Chapter 1: Uncertain Identities
Chapter Text
Prologue
Four years ago …
Mikala had promised she would lead the other children onwards but she just couldn’t leave him behind, she had to make sure he was ok. Those beautiful eyes, that cheeky smile, it made her stomach churn in quite a different way to the horror of being kidnapped by a monster. So she left the other older boy to lead the smaller children onward and snuck back.
Heading deeper into the cave went against every instinct, but her mother had always called her stubborn. The only light was from a strange phosphorus glow that seemed to come from the walls. She took a deep breath, moving as quietly as she could despite the uneven ground.
There was a commotion up ahead. She hugged the wall and swallowed down the lump in her throat. She wanted her mother’s arms, her childhood teddy bear, her warm safe bed, but she forced herself to go on. The boy had faced down the unknown for them, had led them through fear with a whispered joke and a fierce certainty. She had to be brave, like the boy, for the boy.
now&then
Chapter 1: Uncertain Identities
John wasn’t coping well with the ‘compromise’ of leaving Dean at St Michael’s for now but keeping regular contact. He was liable to break something every time it was discussed. Sandra had tried to explain it was probably an act of self-preservation on Dean’s part. Having lost his family once, he didn’t want to go through it again. If he didn’t have a family, he couldn’t lose them. John had said she was nuts and if Dean thought that, he was too. But she’d just given him that superior smirk of hers and repeated her mantra to give Dean more time.
Despite Sandra’s advice, John had no intention of losing Dean again now that he had found him. While he’d capitulated to the boy’s request to back off and even allowed Bobby to take him and the other boys back home, it didn’t mean he hadn’t taken steps to ensure protection and monitoring for his firstborn.
In the meantime, he was mostly focused on finding out what had taken Dean in the first place. More useful than her advice on Dean, Sandra was slowly providing additional information from her client, even if it was vague and coming through in small snippets. Whatever it was, it seemed to take children to a cave and leave them there. It didn’t hurt or eat any of them and only intervened when they tried to leave. So what did it want?
Other than red eyes, they had nothing on a description. The only other clue they had was that it wiped the memory of itself from anyone it encountered.
“Why do I have a message saying Toby will be by to look at cars as soon as his relief arrives?” Bobby asked, glaring at John. John was almost hidden behind the pile of books he had surrounded himself with in Bobby’s library.
“He’s doing odd jobs at St. Michael’s. The place runs on fumes, so he ‘volunteered’ and I said we’d hook him up with a replacement for his Toyota as payment.”
“Why, what happened to his Toyota?”
“Troll,” John said, shifting a large book aside to locate his notebook.
“Idjit,” Bobby shook his head. “You put Toby in? Why not Phil?”
“Dean doesn’t know him,” John shrugged.
“Dean doesn’t know Dean, you think he’ll remember some random hunter he saw once in passing six years ago?”
John stared at him for a moment. He’d been so focused on not wanting Dean to know they were keeping tabs on him, the obvious had completely escaped him. “Well Toby won’t know Dean either,” he covered. They had agreed not to tell even their trusted circle about locating Dean until things were more settled. With the best intentions, one of them might scare the boy off for good.
“Who exactly does Toby think he’s watching?” Bobby asked shrewdly.
“Potential heir to a family curse.”
Bobby eyed his man appreciatively at the choice. It was the perfect cover story. “Who’s relieving him?”
“Joshua,” John said. “He’s recovering from a nasty encounter with a wendigo. I figured he could put his feet up in that building opposite St Michael’s as well as anywhere else.” He put down the pile of books and sighed. “Are the boys still keeping in touch with him?”
Bobby nodded. “Adam calls weekly,” he said. “Sammy’s struggling though.” Sam had sent a few things at first, a couple of books and a letter, but getting nothing back was taking its toll and Bobby had told him to leave it a bit, then try again. He was already thinking of suggesting a road trip to their favourite camping ground. It would take them right past, and they could drop in for a visit.
now&then
Despite the distance, John was confident in the watch he’d set up over his son, especially as he went there himself every chance he got. This was partly to check up on things but mostly to reassure himself it was real, Dean was there and he was safe. It was disconcerting therefore when, several weeks after they returned home, he was woken in the middle of the night, to find a soaking wet Dean on the doorstep without so much as a head’s up.
John was caught between worry and suspicion as he stepped aside to let Dean cross the salt line. As the thunder rumbled outside and the wind rattled the windows, he led the boy beneath the devil’s trap to the kitchen where he handed him some water and put on the coffee machine.
The kid passed every test without a shiver. Well actually, he couldn’t stop shivering but that was because his clothes were wet through, and his hair was plastered to his head. He had obviously traipsed miles through the storm to knock on their door in the early hours of the morning.
“Sorry,” Dean stuttered, eyeing the small puddle that was starting to form where he was standing.
“Don’t go worrying yourself about a bit of water,” Bobby said, appearing through a doorway behind him and dropping a towel over his shoulders. His eyes ran over the boy’s face with a concerned frown as he came around the front to hand him a second towel. Dean had already wrapped the shoulder one tighter around himself and took the second offering gratefully, wiping at his face.
Bobby guided him into a chair. “Are you hurt?”
Dean shook his head, another strong shudder shaking his frame.
“You in trouble?” There was no judgement or censure in the question.
Again, Dean shook his head.
Bobby pulled out another chair so he could sit right in front of Dean.
“Alright mime-boy. This is gonna take a long time if we have to twenty-questions it out of you and by then you might have caught pneumonia.”
“I’m fine,” Dean said automatically despite another shudder interrupting his attempt to dismiss their concern. John pushed a hot cup of coffee into the boy’s hands, his gaze firmly stating that Dean needed to start talking. Dean gripped it gratefully and took a deep breath. “It’s not me.”
Bobby shifted a little closer, nodding for the boy to continue.
“It’s one of the boys.”
“At St Michael’s?” John had leaned against the counter, one leg crossed over the other, his arms folded, his eyes fixed on his son.
“Yes. No. I mean he was, but he got adopted a while ago.” Dean was avoiding his eye but pressed on. “His parents, his new parents, showed up at St Michael's yesterday looking for him.”
John shifted slightly but Bobby held up a hand to forestall any comment or question.
“The police think he ran away, they’re barely even bothered,” a small snort escaped Dean. “Not for one of us.” He ran the towel over his head, mopping up the drips that had formed at the ends of his hair since his last sweep. “But he told his new mom that his old mom had come to get him. Well, he left a note, she showed it to me.”
“And you don’t think it was his mom?” John asked sceptically.
Dean threw a challenging glare at him. “You tell me. She’s been dead for five years.”
John and Bobby shared a look, at least that explained why he’d come to them.
By keeping the lines of communication open, they had hoped he might reach out once he’d had a little more time; once they were able to become more familiar to him, or if some memories eventually shook loose. They had not expected him to show up in the middle of the night with a case.
“This is your area of expertise, right?” Dean nudged when they didn’t respond. There was something slightly manic in his eyes. Like the midnight dash in torrential rain, it showed that, however sceptical he might be, Dean was really worried about this boy.
“You came to the right place, Kiddo,” Bobby reassured. “First things first, you need to thaw out and put on some dry clothes.” Dean’s shifty eyes gave him away. “I’m sure we can find something for you to put on while we dry yours.”
With a little more nudging Dean went up to use the shower, coming out to find John had left him some sweats and a hoodie on the bed. When he went back downstairs, John and Bobby were looking at the computer screen. Bobby had taken the basics - name, date of birth, parents’ names - for the boy in question so they could get started while Dean showered.
They settled in much the same positions they had been in before Dean had gone up; John leaning against the counter, Bobby and Dean sitting at the table facing each other.
“He never talked about it much,” Dean explained, as the sun started to rise outside. He had been filling them in more on what he knew of Benji between mouthfuls of the soup that had been heated for him. “The house they found him in was pretty much a crack-den. Bunch of people all piled in getting high. His mom got hooked through a boyfriend who moved in, then the boyfriend moved a bunch of his friends in. When she OD’d one of them at least had the decency to call an ambulance. It was too late for her, but it meant they found Benji and got him out of there.”
“Sounds like you know more than the official report.” You could guess a lot of it, reading between the lines, but Bobby didn’t think that was how Dean knew about it.
“He’d wake up crying so I’d sit and talk to him. I guess he told me more than most,” Dean shrugged.
Their conversation was interrupted when a Tasmanian devil hurtled into the room, latching on to Dean fiercely.
“I knew I heard your voice.”
“Hey, Adam,” Dean said fondly, giving the boy a brief squeeze before detaching him. The cold nose of an Australian shepherd squeezed between them, poking curiously at the new arrival.
“I told them you’d come,” Adam said, with an ‘I told you so’ look, across the room. In the doorway, Sam was watching silently.
“Hey, Sam,” Dean said, slightly more caution in his voice than when he’d greeted the younger boy.
Sam gave him a tight smile. Only Dad ever called him Sammy anymore and Sam usually grumbled when he did. Yet somehow, he constantly expected Dean to do so – memory or not – and it hurt every time he didn’t. “Hi,” he managed to grunt out before moving to the coffee pot.
Dean’s attention was brought back to the enthusiastic curiosity of the mottle-faced dog who seemed to be trying to climb onto his lap.
“Come on Laelaps,” Adam said, pulling him back with difficulty and dragging him out to the yard for his morning business.
“So, do you think it’s her ghost or whatever?” Dean asked, returning to the topic Adam’s arrival had interrupted. “I mean aren’t they supposed to stay in the house they died in? Not kidnap kids from Alaska.”
Dean’s emotional investment in both the case and the missing child was clear. John and Bobby knew they’d have to tread carefully.
“Ghosts are usually tied to something but it’s not always a location. Sometimes it’s part of themselves, like a lock of hair, or an object, something of sentimental value. Occasionally it’s even a person,” Bobby explained.
“So she could have been haunting Benji this whole time?” Dean frowned, then shook his head. “No way, he’d have told me.” He was 100% certain of that.
“Even if it is a ghost, sometimes it takes them a while. Piercing the veil ain’t easy. It’s possible she only just managed to make contact.”
“What do you mean even if it’s a ghost? What else would it be?”
“There are a lot of things that can alter their form or a person’s perception. Especially as a means of luring them in,” John said.
“Yeah, shifters, skinwalkers, changelings, ghouls –” Sam’s list was cut off by his father’s firm hand on his shoulder.
“Let’s leave the speculation until we know more.” John let his pride show in his eyes as he smiled down at his son. He knew Sam was rightfully proud of his research skills and knowledge, but Dean was already overwhelmed. Adam reappeared and started filling a bowl with kibble. John pulled Sam in beside him and left an arm slung over his shoulders. “Dean, you should get some rest,” he said.
“I’m coming with you to find Benji.”
“I figured,” John smiled at him. “But we’ve got more research to do and you need sleep. There may not be much opportunity once we get on the road. Do we need to let anyone know where you are?”
Dean shook his head. “I left a note.”
“So did Benji,” Bobby chided gently. “I’ll call Barbara, let her know you arrived safely.”
“You can use my bed,” Adam said excitedly, grabbing Dean’s hand and pulling him towards the door.
Bobby and John shared a smile as they heard Adam’s animated chatter fading up the stairs. John then looked at Sam who had moved to read the computer screen.
“You ok, Kiddo?”
Sam swallowed and took a breath before he spoke. “I think a ghost is best-case-scenario, and unlikely.” He had picked his words carefully. If all they found was remains of this missing kid, they may lose Dean forever. “I’ll start on the books.”
“You want some breakfast?” Bobby asked, getting up.
Sam shrugged and disappeared into the library.
now&then
The adults had left the kitchen, dragging an unwilling Adam with them, the youngest boy hadn’t washed or even brushed his teeth and they were determined he was going to do both. Sam came through with the empty plate from the breakfast Bobby had forced upon him just as Dean reappeared from upstairs.
Dean felt instantly uncomfortable. Being alone with Sam always seemed to make him feel that way – like he was doing something he shouldn’t or not doing something he should. He glanced around the room. Part of him wanted to just leave, but the bigger part of him knew Benji needed help and that was more important.
“You want coffee?” Sam asked, having just refilled the machine. Dean nodded.
He sat at the table, looking at the notes that John and Bobby had left there while Sam washed up his dish waiting for the coffee to brew. The notes were more about Benji than what might have taken him. Bobby had printed out the CPS file Sam had accessed, though he’d given the boy a stern glare about how he’d accessed it.
Flicking through the pages, Dean recalled how John and Bobby had changed the subject when the issue of ‘what’ had come up. He was used to that, adults thinking not telling you anything was better than telling you the truth. But Sam seemed to have lots of ideas about what was going on. Horrifying, terrifying ideas, but still, ideas.
“I know you told me … about the other stuff,” Dean said hesitantly when Sam finally handed him a cup of coffee, “but after I saw that ghost, I guess I just … focused on that.”
Sam nodded, understanding what the older boy was saying. Sam’s dads had tried to ‘protect’ him from a lot of information too. It had always just frustrated him.
“Hang on.” Sam went to the foot of the stairs and checked that his dads weren’t about to come back. “Follow me.” He took Dean into Bobby’s office which doubled as the lore library, and very gently closed the door. “Take a look.” He waved his hand over the books.
Dean frowned sceptically, the room was chaotically cluttered with piles of old, tattered books, some of which looked like they were on the verge of falling apart, and Dean wasn’t sure what he was letting himself in for.
A while later, he turned another page of the book he was flicking through, it was the third of a big pile. “All of these things are real?” he asked Sam.
“Some are,” Sam confirmed. “Some are extinct, some are just made up stories. We don’t always know until we get a case and start looking into it, hence the books.” He had returned to the research he’d been doing while Dean slept and barely glanced up at the question.
“All these things, they … well it doesn’t turn out well for the people they come into contact with.” Dean looked at Sam. “Do you think Benji is dead?”
Sam put down his book and looked properly at Dean. “We have a rule,” he said sympathetically. “No one is dead until we know they are.”
Dean stared at him.
Sam blanched.
They both looked away from each other and an awkward silence fell heavily over the room. Sam wanted to do something to make it better but he had no idea what.
It was Dean that eventually broke the silence. “You weren’t completely wrong,” he said. “I mean, the person you knew, he is gone.”
“Not entirely,” Sam corrected.
Dean frowned deeply but Sam continued. “Seems to me like some parts of him are still around.”
“Like what?”
“You snuck out, hitchhiked across two states, and walked miles in a storm because someone you care about is in trouble. You’ll do whatever it takes to help them, even talk to us,” Sam shrugged off the part where they both knew Dean would rather not have done so. “It’s a total Dean move.”
Dean chewed on this for a moment. As his face became darker, Sam mitigated.
“I’m not saying you’re him, I know you’re not, it’s just,” he looked for a way to explain, “you have things in common, good things.” Sadness shadowed the younger boy’s face.
Dean was sympathetic. “I’m sorry that I’m not … that I couldn’t …”
“It’s ok,” Sam pulled himself together. “You were right, I was asking you to be someone you’re not, that wasn’t fair, I just …”
“You miss him,” Dean stated.
“Every day.”
Dean nodded. He wasn’t going to say it, it might give the boy false hope, but sometimes he thought he missed him too. Or at least he missed knowing who he was, the life he’d had before everything went blank.
“You can miss something you don’t remember,” Sam said, as if he’d read Dean’s mind. Dean’s gaze was questioning and Sam explained. “I don’t remember my mom, I was only six months old when she died. But I still miss her.”
“Oh, yeah,” Dean suddenly remembered what Sam had told him about their history. “Sorry.”
The door slid open with a squeak. Both boys jumped slightly and looked up guiltily. Bobby took in the scene and raised a severe eyebrow at Sam.
“I made him show me,” Dean said quickly. “I wanted to know more about what you guys do.”
Bobby kept his eyes on Sam, not looking convinced.
“I did, I swear,” Dean pushed on. “I know how to incapacitate a guy, you know.”
“Maybe those soft kids at St Michael’s, but I doubt you could take Sammy out,” John said, joining them.
Sam let out a grunt of annoyance regarding the childish version of his name. Dean looked at him curiously. Sam just shrugged. “I train a lot. I took down a ghoul by myself on the last hunt I went on.”
Dean looked around the other people in the room. “Ghoul?”
