Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

1995

Sam froze when he heard the knock. His heart went into his throat and his skin was immediately covered in goosebumps. It was almost 10:30pm; he knew because he had watched the 8:00pm movie, hopped in the shower and was now stuffing the dirty clothes in the duffle bag when he heard the knock. It wasn’t Dean—first of all, Dean would have his key, and if he had lost it or something he'd have said “Sammy, open up, I lost my key.” He’d know how stressed this would make his kid brother. 

Sam heard voices, more than one person. He grabbed the pair of jeans he had been stuffing in the duffle and quickly pulled them on over his boxers. He dove over to his side of the bed towards Dean’s pillow and felt around for the gun he kept there, but didn’t find it. The door handle jiggled. Someone was opening it. The motel manager must have given them access. Sam didn’t have more time. He turned around and bolted to the bathroom.

“Kid!” 

“Grab him.”

He locked the bathroom door. His breath was coming in fast, heavy bursts. Someone was banging on the bathroom door in equally fast, heavy bursts. 

“Sam Winchester, we need to talk to you for a bit. We don’t mean any harm.” 

Sam stood on top of the toilet tank, trying to unlatch the window springs, but it was old, rusted and had been painted over so many times it wouldn’t move. He was still scraping at the edges when someone managed to open the bathroom door.

“Come on kid, let’s chat.” A lady said, as she gestured towards the room.

Eventually, the motel manager had to carry him off the toilet tank; Sam had stayed frozen there, trying the freeze technique he had seen so many spiders and other bugs try. The guy dumped him unceremoniously on the bed closest to the door. There were two others, the lady and a cop. The cop stood at the door and the lady was sitting at the dining table that was flushed against the entry wall. She had turned the chair so it faced the bed. 

She had a puffy face and a messy ponytail, was wearing a navy colored two-piece skirt suit but had a sweet voice. “So, Sam, I’m sure you’re wondering who we are and why we are here?” 

Sam, sits up straight but doesn’t answer; he won’t be cooperating. He knows better. 

“I’m Olivia Sanchez with Child Protective Services. I know that you are Sam Winchester and you have been staying here with your brother Dean for a while now.”

“Over a month now,” The motel manager provides.

How did this lady know their names? Sam shifted and looked down at the shabby motel carpet, always in a brown, tan color. Probably was a cream originally and now with the passing of the years and the accumulation of dirt and time, it has turned brown.

“So, you’re quite young to be alone this long. I have here that your birthday is May 2, 1983, so you’re 11, about to turn 12?”  

Sam looks at her wide-eyed and in shock; how does she know this information? Whoever reported them must be from school. But they hadn’t given the school the motel address, how did they tie it together? He drops his head again, avoiding her eyes.

“I know you may not think so, but my job is to make sure that young fellows like you are safe and well taken care of.” 

Sam shrugs. He wants to say so many things but is holding back, as he has been taught. 

“So, I am going to take you to a warm, comfortable place to sleep.”

Sam looks around the room.

“Yes, one, where there is adult supervision. Then tomorrow we will start sorting out your legal status, to see who will take care of you.” Olivia sighs as she sees the boy tremble. “Sam, is there anything you want to say?”

“My brother takes care of me.” Sam hisses out from between clenched teeth, his whole body tight and resisting saying something.

“Well, Dean is supposed to have someone taking care of him too. Not be taking care of someone himself. He turned 16 last month? Besides, where is he right now?”

“He had a date, but he’ll be back by midnight at the latest.” Sam says frantically.

The motel owner scoffs, “Date, yeah right.”

The lady turns to the motel owner, a raised eyebrow and a hand gesture towards Sam. 

The cop at the doorway finally speaks, “All the kids like him hang out near Shurley’s Diner. Reckon I’d find him there?”

“A diner? Yeah, he loves pie. For sure he’ll be there.” Sam says in a wistful manner. 

The motel owner nods; he seems chastised.  

“I’ll go pick him up.” The cop says, and the Olivia lady nods. 

“Sam, grab your stuff, and also pack up your brother’s so we can have it for him and we can return the room.”

“But what about my dad? How will he know where we are? This is where he left us.” 

The lady’s face contorts with some emotion she seems to be trying to hold back. “Oh, Sam, I am so sorry. Your dad is the one who called in the report.”

“What?”

“A John Winchester called in to report two minors abandoned in the Motel Sunrise Port this afternoon. Your dad told us you were here. Alone. With no adults, with no supervision. Gave us your bio info, told us you had been here over a month. So that we could come and help you. Your father left you. For good.”  

It’s a good thing the cop hasn’t left yet, because although the kid is of slight frame and wirier than anything else, the outburst of anger makes him a force to be dealt with. He probably would have been able to open the bathroom window now. Instead, he throws the other dining chair, slams the bed against the wall, throws all of the bedding on the floor in one swoop, curls up in the middle between both beds banging his head against the night table. Then he stands up and goes to the lady.

“You’re lying.” Tears stream down his cheeks. 

She shakes her head.

“You didn’t come because someone from school reported something?”  

“No, Sam, I’m sorry.” She sighs, feeling older than she is and hating how parents mess up their kids. This one already had a nomadic lifestyle, living in motels and now gets abandoned. He’s clearly underweight, needs vitamins, she knows he is an orphan of mother and still hasn’t dug into family history or know if there are other factors of abuse present. “Let’s go, it’s late, and I have the placement home waiting.”

“Dean isn’t here yet.” Sam crumples onto the bed, sitting in a disarray of limbs.

