Chapter 4: Protect Your Own
Sam woke when Adam crawled into his lap. "Whazit?"
"It's here," Adam whispered.
That woke Sam up. "It's here? In the car?"
"What's here?" Dean asked from the front before he realized. He looked at the empty passenger seat, but Adam was shaking his head. Their brother pointed out the window.
Sam lifted his head to get a better view, but there was nothing but dark emptiness broken by the occasional farm's floodlight.
"Is it doing anything? Saying anything?" Dean asked from the front. "It's not attacking, is it?"
"It doesn't want me to go," Adam said. "It says I'll never see home again."
"Screw that," Dean growled. "Two days. You'll be back in your own home, your own bed, in two days, buddy. Think you can ignore him for that long?"
Adam nodded and Dean accepted it as final, but Sam wasn't so sure. The Hollow Child, or whatever it was, had to be pretty powerful to be projecting itself the way it was, making Adam see it, hear it, despite having Dean at the wheel probably going too fast for the road conditions.
If that thing killed Adam because Sam wanted to take a test…
It wasn't going to happen, Sam reminded himself. They wouldn't let it happen.
He pulled Adam onto his lap more firmly, and proceeded to tell him about all the promises Dean had made him and kept. He told Adam he didn't have to worry—they had him. They'd make sure Adam got home. He promised it and hoped that he was as good at keeping his promises as his big brother had always been.
The shadows outside the car thickened.
~o0o~
The next time Sam woke up, they were in Lincoln in the dinky parking lot of their crappy apartment. Dean's hand was on his knee shaking it. "Sammy. Hey, Sam, wake up."
"'m awake," Sam said blearily. He lifted a hand to his face and tried to scrub some awareness back into it. 'Timezit?"
"Ten," Dean answered. "There was a work crew out blocking the highway just north of the city."
"Accident?"
Dean shrugged. "Or an outage. You hungry?"
Sam's stomach burbled in response. Sam shrugged. He was always hungry these days.
"Your tummy's loud," Adam commented
Dean laughed. "Stupid fucking question, I guess. Let's get you and Cabbage Patch settled inside, and I'll go get something from the truck stop."
"Pizza?" Sam suggested hopefully. He hated the food from the truck stop. "They deliver."
Dean thought about it then nodded acceptance of the plan. "Roads are crap, anyway," he said. "Are you okay carrying the kid, or do you want me to take 'im and you carry the bags?"
Sam assessed himself: sore bones, numb legs, and groggy on top of it. Carrying a seventy-pound kid across an icy parking lot probably wasn't a good idea. "You take him. I'll get the bags."
The parking lot was as bad as Sam had feared. No gravel, no salt, barely any attempt made to clear it at all. He slid Adam into Dean's arms before grabbing their clothing bags and following. "Weapons?" he asked.
"After the munchkin's settled."
"Do you think salt will keep the thing away?"
Dean sighed. "Fucked if I know, Sammy," he said. "This thing… I can't see it, can't even sense it. I mean, a ghost chills the room. A poltergeist usually tries to take your head off, but this thing… I have no clue what works to keep them away since I have no idea when they're actually hanging around. And I'm not waking the kid up to ask if it's here, either," he finished.
Sam couldn't argue with that. Instead he dropped the bags in the closet and turned to discover that Dean had put Adam on his bed, the bed farthest from the door that Dean and Dad always put him in.
"You okay sharing?" Dean asked. "I know you're growing like freaking bamboo, but you're still a little smaller than me."
What was Sam supposed to say to that? No, put the kid on the floor?
"He squirms," Sam responded dryly. "And kicks."
Dean grinned and shrugged. "He's growing. Just like you. Speaking of," Dean continued before Sam could get another protest in. "How're the aches? Do you need a massage or anything?"
This was why he could never hate Dean. One minute the guy was a complete jerk, the next he was offering to rub liniment into Sam's muscles because growing pains were making everything hurt.
"I'll take a hot shower," he said. "Should be good."
Dean nodded. "Wait 'til I get back with the duffle, so Adam's not alone." Then he was out the door. Sam took off Adam's shoes and his coat, got out the bathroom stuff and his sleepwear.
"Okay," Dean called from the tiny living room. "I'm back."
When Sam got out, the door and windows all had a fresh lining of salt, and he could smell the protective herbs that Dean had mixed up and put out as potpourri. He could also smell the pizza. Dean and Adam were at the crappy melamine table that looked like it had been chucked from the Leave It to Beaver set. Adam was kicking his feet cheerfully and stuffing his mouth. Dean was going through the cupboards and pulling out all their food supplies and putting them in an old milk crate.
That's when it really hit Sam, when he realized what it meant: They were moving in with Adam, and they wouldn't be moving out again until the kid was grown. Ten years maybe. They—he—was going to have a home, a stable base. He could get friends, join clubs, and not worry that he'd have to abandon them in a couple months, maybe less. It would be like living in a different world, a better world.
