"Don't leave me, even for an hour, because then
the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart."

- Pablo Neruda, Don't go far off

When Donna decided to leave her job, home and family in Minnesota to become a social worker in Kansas with no chance to save enough money for the house of her dreams, her parents said she could have run away from Doug to a little closer than that. It was a dark time. She guzzled her pain and bullshitted through the first months, talked about how she found her purpose in life and how rewarding it was to actually help people. Her parents kept giving her these kind of sad looks and, consequently, she gained fifteen pounds on top of her already ample size. Her best buddies were cookie-dough and milkshakes. Doug would have laughed his skinny ass off.

Then she started making connections with her colleagues, started to go out with new friends, bought a gym membership card that she has yet to use and met Doug - not Doug the fat-shaming jerk, but Doug the clueless teddy bear whom Donna is not ridiculously in love with. And by the time she had sorta sleepovers at Doug's place that they spent watching Miami Vice, she began to feel content for the first time since she married her biggest mistake. Life is good now, however different it is than what she planned as a teenager.

She got the Winchesters' case five months ago as a birthday "gift" from her coworkers. As she stared at the messy stack of papers, they snickered into their cheap coffees and told her she wouldn't be bored at work anymore. Today, she is sitting at the same darn desk in the same tiny cubicle and wishes they weren't so right about that.

"Meg, slow down, I ain't getting a word you're saying." Donna sighs, sweating up a bucket in worry. She had been ready to finish up for the day and grab a bite with her sweet and patient boyfriend, who wouldn't have minded her being half an hour late to their date but would be hurt now if she had to cancel it all together. Then her phone started ringing. She wasn't surprised she had to open the book-sized Winchester dossier once again.

"He was screaming at me." The woman on the other end of the line cries and heaves a breath, trying to calm down. "He was screaming because I didn't tell him where his brother was and I - you know that I have no idea who the other foster is, you know -"

"It's okay." Something was bound to happen when she couldn't find a household that would take both of the boys in, Donna had no doubt about that. She just hoped it would take long enough that she could get someone, anyone to give them food and a bed for the night (not even two, they wouldn't use it anyway). No such luck. Sam and Dean are well-known in the local childcare system and the registered foster parents have long since learnt to avoid them at all cost. They are notoriously troubled and their hostility makes arranging their care its own kind of hellish task. And apparently, two days of lull is too much to ask for.

"He came so close to my face…" Meg hiccups and Donna hears a nose blowing. "I was afraid, in spite of how small he is. And you know how my husband gets." Donna nods, even though there's no one to see it.

"He pushed Sam away from me. But… he pushed too hard." Oh no, Donna thinks, no, no, no, let him be okay. Besides the obvious problem of a possible injury, Dean will go ballistic if Sam is hurt and Donna has very little in terms of controlling that kid. "He hit the edge of the coffee table and there's so much blood -"

"Son of a gun. Did ya call an ambulance?" Her only response is sobbing for a few seconds, then she hears a rustle and a rumbling male voice talking over the sounds of crying.

"He ran away. I couldn't catch him and now I have no idea where and how bad off he is. We drove around the block for two hours, but no sign of the brat."

"Jeez, Tom, you waited hours to tell me?" Sam could be in another county for all they know!

"We thought he might come back. And it looks like there was a fucking murder in here, we tried cleaning that up first. Our white carpet has a blood stain the size of the boy himself."

"I don't give a flyin' fudge about the state of your carpet, you should have -" Donna takes a deep breath and tries to will her anger to subside. She hates getting angry, because it drains her mental energy and that usually leads to comfort doughnuts. She has been eating way too much of them lately. "Alright, I hear ya. I'll see if I can find him. You guys wait there until I call."

She hangs up on Tom Masters with a furious huff and runs a hand through her hair. This is a disaster. Sam is injured and alone out there on the streets in freakin' November, and it's raining cats and dogs. Just because Donna was foolish enough to avoid placing them in a group home. That poor boy. She has to find him fast. Where to look, where to look… Would he go to a hospital on his own? Doubt it. Or come here, perhaps? Heck no, he despises the place. But where else? Donna has no clue. Sam doesn't know where his brother is, but he must want to find him. Maybe, he is going to the school, Dean would be able to pick him up there. Or - well, they have been separated before for short periods of time - what if they have agreed on a meetup place? Yeah. Knowing those brats? This sounds likely. Which leaves her with the obvious conclusion that she should talk to Dean. Her pulse pounding in her ears, she scans the dossier for the contact info of Dean's latest foster parents and crosses her fingers.