“They’re –” Sam started but Bobby interrupted him.
“Not what we’re dealing with here. Let’s focus on what we are.”
Dean closed the book in front of him sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“It’s natural to be curious,” John said, trying to ease the tension. “But when there’s a job to do, we have to focus. Time is always a factor.” The mood in the room changed and Dean looked worriedly at the man he thought most likely to give him a straight answer.
“Benji’s been missing for days already.” The question was clearly implied in the statement as he looked desperately at John.
John’s all-business mask slipped slightly. “Yes, but whatever took him took its time. It visited several times and talked him into going with it, that means there is a good chance he’s still alive.”
The hunters in the room knew that was actually not a guarantee of anything. They also knew you couldn’t give in to worst case scenarios if you wanted to get the job done, a lesson Dean’s current presence was bringing home hard.
now&then
Chapter 2: Something's Missing
Chapter Text
Chapter 2: Something’s Missing
“Caleb’s on his way,” John told them that evening. They had researched all day and soon it would be time to get on the road. Caleb, a fellow hunter and friend, was en route to stay with Adam. The youngster wasn’t happy at being left behind, especially after John announced that Sam would be going with them. He rallied a little however upon hearing who his babysitter was going to be.
Bobby pulled John aside as Adam launched into tales of the mischief he and Caleb had gotten up to last time the hunter was left in charge of the eight-year-old.
“Are you sure about this?” Bobby asked quietly, once they were in the hallway.
“What? Caleb? Relax Bobby, it was only a small fire. Nothing was destroyed. They’ll be ok, he’s never –”
“No, I mean Sam.”
John sighed and looked into the worried eyes of his partner. “Losing Dean was hard for all of us, but we both know it was hardest on Sammy. Finding him again has been the same. This case may be the best way for them to spend some time together, get to know each other, without the pressure for them to be brothers.”
It was true that Sam showing Dean how to research, questioning him on what he knew of Benji and explaining how even the slightest detail could help them narrow down what had taken him, had been the most comfortable the two older boys had been together.
“Sometimes I forget there’s a smart man under all that scruff and bravado,” Bobby brushed John’s stubble lightly and smirked.
“You’re one to talk about scruff,” John said with mock affront, as he flicked Bobby’s tatty baseball cap.
“Dad, I think I found –” Sam stopped as he saw them huddled in the hallway. “Everything alright?”
“Everything is fine, Son. What have you got?”
Sam’s eyes flicked between his two dads for a moment, checking for truthfulness, but then he pressed on. “Another disappearance in that area, I think. I mean it’s not officially a missing persons case but there is this ad in the local paper.” He held out a page he’d printed off the computer. It said: ‘have you seen this man’ and had a picture of a young man probably in his late teens. “Looks like someone has run it for three weeks so far.”
John glanced at the few printed lines. Last seen … concerned friends and family … “If he’s legally an adult and there is no sign of foul play the police might not look into it. All predators are good at identifying the ones that can be taken with minimal fuss.” He nodded approvingly at his son. “Well spotted Sam, it’s worth looking into.”
“There’s a number, I’ll give them a call.” Bobby took the page. “What’s the pretext?”
“Given the advert, I’d go with reporter. We can follow up when we get there if it looks like there is anything to it.”
now&then
Caleb bounded into the house as was his way. Despite being over four times Adam’s age, it was hard to say who was the more mature when they left him and the eight-year-old together. When not hunting, Caleb was like a giant puppy; playful, always jumping around creating noise and havoc, and always far too pleased with himself over the chaos he caused. But he did it in such an endearing way his friends always forgave him.
And, despite his playfulness, he was still a hunter and a good one at that. They trusted him. A little chaos was a small price to pay for knowing their son was with someone that not only would but could protect Adam with his life.
Adam squealed with delight to see him and immediately started suggesting projects from fort building to smores.
“I promised your dads no more fires but I’m sure we’ll think of something just as fun.” Caleb ruffled the boy’s hair.
“And just as sugar fuelled, no doubt,” John grumbled good naturedly as he put out a hand to shake his friend’s.
Caleb grinned at him. “So what’s the job? Must be something special if you’re taking Sam-the-Man.”
“Erm, yeah, about that –” Bobby started.
But Adam cut him off. “It’s not Sam’s case, it’s Dean’s.”
Caleb’s eyes widened, all playfulness fell from his face and he became deadly serious. “You got a lead?”
“No, we got –” Adam started but John’s large hand covered his mouth, cutting him off.
“They got me,” Dean said, entering the room. He’d overheard the conversation and thought it better to get his presence out of the way.
If anyone’s jaw could have literally hit the floor, it would’ve been Caleb’s. “Dean?” He reached a hand forward.
But Dean backed away. “Not exactly,” he said, eyeing the man warily.
Bobby stepped between them, facing Caleb.
“You look like you need a beer,” he said, indicating the way.
They moved through to the kitchen so Bobby could fill Caleb in on the essentials, leaving Dean and John standing awkwardly.
“You can probably release the Damn now,” Dean finally said, indicating the way John’s hand was still covering half the young boy’s face.
now&then
It was a while later that Caleb worked his way through the house looking for Dean, eventually locating him in the library. The teen was trying to return the books Sam had dug out for him back to their right shelves. It wasn’t easy since he had been unable to determine exactly what organisational system Bobby used.
“Hey,” Caleb said. “Sorry about before. I’m Caleb.” He held out a hand. “I knew … that is, I’m a family friend.”
Dean eyed him for a moment then accepted the hand and shook. “Dean,” he said.
Caleb’s eyes were inspecting Dean’s face intently. Dean coughed and indicated their hands where Caleb had not let go.
“Sorry,” Caleb said, pulling back from both the shake and the intrusion.
“Don’t worry, I’m used to it. Happens a lot when you look this good.” Dean smirked stiffly, giving the man an out. Then he turned his back. As long as he could remember, which ok wasn’t that long but –, people had stared at him. He was a freak; it came with the territory. He might not like it much but if he was fair, if he suddenly saw someone he recognised after all these years, he’d stare too.
Caleb seemed to have recovered himself and chuckled, making Dean turn back surprised. He’d expected the man to leave him alone now he’d done his whole ‘let me look at you’ bit.
“So, tell me about yourself,” Caleb said, perching on the edge of Bobby’s desk. “What do you like to do?”
Caleb’s smile was friendly, but Dean felt cornered. All he knew was this guy babysat Adam and apparently started fires when left unsupervised. “Well, I just spent the last three years in a home for abused and abandoned boys so what I like is when kids are properly looked after by a responsible adult.”
Caleb’s grin slipped and he nodded seriously. “Yeah, I bet that’s true. And then finding out about your old life and everything, you must think we’re all a bunch of punks.”
Dean didn’t say anything.
“But you still came here when you needed help,” Caleb pointed out. “Because some things only a bunch of punks like us can help with.” He scratched his stubble, through which a long thin scar was just visible. “And because that’s what we do as a job, when we’re on our downtime some of us like to find the joy, wherever we can.” Dean backed down a little and Caleb continued more gently. “Look I get that you may have heard some stuff about me but I promise, not Adam, not Sam, not even you – despite how you’re looking at me right now – would ever be in danger in my presence.”
Dean could see it; the strength, the bravery, the protectiveness that was not just a desire to protect but the ability also. The man was right; it was why he came to them. And, as much as he tried to resist it, there was something in them that appealed to him. He gave a single curt nod.
now&then
John pulled up to the curb outside the address they had for Benji’s family. Dean was sitting stiffly in the passenger seat, staring at the house. It wasn’t fancy but it looked homely. The lawn was cared for and a bright display of flowers grew in neat beds.
“You up for this?” John asked quietly.
Dean didn’t respond right away. His eyes were still fixed on the house. Finally, he gave a quick nod and reached for the door handle.
“How well do you know these people?” John asked as they approached the walkway.
“I don’t really,” Dean admitted, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. “I’ve only met them a couple of times. But they’re good people. I know that.”
John shot him a look. He’d wanted to know how well they knew Dean, and therefore how they were likely to react to him turning up on their doorstep, but he let it slide. No point pressing when they were already here.
Dean stepped forward and rang the bell. They heard quick footsteps moving inside and then the door flew open. For a heartbeat, the face of the woman standing in the doorway was alight with expectation, but when she saw Dean she froze, then the hope drained from her eyes. She stared at him, disappointment warring with confusion until hope flickered again, this time thinner, more desperate.
“Kid,” she breathed. “Did he call you? Have you seen him?”
Dean swallowed hard. “No, ma’am.” His voice caught, and he had to clear his throat. “We’ve come to help. To look for Benji.”
“We?” she echoed, and only then did she seem to notice the tall figure behind Dean.
John stepped forward. “My name’s John. I’m a private investigator. I specialise in cases like Benji’s.” His voice was calm, reassuring. “Can we come in?”
Her eyes darted between them. “We can’t afford a private investigator.”
“This one’s pro bono,” John said with a small smile. “Dean helped me and my partner out on a case a while back. When he asked for a favour, we were happy to say yes.”
“Dean?” she asked, puzzled. “I thought –”
Dean gave an awkward shrug. “I picked a name, that’s all.”
She smiled, a little dazed. “Oh, well, good for you.”
They lingered for a moment in the doorway, all of them caught in the awkward stillness.
“Perhaps we could come in,” John nudged gently, “and speak to you and your husband?”
“Right. Sorry. Of course.” She stepped aside, gesturing them in.
As they entered the living room, a man had already risen from the armchair and was waiting expectantly.
“What is it? Is it Benji?” he asked urgently.
“Mark, this is John. John, my husband, Mark, and I’m Marian by the way.”
“Are you with the police?” Mark frowned sceptically at John’s casual attire.
“John is a private investigator,” Marian explained.
“A PI?” He seemed to withdraw a little. “Look, I don’t know what your game is, but the police are handling this. We don’t need amateurs muddying the waters.” He suddenly spotted Dean. “Wait, Kid?”
Dean nodded.
Mark’s tone softened. “I appreciate you want to help, young man, but you should go back to St. Michael’s where you are safe.”
“I’m not here to step on anyone’s toes,” John said calmly. “But please at least hear me out.”
Mark hesitated. Marian looked at him, silently pleading. Finally, he gave a small, reluctant nod.
“Would you like some tea?” Marian said, her hands wavering uncertainly.
Dean stepped forward. “Why don’t I make it,” he offered. “John might have questions for you.”
Marian blinked at him. “Oh. Thank you.” She seemed to collapse into the nearest chair, her hands still twitching, like she wanted to grab something but didn’t know what.
In the kitchen, Dean found the kettle and mugs, grateful for something to do. On the fridge there was a hand-drawn picture stuck with a magnet. He swallowed the knot in his throat, recognising Benji’s style.
As the noise from the kettle reduced, the voices from the living room drifted through.
“I really don’t think we should risk interfering with the official investigation,” Mr Thompson was saying. “It is best to leave it to the police.”
“With all due respect, sir,” John said evenly, “it never hurts to have a few more people looking. I know the system. I know how many cases fall through the cracks.”
“And what exactly makes you better than trained investigators?” Mark snapped, his nerves already frayed to breaking point.
There was a pause as John let some of the tension in the air dissipate. Then he spoke calmly. “For a start I’m not bound by the same red tape. I’m fully focused without a bunch of other cases waiting. And I’ve found missing kids before when the police have given up.”
As Mark frowned, John’s eyes wandered across the room, taking in the small personal touches. His gaze caught on a framed photo on the mantle, a candid shot of Mark and Benji beside an old Dodge, grease on their hands and twin grins on their faces. John’s breath caught. He had a picture just like it of him and Dean, a lifetime ago, beside the Impala, both proud and filthy, caught mid-laugh by Sam. It had lived in his wallet for years and was now folded and faded, blurred by time and grief. When he spoke again, his voice was low and rough with emotion.
“Look, I get that you don’t know me, but I know what you’re going through. Four years ago, my son disappeared.” Dean froze, kettle in hand, suddenly unsure if he should even be listening. John continued. “I lost my father as a boy, fought in a war, then I lost my wife. I thought I knew pain, devastation,” the rawness of John’s voice rooted Dean to the spot, “but when he disappeared it was like I couldn’t breathe, like something vital had been torn out of me.”
“Did you find him?” Marian asked breathlessly.
In the kitchen, Dean felt his hands shake and he quietly put down the kettle.
“Sort of.” John said softly, his voice working its way back from the brink. “I haven’t got him back, but I know where he is and that he’s safe.” He cleared his throat, sounding almost normal now, though he was still keeping his voice down. “I’ll never stop hoping, trying, but for now that has to be enough.”
Dean finished making the tea and was careful to clear his throat as he entered the room again. He set the mugs down carefully on the coffee table not looking at John who was leaning back in his seat.
“I’d like to see Benji’s room,” Dean said, turning his attention to Marian. He and John had agreed he would ask this before they arrived. Now seemed as good a time as any, especially as he wasn’t sure he could look John in the eye at the moment. “He was so excited about it.”
“Of course.” She stood. “I’ll show you.”
Dean followed her up the narrow staircase. Her steps were hesitant, as though she was unsure whether she was escorting a guest or allowing a stranger to pry into her home.
“Benji always said that everyone looked up to you,” she said softly as they reached the landing. “Him especially.”
Dean shrugged uncomfortably. He’d sometimes felt like a momma duck the way the younger boys would follow him around. The hallway smelled faintly of something flowery. Pictures lined one wall like a timeline: Mr and Mrs Thompson at their wedding, on holiday somewhere with umbrella decorated drinks, at a barbeque. And a new one, the two of them with Benji, all three smiling in the sun. The next part of the wall was empty, awaiting the next memory. Dean looked away from it and asked with his eyes which way to go.
Benji’s room was only partly filled. It was not empty by any means, it was just that the accumulation of a life was still being gathered. Bookcases were not yet full, shelves were not yet cluttered. However, there were a couple of posters on the wall and a desk, with scattered Lego where homework should be. Marian lingered at the door as Dean stepped in and looked around. Someone, probably Marian, had straightened the bed after it was last vacated.
“He was always talking about you,” she said softly. “Said you helped him a lot.”
Dean gave a faint, embarrassed smile. “He helped me too.”
There was a small, framed picture by the bed. Dean picked it up. It was Benji’s mom. It was slightly creased and faded but Dean knew it was the only one of her he had. When he put it back, he became aware Marian was studying him.
“Do you really trust this PI?” she asked.
“Yes,” Dean said simply. “John’s really good at what he does. If anyone can find Benji, he can.”
“He seems like a good man. To take the time to help us, without even asking for payment, especially when his own son is …” she hesitated, not sure what the circumstances were and how much Dean knew. “His son,” she said hesitantly. “Was that what you helped him with?”
“No,” Dean said a little too quickly. “I mean, I would, but …”
Marian reached out and gently squeezed Dean’s shoulder, smiling sadly. “Not knowing where Benji is, if he’s ok, it’s agony. But even if I knew he was safe somewhere, every fibre of my being would just want him here, with me.”
“You’re right,” he nodded. “I’ve been thinking, actually,” he said quietly, “that once we’ve found Benji, I might,” he swallowed. “I might try and help John with that.” Dean shifted, uncomfortably. “I mean, it seems like he really misses him.”
Downstairs, John was still sitting with Mr. Thompson, who seemed to have relaxed a little but not enough to be on board with this plan. When Dean and Marian entered the room, it took no more than a shared glance for Dean and John to agree it was time to leave.
John stood and looked at the Thompsons. “Let us look into it. If we find anything, we’ll call you.”
Mr. Thompson opened his mouth to argue but his wife gently touched his arm. “Please, let them try.”
Mr. Thompson looked up into her pleading eyes then begrudgingly nodded. “Fine. As long as you inform the police and keep them, and us, updated with anything you find.”
John nodded. “Of course.”
As they stepped out of the house the midday sun was hiding behind a few sparse clouds. Dean glanced over his shoulder at the shadows covering the bright flowers in the window box.
“He’s not even her real son, but she loves him so much,” he said quietly.
John snorted. “Yeah, Bobby always says – family don’t end in blood.” He gave Dean a side-glance. “And he’s right. He’s been a better father to my boys than me over the years.”
“You don’t seem so bad,” Dean offered him.
“I have my moments,” John agreed. “And based on what I got from Mr Thompson, you were right to come to us.”
