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They told him that even though he was different, it was okay.
Ever since he was little he’d felt different. Some of his family had strange teeth, others disappeared when the moon changed, and some could change their appearance. And while, yeah, he couldn’t do those things because he was just regular old Dean–they still took care of him and fed him and took him to school and raised him. And he saved the world by hunting monsters. And he was good at what he did.
These monsters, they did their research for sure, because they always knew what weapons to bring and what kind of knives to use and what bullets to shoot when they came after his family. But all Dean had to know was where to shoot a bullet and how to aim a knife. Because nothing came for his family and walked away untouched, unscathed.
Because they had saved him, given him another chance, he would forever return the favor.
See, when he was little there was a fire–a fire that should have claimed him. But while he was outside with the lights flashing and a tall man with a baby and a blonde woman who somehow got out only with a few burn wounds before she was wheeled away and into one of the large red ambulances parked on the street. And a nice woman had taken him and taken care of him and given him a larger family. At first, he’d been confused because
what about his other family? He had a brother, Sammy! And a mommy and a daddy and they were going to the doctor to help mommy be okay!
But they told him they were bad people, that they didn’t really want him, and that they only felt bad for him.
He remembered when the Winchesters picked him up from the home though . . . Mary had had a bump in her belly that she had said would be baby Sammy, his little brother, and Dean had promised to be the best big brother
ever!
.
But then a nice lady had said that she was there to save him from the Winchesters, and, being four years old, he hadn’t known any better.
He moved around a lot, he noticed. He’d run into a kid with dark hair and dark eyes at school and then the demons of his family would panic and move him. He was homeschooled at one point by this really awesome one called Cora, and she was really nice and patient and taught him everything a school would teach him and more. And then Mara and Cole would make sure he was skilled in the ways of hunting. And Regan was like a mom to him–she taught him life skills like how to cook and clean and how to ride a bike. But she also played video games with him, board games, and card games. She made him his favorite pie and took him out for burgers and bacon. Or just drove him around. Let him be a kid rather than a student or a hunter. And his time balanced well.
Sometimes, when he didn’t want to talk, Regan wouldn’t yell at him or beg him to or flash her strangely black eyes at him. So when he had things he wanted to say but didn’t want to talk, she would say it for him. She always knew exactly what he wanted to say.
He knew that the demons needed hosts, people they could ‘possess’ so they could walk around Earth. And while, yes, he understood that it meant that some of these people were trapped inside their own bodies, Dean selfishly thought that if it meant he could have his big, happy family, then so be it.
He, Regan, Mara, Cole and Cora against the world.
Yeah, there were more, sure, he had more family. But the five of them stuck together. Always did.
He picked up on cars fast–Cole would teach him about cars when he wasn’t training him, and now Dean knew cars inside out, forward and backward. Could probably fix one with his eyes closed. Or blind . . . the latter of which he’d done, courtesy of a monster, those evil people called Hunters that come after his family on a regular basis. It had gone away eventually, but his family had been so mad . . .
No pun intended, but it was not a pretty sight.
They’d reluctantly started letting him go on hunts alone when he was eighteen, so long as he checked in and told them he was okay, or still alive, at least. And it’s the funniest thing, when he turned eighteen he started to be able to hear this . . .
tingling
, for lack of a better word, in his head. It rang a lot when he was around his family, telling him
dangerdangerDANGER!
about the people who had always brought him comfort. The ones who raised him. And sometimes when he got into little scrapes, out of the corner of his eye he’d see a yellowish-white glow and then the scrape would be gone. And once, he
swears
he flung a Hunter off of him without so much as touching him because he hadn’t been able to move.
He tried not to dwell on those things, and he didn’t tell his family.
Sometimes the Hunters would recognize him, or pretend to, anyway, because Dean didn’t know any Hunters–they’d call him ‘Dean Winchester, the Winchesters missing kid’. But he hadn’t been Dean Winchester in a long time. Never really had, actually.
But apparently, Hunters must have a bulletin or a freakin’ newsletter or something because more and more Hunters started hunting
him.
In fact, one got so close that, while he was on a rare hunt with the ones he trusted most–Regan, Mara, Cole, and Cora–the Hunter that had caught them hadn’t been easy on them. There were no known ways to kill demons, at least, not that anyone
knew
of–and Dean knew that his four demon friends hadn’t hurt anyone–they were inhabiting the bodies of comatose patients or people from the morgue!
But the Hunter had been ruthless with the knives and the Holy Water that something in Dean just . . .
snapped.
He’d broken free from where the Hunter had him held (he’d been trying to escape anyway) hostage and gone absolutely manic and out of his mind with anger at the Hunters that hurt his family like that.
They left alive, but not without a beating and learning a lesson or two from Dean Prescott.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
They’d almost taken his mother from right above his head when he was just six months old, a
baby
, and, yeah, that upset him, made him angry, But the fact that they’d taken his brother–especially right out from under their noses after the fire that nearly claimed their mom–well. That royally
pissed
him off.
His mom was back now, somehow, like a cruel twist of fate. All of the doctors had been stumped at her survival of the fire.
You must lose your brother forever but here’s your mom, though, haha. Joke’s on Sammy Winchester once again.