Tessa picks up after the third ring. "Donna?"

"Hiya, can I chat with Dean for a sec?"

There's a pause on the other end of the line. "He's not home."

She so knew it. "What? Why?"

"He wanted to go to the movies with a friend from school. A lady friend, I think. Pretty cute. You said I shouldn't try controlling him too much, so… I gave him a twenty and made him promise to be back by ten. He looked so happy." Except, Donna knows that Dean has no friends whatsoever. She talked to his teachers, his classmates are terrified of him. And he would sooner cut his own arm off than go on a date when Sam's whereabouts are unknown to him. Which can only mean one thing. He is already on his way to the meetup place.

She spends the next fifteen minutes tearing through the papers for clues, but not a single location stands out. They have moved more times than she could count and changed schools on at least six occasions. Perhaps she should try their current one after all. She is almost at the end of her rope when she spots a phone number circled with black permanent marker. GARTH F., retired - in case of emergency written under it. Donna gasps and dials as fast as her chubby fingers are able to move.

"Ahoy-hoy, Garth Fitzgerald IV speaking."

Yes! The guy sounds like a complete wackadoo, but he must know something useful. He must. "Hey, I'm Donna Hanscum from the FCA Association, we haven't met yet -"

"Donna from Minnesota? Sam and Dean's Donna?"

Donna can't help a surprised chuckle. "Betcha. How did ya know?"

The guy hums. "We have quite a history with the boys. I tend to ask around about them. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Donna. How may I help you?"

"We have a situation here. They ran away."

"Oh, let me guess. You tried housing them apart?"

"Wasn't much of a choice there. Do you have any idea where to find them? It has been about three hours and I'm lost."

Garth makes a series of weird sounds, then clucks his tongue. "I have a guess. Check out the playground in Veteran's Park. That's their first choice most of the times. It's quite fascinating, actually, I was always curious why that exact place…"

"Meanin'?"

"Well, it's only four blocks away from the house where their parents died." Donna frowns. They don't have official access to the boys' pasts before foster care, except for the basics, like place of birth. As if to answer her unspoken question, Garth coughs. "I know, I shouldn't have found that out, but don't blame me, I'm curious by nature."

Donna decides to let it go. Finding them takes priority. "They might have fond memories of that park." She mumbles back, typing the location into Google Maps. (What? She is still new in town.)

"Doubt it. Sam would have been too little and Dean doesn't remember anything before his first group home."

That makes her freeze. "What the cuss?"

Garth stays unfazed by her bewilderment, voice lazy and smooth. "You didn't know? He is amnesiac. His first memory is holding his brother and eating jam sandwiches with a bunch of social workers, as far as I know."

But Dean was eight back then, old enough to have clear memories of his biological parents. Did he have a head trauma Donna doesn't know about? And why is there not a single beep of this in his file? She should be able to inform potential adopting families about physical and mental health concerns. Not that there are many interested parents in this case… Especially after they learn that Dean is part of a sibling group that can't be separated for adoption. Not even his beautiful face could compensate for that and the noted behavioral issues.

"It's a shocker, huh?" Garth drones on. "Back when they lived with me, I've taken him to my cousin, she's a counsellor. Nothing really helped though, he's blocking pretty firmly. To be frank, I'm not even sure we should try to get those memories back. You must have read the files."

"Yeah. I hear ya." Donna shakes the image of a scarred back out of her mind. "Thank you, Garth. I gotta go now."

"Anytime. And hey, I got a spare bunk in here. You can bring them over if they need somewhere to crash." He says cheerfully and Donna smiles as she stands up to grab her coat. She might need to take him on that offer.

"Got it. Thanks a lot."