Dean didn’t answer. They reached the car and climbed in. It was only as John started the engine that Dean finally spoke. “Yeah, I think I was.”
John wasn’t sure if that was a good review on his parenting or just as a hunter, but for now he’d take what he could get.
now&then
The sun was high in the sky by the time Bobby and Sam reached the community centre. There was a worn patch of land – half a field, half a stretch of woods – behind the building where local kids liked to hang out after school. It wasn’t much, just a few bits of rusting playground equipment and a half-collapsed basketball hoop.
Bobby leaned against his truck. “I’ll keep an eye from here.”
Sam nodded and headed into the field, trying not to look as awkward as he felt. He wasn’t great with other kids. He kept his hands in his pockets and his shoulders low.
“Hey,” he called as he approached a group of four who were sitting on the climbing frame and yelling the occasional insult at another group of kids playing soccer. “Anyone here know Benji?”
One of the boys, a lanky kid with red hair, jumped down. “Why? You friends with him?” he asked, suspiciously.
“Yeah,” Sam said, putting his own shoulders back. “Sort of. I’m trying to help find him.”
The boy inspected Sam who stood firm. “Yeah. We know Benji,” the boy admitted, hostility notching down.
“I just wondered if he said anything before he went missing?” Sam asked. The other kids, behind lanky, exchanged wary glances. “Something weird, maybe?” Sam pushed
The lanky boy shrugged, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck.
A sensation crawled over Sam’s skin and from the corner of his eye, he spotted a figure standing in the shade of the trees, watching them. The figure was familiar and, automatically, he sort-of leaned that way. His heart started hammering. Dean.
The other kids had all stiffened, eyes flicking to one another.
“Don’t,” a girl said, suddenly appearing beside him. She had a cluster of smaller children following her like ducklings. “Whoever you think that is, it’s not them.”
Sam turned sharply. “What do you mean?”
“I thought it was my grandma at first,” she said, “but she’s been dead two years. Greg thought it looked like his uncle.” The lanky boy scowled at her but didn’t dispute it. “We’ve all seen someone. But they never come close. They just watch.” Her voice dropped. “They want us to go to them.”
Sam stared back at the treeline; the figure had gone. He turned to the kids. “And Benji?”
One of the other boys looked at his friends who were all avoiding Sam’s eye, then spoke up. “He saw his mom. His real mom,” he whispered. “He spoke to her.”
“Apparently she told him that he’d been lied to.” The lanky boy, Greg, took over, relieving the smaller boy of the responsibility. “She said that she’d been sick but she was okay now and wanted him to come home.” He shook his head. “But that didn’t make sense because he told me she was dead. Like… for real. He saw her die.” He shuddered.
now&then
Bobby rubbed his chin as they drove back towards the motel.
“So, we’re looking for something that changes shape? A shifter, maybe.”
“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “But this feels different. I think it’s psychic or something.”
“Are all the people it appears as dead?”
Sam shook his head. Dean wasn’t dead, even if he wasn’t Dean. “One of the boys saw his uncle who’s not dead, though maybe he should be. He’s in prison at least,” Sam scowled. The boy hadn’t said what his uncle had done, exactly, but the implication was there.
Bobby was mulling it over. “So maybe it doesn’t change shape but perception. Dean told us that Benji used to dream about his mom, about her coming back, then that’s what showed up.”
“So it’s reading their minds, or emotions maybe?” Sam’s face was grim. “Benji told his friends that he didn’t want to go. That he loved his new family. Apparently his ‘real’ mom said he’d been lied to, that she’d gotten clean and wanted him back. But he knew she was dead!”
“Yeah,” Bobby said.
“If he knew, why did he go?” People who should know better abandoning those who loved them was something of a theme in Sam’s life right now.
“Sometimes a person, kids especially, can be so pulled by what they want to be true, they are willing to doubt what they know is true. And this thing is using that, twisting their longing,” Bobby said disgustedly.
Sam took a deep breath and focused on the road ahead. “For me it was Dean,” he said quietly. “I mean, I knew it wasn’t,” he added defensively even though Bobby hadn’t said anything. “It was weird. It wasn’t Kid, and it wasn’t old Dean either, so …” Sam huffed and turned his head to stare out of the side window.
They drove the rest of the way in silence.
now&then
Chapter 3: Some Quality Brother Time
Chapter Text
Chapter 3: Some Quality Brother Time
Bobby pulled into the lot of the Misty Horizons Motel. The place looked like it needed knocking down more than fixing up. Sam climbed out stiffly, glancing over at the Impala parked in front of the row of dilapidated rooms. John was leaning against it with his arms folded, Dean standing nearby sipping coffee that was bad enough to make him grimace but not bad enough to stop him drinking it.
Sam followed Bobby over to them.
“Classy,” Bobby muttered, giving John a look.
For John, as long as the place was cheap and the right distance from the job – neither too close nor too far – he didn’t think much beyond that. “I got us a room,” he said, holding up a single key.
“Seriously?” Bobby shook his head.
“Now what?” John snapped.
Bobby narrowed his eyes. Something was off. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” he said, jerking his chin away from the boys and starting to walk. John followed him several spaces away where they hoped the sound of the passing traffic would keep their conversation private.
The two men had their heads together, voices low but tense. Dean watched them for a moment. “What’s that about?” he asked Sam.
Sam shrugged.
“Lover’s tiff?” Dean pushed with a grin and an eyebrow wiggle.
“They argue sometimes,” Sam said flatly. “But it rarely gets too –”
He was cut off by Bobby’s voice exploding across the parking lot. “Damn it, John, don’t make me fill you full of buckshot!”
Dean, mid-sip, snorted coffee through his nose, coughing and spluttering as it sprayed across his shirt. The argument paused and everyone looked at Dean, whose eyes were watering as he tried to get himself under control. John’s brow furrowed at Dean and when Dean avoided his gaze with a smirk, John caught the boy’s train of thought. He shook his head.
Sam shifted awkwardly. “What?” he asked finally, glancing between his father and Dean, who was busy wiping coffee from his shirt.
“Nothing,” John said firmly, walking back towards them.
Dean was still smirking.
“What’s so funny?” Sam demanded.
"You might be a whiz at creepyology or whatever," Dean said, grinning. "But it looks like you skipped a few crucial lessons in other areas. Don't worry, I'm here to tutor."
“Try it,” John warned, voice low. But some of the tension had left his shoulders.
Bobby threw Dean a look that clearly said ‘don’t’, then turned to John again. He spoke quietly, but the boys could hear him.
“Just tell me what crawled up your ass.”
John ran a hand over his head. “I don’t want to leave Sam and Dean alone in a room together.”
“What? I’m sure they’ll …” Then it clicked. It hadn’t even occurred to him. The circumstances now were completely different, and both boys were older, but he could picture it – vividly: A slightly younger John, pushing down his qualms as he bid his boys goodbye and closed a door behind him, thinking he was keeping his babies safe while he went to do what he had to do. And then opening that same door a few days later to a nightmare. Of course this had brought up that memory.
Sam had become very interested in the passing cars, and Dean had wandered a few steps away to stare at a worn poster for some town event that had happened months ago.
“I just think they’re better in with us,” John said tersely.
Bobby stared for a moment then nodded sympathetically. “I’m on it.” He headed to reception without another word and, a few minutes of awkward waiting later, he returned with two keycards.
“Double for us,” he said, handing one to John, “and a twin next door for the boys.” He handed the other to Sam.
John frowned slightly, and Bobby patted his shoulder. “There’s an adjoining door. You can still hover without everyone having to see you in your skivvies.”
Sam was watching them, his shoulders full of tension. John looked like he wasn’t sure whether to punch Bobby.
“Thanks for that image,” Dean said with a theatrical shudder which made Bobby chuckle. Sam grinned reluctantly and John snatched the key with bad grace.
now&then
Sam and Dean disappeared into their room where Sam started pulling things from his bag, still clearly chewing on the earlier exchange. Dean dropped onto the other bed and reached over to pick up the printout of Benji’s CPS file.
“Alright. I’ve got to know, how the hell did you get this?”
“I broke into the system,” Sam said, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Easier than picking a lock.”
Dean perked up. “Wait, you’re a hacker?”
“It’s not like that. I mean, I can, but I only do it for cases and stuff. It’s not hard, especially for non-financial systems. Places like the CPS run on ancient software and most of the people in charge are Dad’s age. He can barely work the VCR.”
Dean barked a laugh. “Okay, fair. So how did you learn?”
“Computer camp.”
Dean blinked. “What sort of camp was it – Future Criminals of America?”
“It’s not like it was on the curriculum but as they say, you learn as much from your peers as your teachers,” Sam smirked.
Dean whistled. “Well aren’t you full of surprises. I thought you were more AV club than club juvie,” he teased.
“You don’t know the half of it, though that was the closest I ever got to getting arrested,” Sam said. Dean silently asked the question and Sam explained. “The other guys got caught hacking into the DMV to make themselves fake licences. Since the councillors knew I’d been hanging out with them, they searched my stuff too and found my notes on SQL code injections. They reported us all to the police. Dad was furious.”
Dean winced. “Yikes. Why weren’t you trying to make a fake ID too?”
“What for?” Sam shrugged. “I already have three.”
now&then
Hours later, Dean was laying back on his bed, absently flipping a pen between his fingers and humming some tune only his subconscious remembered. Sam was hunched at the small desk, reading with quiet focus, punctuated by the occasional tut at Dean’s incessant fidgeting and humming.
Dean had tried to help with the research but they both quickly realised, between getting distracted by the weirdness, grossness, or ludicrousness of the various monsters, and all the questions he had about the whole hunting business, he was more of a hindrance than a help. Eventually he’d backed off.
Dean let out a deep, deliberate sigh and Sam huffed, turning to look at him with an expression that clearly said, ‘spit it out or shut up’.
“I keep thinking about Benji’s folks,” Dean said. “His adoptive ones. They were wrecked, like something just ripped the heart right out of them.”
“Yeah, well something did.” Sam turned back to his book.
Dean frowned at what he saw as Sam’s single focus on the monsters, with little care for the people. “I mean, not knowing where he is, that has to be hell.”
“It is.” Sam aggressively turned a page, refusing to look up.
“It makes me sick,” Dean pressed, sitting up, “thinking of them not getting any answers.”
Sam slammed his book closed, letting the silence linger a moment before turning to glare at Dean. “You know what? I don’t get you.”
Dean blinked, taken off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ve been busting your ass trying to figure out what happened to this random kid. But when it comes to yourself, nothing.” Sam waved a frustrated hand. “You won’t even try to remember and you won’t let us try and help you get back what you lost.”
Dean blinked at him then lay back and turned his head to look at the ceiling again. “It’s not the same.”
“Isn’t it?” Sam shot back. “Because from where I’m sitting it looks exactly the same. Just swap out Benji for you, and his parents for us.”
Dean huffed but refused to respond or even look at Sam again.
Sam’s breath came quicker now. “Say we do find Benji, and he says, ‘You know what? It might not be real, but I’m okay here with fake monster mom. Tell my family tough luck.’ You’d be fine with that? You’d be all,” Sam put on a perky tone, “great, no problem, dude! Right?”
“Of course not!” Dean exploded, sitting up. “I’d never suggest a life with monsters over one without. And you know what? Anyone who would is seriously screwed in the head.”
“Oh, so that’s it. You’re scared of ghosts, so you'd rather live as some nobody than face it. We help people, Dean. We save people. But I guess unless it’s someone you care about, you don’t think that’s important, so screw it, huh?”
“Shut the hell up!” Dean barked, standing up. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Actually, I do,” Sam said, standing also. “I’m not the one who got memory-fucked and can’t even recognize myself in the mirror.”
“You’re about to get seriously fucked up, if you don’t watch it.” Dean moved closer to Sam.
“What’s wrong? Hit too close to home?” Sam sneered up into his face. “Oh right – you don’t have one. And you don’t even want one when it’s offered.”
Dean grabbed Sam’s shirt. “It’s not that simple, dickwad! What would you know about it?” For a moment it seemed like Dean might hit Sam. Instead, he breathed hard through his nose and let go of the shirt but didn’t back off. “You,” he stuck a finger in Sam’s face, “have no idea what it’s like to feel completely empty. Like someone sucked out all your insides. You have no idea what it is like to have absolutely no one, not even yourself, to depend on.”
“That’s my point. You could have someone,” Sam shouted, his arms flapping out to his sides in frustration. “You could have us, but you’re too selfish to even try!”
“Oh, I’m the selfish one?” Dean growled. “You only see what you want. If I’m not the guy whose whole life revolves around you, I’m not good enough.”
Bobby swung the door open, finding the two of them squared off, fists clenched, faces flushed with rage. He and John had heard the yelling through the wall. At first, they thought it might be better to let the boys hash it out but things had quickly escalated.
“Right. That’s enough!” he barked. “Sam, other room. Now.”
Sam hesitated, breathing hard, then took a sharp breath and obeyed. Bobby glanced at John and tilted his head towards Dean before stepping out and closing the door behind him.
John, startled at this turn of events, stared at the closed door for a moment before turning to face his firstborn. Dean hadn’t moved. His fingernails were digging into his palms, every muscle tense. John had the impression of an overstretched elastic band and was sure the slightest pressure in the wrong place would either break Dean or send him flying off out of sight.
He looked around for inspiration, his eyes falling on a cushion perched at a jaunty angle on a small corner chair. He grabbed it and moved in front of his son, holding it up. “Take a swing,” he said.
Dean blinked at him.
“Trust me, I’ll live. I’ve done this without padding.” John smirked at him. “Go ahead, take a swing. Take as many as you need.”
Dean hesitated, but anger overtook caution. He drove his fist into the cushion. Then again. And again. John adjusted his stance and grip as Dean let loose a flurry of punches. Eventually, his arms sagged to his sides, his chest was heaving and sweat shone on his red face.
John tossed the cushion aside and shook the feeling back into his hands. “Better?” he asked.
“Not really.”
John motioned to the bed. “Grab some mattress.”
Dean flopped back, expecting a lecture. But John just sat silently, watching him.
“Aren’t you gonna say something?” Dean eventually huffed.
“Are you expecting a warning about threatening Sam and calling him a – what was it?”
“Dickwad.” Dean admitted, gaze averted. He shrugged. “I mean, he’s your son, so I figured …”
“You’re both my sons and you’ve called each other worse.” John chuckled lightly. “Hell, it’s nothing compared to the things Bobby and I have called each other.” “But that’s family. You fight with each other and for each other. It’s about sticking it out, even when it’s messy.”
Dean blinked a few times, his throat thickening. “You think ‘messy’ covers this shitshow?”
“Language,” John chided.
Dean sat up to challenge him. “Oh, so I can call Sam a dickwad but not my life a shitshow?”
John chuckled, low and wry. “I’d say threatening to fuck him up was more of an issue.”
Dean gave a half-smile. “It was deserved.” But doubt flashed in his eyes.
“I’m sure he’d say the same about you.”
Dean nodded.
John leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Look, I know you’re pretty confused right now, and that’s ok.”
“Is this the part where you give me a pep talk?” Dean eyed him warily.
John leaned back, humour twitching his cheek. “Like what?”
“How the hell should I know? Some, ‘You’ve got this’ crap. Or a bit of, ‘This too shall pass’.”
John snorted. “I don’t know if you’ve got this. Hell, I don’t even know if I’ve got this. And as for things passing,” he gave Dean a wry look, “in my experience, that usually just makes room for more crap.”
Dean stared across the room. “Inspirational.”
John said nothing and after a moment Dean spoke again.
“I didn’t mean to go off on Sam like that,” he said, lifting a hand and watching himself make and unmake a fist. “But he doesn’t get it.” He turned to sit on the edge of the bed, propping his elbows on his knees and staring at his feet. “Some days I don’t even know if I’m real,” he said quietly. “I’ve got pieces, but they don’t add up to a whole person.”
John nodded slowly. “He gets it more than you think. He has missing pieces too. Some he can remember, some he can’t. He misses his brother. We all do. And I can tell you, when people miss someone, they can get desperate and they can get mean.”
“I’m not the guy he wants me to be,” Dean said. “Even if I was him once, I’ll probably never be again.”
“Maybe not,” John said quietly. “But you’re here. That counts for something.”