He was looking forward to it.
He smiled as he sat at the table and grabbed a slice of pizza for himself. "Hey, Adam."
Adam, cheeks filled with cheesy goodness, just smiled at him.
Sam looked over at Dean and raised his eyebrow, asking Dean if Adam had said anything about the Hollow Child. Dean gave a half-shrug. He hadn't asked. Sam frowned at his chicken-shit big brother before turning back to Adam. "So…" he began; then he realized that he couldn't ask Adam if the creature was hanging around without accusing the boy of breaking his promise.
There was, however, another way of asking...
"How do you know when the grey kid's around?" he asked. "Do you just look and there it is, or you can feel it looking at you?'
Dean had stopped his cupboard inspection to listen. Adam glanced down at the table. Beneath the table, his feet stopped kicking. The only moderately bright kitchen area seemed dimmer.
"Does it talk to you?" Dean asked. He was crouched down in front of their baby brother, hands on Adam's knees. Adam nodded.
It was Sam's turn again. "Did it always talk to you, or is that new?"
"Always," Adam practically whispered.
"When did it start?" Dean asked. Between the two of them they got Adam to explain and describe everything. They made it a game—Dean fell back on his Blue's Clues expertise after he shot a warning glare at Sam.
Sam had no intention of ragging on him, though. Dean's approach had let Adam relax enough to swing his feet again. No way was Sam messing that up. Instead, he brought out a notebook and made a big show of writing down all the clues. He also drew "suspect" sketches, stick figures of no higher quality than those Adam had made.
Eventually, Adam's second wind died, and his blinks got longer and longer.
"C'mon, champ," Dean said, swinging the boy up onto his shoulder. "Time to get ready for sleep."
"I'm not sleepy," Adam protested, but he contradicted himself by yawning big and long.
"You don't have to go to sleep," Dean reassured him. "Just get into your PJs and brush your teeth. We can sit on the couch and listen to Spanish TV so that Ginormo-Brain can practice his accent."
"Ginormo-Brain," Adam repeated, giggling sleepily. When he fell asleep three minutes into the show, neither Sam nor Dean said anything about what the kid had told them about the Hollow Child. Mostly, Sam thought, because neither of them had anything hopeful to say.
~o0o~
It was the middle of the night and Dean wasn't surprised to find Adam standing beside his bed.
"Another nightmare?" he asked even as he released his grip on the knife under his pillow.
Adam's nod was outlined by the light from the bathroom. "Don't like it here. It's dark."
"Is that thing here, the grey thing?" Dean asked because he had to be sure.
Adam nodded. "Outside. It's starin' at me. Don't like it."
Dean snorted. "No fucking kidding, kid. I wouldn't like to have that thing staring at me either." He lifted the blankets. "Should we get Sam in here?" he asked, because if he had to be awake at ass-hour of the morning, then Sammy should be, too. But Adam shook his head.
"Sam's snoring on his books," Adam said. "An' you're bigger."
The kid snuggled in nice and tight, and Dean hummed some soft Zeppelin. It didn't take long for Adam's breathing to relax into sleep. Dean lay awake, staring out the window at nothing but darkness. The motel's flashing neon light didn't reveal the green mouth or red eyes of the Hollow Child looking in at them, but Dean was sure it was there.
It took a long time for him to fall back asleep.
~o0o~
Breakfast was the leftover pizza and the last of the juice they'd left behind when they left to get Adam. The milk had gone bad so Dean chucked it.
"Do you need me to drive you?" Dean asked, looking at Adam who was still in his pajamas and barely awake.
Sam looked out the window, seeing snow but also clear skies and no obvious wind. "Nah. It's not that far.'
Dean nodded. He'd put together something for Sam's lunch—fruit, cheese, crackers, pepperoni, more fruit—and he put the bag down on the table. He also pulled out a bill. "Five bucks," he said. "In case your mutant growth genes require more fuel."
"I'm going to be taller than you," Sam said with a slyly triumphant smile.
"In your dreams," Dean replied even as he thought it was likely true. He'd reached six foot one just last year. Sam had already hit five eleven and he was four years younger. Chances were good he'd have to look up at his baby brother.
Sam just grinned harder, so Dean gave him a smack to the back of the head.
Then it was time for Sam to go. One last panic attack when he thought they'd forgotten his biology notebook in Windom (it was in the Impala), a reminder that they'd meet in the school library after his Biology test, a quick hug for Adam, and Sam was gone.
Dean looked around the small living room. They called it an apartment, but it was really a motel that could be rented by the month… or the hour. They'd been here since leaving Indiana in October. Three months. Not a bad run, not as long as they'd stayed around Tulsa, but then there'd been a lot of shit happening around Tulsa.
