanting an answer; needing to know why, that the truth had become a lot more believable despite the insanity of it. That's not to say his father hadn't looked at him worriedly for a while and asked a lot of questions… but he'd believed him in the end. And the first thing he'd asked after his initial acceptance was to see his baby boy. Dean almost laughed at that thought now… because Sam was far from being a baby now; about six foot four inches far from being a baby.

John Winchester, owner of the Winchester car shop, worked very hard at keeping his expression somewhat neutral. But he could feel his chin quivering and the burning in his eyes as he stared at the young man standing uncomfortably before him. He had taken in the tall, lanky stature of not enough meals; the long, dark brown hair that fell into a pair of eyes of equal color and holding much too much age in them; the old t-shirt and jeans with holes in them; the pale skin; the dark smudges of too many nights without sleep beneath the eyes and wrinkles of too many worries along the edges... and all he could think of was this was Mary's little boy.

That thought alone pushed a few past-due tears over the edge and down his face. He reached up and ran a shaky hand over his mouth. "Sammy," he said; just reveling in the name… the name he and a pregnant Mary had finally decided on together late one night on their bed, Dean sleeping peacefully between them.

Sam for his part shifted to one side self-consciously, once more wondering how one acted towards a father. He didn't quite understand why he felt so strongly towards these two men… after all, he'd only just met them, and yet he felt for all the world that they were his missing link… his answer to prayer… the home he'd always wanted. He drew in a quiet breath, "Hey dad."

It was all John needed; he reached forward and pulled the young man towards him, wrapping his arms around him. Sam hesitantly reached up and wrapped his own arms around the man's back, giving more and more into the embrace until he simply buried his face into his father's shoulder and let the last twenty two years leak into the older man's shirt. John tightened his hold as he felt the shudders and silent tears bleed from his lost child.

Dean serenely watched from the sidelines, secretly enjoying the long-overdue reunion and quite proud of himself. Suddenly his father's hand reached back and snagged his jacket, pulling him in. "No-Dad I-"

"Shut-up." John cut him off as more tears fell and he pulled Dean into his free side, wrapping an arm around him as well and pulling his head down onto his shoulder.

Dean sighed disgustedly, rolling his eyes into his father's shoulder.

"Love your brother Dean." John ordered.

Dean held his arms out at his sides with his face still buried in his father's shoulder as if to say why me?

Sam snorted at his brother's predicament which quickly turned into sobbing laughter joined by their father's laughter as well. Dean however did not find the situation at all funny and just continued to stand there with his head forcefully buried; shoulders slumped in defeat and arms hanging in disgust at his sides. He knew his father wasn't exactly one for these types of emotional displays either… which is why he probably dragged him into it; to bring a little humor into it, lighten it up. By all rights, the man was due this kind of moment. After all he'd waited twenty-two years for some kind of closure, and instead he'd been given a new opening. Dean actually felt inclined to send a silent thank you sky-ward.

"Are we done yet?" Dean's voice muffled.

John wiped a hand across his face with a smile, releasing the boys; but still keeping a tight grip on his youngest's arm. Sam didn't seem to mind though as he sheepishly tried to remove the remnants of his little cry-fest from his face. He'd not cried in front of someone in years; in fact the last person he'd cried in front of was Father Jim and that had been after his first rejection.

John shook his head, "You know..." he hesitated, "I imagined this a lot over the years and… now that it's actually a reality…" he squeezed the younger man's arm, "I have no idea what to say."

Sam laughed, a few more tears leaking out. He quickly wiped at them. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he said looking back up.

"Dean said you'd be heading out tomorrow?"

"Looks that way," he said, a little unsure if perhaps that was a good thing or a bad thing in this man's opinion. After all, he'd just rudely inserted himself in this small family. How involved did his father really want to be in his life now that he was… well… found? Obviously the old man had been happy to see him… men like the two before him didn't get worked up like that over nothing. He took what little comfort he could from that.

A throat cleared from behind the men, "Excuse me," Father Jim apologized from the quarter's doorway. He turned a perceptive eye to the older brother and spoke off-handedly. "Dean… you wouldn't by any chance know anything about an order of three extra-large pizza's and two six-packs of beers that are currently waiting at the front door of this church to be paid for," he finished with a light casualness, "would you?"

Dean looked caught in the headlights and Sam had to try really hard not to laugh. He noticed John non-chalantly wipe a hand over his mouth, but caught the grin and silent laugh behind the hand.

Dean looked between the three men, and then let out a breath of a laugh with a guilty grin, "They- uh, were supposed to call my cell phone when they got here… sorry," he finished lamely.

Sam figured had the other two men known Father Jim like he did, they would recognize the older man's attempt at hiding his own humored smile. Fortunately, Sam knew the man all too well, but declined to inform Dean that Father Jim was simply playing with him… because in the end that made Sam laugh even more.

The Priest sent a quick, knowing glance towards his old charge before giving a complacent nod to Dean, "Just keep it confined to this room please? I've got twenty-seven grade schoolers wanting to know what's in the brown bottles."

Dean nodded sheepishly before casting one last glance at his father and brother as if to say shut-up and followed the holy man out.

John turned a bit awkwardly at being left alone with the son he knew practically nothing about. "I guess you and your brother will be staying in then for the night?"

Sam nodded with a small shrug, "Yeah- we uh… it's not really safe for us to leave here at night." He ducked his head feeling a bit stupid.

John nodded as well, "Dean told me." He watched the younger man's eyes roam the small room. "I'm proud of you ya know."

Sam's head whipped around, dark eyes keenly reading the seriousness of the man's statement. He didn't know how proud the man could truthfully be since he practically knew nothing about him… but there was something so purely honest and sincere in his gaze that Sam could not deny that his father obviously saw something in him that he was proud of. And it made Sam's eyes burn again. He ducked his head and scuffed his shoe along the old floorboards.

He cleared his throat finally, "So um-" he looked up again, "are you gonna stick around for the night or…" he left it open ended, not wanting the man to feel obligated, but wanting more than anything for him to stay with them so he could get to know him.

John watched the insecure way Sam shifted to one hip and stuffed his hands in his back pockets, remembering how Mary always used to do the same thing whenever she wanted something but was too nervous or shy to ask. "Well if it's okay with you and your brother I think I'll stick around." He tilted his head as if letting Sam in on something, "To be perfectly honest, I think that's what your brother had in mind… and we'd hate to disappoint him right?"

Sam eased into a wide smile… suddenly loving the turn his life had taken in the past few days.

TBC…