Dean stared at him, trying to gauge how much of that was wishful thinking and how much was truth. He lay back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling again. “Do you think Sam’s right?”
John paused. “I think you both made some good points. But mostly I think you’re both hurting. And that kills me. It kills me that I can’t fix it.”
Dean turned his head towards him. “Maybe it’s not your job to fix it.”
“The hell it isn’t,” John said.
Dean let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but there was no humour in it. “Do you always try to carry the weight of the whole damn world?”
John tilted his head; arms now crossed over his chest. “Ever hear the phrase pot-kettle?”
They sat in silence for a minute, the air still thick but no longer volatile.
John stood and stretched, bones creaking. “I’ll give you a minute. But when you’re ready you should talk to him. Shitshow or not, we’ve got a missing kid and you two need to be able to work together. All personal crap gets shelved while there’s a case to work and people to save.”
Dean nodded slowly. “Yeah. Okay.”
As John reached the door, he paused. “And Dean?”
Dean looked up.
“Whatever you are, whoever you are, you’re still my son. That hasn’t changed. That won’t ever change.”
Dean swallowed hard, then gave a barely perceptible nod.
John left, the door closing softly behind him.
now&then
Outside, Sam leaned against the Impala, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, staring up at the black sky.
Bobby came out and handed him a can of coke.
“Thanks,” Sam said, quietly.
They stood there a moment, sipping in silence. Above them, the motel lights buzzed faintly, like electric cicadas.
“You gonna say it?” Sam finally asked.
Bobby glanced over. “Say what?”
“That I was out of line. That I shouldn’t have pushed him.”
“I think you already know that,” Bobby said. “But I also think you’ve got a right to be mad.”
Sam’s mouth twisted. “I didn’t mean it to go that far.”
“You didn’t mean it not to either,” Bobby said knowingly. “You’re hurting. So is he. The trouble is, neither of you wants to admit it.”
Sam looked down. “I just want Dean back, not the shell that’s walking around wearing his face and pretending everything’s fine.”
“Then stop pretending too,” Bobby said. “I know compromise ain’t your bag, you take after your daddy too much for that, but you need to meet him in the middle. This is happening to both of you and neither of you caused it.”
Sam huffed, mad at himself for being mad. Bobby tried to hide his smirk. A car with the radio up passed and the deep base of music thumped through them for a few beats.
“I knew it wasn’t him,” Sam said eventually. “Even before that girl said it. I just … I wanted it to be. Which is so stupid!”
Bobby wasn’t entirely surprised that Sam’s mind had travelled back to the shadowy figure of Dean that he’d seen in the park, or that the subsequent blowup had happened. One ‘not-Dean’ was bad enough. “Sam –”
“I used to think I saw him everywhere,” Sam went on. “In crowds, at bus stops, standing across the street. I’d chase someone down and they’d turn around and … but it was never him.” His voice was raw. Even now, every single morning he woke and turned his head. Just for a moment, a split second, he expected to see Dean, then it passed.
“And now he’s here,” he continued. “And I know I should be grateful he’s alive and safe. But sometimes when I look at him, it just … it hurts more. It’s like having a missing limb and then seeing someone else walking around with it.” Sam laughed bitterly. “Isn’t that messed up? I finally got him back and it hurts worse than losing him.”
Bobby exhaled through his nose. “Salt in the wound?”
“Yeah.”
Sam was blinking hard and Bobby reached over, gripping his shoulder for a moment. “You know what salt’s used for, right?”
Sam frowned at him, confused. “Burning corpses?”
“Purifying. It stings like hell, but it cleans a wound. Helps it heal.”
Sam turned his face away and stared across the parking lot.
Bobby pressed on. “You’ve been bleeding out for years. Maybe this pain is what you need to start healing.”
Sam didn’t agree, but he didn’t argue either. “I just miss him.”
“I know you do, kiddo.”
It was quiet but for a couple of passing cars and the rumble of a train in the distance.
Sam turned. “So what do I do now?”
“You wait. And when he’s ready, you talk to him.” Bobby’s moustache quivered. “Though maybe try doing it like a brother rather than a pissed-off therapist.”
A reluctant smirk breached Sam’s mood.
now&then
Things were still tense when they sat down to dinner. Neither boy spoke, the argument from earlier having lost its fire but not its sting. They both sat, picking at their food, nursing guilt that was wearing the mask of anger.
Avoiding each other's eye, both boys reached for the ketchup at the same time. Neither was willing to back down, and a small tug-of-war started that resulted in the ketchup exploding. It splattered across the table, up John’s shirt, across his cheek, and into his hair in a wide, gruesome streak.
Everyone froze.
John stared down at himself in disbelief. A fat glob of ketchup slid from his cheek and landed with a wet plop on his lap. He blinked slowly.
A snort escaped Dean just as Sam choked. John's eyes were blazing as both boys failed to smother their amusement.
"He looks like he just got ganked by a condiment," Sam sniggered.
"Or like Carrie at the prom," Dean offered. Both boys fell into laughter as the image of teenaged-girl-John in a prom dress took hold.
John opened his mouth, retribution about to spew forth. But Bobby, who had been watching the entire scene with an amused smirk, rose from his chair before John could speak. "Alright, idjit. Let's get you cleaned up before you attract bugs." He tugged John away from the table, leaving the two boys alone.
As the laughter died, awkwardness settled back in.
Sam replayed the stupid fight in his head. The accusations, the bitterness. The stuff he’d thrown at Dean, it had been unfair. It wasn’t Dean’s fault he couldn’t remember. And honestly, Sam of all people should’ve understood that gnawing feeling of being pushed into being someone you didn’t recognise.
Hadn’t he fought tooth and nail to be Sam, not Sammy? Hadn’t he begged for a chance at a normal life, away from the family business? Hadn’t he wished, so many times, that his big brother would want that too?
And now Dean did want that, in his own way. And Sam … what? Resented him for it?
“I’m sorry I lost it earlier,” he said in a low voice. “I wasn’t trying to be a dick.”
“I think you were. I think I was too.” Dean picked up a fry and contemplated it for a moment. “But I’m sorry as well, for what I said.” He sighed. “The fact is, even if I thought I could be who you remember, I don’t know if I want to be.”
Sam swallowed down his pain and leant forward, trying to catch Dean’s evasive eye. “Then don’t be him. Be you. Just, maybe don’t keep shutting me out. Let me know you as you are now.”
Dean looked up cautiously. “Yeah, I guess I could do that.” He smirked. “I mean, you are clearly in need of someone cool in your life.”
A cough behind them let them know John had heard and was not amused.
Sam threw a fry at Dean. Dean caught it and popped it into his mouth with a grin.
When John and Bobby returned to the table, the conversation moved to the next steps of their investigation, but something had shifted. Not reconciliation or even acceptance, but maybe the beginnings of something that could lead to it.
now&then
Chapter 4: Unspoken Truths
Notes:
AN: Hello all, I hope you are all well and enjoying the story.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 4: Unspoken Truths
Bobby held the phone on speaker, his brow furrowed. "Sandra, you said you’ve got something for us?"
"Yes," Sandra replied, her voice low. "And there's something I should have told you before. Something important."
Sam leaned in.
"Dean wasn't taken by that thing, at least not in the way you think. Mikala said he arrived at the cave on his own and offered to get them out. I think he saw it take her, and he chose to follow.”
Sam's throat tightened. It didn't surprise him, not even a little, but it still hit hard. He’d been back at the room, waiting for his brother who never returned. He’d been so sure Dean had been dragged away from them, kicking and screaming. But he had chosen to go, to risk everything, even though Sam was waiting for him.
“I’m sorry I should have told you sooner,” Sandra was saying. But the voices were distant and muffled to Sam, who was too wrapped up in his own contemplations.
“So his memory?” Bobby asked.
“It looks like it happened when Dean was trying to get them out. Either that or he decided to confront the thing.”
“WHAT?”
The new voice yanked Sam back to the present and he turned quickly.
Dean was standing there, eyes sharp. “Is that about me?” he demanded, his voice somewhere between shock and anger.
Bobby nodded. “A friend of mine, Sandra, found another victim of the thing that took your memory,” he said quietly, standing. “You weren’t snatched by it. You tracked it down.”
“To save some children,” Sam added keenly.
Dean glanced around the faces looking at him, and at the phone, the line to Sandra still open. “I need a shower,” he said, retreating back into the room he was sharing with Sam and closing the door with a snap.
“I’m sorry,” Sandra said after the sound echoed down the line. “I should have told you everything from the start but I didn’t have all the information and –”
“It’s ok,” Bobby said quickly, before anyone else could speak. “Don’t suppose you know what it was?”
“I’m seeing Mikala again tomorrow. I think we’re nearly there. I should have more for you after that.”
“Thanks Sandra,” Bobby said. “We’ll be here for another day at least, but I’ll call you if we move. Good luck.”
“You too.” And she rang off.
now&then
Dean stepped out of the bathroom, wearing the old sweats he’d borrowed from John the night he arrived at the salvage yard. Spotting Sam waiting for him, he pulled back slightly and crossed his arms over his chest.
There was an uncomfortable pause. When Sam didn’t say anything, Dean broke the silence. “So you’ve been investigating me this whole time?”
Sam winced at the betrayed edge to Dean’s accusation. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Sure as hell sounded like it,” Dean snapped. “If you were going to go digging into my past, didn’t you think that was something you should maybe – I don’t know – ask me about? I’m barely figuring out who I am now. I don’t need a bunch of strangers telling me who I used to be.”
“It’s our past too,” Sam shot back before catching himself. He exhaled slowly and softened his tone. “Look, you don’t remember any of it and we didn’t want to push you. But we need to understand what happened.”
Dean’s mouth twisted. “Yeah? Well it feels like you’re treating me like some damn case file. Like I’m a puzzle to solve.”
“That’s not fair,” Sam said.
“Actually it might be,” John interjected quietly, stepping into the room. “He’s not wrong. We do want to fix it, fix him,” he turned his attention to Dean. “But even if we can’t, we have to know what happened.”
Dean turned away, jaw tight, arms folded harder across his chest. “Look, I know you lost your son,” he said. “And yeah, maybe you’ve got a right to know what happened to him. But –”
Silence prickled like static in the air. Dean stared at the floor, jaw flexing, a hundred thoughts storming behind his eyes. It was all too much.
“But now you’re saying I wasn’t some neglected kid, left to be a proxy parent to his innocent little brother by a revenge-obsessed dad, but some kind of superhero who ran into danger to save a bunch of kids?”
“Exactly,” Sam said proudly.
“No,” John said firmly. “You were both. You were neglected and you were an amazing big brother who raised Sammy almost on your own, because your father was too obsessed with revenge to be the dad you needed.”
Sam opened his mouth, a half-formed protest building in his eyes but John stopped him with a lift of his hand.
“It’s okay, Sam. It needs to be acknowledged.” He moved further into the room and sat on the end of the bed, facing Dean. “And instead of being bitter about it, you never complained.” John looked down at his hands, thumb brushing over the old wedding band that still circled his finger. “You looked after me and Sammy. You even risked your life to save a bunch of kids you didn’t even know.”
Dean stepped away, staring unseeingly out of the window.
John continued. “Doing that came at the cost of everything. Your home, your family, even yourself. And yet that part of you, that drive to help and protect people? It’s still there. You’re still the same amazing, brave, heroic kid.” He looked back up at Dean, gaze steady.
Dean swallowed hard. “I don’t remember any of it.”
John nodded slowly. “No. You don’t. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”
There was a long still moment, Dean processing while Sam and John exchanged nervous looks.
Finally, Dean cleared his throat and looked at them both. “Fine, if you really need to, you can unpack my fucked-up backstory later. But didn’t you say something about shoving down personal shit when there’s a case to work, someone to save?” There was a challenge in the raised eyebrow Dean aimed at John.
Sam frowned. He felt the twist in his gut again. He was starting to resent this kid and that wasn’t fair. Benji was missing and in danger. And still, Sam couldn’t help feeling that Dean cared more about some random kid than the brother he forgot. It wasn’t the kid’s fault. Sam knew that. But knowing didn’t stop the bitter thoughts. “Seriously, Benji?”
Dean stared at Sam defiantly. “He’s still out there. That thing, whatever it is, still has him.” He moved his gaze to John. “And right now, all I want to do is help him. I owe him that much.”
John studied him. “You don’t owe him anything, Dean.”
Dean shook his head. “I do. He’s my friend. He believed in me. Hell, he had more faith in me than I did when we met. I need to do this.”
There was a pause. Then John gave a nod. “Then let’s go find him.”
now&then
They found the body just beyond the tree line, half-buried in leaves and pine needles, barely more than skin, bones, and a weather-worn jacket.
Sam crouched beside it, squinting at the desiccated face. “I’m pretty sure it’s the missing man from the paper. From what I can tell, he matches the picture we got from the girl who posted the ads.”
Dean stood back, noticeably pale, refusing to come any closer. Sam didn’t blame him, he’d nearly gagged when they first found it. Though he suspected Dean’s avoidance was more about an emotional reaction than a physical one.
Bobby exhaled slowly. “Whatever took this guy dumped him here when it was done. There are no signs of a struggle or any other activity in the immediate vicinity.”
Dean blinked. “Is that what’s gonna happen to Benji?” His voice was low and hollow.
Sam hated the haunted look on Dean’s face. He swallowed down the ugly flicker of emotion in his chest. It was stupid to feel like this. Benji was an innocent kid. He straightened his spine. “No. We’ll find him.”
“This guy wasn’t a child.” Dean’s voice cracked as he vaguely indicated the corpse. “How the hell do we find something that can do that and stop it?”
John’s lip curled. “We learn everything we can about the son of a bitch, and then we kill it.”
They turned and started heading back. There was nothing more they could do for the victim; Bobby would call in an anonymous tip to make sure his remains were recovered.
“I think I know what we’re dealing with,” Bobby said as they approached the car. “Lost kids and people glimpsing loved ones in the woods, I’m pretty sure we’re dealing with a leshy.”
“I thought Leshy was some mythic forest god,” Dean said. They all stopped walking and turned to stare at him. “It was in one of those creepy books of yours,” he added with a shrug, avoiding eye contact.
Sam raised his eyebrows, not sure whether to be impressed or irritated that Dean had remembered the information when he’d missed it.
“So are most things we hunt,” Bobby replied. “Until they aren’t.” He gave Dean a grim smile and took the last few steps to reach the car. “And Leshy isn’t one being, it’s a species.” He pulled a leather-bound book from the trunk. “Think of them like forest vampires with a twisted sense of justice.”
He flipped to a worn page and showed them an illustration that was rough and old. An impossibly tall figure tangled in roots and leaves, antlered like a stag but humanoid in shape.
Sam frowned and took the book. He read aloud, “Leshy possess the ability to disguise themselves as any person, shifting size and shape at will. Known to misguide wanderers and abduct young ones by taking on the appearance of a familiar companion, Leshy are particularly drawn to children who were mistreated by their kin.”
Dean’s jaw was clenched. “Benji.”
Bobby nodded grimly. “They feed on emotional vulnerability. They use the victims own memories to become a fantasy version of someone who failed them. They use it to give them what they always wanted.”
“Somehow I doubt any of them fantasize about being eaten,” Dean muttered bitterly.
“They don’t eat flesh,” Bobby corrected. “They feed on the emotions – the love, the happiness. Once they’ve earned complete trust, they drain it all. Leave nothing but a husk.”
The sun was dipping lower, making the shadows from the forest stretch out towards them. Dean blanched.
“Which means Benji is probably still alive,” Sam said quickly. “From what his friends said, he’s doubting. That hesitation might be keeping the leshy from feeding.”
“But if Benji gives in, if he believes this leshy is actually his real mom …” Dean looked from face to face, hoping someone was going to tell him otherwise.
“We have to find Benji before he crosses that line,” Sam said grimly.
“We will,” John added.
Something in Dean’s chest twisted. The leshy preyed on memories. Half a plan was forming vaguely in his mind. Nothing solid, just a vague misty ghost of an idea. After all, he had no memories.
“Dean,” Sam said quietly, coming close to him. “You okay?”
Dean straightened. Yeah. I’m fine.”