It was certainly long enough for Sam to have accumulated a crap-load of books.
"It smells funny," Adam said as he dropped onto the sagging couch.
"Yeah, it's called 'l'eau de cheap hotel'," Dean said with a snort. "You get used to it."
Adam's nose wrinkled like a disturbed kitten's, and it was easy to see the kid didn't believe Dean. Of course, Adam wouldn't have a chance to get used to it, would he, Dean thought. Adam had a house in Windom; a nice house, with two floors and a driveway, and a freaking back yard that he and Sam would be sharing with him. And Dad, too, of course. It was a weird thought, but okay. Dean was getting used to the idea. Kind of.
Dean stared at their cobbled together bookshelves, and debated. Take or leave?
It wasn't just the books, either. They'd managed to pick up a few of their favorite movies on videocassette. Dean had found a decent set of hand weights at a garage sale. Sam had bought a half-dead plant and the stupid thing hadn't given up and died yet.
Take or leave?
Fuck it, he decided. He'd take as much as he could fit in the car. It's not like Adam's house lacked room.
Eventually, Adam tired of kiddie shows, so he got dressed and started "helping". He'd grab one item from some shelf, present it to Dean for his decision on whether it should be packed up or left behind. If Dean decided to pack it, Adam would turn it over with a smile. If Dean decided to leave it, Adam would put it in a pile in the corner. It was surprisingly companionable.
They were done by lunchtime.
They discussed food options while Dean walked to the manager's office to turn in the key. Greg ("call me George") Burns had been an okay guy. He'd often warned Dean when guys checked in who had a liking for rent boys—young rent boys—so he knew to keep Sam out of the parking lot. It seemed like the right thing to do to let the guy know they were out of here. For the rest of the month, George could rent the room for cash and the owners would never know.
"You taking off?" George said, bulging eyes giving him a perpetually surprised look. "I thought you were here to June."
Dean glanced down at Adam, holding firmly onto his hand. "Things change. Hey, if my dad shows up tell him to check his messages."
"Will do, kid," George answered. Then it was a final, firm handshake and it was time to go.
Dean looked down at Adam, hanging onto his arm like a remora on a shark. "So, have you decided what you want to eat?"
They had hamburgers, because Adam had awesome taste, and then they went to Sam's school. It was time to talk to the principal again.
~o0o~
"Yvonne?" the secretary said. "There's a Dean Winchester here to see you."
Ms. Strahovski remembered Dean Winchester. "I'll be right there."
She walked into the office lobby to see the bad-boy she remembered listening to a little boy with big eyes. There was a small smile on Dean's face that said he was barely listening, but wasn't going to cut the child off.
"Dean," she said and the boy shut up instantly.
"Hey, Teach." Dean said. It was followed by the boy stating, "You're pretty," in a high, clear voice.
Dean laughed. "Good taste, bro," he said to the boy.
It made her blush. Blush. Ms. Strahovski hadn't blushed in years.
"Thank you," she said as calmly as she could manage. She turned to Dean. "I assume you're here to confirm that you kept your word and got Sam back in time for finals."
"Actually," he said then paused, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Sammy's moving in with me," the little boy said. "So's Dean. They're gonna take care of me. Protect me from the grey thing."
Ms. Strahovski felt her eyebrow lift. "Oh, they are?"
The boy nodded. "They're my new big brothers, and they're like Jedi warriors."
This time Dean's laugh was more stilted. "Not so much with the Jedi part, but yeah, he's not completely wrong. This here is Adam, Adam Milligan. He's our brother. He lives in Windom."
"I see," she said, because she did see. "His mother?"
"Car accident," Dean replied. He glanced at the boy as if making sure the simple statement hadn't hurt him. It was oddly endearing.
"And you're the boy's guar–"
"Adam's."
Ms. Strahovski nodded slightly, allowing the correction. "You're Adam's guardian?"
"No," he replied. "My dad is, but…" his voice trailed off into a shrug.
"Mr. Winchester–" she began.
"Dean's good."
"Dean," she corrected. "Do you really think you should be taking on the responsibility of another child?"
Dean's return look was bewildered, as if it was a ridiculous question.
"You are, what, twenty years old?" she continued. "No offense, I know you're doing well with Sam, but he's a teenager; he's mostly independent. That's not the case with Adam."
Now Dean looked belligerent. "Are you saying I can't do it?"
Ms. Strahovski sighed. "I'm saying you shouldn't have to. It should be your father, but from what you've said, he's never around." The boy made a small distressed sound. When she looked at Adam, his eyes were wide and upset. Damn. "Maybe we should talk privately in my office."
"No, I'm good here," Dean's voice was hard. "I've looked after Sam for most of his life. I can look after Adam just fine," he said. "And it's not a hardship; it's just the way it is. I can deal with it."