It stops raining just long enough in Veteran's Park for Donna to leave her umbrella back in the car. As soon as she is closer to the playground than to the place where she parked, it starts up again, twice as hard as before. Murphy's law, Donna thinks and squelches her way through wet foliage and mud to the swings and monkey-bars. The park is deserted. Every sane person has long since retreated into the safety of four walls and a fireplace. She shivers and spares a fleeting thought for her heavy comforter and soft mattress back home. God, this day has been long and it keeps stretching further.

"Sam?" She calls out, despite the meagre chances of an answer. "Dean!"

Dusk is fading fast, the heavy clouds above darkening into blackness. The nearby streetlight turns on - it's officially night-time. As she pushes an empty swing into motion, the surrounding trees seem to bow in tandem with her slumping shoulders. Her blond hair falls out of her ponytail and gets plastered to her head. Her socks are uncomfortably soaked, but all she can think of is the floppy-haired little boy she is responsible for bleeding and scared somewhere out here.

She regrets she wasn't here to handle their case back in the first years. Then they might have a family by now, a good one. But they got into some careless dilettante's hands and - it's probably a good thing for Donna's emotional stability that the files are not too detailed about what happened. There are far rougher cases, she is all too aware, but that fact doesn't make beatings, confinement, neglect and God knows what else okay. She hopes Alastair Peters is going to rot in hell. How a spineless bastard like that could get a state-issued approval to foster is beyond her understanding. And to think that it took an entire year to notice it and lock him up! She feels a painful pang in her chest when she thinks it's only sheer luck that neither of the boys have been sexually assaulted by that time. It was a close call. And she can't say they made it out unscathed.

"I'm so losing my job." She mutters absently, drifting in her dark thoughts, and stomps into a puddle by accident. The pack of Kleenex she fishes out of her bag does nothing to wipe the flecks of mud off her jeans. It's a lost cause already, but she wastes three tissues before giving up on salvaging her appearance.

She purses her lips and goes over to the trash bin. Scouting out the neighbourhood seems to become the next thing on her messed up agenda, when something catches her eye between a banana peel and a plastic bottle. Her head whips back around to the garbage and she sees - "Heck."

There is a bunch of discarded bandages and wipes on top of the stinking trash, their whiteness almost completely tinted crimson and brown with drying blood. Sam must have been here. And he is not anymore. Which means that Dean found him and patched him up and that leads to -

Donna's phone startles her out of her revelation. She fumbles to pick it up while rushing back to her car, mind racing. Are they running out of town or what? For the life of her, she can't get those boys.

"Donna, Sam and his brother are here." It's Meg, rasping with a hint of panic in her voice. "Dean's got a knife. I've called the police too."

Crap. Sounds like Donna's up shit creek without a paddle. "Hold up, I'm coming."

By the time Donna arrives at the Masters' house, the front door is gaping open and in the middle of the living room, Dean is yelling at Tom Masters and swinging a long kitchen knife in front of his angry-red face. Sam is standing a step behind him with fat, messy tears dribbling down his chin and onto a hoodie that must be one of Dean's. Dean is almost unrecognisable in his rage and terror. As she thought - ballistic. The whole scene looks like the testament of a mental breakdown.

"If you ever try to go after my brother again, I swear I'll kill you, demon. Did you hear me?" Dean bellows and his voice cracks - the only sign that gives away how much of a teenage boy he still is.

"Dean!" Donna calls out and the Masters on the opposite side of the room let out a relieved exhale. "It's alright, nobody wants to hurt you or Sam. Let's just go out to my car and -"

"No, Donna!" Dean snaps at her and backs his brother into a wall behind them, raising the knife once again. "Can't you see?" He gestures at Tom and Meg with the tip of the blade. "They are demons, monsters! They feed on human souls and work for Azazel. Look at their eyes."

Demons? Azazel? What is wrong with this child? Donna swallows and takes a few steps forward. She has to check on Sam. He probably has a concussion - let's hope for nothing more severe. Glancing over Dean's shoulder, her gaze makes contact with shining hazel eyes. The head wound seems to have bled through Dean's clumsy bandage, but Sam looks coherent for now. Good. If only he came closer… Donna bites her lip and gives him a beckoning sign. Another gush of wetness trickles down Sam's face, but he shakes his head and presses closer to his brother.