“Officer Roig will bring him over. The family I have coordinated knows it’s two teen brothers. They are temporary while we get things sorted out.” The CPS lady stretches her arm out as she says, “Come on.”

Sam looks at her bleak and weary-eyed. He grabs his duffle bag, and Dean’s duffle bag. They are always packed and have most everything together. A quick check in the bathroom, and the drawers, where he manages to save Dean’s toothbrush and a Busty Asians edition, and they are off. Leaving behind the Motel Sunrise Port forever.

He is in the back seat of the car, his head lolls side to side, and he wonders if this lady will tell Dean about dad or if he will have to. Or if maybe the cop will. He plays out the scenarios in his head; they are all bad. The cop one is probably the worst one; someone could end up seriously hurt. Dean escalates things to the level he thinks the person needs or wants. He hears a bang, the pistol going off. No, it’s her door slamming shut. They have arrived. 

It is a manufactured home complex. The homes are close one to the other; the street is barely wide enough for one car and most houses have cars parked on the lawn. They reach their destination and park, blocking the driveway, so closely to the car that is there that Sam has to get out on the side of the road. They walk through a deck that has some weightlifting equipment on it. Open a screen door and knock on the wooden door. Sam is uncomfortable with the two duffle bags, one on each shoulder. As they knock, a ruckus of barking starts up from inside. It sounds like a bunch of dogs, but once the first wild round calms down, it’s just two small chihuahuas that bark in an arrhythmic and frenzied manner. 

“Oh finally! I’d already gone to bed. Thought you weren’t coming.” A husky voice comes from inside the house, a smoker's voice based on the gravely tone, and as Sam steps in, also based on the smell.   

“Sorry, Darla, it was a bit harder to get a hold of the paperwork needed. This is Sam, the youngest of the two boys I mentioned.”

“Oh, come here” Darla pulled him, sort of, into a hug, mostly his head, as his body was still trapped by the duffle bags. “My house is a modest one, but while you're here, you are welcome to it, as long as you treat Frito & Lay like the little love bugs they are. Right, my babies? Oh yes, my little ones, who wants a treat?” At this the yapping chihuahuas tripped in front of each other and gave little jumps of joy in anticipation of the word they clearly knew. 

Darla walked over to the kitchen counter top and grabbed a dog treat. “Sam, these are always here. You feel free to hand them out whenever they are being good. Like now, waiting up until late, past the bedtimes. Such good babies.” 

“Umm, yes, ma’am.”

“Oh, good manners.” Darla turned to look at him. “Tall too for your age. Well, let’s get you to bed, it’s past your bedtime too.” She motioned for them to follow her, and they went down a narrow hallway. “I have you sharing a bedroom, figured brothers, that won’t be a problem.” 

“No, ma’am, not at all.” 

She opened the door to a small bedroom that barely has space for the metal bunk bed. He’d have to stuff their duffles under the bed because there wasn’t even a closet, he wondered if originally this had been a closet, or perhaps the laundry. He sat on the lower buck and sighed. 

Olivia stuck her head in, “I’ll see you again tomorrow, perhaps in the afternoon because working this late I do get to take the morning off.” 

“When is Dean coming?” 

“He should be here pretty soon. Officer Roig went to pick him up when we left, and unless he couldn’t find him, I don’t see why it should take too much longer.”

Sam thought about it and how he had tried to escape and how Dean would surely try the same thing. Probably with better results. So maybe he wouldn’t see him. If he evaded the cop picking him up and then went back to the hotel and couldn’t find him, Dean would go crazy. 

“Maybe we should leave a note with the motel manager, so he knows what is going on. Like if the cop can’t find him.” Sam suggests in a low voice.

Olivia nods, “I’ll call the motel, but you should get some shut-eye. For now, at least.”

Sam nods, eyeing the thin sheets dubiously.  

He stays up for another hour or so. He hears the lady go to sleep. He keeps waiting for her phone to ring, or for a car to pull up. Eventually he must have dozed off because he awakens to the dogs barking. Someone is walking around the kitchen area, Sam jumps out of the bed and opens the door, walking out into the hallway. “Dean?”

All the wind is pushed out of him as he is slammed face first against the wall. “Who the fuck are you?” A solid mass of man is pinning him tightly.  

“I’m Sam; Child Services put me here with Ms. Darla.” Sam’s voice breaks, and although it is usually a source of embarrassment, this thing that has started to happen recently, he is almost glad it just happened as it lends credibility to his story.

The man doesn’t let go immediately, but does turn him around. Sam sees that he is most definitely the one using the gym equipment on the deck. He has a short buzz cut, sun-dried skin and faded tattoos on what skin is visible. He could be a very mistreated 30 or a well-lived 50. He is hunched over, but easily 6’3 and muscular. 

“You one of Darla’s rug-rats?” His voice is low but intense. He is keeping quiet to not wake Darla. 

“Yes sir.” Sam wasn’t sure if he was or not but supposed that sounded about right. 

“Then why you up?” The grip around Sam’s arm tightened a bit. 

“I’m sorry, I was expecting my brother tonight. I heard the noise and thought.” Sam shrugs. 

The man lets go of him and pushes him towards his bedroom. “Go to bed.”

Sam nods and heads back to the room, closing the door behind him. It’s almost daybreak, and Dean hasn’t arrived yet. Logically, he knows that he must have evaded the cop. Sam feels like a failure, that he didn’t make it out. That he wasn’t there waiting for Dean when he did get back. Dean must be feeling stressed out; he likely is trying to get a hold of their dad and doesn’t know what the CPS lady told Sam. Sam starts to cry, he grabs a tee-shirt from Dean’s bag to smell and also to curl under his head because there aren't any pillows in this room. 