"Will you feel that way six months from now?" she asked. "In a year or five? Will your girlfriend? How will you support him? It's another mouth to feed when it's obvious you've had trouble feeding yourself and Sam." Even as she said it, Ms. Strahovski knew she shouldn't have. Male pride was a tricky thing, and she'd hit on one of its major pillars: the ability to care for the family.
"I didn't come here to be lectured about Adam," Dean said. "I came here to tell you that Sam will be transferring to the high school in Windom, so you should do whatever it is you need to do to, you know, close out his file or whatever."
"Sam shouldn't be shifted right now," she protested. "He's in the middle of a difficult program, and tenth grade is a defining year for school." But Ms. Strahovski knew Dean wasn't listening to her. He'd already scooped up his brother and was putting him on the ground, small hand carefully but firmly gripping Adam's tiny one.
"Sam's a bright kid—all his teachers say so—he'll do just fine." He looked down at his littlest brother. "C'mon, Adam. Let's go find the library. I can read you a story."
Large blue eyes looked up at the leather-clad young man and Ms. Strahovski saw the complete trust in them. The vice-principal hoped—hoped, prayed, please, God, please—that the trust wasn't misplaced, because it was obvious nothing short of an order from God was going to get Dean Winchester to admit that looking after a seven-year-old boy was beyond him.
"One Fish, Two Fish?" Adam's voice was young and sweet.
"Sure, kid. If we can find it," And they left without looking back.
The secretary looked at Ms. Strahovski with her eyebrows up in question. Ms. Strahovski shrugged. She didn't know if they'd make it. However, since they were moving to Windom, it wasn't her problem anymore. She had plenty of other kids who needed her attention.
~o0o~
Dean searched through the shelves for something that wasn't too old for Adam or too young for himself. Dr. Seuss was fine, but no way was he reading Curious George.
"Dean?" Adam said, all quiet-like, and Dean knew that wasn't a good sign.
He forced enthusiasm into his voice to response. "What's up?"
"It's here."
It was like pouring alcohol on a fire; blood and adrenaline raced through Dean, all of his senses went into high-alert, his muscles and joints readied for a fight.
But there was nothing there.
"Where is it?" he leaned down to ask, putting a bracing hand on Adam's shoulder.
Adam tipped his chin to the far corner of the small library. It held couches and chairs, upbeat posters, and that was it. Dean could see the magazines on the tables, the fake plants in the corner, and yeah, it was darker than it maybe should've been, but Dean could not see the Hollow Child. He swore under his breath.
"Is it talking to you?"
Adam shook his head.
"Good, last thing you need is for that son of a bitch to be a Chatty-Cathy." He meant it to be reassuring, but how in the hell was he supposed to fight this thing? The battleground was Adam, and Adam was the prize. In order to fight the Hollow Child, Dean had to keep Adam happy and feeling safe.
Pretty freaking pathetic weapons, Dean thought, but he could hear his Dad telling him to adapt; a good soldier, a good hunter, was always adapting to new circumstances.
He gave Adam's arm a comforting rub, feeling stupid and awkward. "Okay, if that changes, tell me right away, right?"
"Okay," Adam replied, face and voice serious.
"Okay." Dean stood but kept his hand on Adam's shoulder. He kept it there while they looked for a half-way decent book, and he kept Adam in his lap as they looked through Star Wars: Chronicles and waited for Sam.
"Hey, guys," Sam said when he arrived. "How'd it go?"
"They don't have Dr. Seuss here," Adam complained, beating whatever Dean was going to say.
Sam leaned down and smiled at him. "I know. Unbelievable, right?"
Adam nodded his head enthusiastically, but Sam had noticed that he was tucked firmly into Dean. Sam shot a questioning glance at his big brother. Dean looked over to an empty corner of the library. It was a dim corner, Sam thought, like the lights didn't quite hit the floor. Then he realized. It wasn't empty; it was just that he couldn't see anything.
He looked up at Dean for confirmation and got a small nod in return.
Damn.
He jerked his chin in the direction of the dim corner and got another short nod in reply. He dug in his pocket for the bit of copper wire he'd put there. It wasn't as effective as an EMF meter, but he might pick up something. He walked around and through the spot Dean had indicated, long part of the 'L' held up and waiting. It quivered once, lightly, but nothing definitive.
He shook his head at his big brother and Dean gave a shrug back. It had been a thin hope using a dowsing rod, but it had to be tried.
"Come on, Cabbage Patch," Dean said as he lifted Adam from his lap. "Let get you home to Windom." Then Dean asked him how his tests had gone, so that's what they talked about as Sam left Northeast High School for the last time. They held Adam's hands, and Sam made sure to include him in their conversation. He helped Adam count to ten in Spanish, and then convinced Dean to swing the little guy, though that didn't work too well since the corridor was beginning to fill.