"...they killed our parents and now they all want my brother." Dean goes on, snarling. "Over my dead body, fuckers."

Tom sighs. "Look, kid, you are a little scared now, but it was only an accident -"

"Shut your lying trap!"

It's going to come to blows, Donna thinks, but suddenly, Sam's hand darts out and catches the grip Dean has around the knife. "Dean…" He cries and steps away from the wall. "Let's go with Donna, okay?"

Like a switch, Dean's entire demeanour changes. He drops his weapon on the carpet and his voice turns low and soothing. "Shh, don't talk. I'll protect you."

The first sounds of a police siren blare out from the street, but he seems deaf and blind to everyone else all at once. Donna spots a single teardrop on his cheek, dripping down as Sam's lips wobble.

"I wanna go to the hospital."

"Your head hurts?" Sam nods and sways on his feet. "Fuck. Alright. Alright, we're going."

Dean brushes the hair out of his brother's eyes and pulls him into a hug that goes on and on in silence until a pair of police officers forces them apart.

A week later, Donna's staring at the closed door of Garth's guest room with a toy car in her pocket and a heavy weight on her mind.

"He doesn't eat more than a cracker a day. Doesn't talk either." Garth whispers. "I tried every trick I know that worked before, but he is such a stubborn brat, Donna. Tell me they are letting Dean out of juvie this week."

"Sorry." She sighs. "Two more weeks."

"Poor things. Neither of them deserves to be locked up." Garth shakes his head, then retreats back into the kitchen. They have gone over this conversation a few times already. There's only so much they can do. Donna sure as hell can't take the boys in, she can't adopt them and most likely no one will. They are going to drift through the system and end up like far too many others, struggling and unable to fit in. She purses her lips and pushes her way inside the room to sit at the foot of the bed where Sam has curled up, facing the wall.

"Hey, kiddo, head still hurtin'?" She smiles. No answer. "I heard you got the A-okay from the doc. Excited to go back to school? Your teachers have been missing you." Silence.

"I brought you something that might cheer you up." She pulls the car out of her coat and places it in Sam's limp hand tentatively. Dean insisted she gave it to him, though for what significance, she doesn't know. For a few seconds, she thinks not even this has been enough to stir Sam back to life. Then he clenches his fingers hard around the toy and sits up so fast she jumps in fright.

"How is my brother? Is he okay?" He asks, voice rough from lack of use.

"Yes, hun. I make sure they take good care of him." She doesn't mention the dissociation Dean keeps doing every other day. Sam needs to gather himself together, not to worry himself sick over that. "Did ya eat anything today?"

Sam averts his eyes. "Sure."

"I was born at night, Sam, not last night."

He smiles a little at that. "I'm not hungry."

"You have to eat."

"I don't wanna." He gives her a petulant frown. Donna raises an eyebrow.

"What would your brother tell you now, hm?"

Sam breaks into a smile again, fiddling with the car Dean sent him. "That I'm a stubborn bitch."

First time she heard that word said so fondly, Donna muses and puts a hand on his shoulder. "He is worried about you. I want to tell him you are doing well, but I can't do that if you are aiming to become an ascetic." Sam chews on his bottom lip. Well, pulling the Dean-card may be a low-blow, but it certainly has its results. "Do you think you can take care of yourself until he comes back? Can you do that for him?"

"Yes." Sam sighs and rubs the hood of the toy with the pad of his thumb. "Just tell him I'm fine."

"Sammy, please, would ya look at me?"

"It's Sam." He glares, then deflates just as fast as his fire lit up. He seems miserable and in desperate need of someone resembling a mother.

Donna can't give that to him, but she will do her best. She slides her arm fully around his back and gives him a short hug. "Two weeks, Sam. Just two more."