In the morning, Sam wakes up and goes to the kitchen area. Nobody comes out of the adults’ room. He sees some kids waiting for a school bus, he goes outside and asks them what school they go to. He recognizes the name; it’s the school on the other side of town. Not the one he was going to. He goes back inside the house and the dogs go crazy, barking. He hurries to give them a treat to silence them. He is giving them the treat when Darla comes out of the room. 

“Oh my babies, you get a treat?” She bends over to rub their heads as she says this. She is wearing a robe, which she holds gathered at her waist because it doesn’t have a tie wrap, and as she bends over her abundant bosom spills over. Sam turns towards the door. As he does, he sees the man standing in the hallway, looking at him. He jerks his chin up towards Sam, as if to say hello. Sam nods his head. He feels like he passed a test, did something right, but isn’t sure what.

“Sam, that’s your name right?” Darla asks; Sam nods. “You want some cereal?”

“Yes, please.” 

“Isn’t this one just as polite as can be, Derek? Won’t be a lick of trouble.” Darla serves him Apple Jacks, which is frankly one of his least favorite cereals ever. Sets it in front of him, pulls out a spoon and goes to the fridge, “Milk?” 

Sam evaluates which way would be less gross and shakes his head, “No, this is fine.” He digs in, still standing because the kitchen island doesn’t have any stools.   

“While the social worker lady comes, you can clean these fans out,” Darla says as she brings over two box fans. “Let me know when you finish, and I’ll find another small chore for you. Keep you busy and out of trouble.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Sam says although he has no idea what use she may have for fans in winter. 

In the end, he cleans the fans, repots some plants, and washes the trash bin before Olivia shows up. 

She seems serious and asks Sam to go to the bedroom for a minute, while she speaks to Darla. He figures Darla won’t complain; he hasn’t done anything wrong. He goes. A few minutes later, she comes into the room. Sam is expecting to hear that Dean never showed up, that they didn’t find him. He is already planning to run-away and to go and meet with him back at the motel. So the news he gets is surprising and a total wrench in his plans.

“Sam,” Olivia feels that she has been the harbinger of terrible news in this poor kid’s life, “Officer Roig went to the diner where we thought we may find Dean last night.” 

Sam looks at her expectantly, waiting for the but, the excuse.

“And he did find Dean,” she sighs, seeking how much she should— can tell this kid.

Sam’s neck turns towards her, this is different than he expected.

“However, he was doing something illegal, and Officer Roig had no choice but to arrest him.”

“What!?” Sam jumps off the metal bunk bed.

“That’s why he didn’t come last night and won’t be coming anytime soon.”

“Where is he? In jail?”

“For now, down at the station., We plan on sending him to a boys reform center if the judge rules in favor of that option. Which is what we will be recommending.”

“Send me there too!”

“We can’t sweetie, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I can, I promise I can.” Sam’s tears streak down his cheeks, and he blubbers. “Steal something? We do it all the time at the gasmart.”

“No, honey, we don’t want you to. We want you to continue behaving sweetly and with good manners. Darla said you can stay here for a little while longer, while we sort out a more permanent solution.” 

Sam cries harder. He doesn’t want to stay here. He wants his brother. Olivia pats his shoulder awkwardly. Sam cries a bit more and then straightens up.

“Can I call my dad?” 

“You have a number for him?” 

“Well, I have a place to leave him a message.” Sam looks sheepish; he can’t reveal too much.

“Let’s stop by the school, enroll you there, so you can start taking classes from tomorrow on. Then we will swing by my office. Fill out some paperwork, and you can try the number you are thinking of there.”

Sam nods. They stand to leave the small room, and as he goes to follow her, she says “Bring Dean’s bag; I’ll make sure he gets it.”

Sam freezes and he suddenly can’t breathe. This is the moment that will change his whole life. He doesn’t know how, but it feels like it is a defining moment. If he screams and tears down the hallway, Darla will say no, we don’t want that kid here, take him away, and he can go to the boys home with Dean. If he is fine with it, then it will be like letting Dean go as if nothing at all, like it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t know how he knows that this is the defining moment, but he can feel the weight of it with certainty. 

“Sam,” Olivia’s voice gently coaxes him. He grabs Dean’s bag and follows her out. They go to the local middle school. She registers him there. He’ll start there tomorrow, at least he already knows where to take the bus. 

Then they go to her office. It’s a drab government office. She has a file folder for him, and another for Dean. He tries to sneak a peek in and see what it says but doesn’t manage to see. 

She takes him to a closed office, with another co-worker, a guy, they both have notebooks, and they ask questions. So many questions. Sam doesn’t want to answer, but he wants to cooperate so he can make the call. Olivia promised he could call after they finish the interview process. 

He also wants them to understand that he can stay with someone else, someone better. Pastor Jim, he has stayed there so many times. Or Bobby, he has been there a few times. They ask questions, they seem too curious about how “these friends of your dad are all single men?” They talk among themselves. Less discreetly than they think. Sam knows there is something wrong in the way they are looking at things, but he doesn’t know what. “Not in the system. Probably aliases. With the behaviour the eldest demonstrated. Yeah.”  

Finally, he is sitting in Olivia’s office, and she lets him use her phone. He has to dial 9 first and then the number. He calls Pastor Jim’s. He gets the recording machine. He leaves a message.