She tried to come to terms with it for a while, about the fact that her oldest boy was missing. She even took them to family group therapy sessions up until the point where John got so fed up–he’d already been drinking more, Sam presumed to deal with the guilt that came with letting one of his sons be taken right from under him that night–that he and Mary had argued, packed up their stuff and hit the road. Sam hasn’t seen his house in months, his brother in years, and every day he increasingly continues to blame his father.
So Sam didn’t have much to do with them anymore. He didn’t even know if his parents were still on the road, still looking for his brother. He didn’t even know if they knew that he was going to school at Stanford, had a girlfriend, and was still deeply involved in a case that law enforcement declared cold years ago.
“Sam?” Jessica says from the passenger seat of the Impala. All Sam can think about when he drives it is how it should be Dean in the driver's seat and him on the passenger side.
“Yeah?” he replies softly, offering his girlfriend a small reassuring smile as he continued to cruise down whatever backroad they were on now. Unfortunately after one of the very few leads he’d picked up on about Dean had surfaced he’d had to tell Jess what was going on, and that she should stay at the apartment and he’d be back soon, but she’d insisted on going, and now they were in all online classes but on a registered break as of now while they travelled the country to find him.
“I–” she starts, then swallows. “Nothing. Nevermind.” she says instead, but Sam understands the tone of voice.
So many questions, so little answers, and no words to ask them with. What if this, what if that . . .
“We’ll find him.” Sam tells her determinedly, and somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks it’s kind of funny that he’s reassuring
her
about finding
his
brother.
“I know,” she replies. “but . . . how can we be sure that what we find will be a hundred percent the
real
Dean?”
“There’s ways to figure that kind of stuff out.”
“And if he’s not?”
Sam swallows, silence hanging over them for a long, seemingly stretched out moment. “Then we’ll fix it.”
Jessica stays silent, and Sam sighs. “Look, I don’t want you to think that I’m choosing him over you–”
“I don’t,” she answers in all honesty. “He's your brother. And I know if it were one of my family members I would be searching in every place I could. I mean, I’d probably sell my soul if that were possible.”
Sam pulls over on the grass on the side of the road and slams on the brakes of the Impala. He hadn’t even asked when he took the car, he just threw the weapons out of the trunk in a fit of rage, packed his stuff in the newly-emptied area, hopped in the driver’s seat and and drove off into the night, the midnight black beauty disappearing with him. He’d even gotten the license plate changed after he somehow ended up in California in case his parents tried to track him.
“Say that again.” he says, as both a question and a statement.
“That I’d sell my soul?” Jess repeats. “Sorry if I hit a sore spot, but it’s true. I’d be flipping the world upside-down and turning it inside out.”
“Jess, you’re a genius.” is all Sam says before he tears back onto the street and into the night.
“Sam, you’re not
actually
going to sell your soul,” Jessica asks increduously, the question sounding more like a sarcastic, disbelieving statement. “right?”
“No,” Sam replies, digging with dirty and freshly bloodied fingers into the gravel of the crossroads. “just gonna . . . use some skills I happen to have to
persuade
them for information.”
“Good, ‘cause I was just saying it as an expression. By the way, what’re you gonna do if they
don’t
give you clues?”
“Oh, they’ll give me what I want.” he says determinedly. “You got your charm on?”
Sam had given her a bracelet with all sorts of protective charms dangling from it when he’d had to tell her about his life. He wished and tried his hardest to keep her away from it, so they’d be safe, but sometimes the past comes back to bite. Or haunt. Or brings your missing brother into it when you never let the case grow cold.
When Sam eventually becomes a lawyer, it’s so over for everyone involved in both his brother’s disappearance as well as the people who worked the on the case before declaring it cold.
Jess holds up a fist and shakes her wrist, confirming to Sam that she indeed has the silver charm bracelet on. Sam had taken extreme measures and gotten an anti-possession symbol tattooed into the skin on his chest. He wouldn't be necessarily mad if Jess decided to do that as well, but he wasn't going to push her that far unless she wanted to. If he had his choice, though, she wouldn't be anywhere near all of this.
Sam nods and finishes burying one of his many fake IDs under the gravel in the dead center of the crossroads. Then he reaches into his back pocket for a folded piece of paper, opens it, and starts reciting the Latin words etched on the college-ruled paper.
“Who summons me and why?” a female voice shouts, trying to be intimidating, but he’s Sam freakin’ Winchester. Nice try.
“Over here.” Sam says flatly, and the girl turns to him, sees his face, and her mouth falls open, seemingly impressed.
“Oh, wow. Sam Winchester, right in front of my eyes. Gotta say, big fan. You’re a hot topic in Hell.”
“Oh, I’m sure.”
“So what brings you here? What could the great Sammy Winchester want from a Crossroads Demon like little old me?”
“Don’t call me Sammy.” he says. “And I want information.”
“Hm. Let me guess. A girl’s opinion on the best ways on how to propose to your girlfriend?”
“My brother.” he states, and her face drops immediately. “Now.”
She just looks at him. “Hm.” a pause, as if she’s pondering. “No.”
“No?”
“No,” she repeats. “I’m not at liberty to discuss to discuss that.”
“With me?”
“With anyone.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
She looks unbothered, smirking. “Both.”
“How about now?” Sam gives her a smirk of his own, pulling a gun on her. “Now
talk
.”