But Sam wasn’t convinced.
now&then
Tension hung between Sam and Bobby as the motel room door clicked shut behind them, cutting the steady rumble of traffic down to a hum. The argument between Sam and John earlier still hung around the boy like a bad smell.
Sam had argued hard. Dean wasn’t ready to be back in the field. He had no memory, no training to rely on. Sam had more experience. Dad needed someone who actually knew what they were doing.
But Dean had scowled, like Sam was trying to hurt him rather than protect him. And John pulled his old trick of making his own call and listening to no arguments. Even Bobby was in Sam’s bad books, just because he had said nothing. Sam had been left out on the limb by himself and had been overruled.
He and Bobby had stopped at a roadside diner on the way back to the motel, half out of hunger, half out of habit. The place was a small, wood-panelled relic of the '60s, with moose antlers on the wall. As they’d waited for their food, a painting had caught Sam’s eye.
It hung on the far wall – a strange, unsettling figure. Humanoid in shape, but wrong. The limbs were too long, the skin a sickly, mottled grey. Its mouth gaped open in a black void of pointed teeth, its eyes were slashes in a stretched face, and they were blood-red.
“What is that?” Sam asked, nodding towards it as the server set down their drinks.
The woman, mid-forties with dyed red hair and a weary smile, followed his gaze. “Oh, that? That’s an Ijiraq.”
“A what?”
She smirked and lowered her voice as if spinning a campfire tale. “The stories say they are from the time of the Thule. Wanderers that got lost and could not find their way home. When they died, their spirits refused to go to Adlivun, instead reinhabiting the body they left. Now they are stuck in the in-between. Those who encounter an Ijiraq will the same fate, they will forget where they were going and how to get there.”
“Ijiraq,” Sam repeated, testing the word.
The server gave a small, nervous laugh and stepped back. “There are lots of stories like that around here. You shouldn’t take them too seriously.”
“So it’s a spirit inhabiting its own corpse?” Sam murmured, mostly to himself.
Her smile wavered when she saw the calculating glint in his eye. “I’ll just, uh… get your order.”
Now back at the motel, Sam sat cross-legged on the bed, flipping through a weathered tome on Arctic folklore. The rustle of pages and scratch of pen on paper filled the quiet between them, punctuated only by the occasional whoosh of headlights sweeping across the curtains. Bobby was sitting at the table nearby, flipping through notes on the leshy case.
“A lot of it fits,” Sam said.
Bobby looked up, expecting more on the leshy but started frowning as Sam continued.
“It says Ijiraq kidnap children and hide them in places no one can find. They are able to disorient their prey.”
Bobby’s voice was quiet but firm. “Sam, I told you, this is a leshy.”
“Not Benji, Dean. Get this, they make people forget where they’re going, even what home is. Then they abandon them. And, of course, the key detail, they’ve got red eyes.” Sam looked up, excitement flickering in his grin. “Sound familiar?”
“Sam.”
Sam stilled, sensing the tone.
“You know how this works. Just because one piece fits, it doesn’t mean it’s from the right puzzle. Force the wrong lore into place and you miss what’s actually going on.”
“I know,” Sam said, raking a hand through his hair. “But this … I don’t know. It’s a gut thing. It feels right.”
Bobby talked the tightrope, trying neither to crush real hope nor encourage false hope. “Ijiraq might confuse people, make them forget how to get home, but they don’t blank out whole lives. They don’t wipe your memory completely.”
“That we know of,” Sam countered. “But who’s to say the stories aren’t just fragments? Most of what’s written is accounts from long existing oral tradition.”
“Which means it’s even less reliable.” Bobby sat up straighter.
But Sam wasn’t listening, he’d started to get up, hand already reaching for his coat. “There’s probably a local library or museum. That woman said the myths were from around here –”
“Easy there, Indiana Jones,” Bobby said, holding up a hand. “One hunt at a time. Whatever happened to Dean happened years ago. Rushing to find out about it, won’t change anything. The leshy’s got a victim right now. That’s what we need to focus on.”
Sam sighed, letting himself collapse back onto the bed. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”
Bobby didn’t press. He knew Sam would never let anything happen to an innocent but he understood the kid wasn’t too happy to be playing second fiddle to Benji in Dean’s priorities right now. He watched as Sam’s fingers lingered over the Ijiraq pages before, reluctantly, he pushed them aside and pulled the leshy notes back towards him.
now&then
Dean followed a few paces behind John, eyes flicking between the twisted trunks and the dark hollows between them. Every rustle of leaves pulled at his nerves and he found even a conversation he really didn’t want to have was better than the silence.
“What you said before, about being a revenge obsessed father …” he started tentatively.
There was a slight hesitation in John’s steps before he pushed through the next bush. “Everything’s different now. Because of you, and because of Sam, and Adam and Bobby.” His voice was rough. “I’ve changed.”
They’d been hiking for what felt like hours and Dean stopped to catch his breath. His legs ached and sweat clung to his back despite the chill in the air. Finally, in a quiet voice, he asked, “And if I came back?”
John turned, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “No, Son. I wouldn’t go back to what I was before. I couldn’t.” He shook his head slowly. They had stopped at a rocky outcrop that looked no different from a dozen others they'd passed. John perched on another rock, opposite Dean. “Do I still want to find the thing that took your mother? Yeah. I do. But the price I’m willing to pay? That’s changed. Losing you opened my eyes and whatever choices you make, I won’t close them again.”
Dean stared at him for a long moment then looked away and reached for his water bottle.
John scanned their surroundings. “We’re close,” he said.
Dean frowned. “How can you tell?” He glanced around. Everything here looked the same, tangled underbrush, moss-covered stone, endless trees.
John bent over to a patch of low brush, dusting aside pine needles and leaf litter with practiced hands. Beneath the debris, barely visible, was a faint imprint of a foot, long and narrow, vaguely human, but subtly wrong.
“Patterns,” John said. “You start seeing them after enough years in the field.”
Dean squinted at the print, then towards the forest ahead. The trees looked darker there, as if the shadows thickened intentionally. “So now what?”
“We head back. Call Bobby. Put a plan together.”
Dean blinked. “But Benji’s out there now.”
“Dean,” John said, voice firm, “if we charge in blind, we could lose him for good. Or worse. It chose this spot for a reason, there’s no way in without it seeing us coming.”
Dean stood silent for a beat, jaw tight. Then he nodded slowly. “So we let it see us coming.”
John turned sharply, studying him. There was a calmness in Dean’s face that set something off in his gut. This wasn’t spontaneous.
“You’ve already thought this through,” John said flatly. “Spill it.”
Dean gave a shrug, casual on the surface, but his voice was determined. “You said it’s drawn to lost kids, right? Well, ultimate lost kid, right here.” He gestured to himself. “I’ll go in and draw its attention while you circle around and get the drop on it.”
John’s jaw clenched. “You want to be bait?”
“What’s it gonna do to me?” Dean countered. “You said it uses memories, twists ‘em around. I don’t have any. I’m immune.”
John’s eyes narrowed. “Really? Does that empty head of yours make you immune to teeth and claws too?”
“Maybe not. But I only need to put it off its game and buy you time.” Dean let out a bitter chuckle. “What’s the alternative? You as bait? I don’t even know if I can shoot straight.”
“You did fine with Gertrude’s ghost.”
“From a foot away. That was dumb luck.” Dean’s voice softened, but the edge remained. “Benji knows me, he'll trust me. If anyone can talk him away from that thing, it's me. Meanwhile, you're the one who can get the drop on it. I’m the dumb kid, you’re the hunter. My job is to be the bait; yours is to end it.”
John stared at him. “So you’re saying you’re expendable.”
Dean held his gaze. “I’m saying I trust you to get him out if I don’t.”
A long silence followed. John looked towards the tree line then back to Dean. Something flickered behind his eyes. “You sure about this?” he asked.
Dean nodded. “I need to do this.” He smirked wryly. “I’ll go wiggle like a little worm so you can stick a hook in its face.”
John snorted despite himself. “Just make sure you’re not still on the hook when I do.”
He shouldered his rifle and handed Dean his sidearm. “Iron rounds, silver tips. Won’t kill it, but it’ll slow it down if it gets too close.”
The cold weight of the gun settled into Dean’s palm. “Thanks.”
John placed a hand at the back of his son’s neck, a brief, grounding touch. “No hero crap. You find Benji. And if there's a way out, you take it.”
Dean gave a crooked grin. “Yes, Sir.” He threw a half-salute, the gesture loose and mocking, just enough to lighten the air.
John rolled his eyes. “Smartass.”
But Dean was already turning, striding into the trees with loud heavy steps. There was no attempt at stealth, he wanted to be heard.
John stood in the quiet, staring after him for a moment. But Dean didn’t look back. John exhaled slowly, turned, and disappeared in the opposite direction, the forest swallowing his silent movements.
now&then
Notes:
Thank you for reading, 3 more chapters of this one to go. Please do leave a comment, I love to hear what you all think xx
Chapter Text
Chapter 5: Woven Identities
The motel room was quiet except for the occasional rustle of papers.
Sam sat hunched at the table, jaw tight. Though he tried to stay focused on the leshy, his eyes drifted occasionally to the notes he’d made on the Ijiraq. Bobby sat across from him, a dog-eared notepad in his lap and a pile of open books beside him. He rubbed the back of his neck, exhausted.
“Anything?” Sam asked.
Bobby shook his head. “Not yet.”
He kept glancing at the clock, he should have heard from John by now. It was just reconnaissance.
As if on cue, the phone rang.
Bobby grabbed it, already on his feet. “John?”
“No, it’s me.” Sandra’s voice was quiet and tight with emotion. “I’ve got the full story,” she said. “Everything.”
Bobby felt his heart seize. His mouth went dry.
Sam stood immediately, eyes locking onto Bobby’s face. “What is it?”
Bobby slowly sat back down on the bed, the phone still pressed to his ear, his other hand braced against his knee.
“It’s Sandra.” He returned his attention to the phone. The line crackled faintly between them. “John and Dean are out looking for a trail.”
Sandra’s voice became stronger. “That might actually be for the best. Bobby, you need to hear this, then you can tell them.”
He swallowed down a bitter knot of dread and gave a slow, grim nod. “Yeah,” he said quietly. He put the phone on speaker. “Sam’s here. We’re listening.”
Sam pulled a chair closer, eyes wide, tense with the same mixture of hope and fear that had been coiled in his chest since this all began. He waited, needing to know but terrified of what it might be.
Sandra took a breath on the other end of the line. Then, she began.
Hours earlier – Sandra’s office.
Sandra sat across from Mikala, notebook on her lap, though she hadn’t written anything in several minutes. Mikala was on the couch, her feet tucked up under her, as she twirled a stand of her long hair around and around her finger. Their sessions had become more relaxed since Sandra had shown Mikala the photo – the moment she admitted she believed her and that she knew the boy who had saved her all those years ago.
“I’ve never told anyone this part,” Mikala said softly. “Not even back when I was trying to get someone to believe me.”
Sandra said nothing, just waited, her expression open, her presence steady.
Finally, Mikala looked up, eyes wet. “You said you knew him. The boy.”
Sandra nodded. “He’s the son of a friend. And they need to understand what happened.”
Mikala’s voice trembled. “It was my fault, you see.”
Sandra didn’t contradict her. Just offered a quiet, encouraging smile. So Mikala began.
The girl’s lip trembled for a second, then steadied. “The boy was leading us out, through the caves. I was scared … we all were. It was so dark but we stayed close. The water ran along the path, just like he said it would. We followed it.”
“But something happened?” Sandra prompted.
Mikala nodded. “We were halfway when I heard it, the thing, and so did he.”
“The boy?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes went unfocused, she was no longer in the office, she was somewhere else. “He froze, listening. Then he told me to take the others and keep going. To remember the plan: follow the water, follow the trees, go home.” Her voice cracked. “He went back. He didn’t want it to follow us.”
Sandra’s chest tightened. “You followed his instructions?”
“I tried.” Mikala wiped at her eyes. “I got the kids to the edge of the cave. We were almost out. But I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I told the biggest boy to keep going, to follow the crosses like he said, and I went back.”
She paused, taking a shaky breath. Sandra didn’t move.
“I didn’t want him to be alone.”
“You’re safe here,” Sandra said quietly. “You can tell me.”
Mikala closed her eyes, forcing the memory forward. “I found them. The boy and the monster. He was fighting it. He had this piece of pipe or something, and he was yelling at it, keeping it away from the cave entrance. He was bleeding, his arm was gashed, and he was limping, but he didn’t back down. But then … I didn’t mean to. It just … just happened.”
Her hands were shaking now, clenched tight in her lap.
“What happened, Mikala?”
She swallowed hard. “… I screamed.”
Mikala waited, expecting judgment. When she glanced up, Sandra was still calm, her gaze steady.
“I think anyone would have,” Sandra said gently.
Mikala nodded, almost grateful. “He had been avoiding its eyes. I didn’t get it then, but I do now. When I screamed, it broke his focus. He looked towards me, just for a second. That was all it needed.”
Sandra’s throat went dry. “And then?”
“It slammed him to the ground. Pinned him. Stared right into him.” Mikala’s voice was barely audible now. “It was like it was looking inside him. His eyes, his face.” She took a shaky breath. “He was convulsing. Screaming. Like it was peeling him apart from the inside.”
Sandra nodded, it would explain why Dean’s memory loss was so extreme. It was under attack, it was attacking back. It didn’t just confuse him, it dragged him partway into its world and left him there.
“I saw it happen.” Mikala shivered. “Somehow, he was able to move, just enough. He had a knife and stabbed it in the eye.”
Her voice dropped. “It shrieked. A sound that went right through me. Then it collapsed and went still.”
Sandra’s eyes were on her notes but she didn’t see them. She saw the scene the girl was describing: A boy lying in bloodied clothes, blinking up at the ceiling, shaking, not from pain, but from emptiness.
“I ran to him,” Mikala said, her voice tight.
A girl kneeling beside him.
“You did it,” she’d whispered.
He blinked.
“You stopped it. You saved us.”
“He didn’t say anything. Just looked at me like he was trying to figure out if I was real.”
Sandra forced herself back into the room and reached out, laying her hand gently over Mikala’s. “You got him out.”
“I reminded him of the plan. Follow the water. Follow the trees. Go home.” Her voice broke.
“He didn’t say anything?” Sandra asked.
“He seemed calm, like he knew what he was doing.”
“What happened next?”
“We got back to the others and followed the marked trees back to town. The others started to recognize places, names, streets. One by one, they left. Found their homes. The boy stayed with me until they were all gone. Then he smiled, said he was glad we were safe. And then…”
“He left?” Sandra asked softly.
Mikala nodded. “He just walked away.” Her eyes widened. “Oh God. It was a front, wasn’t it? He didn’t remember.” She stared at Sandra. “He didn’t remember any of it.”
“I’m afraid not, not even his own name,” Sandra admitted.
“I should have known.”
“How?” Sandra asked gently. “You can’t judge yourself by how you see it now. It is easy to see things differently when you are no longer young and scared and lost and in a cave with a strange boy and a dead monster,” she pointed out.
“But I let him just walk away. I should have stayed with him. Taken him home with me. I should have helped him.”
“You just did.” Sandra squeezed her hand. “More than you know.”
Outside, thunder cracked. Sandra quietly closed her notebook.
“Thank you, Mikala,” she said.
Back at the motel
There was a long silence after Sandra finished relaying the story. Bobby sat on the edge of the bed, head bowed.
“Damn,” he muttered at last. “I wish I could go back, grab that kid and knock some sense into him.”
Sandra chuckled. “Or you could just go back and save him.”
Bobby snorted. “Where’s the lesson in that? That boy never did have proper self-preservation instincts.” He shook his head. “Still … it fits. Sam found some research on Ijiraq, sounds like that’s what it was.” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “How’s your patient?”
“Guilty. Heartbroken. But I’ll keep working with her.”
“She’s got no reason to feel guilty,” Bobby said firmly, his voice rough with conviction. “The only one at fault was that monster. And it sounds like it got what it deserved.” He paused, eyes narrowing slightly as the full weight of what Sandra had just told him sank in. “You make sure she hears that from me, loud and clear.”
“I will,” Sandra said softly. “You just take care of yours.” Then the line went dead.
Bobby set the phone down with care, then looked across the room at Sam.