“Pastor Jim, this is Sam, Sam Winchester, John’s boy. I wanted to leave a message in case he calls. Tell him Dean is in with the cops, and they took me to a temporary family, but if he calls the lady at CPS here in Pleasantville NY, I can go with him. Tell him, I’ll be easy, not smart-mouth or nothin’. Or if you can call, until dad gets back.” Sam sniffles audibly. “Umm, Thanks. Tell dad to call.” 

Olivia figures Pastor Jim is listening to the message in real time but wouldn’t pick up a phone call from a phone number in a government agency. She also figures that his heart has to be breaking as badly as her own with Sam’s message. Jeez, kid thinks it’s because he has a smart mouth? Can someone stomp on her heart a little harder? And they haven’t even done the physical yet. She hopes it isn’t a mess like her co-worker was suggesting.   

“Sam, I wanted to explain what will happen next.” She motions for him to sit down. “First, John Winchester is your father?” Sam nods. “And, he left you alone at the motel with your brother?” 

“He left Dean in charge of me. Dean is capable; he has been taking care of me since I was four. I go to school, get good grades, eat well, participate in the chess club, mathletics. Dean makes sure all that happens when dad is working.” 

“I know it was very sad to hear what I said yesterday, about your dad. But was it surprising?” 

Sam is so slumped in his chair that he looks like a slide in it. Almost as if he wanted to make the angle on purpose. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he shakes his head. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Olivia says as she leans forward and pats Sam’s hand. “Is there anyone else that is family? Extended family even? Sam shakes his head. “Okay, the family friends, give me their names, addresses and phone numbers and we will call them, go and do background checks and see if they are legit and can help. If any of them are a good fit we can place you with them. Well technically, with the local Children's Protective Service, they would qualify them and place you with them and run point and supervise the relationship.” She sighs, pulls his folder towards her, “Now, if that doesn’t work, then we have to proceed with the necessary steps to make you a ward of the state.” She sits up straighter, as if she has practiced the speech, “The state is not in the business of raising children and therefore its first objective is family reunification. We will try to reach out and mediate that with your father. If after 60 days we are unsuccessful in a harmonious manner, then two legal proceedings will commence; we will proceed to take permanent custody at the same time that a legal proceeding is taken against him for abandonment. Once that is done, then you will be fully a ward of the state, or hopefully your dad will have come back and you will be reunited with him, but if the former, then you will be eligible for adoption.” 

“And when do I get reunited with Dean?” Sam asks simply.

“Well, that will depend on his court hearing and how long the judge gives him, and if he gets juvie or the reform center. His court hearing is next week, so we’ll find out then but probably like a year I would guess.” 

“So, worst case scenario, I stay at Darla’s for 3 months and then become a ward of the state?  Which means I go to an orphanage like in Annie?”

Olivia blushes but nods. 

“Best case my dad calls says, “Just Kidding, on my way,” you all slap him on the wrist, we ride off into the sunset all happy and two state lines over he leaves me alone again for a few days, but this time, I am alone because you put Dean in jail?” Sam crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Sam, I’m sorry.”

“If you were so sorry, you wouldn’t have fucking taken me anywhere! I was fine. We were fine!” Sam’s voice breaks and some tears well up, but he angrily wipes them away.

“I know it seems really hard and unfair right now, but you are going to look back and see that this was a really good opportunity for you.”

Olivia takes him back to Darla’s. The next day, he wakes up and eats cereal with no milk, standing up because there are no stools. Then he goes and waits for the bus and starts school. Then he finds the library and studies about custody, wards of the state, emancipation, foster care, or at least he starts, he’ll be back and continue studying this for several months. He gets back to Darla’s at 6:00pm. He finds out that there is no dinner at that time because Derek works at 4:00pm so dinner is at 3:00pm; he asks permission to make a PB&J, and when she says yes, he makes it. Darla watches TV, and he sits with her; ER is like a soap opera with doctors. It bores Sam, but Darla is very interested. He cleans the kitchen, walks the dogs, showers. Goes to bed, sleeps with Dean’s tee-shirt and no pillow. On weekends he has more chores; he also helps Derek with his weights. 

And he repeats this for 84 days.  

Olivia drops by. She seems a bit taken aback by his weight. “You lost weight?” 

“It’s optical, I grew a few inches.” He smiles, “see if I catch up to my age.”

“Well, I came by to give you an update. Or two actually.” She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “Let’s sit in my car for a second.” They head to her SUV and she turns on the A/C and soft music. “Well, it’s official. You are a ward of the state.”

Sam drops his head. He isn’t John Winchester’s son anymore. Like biologically, yes, he always will be, but he isn’t his boy. The tie has been broken emotionally, legally, physically and John is the one who wanted to sever the tie. The worst part is that the only one who is no longer officially John's son is Sam. Since Dean got arrested and was going to be in a program and then when he finished he would be an adult it didn’t matter, the state had not proceeded to make  Dean a ward of the state, because he would be in custody in a different capacity.

“Well, I’m ready for my career as a singing orphan that captivates a mysterious millionaire to escape from the drudgery of the evil mistress at the orphanage.” Sam tries to be sarcastic.

“Ah, Darla isn’t that bad.” 

“Nah, but Frito can be quite demanding, another treat, or I’ll bark again.” Sam doesn’t mention Derek's tendency to pin him against the wall. He’s never hit him, despite the constant bruising of all his fingertips on the inside of Sam’s arm. It’s always the same, “Were you looking at her?” “No, no sir.” “Better not, if I catch you you’ll be sorry.” Sam frankly has no idea what he even would be looking at. He supposes it's like Dean’s Busty Asians, but there is absolutely no interest generated in him. 