"You checked out?" Sam asked as the Impala came into view. Dean nodded but Sam could see their scraggly plant sitting in the shotgun seat, surrounded by bags of stuff. The back wasn't much better, filled with boxes and more bags.
"Did you take everything?" Sam asked, stunned.
"As long as it wasn't rotten," Dean confirmed.
"I helped," Adam said proudly.
"Yeah, he was a big help," Dean said. "At least he didn't try using chopsticks to pick up the laundry."
"I was six, dude. Let it go already!" Sam protested. "Are we going to make Windom?" he asked before Dean could say something else obnoxious.
Dean looked up at the sky, assessing the chance of snow. Then he leaned down to Adam who was already in the back seat. "Is it still around?"
Adam's eyes immediately shifted to the side of the car. Neither of the Winchesters needed the boy's nod to know the Hollow Child was still there, still watching, still waiting to claim its prize.
Dean looked at Sam. "I think we're going to have to make Windom."
Sam nodded agreement. Adam would feel better, safer, if he was in his own home surrounded by his stuff. "Then what are we waiting for? Let's split this banana stand."
Dean looked at him in mock horror. "And you complain about my sayings." The driver's door creaked as Dean opened it. It was a familiar sound. Sam was in the back with Adam again—Dean had filled the shotgun seat with the straggly plant Sam had found in the garbage. The back wasn't much better. The foot wells had boxes in them, and there was a garbage bag of soft stuff that Adam was using as a pillow.
They left Lincoln as the sun was setting. Dean kept one eye on the sun as he pushed his foot down harder on the gas. Somehow, he knew that the creature would be stronger in the dark.
Sam sat with Adam in the back and played Twenty Questions, and I Spy and whatever other car game he could remember. Dean kind of wished he could take a picture of it. Seriously, it was like Before-and-After pictures of his baby brother… of Sam, he meant. He had two brothers, so he had to specify. He kept the music at a tolerable level for the two of them in the back seat. It was lower than he would've liked considering how fast he wanted to go, but he figured Adam needed human contact since that son of a bitch was still following him. Adam had already told them it had started talking to him again.
That was when his cell rang. ,
"Winchester."
"Dean," his father growled. "What the hell is going on?"
"Didn't you get your messages?" Dean asked, cradling the phone on his shoulder so he could turn off his music.
"Oh, I got 'em. Now tell me, what the hell is going on? What's this about having a brother, and why the hell have you left Lincoln? That's not what I told you to do."
Dean's first impulse was to apologize, soothe, justify. It was what he'd always done when their father was angry since it was easier on everybody. But the apologetic, soothing explanation froze in his throat.
"Answer me!" John ordered. "Why did you leave Lincoln when I told you expressly–"
"His name is Adam," Dean interrupted. "He's seven, and there's no doubt he's yours because he looks almost exactly like Sam did at his age." John started to sputter something, but Dean wasn't finished. "His mother was a nurse. Apparently, you met when you got hurt hunting ghouls with a local cop, and for whatever reason, you forgot everything you told me about sex, STDs, and birth control because she got pregnant."
"Jesus." John's voice is practically a whisper.
"She died, like, five days ago and she named you in her will. You're his guardian."
"No, no. That's impossible," John said. "It's not practical."
"Doesn't matter whether it's practical," Dean argued. "It's the situation."
"No. I would never… I don't remember her, and I would never forget… I always use protec–"
"So maybe it leaked," Dean interrupted again—he didn't want to know what his father always did during sex. "What matters is that Adam is your son, our brother, and he needs us."
"No," John repeated. "Impossible. There must be somebody else." It wasn't a question and Dean knew it. It was an order for Dean to find someone to take Adam, raise Adam, so that John could continue hunting.
"Not going to happen, Dad," Dean replied. "This is your mess and we're going to take care of it." Now his heart started to trip-hop. He swallowed to moisten his suddenly dry throat. He couldn't speak.
There's silence on the other end. "What did you say?" John said, soft and deadly.
"There's no one else," Dean soft-pedaled. "Adam can't leave Windom. It's in the will."
"Do I give a flying fuck about the will?" If anything, John's voice got even more menacing. "Is this Sam's idea? Has he convinced you that we should have a home base again?"
"No! Christ!" Dean protested. He swapped the phone to his other hand, so he could have a moment to catch his temper. If he yelled at Dad, Dad would just yell back. Not a good idea when he was already doing ten above the speed limit on crappy winter roads. Dean took another breath. He could still hear his dad yelling at him, though his voice sounded tinny.
"He's got a thing after him—a Hollow Child probably."
"What?" This time John's voice sounded bewildered, as if he couldn't keep up.
"From his drawings and the descriptions, it's a Hollow Child. Kind of like a Shtriga —you know that thing you hunted in, um, Fort Douglas, back when Sammy was just a kid.