The kid was sitting stiffly at the edge of the chair, hands clenched in his lap, face pale and drawn. There was a dawning horror in his expression. His eyes flicked towards Bobby, wide and stricken. “It’s dead?”
Bobby let out a long, tired breath. “Yeah. Looks that way.”
“He killed it,” Sam said, the words barely audible. He was almost completely still. “Dean killed it. And it didn’t bring anything back.”
The silence that followed was brutal. The murmur of traffic outside the motel windows was the only sound in the room aside from Sam’s ragged breathing.
Bobby rubbed at his beard, fingers dragging slow and heavy across his face. “Killing the damn thing doesn’t always undo what it did,” he said quietly. “Some curses don’t lift. Some wounds don’t close clean.”
“But it was supposed to,” Sam said, voice cracking with the effort of holding it together. “That’s how this works, right? You kill the monster and it lets go. The spell breaks.” He blinked fast, too proud or too stubborn to let the tears fall. “He’s supposed to remember.” His throat worked as he swallowed hard. He shook his head, refusing to accept it. “There’s gotta be another way.”
“There might be,” Bobby said, his voice steadier now. “And if there is, we’ll damn well find it. But Dean losing his memory, that wasn’t his fault. And it sure as hell wasn’t yours.” He reached out and rested a calloused hand over Sam’s. “You hear me, boy?”
Sam nodded tightly, jaw clenched.
For a moment they both just sat there in the quiet, then Bobby’s brow furrowed. He glanced towards the wall clock. “How long’s it been since we left those two idjits to do recon?”
Sam blinked, frowning as he followed Bobby’s gaze. “Hours.”
Bobby stood, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair. “Exactly.”
A flicker of alarm passed through Sam. “You think something happened?”
“I think your brother’s got a habit of throwing himself in front of sharp teeth and bad odds. And your daddy’s not much better,” Bobby muttered, already reaching for his keys. “I don’t like that they haven’t at least called.”
Sam was up in an instant, grabbing his bag. “So we go after them?”
“We go after them,” Bobby confirmed grimly.
Sam didn’t need more than that. He was already moving, eyes sharpened with purpose. The grief and frustration hadn’t gone away, but now he had somewhere to focus it. Something he could actually do.
Bobby glanced back at the phone one last time as he opened the motel room door.
now&then
Dean was amazed he’d made it all the way to the camp without being attacked. But that didn’t stop the skin-crawling sensation creeping up his spine that something was watching him from the shadows.
The camp was crude, just two small tents and a dying fire, its embers twitching in the breeze. Benji sat on a log nearby, hunched and still, posture stiff with the unmistakable tension of a kid told to stay put, probably under threat.
Then she stepped out from the trees.
The woman looked tired, the sort of tired that comes from years of neglect, not just by others but by herself. Dean felt a pang of empathy for the woman the Leshy had mimicked. She’d been someone once, someone real, not just a monster’s skin. She hadn’t been a perfect mother, he knew Benji’s story, but Dean knew all too well how it felt to be broken by life. It could lead you to make bad choices and hurt people who deserved better from you.
The Leshy smiled. “You came.”
Dean took a step forward. “Let the kid go.”
The smile faded. Its eyes locked onto him, confused. The thing tilted its head, like a predator trying to figure out why its prey didn’t smell quite right. Its form shimmered – just a flicker – but settled again into her shape.
Dean narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he taunted. “Did my screwed-up head ruin your little mind game?”
The Leshy snarled low in its throat.
“Kid?” Benji’s voice cracked through the tension. Dean’s presence was loosening the Leshy’s hold.
“It’s ok, Benji,” Dean said, not taking his eyes off the monster. “I’m gonna get you out of here, just hang tight.”
“You think you have all the answers?” the leshy said. “You think you’re safe, immune.”
Dean smiled coldly. It was taking words right from his thoughts and he knew it, but he wasn’t worried. “Dig all you want. You’ll have a hard time finding a memory to twist.”
“You truly believe that, don’t you?” The Leshy purred, stepping closer. “Little boy.”
The pain hit without warning.
Dean clutched his skull as if it were being split open. The Leshy didn’t pry at his thoughts, it dug, raking claws through his mind.
The world distorted. Sights became blurred, sounds muffled echoes, his thoughts jumbled. Everything was sliding sideways into a mist. Something slammed into him and instinct made him fight back, but he didn’t know what he was hitting. Light and dark blurred into a smear of motion and fear.
“Kid!” Benji cried, terror slicing through the fog like a lightning bolt and yanking the Leshy’s focus just enough.
Dean surged, forcing a leg between them and kicking the creature off him. He scrambled for the gun John had given him but he was too slow. A thick, branch-like limb lashed out, catching him across the temple. Stars exploded behind his eyes. He hit the ground, dazed.
There was yelling, bangs, movement. Another blow.
Then blackness.
now&then
John saw the Leshy sweep at Dean, but it moved too fast for a clean shot.
The small boy, who was fidgeting like he needed to pee, cried out and the Leshy’s head snapped towards the sound, just for a moment. Dean used the window to push it back, but he was injured and his movements were frantic rather than purposeful.
John pivoted and raised his weapon.
Dean was reaching for his gun but the Leshy struck again. Its arm elongating into a willowy branch which swept low, slamming Dean off his feet like a rag doll.
John found his aim.
The branch-like arm was now lifted, poised to crush Dean.
John fired.
Benji hit the ground, screaming with his arms over his head, as three sharp cracks shattered the night. The Leshy staggered back, the branch-arm catching Dean with a glancing blow.
John didn’t pause. He switched weapons and fired again.
The flare tore into the wounds he’d already blasted in the creature’s chest. Flames caught fast, licking up through bark and borrowed skin. The Leshy didn’t scream in pain, it roared in rage.
Its form convulsed, flashing through past disguises – a man, a woman, a wolfish thing with hollow eyes – before revealing its true shape: a bark-skinned beast with leaf-dappled antlers and a maw like a tunnel into some other world. Not massive, but taller than a man.
The Leshy collapsed inward. It bayed, then fire consumed it.
John sprinted into the clearing, past the crying child. He skidded to his knees in the undergrowth and scooped his son into his arms.
“I got you,” he whispered, voice cracking. “I got you, Kiddo.”
Dean was breathing, he still had a pulse. Relief hit John like a hammer. He carded trembling fingers through blood-matted hair, holding his son tightly. Only now, when it was over, did the weight of how close it had been come crashing down on him.
“Dad,” came a muffled voice, “it would suck for me to survive all this only to die from dad-induced asphyxiation.” John loosened his hold to bask in Dean's open eyes. They were bright with pain and emotion but also somewhat facetious. “This is worse than when I had chickenpox and you wrapped me in that blanket so I couldn’t scratch.”
John barked out a laugh, sharp and surprised. He remembered the blanket burrito vividly. Eight-year-old Dean glaring at him from a cocoon, furious, red-spotted, but safe.
He froze. “Dean?”
“Hey, Dad.” Dean gave him a sheepish grin. “Long time no see.”
John stared.
“Goddamnit, Dean,” he choked out. “I could throttle you.” He hugged him again.
Dean winced but clung too. Inside he was squirming. Memories were pouring through the open wounds of his emptiness like salt. When the Leshy had been burrowing its claws through his mind it had dragged up fragments; Sammy, long drives in the car, flames on a ceiling, then that moment of red staring eyes. Now those fragments were forming into fuller pictures. The first was the last. Those red eyes that had sucked his memories from him, until one by one they were all gone, pulled like threads from the tapestry of his life. He remembered desperately clawing at the space where his brother’s name used to live.
A quiet shuffle broke the moment. Benji.
Dean tried to breathe, feeling like it all might unravel again. Here and now. Here and now, he thought to himself. The mantra had kept him going in the empty months after he lost his memory. He pushed gently against the iron grip holding him. “Dad, air?” he requested
John cleared his throat and pulled back. “Yeah, of course. Sorry.” But he couldn’t stop staring. Though he’d had Dean before him for a while now, this was the first time his son was there, right there, looking back at him.
“I know,” Dean said, waving a hand in front of his father’s face trying to break the intensity. “You’re thinking how did someone so damn good-looking come from you, right? Talk about an unnatural phenomenon.”
John blinked, and a quiet, weary laugh escaped him. He could feel his son’s desperate need to use humour as a shield and backed off a little, a small smile playing on his lips.
“Is it dead?” Dean asked, his voice now sober.
John nodded. “We should clear the area. Get the kid home.” He reluctantly relinquished contact with his son and stood, brushing off leaves. “I’ll start the cleanup.”
Dean steadied himself just in time for Benji to rush to his side.
“Kid? Are you hurt?”
Dean rallied for the boy. “Nothing that can’t be fixed with some duct tape,” He quipped,
I small reluctant smile breached Benji's horror. “You said that about my RC car too.” After a grin, his eyes slipped from Dean’s face and he shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “She said she’d come for me.”
“That wasn’t really your mom,” Dean said, gently lifting Benji’s chin with one finger. “You know that, right?”
Benji nodded slowly, still confused but accepting. “How’d you find me?”
“I looked,” Dean said simply.
Benji's grin was real this time, full of trust and familiarity.
The sound of voices, faint but growing louder, made them both look around.
“John!”
“Dean!”
now&then
Notes:
Thank you for reading, I hope you're still enjoying the story. Two more chapters to go :) Please do let me know your thoughts. My best to all xx
Chapter 6: Patch-up Jobs
Notes:
Hey guys, sorry for the delay in posting, it's been a week.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 6: Patch-up Jobs
The voices were faint but growing louder.
“John!”
“Dean!”
Dean’s eyes flared in panic as they sought John. “Don’t tell them,” he said quickly.
“Dean –” John started.
But Dean cut in. “Please, not yet. I can’t.”
John raised his hands, calmingly. “Okay. Not yet. I promise.”
Worried, Benji moved closer.
The contact helped ground Dean and he offered a small, tired smile. “We’re okay, kiddo. We’re gonna be okay.” Benji watched him closely, eyes full of trust and concern.
Boots crunched through the underbrush. “John?” Bobby’s voice was loud now and sharp with tension.
“Here,” John called back.
Benji flinched, but Dean drew him in closer. “They’re friends,” he whispered.
“It’s just Bobby and Sam,” John explained gently. “We’ve all been looking for you.”
Bobby emerged first, his shotgun still half-raised, eyes scanning the clearing with seasoned precision. When he saw the scorched remains of the Leshy, his shoulders sagged a little but his mouth remained grim.
Sam wasn’t far behind, panting slightly from the sprint. His eyes found Dean, then Benji, then the blackened shape still smouldering near the tents. “Damn.”
“Everyone all right?” Bobby asked, gaze flicking between them.
“We’re good,” John said, his tone flat but steady. “Dean took some hits but we got it.”
Sam inspected Dean. “You okay?”
Dean forced a wry smirk. “I’ve been through worse. Turns out a tree monster is only slightly worse than a history class.”
Sam didn’t laugh but the corners of his mouth twitched, just for a second.
“We’ll need to burn what’s left of the body,” Bobby was saying to John, having checked he had no injuries. “We should also salt the ground.”
John nodded, then jerked his chin towards the tents. “Should probably pack that lot up too. No idea what’s in them.”
Bobby grunted. “Or just burn everything.”
John nodded and they got to work.
Having been ordered not to move, Dean took stock of his injuries. He was pretty sure there wasn’t anything they couldn’t fix up at home. He paused in poking at the cut in his side, staring at the blood on his fingers.
Home.
The thing he’d been looking for for so long. The thing that had been beyond his reach for what felt like forever. It was too much. He couldn’t take it all in right now. He blinked moisture from his eyes.
Sam couldn’t stop watching Dean. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked.
Dean forced a shrug. “I feel like I’ve been hit with a log, probably because I was, but I’ll be fine.”
Sam’s eyes lingered a beat too long before shifting to Benji. “Hey, buddy.”
Benji pressed closer to Dean.
“It’s okay,” Dean said quietly. “He’s cool. That’s Sam.”
Benji nodded slowly, warily.
“We’re gonna get you home,” Sam said. “Your family’s been looking for you.”
“My family?”
“Mr and Mrs Thompson,” Dean said. “Your new mom and dad.”
“They’re not mad at me?”
Dean shook his head. “They’ve just been really worried. They are going to be so happy you’re ok, I promise. When I spoke to her, Marian told me all she wants is you home with her again.”
Eventually they were ready to go. Sam led Benji, Bobby right behind them. John and Dean brought up the rear, John helping Dean along.
“You sure about this?” he murmured, low enough that no one else could hear. “You know Sam, he’d want to know.”
Dean shook his head. “I know. But after what I’ve done, how I’ve treated him, I can’t even … it’s too much. I will tell him. I just need to figure out what I’m going to say.”
John studied him. “You sure you can hold it together until then?”
Dean gave a tight smile. “I survived your cooking, I can survive this.”
John chuckled low under his breath.
now&then
Benji’s parents didn’t ask questions at first. Not about where he’d been or what had happened.
The moment she opened the door, Marian gasped and then froze. “Benji?” she whispered.
He looked up. There was something hesitant in his expression, like he wasn’t sure what to expect from her. “Mom?”
In a second she had dropped to her knees and pulled him into a hug so fierce he gasped. His father joined them, hands shaking as they wrapped around both his wife and son. They just held him.
The story came later, after the sobbing and the fussing and the grateful thanks to John and Bobby. After reports to the officers with their forms and signed statements. When it came, it came in a soft voice, from Sandra, who had flown in and taken over the role of bender of the truth so Bobby and John could leave to focus on their own family.
“It was a case of mistaken identity,” she said, in her calm, professional tones. “There’s another Benjamin Ellison, about the same age and also orphaned, who was set to inherit a large sum of money.”
Thanks to some quick work by Bobby, she had documents to back it up, records doctored well enough to pass casual inspection.
“We believe the people who took Benji thought he was that other boy,” she continued. “They intended to impersonate the boy’s dead mother and use Benji to confirm her identity. That way they could gain access to the funds she supposedly left behind.”
His mother wrapped a protective arm around Benji. “And after that? What would they have done?”
Sandra hesitated. “They probably would’ve abandoned him somewhere, or worse.”
His father squeezed his son’s shoulder, his face pale with horror.
“But that didn’t happen,” Sandra added quickly. “He got away. He’s safe now.”
The parents sat in stunned silence.
“I know it’s a lot,” she said. “But the important thing is that Benji is safe and home with you.”
His father blinked. “What if someone else comes looking?”
“They won’t,” she said. “It’s been taken care of.”
now&then
Back at the motel, Dean perched shirtless on the table as John moved from wrapping his knee to tending a gash along his ribs. Sam and Bobby were in the other room, giving him “privacy”. Which Dean suspected was code for giving him space. He wasn’t ready to face them. Not yet.
Dad was easier.
Not just because he knew, but because talking about feelings had never been John’s thing. He patched and stitched, and Dean made dumb jokes, and everything else stayed unspoken.
“You’ve gotten rusty,” Dean muttered through clenched teeth.
“Yeah, well, Bobby handles most of the emergency patch jobs these days. Cut me some slack.”
Dean chuckled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Inside, he was barely holding on. It felt like the memories – old and new – were clashing like tides inside him, breaking down whatever small island of himself he’d managed to build over the last three years. He wasn’t sure what would survive the erosion.
John finished taping the bandage, then sat down in the chair across from him, the silence stretching before he spoke. “I thought I’d lost you,” he said quietly.
Dean cracked a grin. “Who knew the damn thing had tree arms? But hey –”
“I mean before,” John cut in. “When you disappeared.”
Dean’s smile faltered. “Oh. That.”
He cleared his throat, trying to brush it off. “Well … if it helps, I thought I lost me too.” That grin, the one that usually disarmed people, didn’t work on John. Not tonight.
John nodded once, a weight behind the gesture that said more than words.
So much for not talking about shit. Dean glanced down at his dad’s hands. John’s fingers were twitching against his knee like he was trying to hold something back, or maybe just hold himself together.
“You doing okay?” John asked. There were a thousand things he wanted to say – conversations he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his head – but now that Dean was in front of him, John realized speeches and apologies weren’t what Dean needed. And whatever Dean did need, John was going to try to give it.
Dean looked away. “I know I should feel happy,” he said, finally forcing the words out. “You know, for remembering.” He looked up, eyes searching his father’s face, desperate for permission to not be okay.