Olivia goes for update number two, “Well, it’s not a mysterious millionaire, but it is a fancy summer camp. For myth geeks or something. Technically, you wouldn’t qualify until after it starts, but I mean, we’ll call and figure it out because they start at an inconvenient time, when school is still in session.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks.   

“Well they start now, May 1 and run until August 1. It’s called Celebrating Myth with Heat in the Northeast. And it's for 12 to 17 year olds, while you turn on the 2nd. However, I think they will let it slide since the invitation came in for you directly.”

Sam thinks that this must be something his dad or another hunter friend had established. Of course it sounds cool, but he can’t let his concentration waiver. “For me?”

“Yeah, something about you having applied when you participated in the summer camp last year at Blue Earth?” 

That settles it, Pastor Jim. Sam smiles. “Yeah, hippie stuff. It’s nice.” 

“It’s good to see you smile.” Olivia says, and Sam blushes. “But you know, even if Pastor Jim set this up,” Sam snaps his head up, “Yes, I am aware Blue Earth is where Pastor Jim is located, it doesn’t mean you are going with him without permission. In fact, we vetted the place, and Pastor Jim is not associated, listed or working there.”    

Sam’s eyebrows meld together. Why would Pastor Jim send him somewhere and not be there? It must be a friend. Still better than Darla’s place for the summer. He looks at Olivia, smiles. “It sounds neat.” 

She smiles back at him, “I saw the brochure, and it looked really nice. I’ll drive you up on the 2nd.”

“Do you think we can stop at the zoo on the way there?” He asks shyly, face dropped and hand on the door handle. Ready to sprint. 

“I, well, I’m not sure. It’s not official business so technically I’m not supposed to but I can look at the map and see if it’s on the way. Like exactly en-route and then perhaps. I’d have to get back to you though.” She seems flustered. 

“It would be nice, my family would take me every year for my birthday. Which is why I asked. But if it’s out of the way it doesn’t matter. I know things are different now.” Sam shrugs his shoulders and bolts out of the car.   

Oh, for crying out loud, like she is going to be able to say that even 45 or 50 miles is out of the way with the way this poor kid just eviscerated her heart. She better get that goddamn administrative position she requested, because working directly with the kids is too hard for her soft shell.

Chapter Text

If he had left at 11:15, nothing would have happened. Or at least, things wouldn’t have been as bad. He constantly berates himself for being stupid, for being greedy, for putting himself in situations that in hindsight he knows he shouldn’t have. It’s always hindsight though.

It’s cold, because it’s February, almost March but still technically more winter vibes than spring. He is wearing Sammy’s mathlete t-shirt from last year. Sam outgrew it and wouldn’t wear it except to the math tournaments, and they had to pay $15.00 for it. So tonight, he had on Sammy’s tee-shirt, dad’s leather jacket and jeans. The shirt gives off a trustworthy vibe, this kid is a nerd, participates in school activities. Wholesome school activities like math tournaments. We can trust him. The jacket helped with the second part of his story. “I work at a mechanic shop.” And that was it, simple as that.

They pulled in off the highway looking for a meal, bathrooms or the rest-stop to stretch their legs. Dean siphoned a bit of gas, switched out their car battery or changed their sparks. Easy, quick things that they would notice as soon as they tried to leave. Nothing that would endanger them later. He was the local boy who could step in and help, lucky he was picking up his dinner for him and his brother. He often sold back the same battery or plugs he had taken out of their car. They thought he was an angel, put there to assist their travels. It was a pretty harmless con. Dean didn’t feel bad about it. Sometimes he actually saw things under the hood that needed attention, and he’d tell them, “better get that belt checked when you get to the next town.” Or “I poured some oil in, that was as dry as Utah on Sundays.” The traveling families would shower him with thanks and blessings as they also gave him money for the help and parts he had miraculously had in his car, due to working as a mechanic with his dad. Pure kismet. Lucky families.

As he was leaving, the back door of Shurley’s opened up. Miguel, one of the assistant cooks, called him over. “Hey, I have half a pot of Broccoli Cheddar Soup, can I get a full tank of gas and a new battery?”

“No way, man.”

Miguel smiled. “Ok, ok, just the tank and I’ll throw in some bread.”

“No, fuck you. You’re so cheap!” They both laughed good naturedly.

“You drive a hard bargain man. Tap me off, enough to make it home and back here tomorrow then.” Miguel negotiated. "I'm a broke student, come on."

“That’s the soup and bread.” Dean acceded.

“Ok, but can I get a kiss too?” Miguel adds flirtatiously.

Dean gives a short shake of his head. Miguel laughs when suddenly someone calls out from the stand-alone visitor’s bathroom area.

“Hey, Math Boy.” It’s one of the guys that works the trucker area calling him over.

Dean leans into Miguel,  “Let me go see what he wants. Can you pack that soup to go for me, please.” Dean says as his hands run down the cook’s chest.

“Uh, what do I have to do for you to let me take you out? ” Miguel leans into him.

“I’m sure you will convince me, eventually. Maybe over steak.” Dean bites his lip and cocks an eyebrow, he laughs knowing Miguel just said he's broke. He walks away, popping his hip, sure that Miguel is still salivating. He loves flirting, but he would never actually go out with the guy; his dad would kill him if he found out. 

The fucking wind picks up as he nears the rest stop bathrooms. Gracing his nose with a pee smell and a gust of cold. Fantastic. “What’s up, blondie?”

“You like ‘em?” The kid asks about his new highlights. “First time I do them with a professional.”

“Yeah, you can totally tell.” Dean lies; he knows shit about hair dyes. He once got a halloween dye that was a marker and literally crayola’d his hair. It was supposed to be green and ended up looking like blond tips. Dad had had a lot to say about Dean and his girlie hair. Not quite believing the Halloween story. He shivers quickly, discarding the memory. “What’d you call me over for?