"I remember," John growled. Even after all this time, the fact that Dean had left Sam alone when John had specifically ordered him to stay with his brother, still rankled with their Dad. It bothered Dean, too, but he felt more guilt than anything. Sammy could've been killed and it would've been his fault.
Dean cleared his throat. "Anyway, it's like that."
"So kill it and get the hell out of there."
Dean flexed his fingers around his phone. They were starting to ache he was gripping it so hard. "That's not… It's impossible."
"Nothing's impossible," John scoffed. "If it's like a Shtriga, kill it while it's feeding."
"It's not a Shtriga, Dad. It's a Hollow Child. If it gets a chance to feed then that means Adam's as good as dead."
"Dean," Sam said from the back seat.
Dean held up a finger, asking his brother to hold on a second. He lifted the phone back up. "It's killed four kids already, Dad."
"So fucking kill it!" his dad yelled. "Find a fucking way and get back to fucking Lincoln, where I fucking left you."
Screw conciliation.
"Not going to happen," he said flatly. "I already talked to Jim Murphy, and he talked to some people, and there's no fucking way to kill it. Don't you think I would have, if there'd been a way? But there isn't, so we're stuck in Windom until Adam outlasts it."
"It's not safe!" John yelled from the phone.
"Dean!" Sam yelled from the back seat.
"What?" Dean yelled at them both equally, but it was Sam's reply that caught his attention.
"It's here! Jesus, Dean. It's in the car!"
Dean dropped the phone. "Shit! Where?" He kept both hands on the wheel as he glanced around the Impala looking, but he couldn't see anything except Adam curled up tight on Sam's lap. "Adam, where is it?" he demanded. "What's it doing? Is it attacking?"
Stupid, fucking, invisible monsters! There wasn't even a cold spot to give him a clue.
"It's in the plant" Sam answered. "Adam says it's just standing there, but…"
"Do we stop?" Dean asked.
"I don't know!" Sam sounded freaked out. Like he did when he was trying not to sound freaked out. Dean glanced around again to try to see the damn invisible monster in his car, but he had to keep his eyes on the road. The plows had been out, but the snow was still blowing and icy patches were all over the place.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered. He picked up the phone when he heard his dad calling his name.
"Look, I can't talk now–"
"What does Sam mean, 'it's in the car'?"
"Exactly what he said. It follows Adam around, looking for a chance to get him," Dean said.
"And you can't see it?"
"Only the target can see–" Dean stopped. He didn't have time for this. "I can't explain it right now," he said instead. "I have to get Adam back to his house where he feels safe. It's the only way to fight it off."
Dean practically heard his dad growl in annoyance. There were echoes of it in his voice when he spoke. "This is bullshit. I'm going to check some sources, see what they have to say."
"Fine, whatever," Dean muttered into his phone but his dad had already hung up. "Adam, buddy. How you doing?"
"You're in trouble because of me, aren't you," the kid said in a small voice.
"What? No," Sam scoffed.
Adam didn't buy it. He gave a little gasp, as if he was going to start crying again. "Your dad was really mad," he said. Dean heard the kid's breathing pick up speed and become tight and shallow. "I'm messing it up for you."
Aw, shit! He should've known John's voice would carry. "Screw Dad," Dean said without thinking. But hearing those words come out of his mouth… It drove all thought out of his mind for a moment.
"Dad's usually angry," Sam said quietly, covering up Dean's sudden silence. "It's got nothing to do with you."
Dean took a shuddering breath and refocused on the present. "Sam's right, Dad's attitude is nothing to do with you and this situation."
"He doesn't want me," Adam replied. His voice was weak and beaten down.
"He just doesn't like surprises," Dean said. It was an understatement of epic proportions.
"Besides, we want you," Sam added. "And we're the ones who are here, not Dad."
Adam gave a dry, scratchy sniff and Dean echoed it unconsciously. Then he did it again more carefully. There was a smell… Like a long-empty room, filled with dust and decay. The Impala slid over a patch of black ice and pulled Dean's attention back to the physical world.
"You don't know me," Adam said. Dean glanced into the rearview. The kid was shrinking back, trying to disappear into the seat. "How can you care?"
"You're our brother, that's how," Sam said. "That means something to us." All Dean could do was nod in agreement. He was going too fast for the road conditions, but they were still an hour out of Windom. He pushed on the gas pedal just a little bit more.
Adam shook his head. His breathing was ragged, painful, and fucking scary to listen to.
"You say that now, but you didn't want me at first. What if you don't want me later?" he asked. "You'll leave me, too, won't you? Everybody leaves."
"Dean!" Sam's voice was panicked. "I think he's turning grey."
"Goddamn it!" Dean hissed. They weren't going to make Windom.