Sheriff Jody Mills doesn't believe in coincidences. She never did. When her old, rusty Ford died a noisy death during patrol and she found herself in a certain salvage yard, she knew it was for a reason beyond her current understanding. She was right - she met her husband there. Not an accident. When she almost bit the dust herself because of an appendicitis, she knew it happened to teach her how precious life was. She learnt her lesson. And when it turned out, after many years of trying and hoping and not giving up, that she and Bobby couldn't have a child of their own, she knew it had a purpose too. They spared it no grieving or moping around - it didn't happen, because it wasn't meant to. She accepted that, but more than anything in this world, she wanted to be a mother, to experience the greatest love and connection a woman can ever feel. So she dove headfirst into adoption. Went to trainings, got a homestudy, did the whole dance except for actually finding a child. Bobby indulged her, of course, that's how he rolled - growling and swearing and playing a general hardass, then leaving pamphlets and guide books around as if they have appeared out of thin air. And it all led to this moment, Jody knows now. Life can always throw another curveball, but glancing at the boy Donna has just introduced to her, she thinks she has found the right path to take.

"I'm stumped, Jodes. My car was working just fine last night. I swear the universe is conspiring against me." Donna told her that morning as she got into Jody's sedan. "I'm sorry. You've come all the way from Sioux Falls to have fun and now I'm asking you to help out with work."

"It's fine. I've come to have fun with you anyway. Now, who's this kid we're picking up?"

"Dean Winchester. He's not exactly an Al Capone yet, just gave some people a scare. Nothing too bad."

"How old is he?"

"Fourteen. Doesn't look it, though, you will see. Doe-eyed punk." Donna shook her head. "Watch out for the attitude."

Jody almost snorted at that. She knew a thing or two about men with bad attitudes. "I've had quite some practice in handling that."

Donna laughed. "Sometimes I forget who you shacked up with. Anyhoo, I figure he'll be nice today, we are taking him back to his brother after all."

"He has a brother?"

"Yeah, loves him to a fault. He is ten. They have no one else, though, their parents died six years ago. Can't say I'm sorry for the father, he was an abusive son of a bitch, but it's darn tragic that their mom's gone too." Her mind leapt to her husband immediately, she recalls and holds back a sigh. Bobby is still trying to prove he is different, a better man than the alcoholic scumbag he called father.

"I'm trying to find a foster home that lasts more than a few months, but these boys drive everyone up the wall." Donna ranted as they rounded the corner to the juvie. She tends to speak too much when she is nervous or embarrassed. "I swear they do it on purpose. Pouring salt in beds, covering someone's floor with a giant pentagram, breaking mirrors, making traps - point being, Winchester equals trouble, remember that, Jodio."

Dean doesn't look like trouble at all. He is circling around Jody's car like a coiled wire ready to unfurl and strike, but it's not trouble that springs to her mind when their eyes meet. It's beauty. Not that shiny, polished kind, but something more elemental that's closer to the wilderness than to white picket fences and apple pies. Jody's heart misses a beat.

"Gotta take care of some paperwork. I'll be back in a minute." Donna announces and rushes back into the building, leaving them alone.

"Are you a cop?" Dean asks and kicks a rock across the parking lot. His eyes don't wander back to hers after that first once-over, but Jody's not fooled to believe she's not being assessed. Oddly enough, it makes her pulse quicken.

"I'm the sheriff in Sioux Falls."

"Figures." He mutters and stops to lean against the trunk. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he tips his head up to soak in the sunshine. His pale face is serene, but his body is thrumming with vigilant tension. He's humming off-key Metallica and there's a crooked smile on his lips. Jody's a little bit in awe. She is being obvious in her staring, but Dean just waves a hand at her. "I'm not the droid you are looking for."

Grinning, Jody waits until he glances over, then winks. "Magic tricks don't work on me, Obi Wan."

Dean snorts, then turns to drum his fingers on the dusty metal of the vehicle. He draws a frowny face and wipes his fingers on his jeans. Jody watches him, tries to spot the bad and the broken pieces, and blinks from the sudden wave of overwhelming curiosity that hits her.

"How did you get that, Dean?" She gestures at the shiny thing around his neck, just to strike up a conversation.

He curls his fist around the pendant and keeps doodling on the dirt. "My brother gave it to me a few years ago. It's a protective charm, an amulet. He sold a lot of candy to get its cost. Calculated prices and everything."

"Sounds smart."

Dean's smile is brighter than the sun. "Oh, he is smart. And he likes school way too freakin' much."

"You don't?"

He looks flummoxed. "Hell no, it's school."