“Oh, I’m hitching a ride out with a big rigger, but there is a dead-drunk driver behind the shed. Easy-picking.” he points with his head to behind the bathroom structure.

“Oh, okay, thanks.” Dean wonders briefly why blondie didn’t roll the trucker himself, but he knows that their business models are different.

“No problem, stay safe.” the newly professional blond heads off towards where the semi-trucks are parked.

Dean looks around the parking lot. The asphalt glows under the yellow lamp light and a bit from the lighting coming off the flood light from the restaurant. He sees the same cars he is used to seeing, the employees’. Restaurant patrons park up front and walk in through the glass doors—not many reasons to come back here. Even those looking for the rest-stop bathrooms, following signs from the highway, often end up at the restaurant. Those who actually end up at this structure come at it from the side, from the big parking lot where the trucks are parked.

Dean sighs: it is already 11:30pm, and it is so cold. Something in his gut is telling him to grab his soup and get back to Sammy, but a few extra bills won’t hurt, and he is already here. He trots quickly behind the structure and finds the guy, easy enough. One big heap of flesh on the concrete rumpled up.

“Hey, man, you okay?” He asks as he bends over and deft hands pat the chest, searching for inner pockets.

“Ust looking att the forest animals.”

“Oh yeah, Bambi came by and said goodnight?” Dean chuckles, “You want a hand to get back to your rig? Or want to stay here?” He is already pulling on the man to make him sit a bit more upright.

The guy flails an arm and seems to put some effort into standing up; he manages to get incorporated faster than Dean expected.

“You trying get my pants?” The man pushes Dean against the wall. Dean’s brain goes on high alert.

“No, man, just saw you on the floor and thought you needed help.” Dean tries to step away, but the man slams him against the wall, and before he can react has turned him around and connected a solid punch to his kidneys, Dean takes a sharp intake of air and straightens himself. He won’t cry.

“Steal from me?” Dean thinks of the money clip he already pocketed as he shakes his head, denying this accusation. The man pats himself down, in his stupor not quite remembering what he is supposed to be looking for, he finds his wallet and his keys and looks at them.

Dean should say see you have your wallet, or we good, something comforting. Instead, he laughs, a short chuckle. He shouldn’t, but he shouldn’t have stayed for this job either, so stupid is as stupid does.

“You laughing at me?” The angry tone, about to lose control. The too tight grip around his arms. He knows enough about drunks to know what comes next. The cold night air. The smell of piss coming in from the bathroom. He hopes the guy keeps it on his body and leaves his face and head alone.

Suddenly he hears his name, “Dean?” He turns to look. It’s a tall guy that he doesn’t know. “Dean.”

“Hey, dude, fuck off and wait your turn.” The asshole growls.

“My turn?”

“Yeah, this little shit stole from me, and I’m going make him pay for it.” The drunk says.

“Sir, I’m an officer of the law. You haven’t broken it yet, so don’t. Let me step in and check.” The police officer comes up and slowly substitutes the man, who steps to the side, slightly unsteady. “You’re Dean Winchester?” Dean nods, “Spread ‘em out, I’m going to frisk you.” Dean debates fighting for his rights, but figures if someone came looking for him, he’ll have something else to hold him on. The officer frisks him and finds the money clip; Dean hopes he’ll think it’s his. “Do you own a money clip?” he asks the guy.

“Yeah,” the man touches his pockets. “It’s gone! I knew he was a thief!” He takes a menacing step towards Dean.

“Can you please describe it in detail.” Officer Roig asks.

“It’s silver with an eagle etched in the front. I got maybe $320-$325 folded in it, not a lot.”

Dean thought he didn’t like the guy, now he knows for sure. $320.00 was a heck of a lot of money; he and Sam could live for over a month with that much. He always hated people that were careless with money.

“Here’s my card. Call me tomorrow to swing by the station to pick it up and to give a statement. I know you won’t be driving tonight in your condition.” The guy grumbled a bit but seemed to agree as he walked off towards the rigs parking lot.

The officer explains that he was supposed to pick Dean up because of CPS, but now with this, he has to treat it with the legal lens too. He’ll take him in and let the social worker figure it out.
In the sheriff’s office, he gets booked for petty larceny. The guy calls the social worker, with whom he was working already. That is when he finds out that they have Sam and feels so much stress. How could he have messed up so badly?

The next morning, the social worker comes by. Olivia tells him that they are going to propose sending him to a boys' reform home instead of a jail. It’s a diversion program for minors that haven’t demonstrated behavioral problems.

“Where is my brother?” Is the first question he asks.

“He’s at a foster home. We were going to put you there too, but the activities you were engaging in made it impossible to proceed as normal.” Olivia shifts her eyes away from the teen.

“My kid brother needs to eat.”

“Agreed, and that responsibility should not be yours to bear. This is in no way your fault. Which is why we are recommending the Boy’s Home option.”

“Can Sammy come live with me there?”

“Well, that is for kids that have committed some sort of offense.”

“Got it, not your fault, but here is the punishment for it.” Dean crosses his arms.

“Fact is, you should have looked for other options. We found out about your tricks with the car repairs and gas and battery stealing. You’re not getting charged for any of that.” Olivia starts stacking her materials.

“Those are harmless, victimless cons.” Dean snorts.

“We’ll recommend the Boy’s Home. Your brother will be in foster care, and when you both age out, you can reunite.” Olivia is headed out.