With a quick glance into the rear-view, Dean swerved onto the shoulder, sliding just a little, before he threw the car into park. He twisted over the top of the seat and gripped Adam's small shoulder, forcing the kid to look at him. "Whatever that little fucker is saying, ignore it. It wants you to feel unloved and all that crap. Hell, it needs you to feel that way, so it can get what it wants." He softened his grip, but didn't let go. "Okay, so finding out about you was a shock, but it's cool now—we're cool now. We're brothers, and we take care of each other."
"You just want the house."
"Christ, no, kid," Dean said fervently. "I've lived nearly sixteen years without one–
"And I've never had one," Sam interjected.
"It's going to be weird as hell to have a second floor."
"And utility bills," Sam added. "And taxes."
"So no, we don't want you for your house," Dean finished. There was enough light from a nearby interchange to see into the back, but Dean couldn't tell if the grey was fading. He looked at Sam. Sam shook his head—the grey wasn't fading. He already knew Adam's breathing wasn't any better, and when he breathed the musty smell was heavy in his lungs.
He let go of Adam and slid back down into the seat. As quick as he could, Dean got out of the car, opened the back door and got in next to his little brother, ignoring the snow crystals being blown around like little spikes. Sam had already shifted so that Adam would be sandwiched between them. Dean threw his arm over the back, enfolding both of his siblings in the loose embrace.
He shut the door and let the Impala enfold them.
"This is where we grew up," Dean said. "This car… It's always been ours. I used to hold Sammy in my lap when he was still in diapers in this back seat. I used to sit here, too. Where Dad could see us in the rearview mirror. I changed his diapers on this very upholstery, but don't worry," he grinned. "We've sterilized it since then."
Adam looked at them, eyes wide, disbelieving, mouth open while he struggled to get a full breath.
Sam picked up on Dean's lead like the bright kid he was. "We put Legos in the vent. They were supposed to make it sound like a playing card in the spokes of a bicycle, but they just rattle."
"Dad was angry with us then, too." Dean laughed, a little forced, but pretty good.
"Dean peed on the tires once," Sam said in a conspiratorial whisper.
Dean jerked forward. "You're not telling him that story."
His protest allowed Sam to lean into Adam. "He wanted to mark the car as 'his' territory, like a dog or a cat."
"Did it work?" Adam asked, wide-eyed.
Sam laughed. "I have no idea, because Dad made him scrub the tires."
Dean shrugged. "I still got the car," he said. He looked down at Adam. Specifically, he looked where Sam had a tight grip on Adam's hand. Adam wasn't any better. In fact, even in the dim light of the nearby interchange, it was easy to see he was worse. His breathing was horrible—like listening to sandpaper going over cement.
"It's talking to you isn't it?"
Adam turned to look in front of him—not at the front seat, but right there by his legs. The freaking thing was right in Adam's face. The kid was going to die if Dean couldn't figure this out. He had to make Adam not believe what the Hollow Child was telling him—break that connection, make the kid rethink.
"Adam! C'mon, look at me, man." He put a hand on Adam's tiny, seven-year-old leg. "Hey, listen to me! You know it has to make you feel bad. It can't get at you unless you're miserable. So to do that it's going to tell you a lot of awful things that we could be thinking, or nasty thing we could do, but none of it is real; none of it is true."
"It's trying to make me feel bad?" Adam asked.
Dean nodded. "Yeah, kid. It's trying to make you feel bad. It can't get you if you feel wanted or safe or… you know."
"He means loved," Sam said.
"Yeah, that," Dean agreed, because it was easier than trying to say it. "You're supposed to feel alone, but you're not. You're supposed to be unwanted, but you're not. Not even if Sam and I weren't here," Dead said, looking down at his little brother. "Deputy Joe likes you a whole bunch. If we hadn't showed up, he'd've looked after you."
"He's not my mom." Adam's voice was back to being shaky and watery. He was probably crying again.
"Nobody can replace your mom," Dean said softly.
"I don't remember our mother," Sam said into the quiet. "She died when I was a baby." Adam looked at him in horror. "I didn't need a mother," Sam continued solemnly. "I had Dean."
"Hey!" Sam ducked Dean's indignant swat. "I am not a mom."
Sam was laughing lightly. "He's not, but he is an awesome big brother—not as awesome as he thinks he is, but still pretty cool." Dean's mock hurt "Sammy!" brought watery giggles from Adam. Dean looked quickly down at the kid's hand, still nestled in Sam's much larger paw. The color contrast wasn't as big this time. He took a deep breath—still stale but with only a hint of musty. The old fries smell was seeping back.
"You know," Sam said. 'In all this mess, nobody's asked you what you want to do. Your mom left you the house, and everybody assumed you want to live there, but, I dunno, maybe you'd like to come on the road with us?" Dean looked at Sam, heard him offer to give up his dream of a stable home and a (mostly) normal life.