Jody grins and steps almost close enough to touch. "What do you like then?"

Dean shrugs, then averts his eyes. There's shame in the blush that crawls up his cheeks, something he is expecting judgement for. All of Jody's motherly instincts want to find the people who put it there and give them a lecture they won't forget. "Cars, I guess."

"That's cool." Jody smiles at him. "My husband, Bobby, is a mechanic. We have a garage and a salvage yard."

Dean's head whips up, eyes wide and strangely hopeful. "Really? Does he work with classic cars too?"

Jody has no idea what counts as classic, but Bobby has worked on hundreds of models before, there must have been a few. "Sometimes."

"Man, I love classic cars. They have the most awesome designs, ever. Like, have you seen a Cadillac Eldorado? I can totally imagine rolling into Vegas in one of those. They are a bit flashy, though." Dean's entire face has lit up and he waves his hands around in excitement. He must not have a lot of people to talk to about these things. "I wanna save up for a Chevy Impala once I got Sam through college."

"Seems like you have everything figured out."

"Damn right. I'll get a job as soon as possible so that we can move the fuck on when he is out of this system. He'll be good enough for a scholarship, all I'll have to rake together is some food and a place, then off we go."

"What about your studies?"

Dean shrugs again, good mood dying down. "I don't wanna rot in school, bossed around by balding profs."

They fall into silence. Dean is now close enough that Jody can hear his breathing, see the faint lines of worry around the corners of his mouth and between his eyebrows. She hesitates for a moment, then bumps his shoulder as gently as she can. "Are you okay?"

At first, he seems reluctant to answer, but then something changes his mind and he makes a quiet confession. "I'm nervous."

"Why?"

"I dunno." He licks his lips. "What if Sam doesn't wanna see me? I messed up big time, you know."

It takes all her willpower not to hug that uncertainty away, but she knows when to touch and when to keep her distance. Dean doesn't need pity. He needs empathy and understanding. "A ten-year-old who is willing to give up candy for you? I don't think you have anything to worry about."

She had been right with her approach. The crease on Dean's forehead clears away and he gives her a long, steady look for the first time since Donna dragged him out the door. "Eight. He was eight when he gave it to me."

"The point stands."

Jody Mills doesn't believe in coincidences. Everything happens for a reason. And when she looks at the gratitude in Dean Winchester's eyes, she feels like her belief has once again proved to be true.

Later that day, she sets her plan into action. "You know that lately, Bobby and I have been looking for a child to adopt." Donna nods, munching her dessert on the couch next to her. They are watching a rom-com, but it has been little more than background noise to Jody's whirling thoughts. She feels as though she is on the brink of a new life, like something has shifted and fell into place at last. "Can I choose someone from another state?"

"No." Donna blurts out, then backtracks at Jody's surprised frown. "I mean, yes, you can do that, but… You can't mean… You're not thinking of Dean, are ya? You barely met him."

"He is perfect."

"Jodio…"

"I know what I want."

"You don't know him." Donna shakes her head and puts her ice cream on the coffee table, turning serious. "That boy has more issues than years. He needs some serious help, and the state issued funding won't cover the costs of a good enough psychologist."

Who cares about money? It's worthless, replaceable. But that child… No, Jody can't give him up, now that she found him. "We have savings."

"Okay. I'll - I'll tell you a few things, alright? I'm not supposed to at this stage, but… I want the best for you and the kids too." Donna blows out a breath and levels a hard look on her. "Dean has been abused severely enough that he has amnesia. He is belligerent and volatile, has frequent nightmares, delusions, dissociative periods… He is a real handful. And don't get me started on his relationship with his brother. It's a challenge to get them to sleep in separate beds. If you take him, you have to take Sam too."

The speech flies right over Jody's head. Her heart has made a decision. "Good, because I want to adopt them both."

The spoon drops out of Donna's grip and clanks on the floor. "Sweet Jesus." Donna whispers. "You are serious."

"Absolutely." Jody grins, unconcerned by how manic it might look. She is going to do it. She's going to be a mother. "Can you help me get them?"

Donna smiles back with the same gobsmacked glee and slaps her shoulder. "You betcha."