“What about when my old man shows up again? Dean asks.

Olivia stops; 'damn she hadn’t told this one.' She turns to him. “Dean, your father, not only would be found lacking by the state, but he also is the one that reported the case to the us.”

Dean furrows his brow. He isn’t sure he understands what the lady means. “What?”

“A Mr. John Winchester is listed as the person who opened the report on the two abandoned minors at the Motel Sunrise Port.”

She watches as comprehension floods him; he takes it like the punch to the kidneys. A quick sharp intake of breath, he swallows the cry and bends a little as he looks for internal steel. Then he stands-up a little straighter. Shakes his head and releases a small chuckle, an angry one.

“Okay then. Guess he won’t be coming back. Asshole.” He turns towards the wall.

“Is there any chance Sammy will get adopted?”

“Chances are lower as people age, but they aren’t null.”

“What’s the best scenario for him?” Dean has turned back towards her.

“Honestly?” Dean nods. She sighs and says what she never tells anyone, “Sleep-away school, a boarding school. Getting a full scholarship at a fancy prep boarding school.”

Dean’s eyes twinkle, “Oh yeah, he’s a total nerd. That would be great. How can we get started on that? Can you help? Do we start writing to them? Research them and apply?”

Olivia smiles, “Dean, this is all wonderful, but right now you should focus on your situation and future case.”

“What, I go to a reform home or Juvie, either way I got two years ahead of me where I can’t do what I am supposed to do, which is to take care of my baby brother.”

Olivia had been feeling that this one was more brat, but now she could see it was all an act. Hard shell to protect himself while he protected his brother, but someone should be protecting him too. She shakes her head, wondering how that can be achieved.

Chapter Text

The phone call had been unexpected. Not that an ex-fling didn’t occasionally ring him for a repeat encounter or more often for help with his area of specialty. However, this was the first one that had called and seemed so uncomfortable. “John?”

“Umm” he grunted back, noncommittally.

That seemed to be enough confirmation for her, and she gushed forward in a release of fearful and anxiety driven words.

“Hey John, this is Kate, Kate Milligan, I don’t know if you remember me?” There is a brief silence over the line and she decides to continue. “We met in Minnesota at St. Catherine’s ER Department back in 1990. You might not, you were hurt pretty bad. After we patched you up at the ER, you stayed a few days at the Villa Motel, and I dropped by to check on you. Oh, God, that was quite unprofessional, but well, huh… well, I had a kid later that year, and I’m sorry I never called, but you know it seemed easier. You had told me about your loss, and it just seemed like you weren’t ready, and I was good on my own and so anyways he wants to meet you.” She laughs out loud, “Actually, he’s driving me insane. If you don’t want to, I understand, I mean…”

“Kate,” he interrupted her, “Kate, I remember. I’ll be there tomorrow.” John heard her empty out all the air she’d been holding in one long whoosh and whisper a low ‘thank you.’

He hopped in his car and started driving. He rode hard. The car actually shook, almost as much as he did. She would recognize the Impala as it was the same car he had been driving when they met five years ago. He’d been bitten by a ghoul and ended up in the ER, and she was the nurse who saved him.

When he arrives at Windom, MN and finally pulls up to the small gray duplex with the Japanese maple in the corner and the leaning mailbox he grips the steering wheel so tight -until his forearms shake. Then he exhales and runs his fingers through his hair and steps out.

He knocks once, evaluates the too-low wattage of the outside bulbs, the ridiculousness of the cherry welcome mat, easy fixes—plus adding a protection sigil and some salt—his mind suddenly stops when she opens the door.

John adopts his normal flirt pose, left hip slightly higher, lip curled and looking up from under his eyelashes. “Hey.”

She had that shoulder length dirty blond he liked and a tight muscular build. He hadn’t seen her in five years and TBH had been pretty out of it when he had met her, but damn did he have a type. “Can I?” He gestured and opened his arms. She mutely nodded as she stepped into his arms, his 6’2 frame engulfed her. He kissed her hair and felt her fist his shirt, holding on for dear life. She sighed, then pulled back. Looked him in the eye. Then let herself look him over completely.

John chuckled internally; he knew she was checking him out. Seeing how five years had treated him. Of course being a hunter had kept him fit, a few more scars, maybe more whiskey than he should but otherwise better than most men his age. She had felt the hardness of his muscles when they embraced. He was thanking John high on percocet from 5 years ago, because the selection was fine and also held up fantastically well.

“I can’t believe you came,” she whispered under her breath as she shook her head.

“Of course, as soon as I heard. Listen, we do this like you two want. You tell me, and I’ll follow the prompts, okay? ”

She rubbed her sweaty palms on her jeans. “Yeah, I told him you’d come today, so tonight is fine. He is super excited. All I told him about you is that we met when you came in hurt one day, and since you were hurt, we didn’t get to talking a lot, because like he knows, when he feels bad, he doesn’t like to talk. Then when you were all better you left before I knew I was pregnant.”

“Sounds accurate.” John says, his tone is flirtatious, and he leans in.

Kate seems to get flustered but continues “I didn’t tell him anything about your loss, and he thinks you’re a mechanic.”

John feels his spine tense up. “My loss?”

“Yeah, your wife and little boys… that seems too heavy to explain to a kid, so I didn’t bring it up.”

John wracked his brain and wondered what he had said to make this woman believe his sons were dead? Back in 1990 they were, what, he made quick mathematical calculations, 7 and 11 and holed up just like now in some hotel. They were alone while he was getting maimed by a ghoul, then patched up in the ER and the special bedside attention by the nurse that ended up with him knocking her up. Not his finest parenting moment. Now they were bigger; Sammy was almost 12, and Dean was 16, could drive a car, get them out of trouble, outta town and to a safer place if needed.