Sam was, he decided, an awesome big brother too.
Of course, he couldn't say that. Instead, he followed Sammy's lead, for once. "You could live in our house," he said, waving a hand around the interior of the Impala.
Adam looked around. His breathing was still rapid, but it wasn't as shallow as before. "This isn't a house."
"Sure it is," Dean stated with flat certainty. "It's more of a home than that rat's ass apartment we had in Lincoln. I mean, you noticed the smell in that place. Now compare that to the smell of my baby."
Dean nearly cheered when Adam joined him for a deep, long breath. There was hardly any stink from the Hollow Child left, so they breathed in the smell of leather and gas, and old food wrappers laid on top of the cleaner Dean had used last. He wondered if it smelled as wonderful to Adam as it did to him.
Probably not, he decided. Life in a car—even a '67 Impala—wasn't for everyone.
"You have to keep in mind; she's not at her best right now. Middle of winter, it's too cold to do more than wash the salt off her," Dean rambled defensively. "In spring, though, I'll give her a real good scrub-down. Get a bucket of soapy water, drag that one over to help." A jerk of the chin indicated Sam, who rolled his eyes and sighed long-sufferingly. "And now, I suppose, you too. We'll wash her all up; give her a nice wax and polish. Then we'll tackle the inside, vacuuming and buffing 'til she sparkles."
"He calls me a geek, but Dean can talk about the car for hours," Sam whispered to Adam in a whisper that was meant to be heard.
"It's really your home?" Adam asked, looking at Sam. His breathing was better, still rough but no longer those rough, shallow pants.
"Yeah, I guess," Sam answered with a shrug. "Aside from Dad, Dean, and hunting, it's been the only constant in our lives. Oh, and I turn fifteen this year!"
Sam looked over at Dean who scowled at him. Sam's smile widened.
Adam looked between the two of them. "Why's that important?"
"Yeah, Dean," Sam said still smiling. "Why's turning fifteen important?"
Dean scowled harder. "Because he can get his learner's permit at fifteen."
"Then I'll get to drive, which means I get to pick the music, which means we can listen to music that was recorded after 1980."
"I listen to good stuff," Dean protested. "You like my music, don't you, Adam?" Dean looked down at his littlest brother and tried his best 'Sammy eyes' on the kid. It wasn't a success: Adam just shrugged.
"We could listen to stuff Adam liked," Sam suggested. "What do you like?"
Again, Adam shrugged, looking nervous.
"Come on," Dean urged. "You gotta have a favorite band. Who's that guy? Who sings the Bahamas pajamas song with the puppets?" Sam stared blankly at him. "We caught him on TV once. He did Rapunzel with a mohawk—that was cool."
Adam looked at him, looked at Sam, then he looked down at his hands—his completely normal colored hands. "I like Weird Al."
"Weird Al," Dean nodded. "Weird Al's okay. Better than Sammy's emo-pseudo rock. We'll put on Weird Al when the sun shines and we'll bring out the buckets and chamois, and afterwards, we'll go for ice cream."
"That sounds good to me," said Sam. "We could have barbeque after, too. Does that sound like fun?"
"Yeah," Adam said, and his voice was almost back to normal, thank Christ. "But I like sleeping in my own bed. I have stars on my ceiling—they glow." Dean put on a suitably impressed face.
"You'll have to let him carve his initials next to ours," Sam said. "After all, he is a Winchester."
"I'm a Milligan," Adam argued, pulling his hand from Sam's, but it was okay.
"M. W." Sam said. "Flip 'em over and they're exactly the same. Isn't that right, Dean?"
Sam stared at him, but Dean didn't need the nudge to agree. He looked down at Adam, his brother, as he said it. And Adam, healthy and safe, nodded his head.
Adam looked from him to Sam then back again, mouth open, eyes uncertain. Dean didn't know what he finally saw in their faces, but he suddenly smiled at them. "M comes before W, means I get to be first," he stated happily.
Dean was about to disabuse Adam of the notion—alphabetical order did not trump birth order—when Sam caught his eye and shook his head. His younger brother flicked his eyes down at their youngest bro, and Dean looked and saw. Adam was animated, happy. He sniffed the air, breathing deeply, checking it. The 'unused space' smell was gone. Lost under the familiar scent of the Impala, which meant the Hollow Child was gone.
For now.
It had targeted Adam, and according to Jim, it wouldn't stop trying for the youngest Winchester until Adam hit puberty. They'd have to protect the kid for at least five more years, Dean realized. They'd have to live in Windom the whole time.
Five years.
Dad wouldn't be pleased, he knew, but as he looked over at his brothers singing some Weird Al song, Dean repeated to himself what he'd said earlier: Screw Dad. Family—all the family—came first.
End of story.