When John didn’t speak, Dean sighed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, only to wince and sit upright again as the stitches pulled. John handed him the bottle of whiskey they’d been using as antiseptic. Dean took a swig and hissed.
John wanted to ask, but didn’t. Before they found Dean, some part of him had wondered, had feared, that maybe his son had just had enough and walked away.
Dean’s hands fisted in his lap. “But all I can think about is how I left. How I chased that damn thing into that cave and just ... never came out.”
John watched him intensely.
“I didn’t mean to disappear,” Dean said softly. “But it still feels like I abandoned you and Sammy.” His voice cracked on the last word. He coughed and tried to move on, past it, like he always did, offering a shrug and a strained smile.
When John remained silent, swallowing down his own emotions, Dean continued. “And if that wasn’t bad enough, when you found me again, I didn’t even ... I walked away.”
“You hesitated,” John corrected. He cleared his hoarse throat. “You took some time.”
Dean gave him an incredulous look, but John held firm.
“I didn’t like it,” John admitted. “Hell, I hated it. But Sam and Bobby talked me down. And they were right. You came to us when you were ready.”
“I came to you because some freak snatched a kid and I didn’t know what else to do.”
“But you still came.”
Dean’s gaze drifted, his thoughts clearly spinning.
“When I looked at you all, especially Sammy, I just wanted to run,” he admitted. “The way he looked at me … like he was hoping … it tugged at my gut and I just ... I couldn’t.” He cut off, trying to breathe through the emotion rising in his chest.
“You know better than anyone, I don’t do excuses.” John gave a self-deprecating grimace. “But I think you get a pass on this one.”
Dean was barely listening. “I keep seeing his face, the day him and Adam came to St. Michael’s. He stared at me, like he was trying to find me. And I dismissed him. Like he was nothing.”
John sighed. “Dean –”
“I abandoned him,” Dean said, voice sharp with self-loathing. “By staying at St. Michael’s. And before that, too. You know, when you’d leave for a hunt, he get all freaked out and I’d promise him I’d always be there, that I’d look after him. And then I … didn’t.”
John dragged a hand down his face, pained. “It wasn’t a choice you made.”
“I made the choice to go after that thing, didn’t I?” Dean snapped, then winced, his side flaring in pain. “Damn, Sammy.” He shook his head and then looked beseechingly at his father. “How am I supposed to fix it?”
John leaned back and offered a challenging smirk. “Maybe it’s not your job to fix it.”
Dean caught the offered line with a returning smirk of his own. “The hell it isn’t.”
They both took a moment to bring themselves back from the emotional ledge. John had asked himself that question more times than he could count. But now, hearing Dean so focused on Sam, so buried in guilt, he realized his son hadn’t even begun to process the damage done to himself. And that, God help him, that was all too familiar. “Well,” he said at last, slapping his hands on his knees, “you’re gonna have to start by telling him.”
Dean gave a bitter laugh. “Oh yeah. That’s gonna be a great conversation. ‘Hey, Sammy. Remember how I walked out on you and then didn’t recognize you. How I shoved you away and made you think I’d rather be a stranger than your brother. Sorry about that’.”
“Or,” John said with a knowing look, “you could tell him the truth.”
Dean stared. A series of rebuttals ran across his face but then he just sighed. “The truth sucks.”
“Yeah,” John agreed. “It does.”
Dean stared at him. And for the first time since regaining his memories, he really looked at his father. The haunted look John used to wear like a second skin – it wasn’t gone exactly, but it was less sharp, like a sun-faded photograph. “You were doing your best,” he said quietly.
“My best wasn’t good enough,” John replied. “You know that, and if I’m being honest – so do I.”
“Everything about this life is screwed up,” Dean said forgivingly.
“Was it always like this? Was the job always about losing and I just didn’t see it?” Dean had hero-worshipped his father, looked forward to being a full-time hunter the way little kids want to be firemen or astronauts. Had he really been so naive? “I mean, even when we win, we lose.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at Benji. He was supposed to have got his happy ending. The family that adopted him are good people.”
“And he’s safely back with them.”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “Except with a whole new set of nightmares, like the ones he already had weren’t bad enough.” He picked at the bandage around his ribs and John leaned forward to smack his hand away.
He knew it wasn’t Benji’s nightmares his son was really worried about. “Sandra’s still in town,” he said after a moment. “If you want help ... talking to Sam.” He shrugged. “She’s better at this stuff than I am.”
Dean swallowed hard. “What if he doesn’t forgive me?”
John stood and rested a hand on his son’s shoulder. He leant down to look him square in the face. “You’re still his brother. That counts for more than the rest of it.” He gave a gentle squeeze and let go.
Dean didn’t answer right away. He stared at the threadbare carpet, exhaustion spreading through him like vines, dragging him under.
“I can’t do it tonight.”
John nodded, stepping back to give him space. “Whenever you’re ready. Just don’t wait too long. He hasn’t gotten any dumber while you’ve been gone.”
Dean snorted. “Yeah. I noticed.”
now&then
In the twin room next door, Sam was standing over the table, carefully sorting through the research on the Leshy – boxing up the books, stacking the useful notes. The adrenaline from the past few days had faded, leaving behind a heavy, unsettled hum in his chest.
Bobby was sitting on one of the beds, a disassembled shotgun across his lap, methodically cleaning and reassembling it with the ease of long habit.
“He remembers,” Sam said flatly, not looking up.
Bobby didn’t flinch. “Uh-huh.”
Sam finally glanced over, narrowing his eyes. “You knew?”
“I guessed. I’ve known that boy since he was six. You think I wouldn’t notice when the lights came back on?”
Sam went back to his packing, thrusting things into bags with unnecessary force. “But he’s pretending he doesn’t remember,” he fumed, mostly to himself. “He looked me in right the eye and lied.”
“Figures,” Bobby said with a snort.
Sam slammed a book closed, harder than necessary, turning his fury on his second dad. “And what the hell does that mean?”
“It means your brother walked through fire for you – literally. Not being that person for you, even if it wasn’t his fault? That he hurt you, that’ll be killing him.”
“Hurt me? I’m fine!” Sam snapped. “I wasn't the one who lost my memory! I lost one thing, he lost everything!”
“Yeah, well. Dean doesn’t weigh it like that. Never has.”
Sam huffed, arms crossing. “Then he’s right. I am mad at him.” He stared at the ceiling for a moment, quite convinced his big brother was the most infuriating damn person on the planet. Which said a lot when you’d grown up with John Winchester.
Bobby chuckled, a low, warm sound full of memory. “He’s always been that way, you know.”
“A pain in the ass?”
“That too. But I meant ... always looking out for you first.”
Sam frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You remember when you two stayed with me while your dad went on that Rugaru hunt with Travis?”
Sam thought for a second. “Not really.”
“You were only about four. You tripped in the yard, scraped your chin up pretty good. Dean carried you inside – even though you were almost as big as him – and went into full panic mode. He wanted to call your dad, take you to the ER, the whole nine yards.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Sounds about right.” Before Dean vanished, he’d started to find his overprotectiveness suffocating at times. But afterward ... Sam remembered vividly the first time he had to apply a Band-Aid to his own knee.
“Well,” Bobby continued, “after half an hour of convincing him you were not dying, turns out we actually did need to go to the hospital.”
Sam flashed a grin, already knowing what was coming. “For him.”
“Yahtzee. Turns out he’d gotten a sixteen-penny nail stuck in his arm when rough housing in the yard a few hours earlier. Hadn’t said a damn word.”
They both laughed, it was typical, but then Sam’s face sobered again.
“He’s got a nail in him now too,” he said quietly. “And once again, he’s worried about my skinned knee instead.”
Bobby gave a small nod. “Yeah. And the way I got it figured, this time, you might have to let him patch you up first.”
Sam blinked at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, get mad, be hurt, yell, cry, punch him in the nose if you need to. Do whatever you gotta do to get it out of your system. Because …” Bobby gave the gun one last click, setting it aside, “only when he knows you have, can he start healing too.”
now&then
Sam was curled in a chair by the bed, knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped around them as he watched his brother sleep.
Dean’s face was bruised, a stark white bandage was wrapped around his head like a crooked sweatband. But it wasn’t the injuries that made him look different from the day before. It was something deeper, something Sam couldn’t quite name. The difference between Kid and Dean.
He didn’t even realize how long he’d been sitting there until Dean’s eyes flickered and he jolted upright with a gasp of, “Jesus Christ!”
Sam jumped so hard he nearly toppled out of the chair.
After half a second, Dean blinked, chest heaving. “Creepy much? What the hell, dude? Why are you watching me sleep like some kind of pervert?”
Sam straightened, tugging his crumpled shirt straight. “I was checking on you.”
“Checking is poking your head in the door, Sammy. You were staring at me like I’m Snow White in a damn glass coffin.”
Sam smirked. “Knew it!”
Dean frowned. “Knew what?”
Sam didn’t answer right away. He just held his gaze. A quiet beat passed between them, one of those moments where everything is said without words.
Then, slowly, Dean’s smirk fell away. His gaze dropped to the blanket, his throat working. A shudder ran through him, and he whispered, almost to himself, “Oh.”
Sam watched the emotions flickering across his brother’s face. Dean had always seemed larger than life, confident, capable, unflappable. Sam had been so desperate to see that figure again he’d missed what he knew deep down. That figure had always been a fiction; a character Dean made up for his little brother.
“It was an Ijiraq, by the way,” he said lightly, like they were resuming a conversation that had only paused.
Dean looked up. “What was?”
“That thing in the cave. The one that wiped your memory. It’s a kind of half-spirit that feeds on fear and despair.”
Dean made an effort to sit up more and plastered a smirk across his face. “An Idjit? Sounds more like me than that red-eyed freak.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “You are an idjit,” he said affectionately. “It was an Ij-ir-aq,” he enunciated. “It traps lost children and abandons them.”
Dean leaned back against the headboard, jaw tightening. “Hell. We really do have a lot in common,” he muttered, pain brightening his eyes. “So, come on, let me have it.”
Sam drew a breath and folded his arms.
“Fine. I was pissed. Really pissed. You were gone, and we couldn’t find you. I thought you were dead – or worse. Then we found you, but you didn’t know us. And yeah, that hurt. Like really sucked.”
Dean didn’t move. His eyes were locked on Sam. He opened his mouth but all that came out was a sort of croak.
Sam lifted his hand to forestall any attempt at apology. “I wanted you back. The real you. And now you're here, memory and all. But if you're going to turn into some broody, guilt-ridden zombie, I swear to God I will kick your ass around every room of this motel. Got it?”
Dean stared at him. His eyes were too bright, and he swallowed a few times. Then he gave a small, reluctant laugh, coughing as he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Wow. You really grew up into a brat, huh? I knew Dad wouldn’t manage without me.”
Sam snorted. “Jerk.”
Dean grinned. “Bitch.”
Sam moved without thinking, launching himself across the bed and into his brother’s arms. Dean caught him with a surprised grunt, and for a few seconds, they just held on – years of distance, silence, and grief all being pushed out of the collapsing space between them, like air from an accordion.
Eventually, Dean muttered, “Uh… Sammy?”
“Yeah?”
“Stitches,” Dean gritted out, wincing.
“Oh crap, sorry!” Sam pulled back like he’d touched a live wire. He immediately started fussing over the bandages.
“I’m fine,” Dean said, trying to wave him off.
“Uh-huh,” Sam murmured, inspecting the gauze anyway. “Fine and full of holes. Classic Dean Winchester.”
Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t stop him.
Outside the window, the sky had begun to lighten, the first hint of sunrise stretching across the horizon.
now&then
Notes:
Thank you for reading, I hope you liked the chapter, but either way do let me know what you thought. Just one more chapter of this one to go. Best wishes to all xx
Chapter 7: Home is Where the Chaos is
Notes:
Apologies for not gettting this up sooner (I've not been well). Anyway, on with the show :)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Chapter 7 - Home is Where the Chaos is
Bobby and John had emphatically rejected Dean’s suggestion that he drive back. So Sam and Bobby were still on the road in Bobby’s truck when the Impala rumbled to a stop outside the old farmhouse. John gave Dean a brief glance before grabbing the bags from the trunk and heading towards the house without a word, leaving the teen to ease himself out of the car with a wince. He was still sore but at least he was moving under his own steam.
In the years before he lost his memory, coming to the salvage yard had been the closest thing Dean had to a homecoming. They may not have stayed often and usually both arrived and left with little or no warning, but something about this place had always made some taut part of him relax.
He stood for a moment, taking it in.
The yard was both the same and different. There was still a chaotic sprawl of cars and parts, but some of the old, rusted hulks were gone, replaced with newer wrecks. The porch swing with the busted chain still sagged in the corner, but the area around it no longer looked abandoned. A pair of kid-sized wellingtons lay haphazardly by the door. A clean, if faded, blanket was draped over one arm of the swing.
It made sense, Dean was the same and different too. He was Dean again but he was still part Kid. Sure, he was no longer the stray teenager with no name, no past, and no clue who he was. But the boy who had lived and worked at St Michael’s for three years, who’d built a self from the ground up, that boy was still there.
Once again, that taut thing inside him started to loosen.
A loud metallic crash echoed from behind the shed, followed by a rumble. Laelaps shot out, barking like the world was ending. He was nearly drowned out by a chorus of crashing tools and someone yelling “I GOT IT. I GOT - OH NO!”
Dean flinched back as a gushing arc of water shoot fifteen feet into the air from somewhere behind the shed.
Adam came running into view, his arms over his head, yelling, “I told you! I told you!”
He was closely followed by Caleb who was herding the eight-year-old away from danger with one arm while holding a trash can lid over both their heads with the other, in a vague attempt to protect them from the deluge of water.
Dean blinked. “What the hell?”
“It’s fine,” Caleb was insisting to the scowling Adam who only had one shoe on. He glanced over his shoulder. “It’ll be fine.”
Coming to a stop, Adam turned and put his hands on his hips. “I told you it was a bad idea!” He was radiating the energy of a righteous housewife pointing out the thing their husband was looking for was exactly where she said it was.
Caleb slipped slightly in the wet mud, water dripping from his hair, his expression somewhere between sheepish and horrified. “Okay, yeah, I may have slightly underestimated the pressure.”
Dean arched a brow. “The pressure of what, exactly?” he said, drawing their attention to his presence.
“The mains pipe Caleb attached the hose to,” Adam said, arms crossed, exasperated.
Caleb winced. “Technically it’s a temporary junction with a pressure boost.”
“I told you it needed something to pin it in place,” Adam said.
“It was structurally sound,” Caleb insisted.
“Right,” Adam corrected. “Until Laelaps jumped on it chasing the rubber chicken you sent down as a test run.”
Dean laughed at the bickering and they both turned to him. “Slide?” he managed to ask.
“Caleb said we could build a waterslide,” Adam explained.
“A few old car doors, some tarp and greased,” Caleb said. “It was gonna be awesome,”
A hose snaked out from behind the shed, thrashing about like a furious eel, and slammed into the side of the building, cracking a window. Adam scowled at Caleb.
“Urgh, I should probably …” Caleb had the wary expression of a man about to charge a dragon as he headed back that way.
The shed gave a groan under the continued deluge of water as Laelaps spun in circles like a rabid mop, barking joyfully. Caleb was dodging and ducking as he tried to get past the hose that was striking out at him like an angry python.
The unmistakable voice of doom thundered from the house.
“CALEB!”
John appeared in the doorway, all fury and disbelief, a wrench of his own in one hand and a look that could have curdled milk.
Caleb froze like a possum caught in high beams, gave a nervous smile, then bolted straight into the firing zone of the lashing hose, taking a vicious strike to the arm, because apparently that was safer than facing John Winchester.
Adam let out a heavy sigh. “I bet he’s gonna try to fix it with duct tape again.” He shook his head.
They both turned as the sound of an engine hummed in from the road, and Bobby’s truck pulled into the yard.
Coming to a stop, Bobby leaned out the window, eyeing the war zone. His gaze swept from the makeshift water fountain, passing over the shouting John and the sanctimonious Adam, to Dean standing calmly by the Impala, enjoying the scene.
From the passenger seat, Sam leaned out the window, eyebrows raised. “What the hell happened?”
“Do you even need to ask?” Bobby muttered as he cut the engine.
Dean called over to them. “Hey, at least it’s not a fire this time.”
Adam nodded solemnly. “He did follow the rule.” He glanced at the water still rattling down on the shed roof. “Technically.”
There was a muffled thud and a very loud “DAMNIT!” from behind the shed. John started heading that way muttering words that luckily Adam couldn’t hear over the barking and the gushing water.
Bobby just shook his head at Laelaps who was dancing about looking delighted.
Sam stepped out of the truck and sighed. “Welcome home,” he said to no one in particular.
now&then
John had got the water under control but he, Bobby and Caleb were still back there trying to get things back in order. Sam had taken Adam into the house to dry him off and Dean had been left outside to attempt the same on Laelaps. After chasing him around, and only managing a few swipes with the towel, eventually the dog had flopped down on the porch, panting heavily. Dean flopped down next to him and started vigorously rubbing his fur.
Laelaps had rolled over for a belly rub when hesitant feet shuffled up to them. After a pause, Adam sat down on the other side of the dog. He had a towel wrapped around him and was shooting furtive glances at Dean.
Dean grinned at him. “Hey, squirt.”
“Hey.” Adam’s eyes were wide and uncertain. It was sad to see the kid, who had always greeted him so exuberantly, suddenly wary.
This was his baby brother, though he hadn’t known that when they first met. Dean suddenly realised that Sam must have told him about his memory being back.
“So,” Dean said casually, “I hear I owe you for looking after Sammy for me.”
Adam fidgeted. “He looks after me,” he said, like he wasn’t sure if that was the right answer.
Dean crooked a finger, beckoning him closer. “That’s what big brothers let their little brothers think,” he whispered conspiratorially. “But the truth is, without their little brothers, big brothers don’t even know who they are.”
Adam cracked a grin. The comfortable familiarity they’d enjoyed pretty much since they first met on that clock tower seemed to seep back into that smile.
Dean smirked back. “And I got lucky, two little brothers.” His expression became mischievous. “Oh, the chaos I shall unleash.”
Adam crossed his arms, pretending to be unimpressed. “You know my brother kicks the butt of anyone who messes with me.”
Dean arched a brow. “And who do you think taught him that?” The teasing faded as Dean’s voice turned more sincere. “I’ve got your back too, you know, if that’s okay?”
Adam looked down at his sneakers for a second, then nodded. “Will you still get me lemonade?” he grinned.
Dean pretended to contemplate this for a moment. “Only when you’re not supposed to have it.”
“Then it’s okay.”
Dean held out a fist. Adam bumped it with his own.
Despite what Sam had told him, to Adam, Dean still felt like the boy from the clock tower. The one he met when they were both lost.
Just then, Caleb rounded the side of the house, his eyes searching eagerly. The moment he saw Dean, his face lit up and he crossed the yard in long, determined strides. Reaching them, he pulled Dean up into a hug that made his ribs ache.
“’Bout damn time,” he muttered into Dean’s shoulder.
“Good to see you too, Iron Man,” Dean wheezed. There was a pause but when Caleb didn’t let go, he followed up with, “I think you cracked something.”
Caleb pulled back and looked him over. “You’re not gonna start hissing at me like a feral cat again, are you?” The raised eyebrow was full of teasing.
Dean snorted. “Memory or no memory, I know a punk when I see one.”
Caleb laughed, a sharp, bark-like sound. “Takes one to know one.”
Dean glanced around. “I’m more shocked that the house is still standing.”
“What life without adventure?” Caleb said, grinning. “Speaking of, I heard you clocked a Leshy in the face?”
Dean shrugged. “More like I annoyed it until it clocked me. Then, while it was busy rearranging my face, Dad ganked it. Not my best strategy,” he said, tugging at the bandage around his head, “but hey, whatever works, right?”
“Damn idiot,” Caleb muttered affectionately. “Still, I’ll give you points for style.”
They stood in comfortable silence for a beat. Caleb was like a piece of home, even if Dean only had a handful of memories of him.
“I missed you, man,” he said quietly.
Caleb’s ruffled his hair. “If you’ve gone soft on me, I’m gonna have so much fun.”
“Try it,” Dean said, slapping his hand away and simultaneously getting a jab into his stomach.
“You think you can take me?”
“I think I can tell Bobby you’ve been teaching Adam how to hotwire that Triumph in the shed.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Dean raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t I?”
now&then
The next day, the whole family crammed into Bobby’s study to make the call to Miss Lewis at St. Michael’s. Technically, it only needed one of them, plus Dean, but that logic didn’t get far.
Naturally John played the father card, scowling at Bobby’s muttered comment about control freaks. The salvager had planted himself firmly in the room in the hope of making sure John’s curt tongue didn’t get the better of him. Sam was barely leaving Dean’s side, as if Dean might change his mind and sprint out the door the second no one was looking. Adam had just rambled into the room, ignoring the shut door, and sprawled on the rug, his hand resting on the thick fur of Laelaps curled beside him.
The room was tensely quiet. Even the creak of Bobby’s desk chair sounded loud as he sat down, put the phone on speaker and dialled the number.
The line rang twice before it connected.
“St. Michael’s, this is Miss Lewis.”
“My name’s Mr Murtagh,” Bobby said. “We spoke a few weeks back, about a missing child.”
There was a short pause. “Yes. I remember, Mr. Murtagh. And you were helping search for Benji. Is –” her voice caught slightly, “is there any news?”
“He is,” John said, voice gentler than usual. “We wanted to call and let you know ... Benji’s safe. He’s back with his adoptive family.”
“You found him? Really?”
“We did.”
“And Kid – Dean – still with you? Is he all right?”
Dean shifted on the couch. Her voice hit him like a sucker punch – familiar and warm and full of things he didn’t quite deserve. Miss Lewis had been kind. She’d been there for him when he’d had no one, and he’d left her with nothing but a scribbled note about needing to find Benji. Bobby had called to reassure her after he arrived at the yard, sure, but he hadn’t. Hadn’t thought to. Not until now.
Dean leaned forward, speaking hesitantly. “I’m here.”
There was a pause, then her voice returned, quieter. “Dean? Are you okay?”
Dean looked around the room – the wary concern in Sam’s eyes, Adam and Laelaps both dog-eyed under the table like he might have a treat for them, John and Bobby trying to act like they weren’t hanging on every syllable.
“Yeah,” he said at last. “Better than okay.”
A breath of silence passed through the speaker. “I’m glad to hear it,” Miss Lewis said, her voice softening further. “So ... will you be coming back soon?”
Dean drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Actually …” he looked at John who nodded. “I was wondering if I could stay here.”
“Stay there?” she echoed, cautious, surprised.
“We’d love to have him,” John added quickly, clearing his throat. He hated that he couldn’t just say ‘he’s my son’, but they all knew the complications – legal, logistical, supernatural. They had to play it carefully.
Dean glanced at Sam, who gave a tiny nod, then back at the phone. “I know it’s not the usual setup,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, these guys aren’t exactly white picket fence types,” he threw a teasing look at Bobby. “But then, neither am I.”
There was a pause. A long one. Dean found himself holding his breath.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Miss Lewis asked.
Dean took a breath and spoke firmly. “It is.”
For a moment, the silence stretched. When Miss Lewis spoke again her voice was more certain. “There’ll be paperwork, of course. Background checks. Possibly a court appearance.”
“Of course,” John said. “Whatever’s needed. You say the word, and we’ll handle it.”
“In that case, I’ll start putting the paperwork together,” she said. Her voice steadied further, the way it always did when she had a plan forming. “I know this isn’t conventional, but if it’s what’s best for Dean, I’ll support it however I can.” There was a smile in her voice when she added, “Are you sure you know what you’re taking on?”
“Hey,” Dean objected with good humour.
Bobby let out a dry snort from his chair. “Oh, trust me. We know.”
Miss Lewis laughed. “Well then ... welcome home, Dean.”
Dean blinked, his throat tightening unexpectedly. He looked around the gathered people before smiling faintly. “Thanks, Miss Lewis. For everything.”
“You’re welcome, Dean. Just promise me you’ll let them take care of you, okay?”
“You’re kidding right? I’m staying because someone needs to take care of this rabble.” He grinned cheekily around the room. John threw a hoodoo doll, from one of Bobby’s bookcases, at him. Which Dean ducked, banging into Sam, who swore lightly.
Miss Lewis coughed at the random sounds traveling down the line and they made their best efforts to sound normal for her.
After the call ended, the quiet that followed wasn’t awkward, but more like the lull after an alarm is finally silenced.
“Looks like you might be stuck with us,” Bobby muttered, grinning into his beard.
“Yeah,” Sam added. “Assuming we can figure out how to make Dad look respectable enough on paper to be allowed around children.”
Bobby laughed. So did Adam. Even Laelaps barked as if in agreement.
John took a step towards Sam. Sam promptly ducked behind Dean.
Dean wiggled the hoodoo doll at John with a grin. It did have a vague similarly.
now&then
Two Months Later
Dean leaned against the Impala, the home he’d lost parked in the yard of the one he’d finally found. From inside the house, John and Bobby’s voices filtered out through the open windows – bickering over the best way to sharpen a blade like it was a matter of life or death. Upstairs, Adam was playing some sort of game that involved stomping around like he had bricks for shoes, Laelaps barking in rhythm.
Dean smiled. It was chaos, loud, messy, and real.
Miss Lewis had called that morning to say the paperwork was nearly finalized. Just a few signatures and it’d be official. Dean was staying. No more limbo.
He shifted against the car, joints still stiff from the training regimen he’d embarked upon to get back into shape. In some ways he was still healing. There were nights when the dreams left him breathless, caught between who he used to be, who he’d become, and who he was trying to be now. He was Dean. He was also Kid. And somewhere in between, he’d become someone else entirely.
The screen door creaked open behind him. Sam stepped out, holding a beer. “Dad’s just throwing the meat on the grill,” he said. “Figured you could use some contraband.”
Dean raised an eyebrow as he took the bottle. “Apparently there are parental controls now and I’m not allowed.” When they lived on the road, John had never been particularly strict about anything but security. Now they were a settled family both fathers tried to stick to more conventional restrictions.
“What dads don’t know …” Sam replied, with a shrug and the hint of a grin.
Dean chuckled, amused. “What happened to you? You were such a little rule follower back in the day.”
“Yeah, well. You got brain scrambled, vanished for years, came back from the dead and then got attacked by a forest god. I get to change a little too.”
Dean laughed. “Yet still no haircut.” He gave a wicked grin.
Sam punched him in the arm.
They stood in comfortable silence for a while. The sun was going down, casting a rich, golden light over everything that made even the junk in Bobby’s yard look sacred.
“You were right, before, what you said,” Sam forced out, awkwardly, keeping his eyes firmly forward.
“I’m right a lot, you’ll have to narrow it down for me,” Dean grinned at him.
“When you said your life shouldn’t revolve around me.”
Dean blinked at him, it took a moment, then he remembered the argument back in the motel. If I’m not the guy whose whole life revolves around you, I’m not good enough. He winced. “Sammy, that’s not … I didn’t …” Dean sighed. “I never cared about that. It wasn’t like that. It was you and me against the world, right?”
“I guess,” Sam scratched his nose. “Anyway, it’s different now.” It wasn’t just the two of them anymore. Memories of Dean reading to him, soothing him after a nightmare, brightened Sam’s eyes for a moment. He both wanted it to be this better version yet missed …
“Yeah, you’ve got a whole house full of people to annoy now, huh?” Dean nudged Sam with his elbow.
Sam blinked away his qualms in the face of his brother’s teasing grin. “Yeah, but I like annoying you the most.” He nudged Dean back.
Sam cleared his throat then pushed off the porch banister and turned back towards the house. “Don’t take too long or grill-master Dad’s gonna burn everything,” he tossed over his shoulder.
now&then
That night, Sandra sat with Bobby by the firepit, watching the boys – Dean playing tug-of-war with Laelaps, Sam and Adam hurling bits of unwanted vegetables at each other with impressive accuracy. John had made a half-hearted attempt to scold them, but his protests lacked conviction. His arm was draped lazily across the back of Bobby’s chair.
“You know,” Sandra said, nudging Bobby with her elbow, “for someone who swore up and down he wasn’t the parenting type, you’ve got yourself quite the brood.”
Bobby didn’t answer right away. Just sipped his beer and glanced towards the fire where Sam was now pretending to fend off a carrot spear with a grill spatula.
Finally, he shrugged. “Guess I’ve always been a sucker for strays.”
John huffed and tapped the back of Bobby’s baseball cap.
As the moon rose and the fire crackled low, the crowd thinned. Adam was the first to wander off, then Sam. When Bobby got up to walk Sandra to her car, Dean stayed by the fire and his dad.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
“So,” Dean said. “You and Bobby, huh?”
John groaned. “Don’t start.”
“And Adam?” Dean continued, biting back a grin. “Man, I leave you alone for a few years ...” Dean tutted and shook his head before his face lit with cheek. “And here I thought you were too old to get any action at all.”
John shot him a warning look, but Dean’s grin was wide and guileless.
“Honestly?” Dean added, more serious now. “It’s cool. All of it. Bobby’s always been solid and Adam’s a good kid, or will be once I start giving him a proper education in being a Winchester boy.”
John reached over and tapped the back his son’s head lightly. “You’re not too old for me to put over my knee,” he said gruffly.
“Maybe not,” Dean agreed. “But you might throw your back out trying.”
John blinked then snorted. “Were you always this maddening?” He took the final mouthful of his beer and tossed the bottle in the tub they were using for the empties.
“With everyone but you,” Bobby said, reappearing with two beers and a Coke. He handed a beer to John and dropped the soda into Dean’s lap with a thud.
Dean eyed it with suspicion. “Seriously?”
“If you want something stronger, you’ve got to live long enough to be old enough,” Bobby replied, nodding at the bandage on Dean’s hand, the result of a close encounter with a carburettor.
Dean cracked the soda open with a sigh and took a sip. “Speaking of living long enough,” he said, turning to John. “I’m still in shock that you and Sammy didn’t kill each other while I was gone.”
“We came close,” John admitted with a grimace before throwing a grateful look at Bobby. “But we figured it out.”
“Eventually,” Bobby added.
Dean smiled faintly. “So ... Sam’s all in now? Hunting?”
Both men looked at him, understanding.
“He was all in when it came to finding you,” Bobby said. “Now? Who knows. You being back might change things.”
John looked Dean over. “What about you? You still want to hunt?”
Dean leaned back in his chair. “Well I’ve got to do something, and I’m no school-nerd, that’s for sure.” He sipped his coke, looking up at the stars. “And I have kicked the asses of an Ijiraq and a Leshy, I clearly I’ve got a talent for hunting.”
“You’ve got a talent for something,” Bobby muttered, which earned him twin glares from both Winchesters. He held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just saying, first monster nearly kills you but just fries your hard drive, second one nearly kills you but conveniently reboots your memory? That’s either dumb luck or some higher power’s idea of a joke.”
John chuckled and Dean shrugged unphased, but as the laughter faded, his eyes fixed on the fire.
“It’s different now,” he said slowly. “I’ve been ... I mean, after the Ijiraq, it was just me. No family, no responsibilities, no memory. It wasn’t better. But it made me see things differently.” He let the silence linger, the flames crackling between them. “And now I know who I am again. When I weight them both up, this is who I am. Hunting things. Saving people.”
He looked first at Bobby, then John, and smiled.
“The family business, right?”
The End
Notes:
Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enoyed it. Please do let me know what you thought xx Best wishes to all.
Terreza1991 on Chapter 1 Tue 19 Aug 2025 12:14PM UTC
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Terreza1991 on Chapter 1 Wed 03 Sep 2025 09:09PM UTC
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Terreza1991 on Chapter 2 Tue 26 Aug 2025 09:44AM UTC
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Terreza1991 on Chapter 3 Sat 30 Aug 2025 11:58PM UTC
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Terreza1991 on Chapter 4 Wed 03 Sep 2025 09:33PM UTC
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Terreza1991 on Chapter 5 Tue 09 Sep 2025 12:38PM UTC
Last Edited Tue 09 Sep 2025 08:58PM UTC
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Terreza1991 on Chapter 6 Thu 18 Sep 2025 07:57PM UTC
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