This was probably going to be a short one- or two-night visit. If they started off by clarifying something so big as a “well actually,” she may not trust him and change her mind on wanting him to meet the kid. She didn’t need to know about them, so he decided to roll with the conversation with a noncommittal but leaning on sad, downcast eyes and murmured response of “Ummm.”

Kate placed a consoling hand on his shoulder, and he leaned into it. “Yeah, it's best not to bring that all up.”

He looked at her from under his eyelashes. “So, what’s the little slugger’s name?”

She smiled, lighting up, “Adam, his name is Adam.”

“Well, let’s go meet him. If you’re ready?’ He took a step forward, she stepped back into the foyer and let him step fully into the house.

“Yes, I think I am.”

John smiled down at her, lightly brushed back a fleck of hair behind her ear. “We got this.”

That evening, John rediscovered three things. A son that has innocence, childlike wonder and no clue of what it means to be a soldier in the hunt against the supernatural. What it felt like to have sex sober, which he hadn’t done in years. It felt different, awkward, good, phenomenal. His body and his memory connected. And the warmth of a home, a meal at a family table, chatter, dinner plates to be washed, the routine of closing up the house, reading a bedtime story, slipping into bed next to a warm body, kissing someone goodnight. The weight of love.

The next day, John accompanied Kate and Adam to the school. Adam was delighted to show off his daddy. He showed John his cubby, his spot on the rug, how he knew how to make his name already, his favorite book. The teacher smiled and said she was delighted to see Adam so excited. She asked Kate if she wanted to add John to the list of approved pick-up people?

“Oh, well, I don’t know how long...” Kate trailed off, looking at John, waiting for answers to the unasked questions.

John turned to her, “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

Kate blushed, John stepped closer and hugged her, and she allowed it. Adam hopped on over to them, “Dad, come and see my favorite truck!”

“Okay, but real quick because your teacher has to start class, and your mom and I got to leave.”

When they leave the school, he grabs Kate’s hand. The brick building behind him, the same as dozens he has been to, boring, drab, fake flowers and cheery, peppy women trying to do right by one of his kids. He figures they learn more shooting with him on the weekend, but school gives them exposure to other kids, teaches them how society works. With his boys that hasn’t been a priority; they are more backroads and off the main scene—not really society people. But here, Kate, Adam, this is going to be the white picket fence, the apple pie, and Friday night game type of life, so school will be important.

He looks down at her, the blond hair, concentrated eyes that say don’t give me bull and I’ll treat you fair, the soft, pillowy lips. She’s a good one, and a fighter, got in the family way and just kept going forward. Knew what type of man he was and didn’t even try to reach out. If he wanted this, he had to reach out himself.

“You’ve done so good without me, you sure you want my fuck-up ass?” He intertwined his fingers with hers.

“Adam does, and I want to give him everything. Now, if you mess that up.”

John chuckles, “Oh, I’m sure.” He pulls her in, hugging her to him, wrapping his arms around her petite figure. “If I mess up, I’ll chop my balls off for you on my way out.”

“Well, I'm a nurse; it’s probably better if I do it.” She hugs him back, her nails sliding up his back.

“Exactly, that’s why I should do it. Messier, more painful.” He kisses the top of her hair.

Kate sighs contently. “Don’t mess it up. You keep your balls, and we’re all happy.”

“Umm, good plan. I’m gonna go job hunting. See you tonight, 6ish?”

“4:30 is better, because I work at 6:00.” She pulls back and looks at him, John nods.

They separate, and John heads towards downtown. A general store, a mechanic, an armory, a detective, a bar, he’ll poke his head in each one and see if any of them need a hand. He knows he’d fit in any of them easily.

By late afternoon, his presence has been established—even the ones that don’t have space for him right now know about him. Ex-military, tracker, ex-bounty hunter, that’s his cover story. Explains the lack of roots, let’s everyone know he isn’t to be messed with and also his skill set. Settling down with Kate, he is the little one's daddy, hadn’t meant to be absent, she just hadn’t informed him, you know how stubborn Kate can be. Soft smile, looking for something more domestic. “It comes for us all, you know.” His eyes would soften.

Everyone could feel their defenses lower; Kate is a hometown girl. One of their own. If she chose this man, she must have seen something beneath the gruff exterior. She was an excellent judge of character, and that little boy, cutest thing ever. He had come back, stepping up, so that bode well. Let’s see. Let’s see what happens with the little family. At least he had the skills to protect them.

After all the wandering, making connections and checking for potential jobs. John finally wandered into the Chicken Roost, the local tavern. He went to the back, where the public phone was located, and he looked up the phone number for the Children’s Protective Services in New York. His stomach was burning acid. He was about to have a coronary attack; his face was sweating pure heat, and he could feel a short pang right above his heart. He looked around the bar and swallowed. He made the call.

“Child Protective Services, please hold.” John snorted a laugh.

When the receptionist came back on, he rushed out the words, “I want to report two abandoned minors.”

“One moment.”

He was seriously being put on hold; he thought of hanging up. The plan, however, needed him to do this. He needed to complete this task. He gripped the phone tightly and sighed, pinching his brow in exasperation.

“Hello? Who am I speaking to?”

“Um, does it matter? Can I give you the information?”

“Ok, so an anonymous report.”

“Yeah, sure.

“It’s that there may be less priority on your report than a properly reported one.”

“Properly reported? What the hell? What does that even mean lady?”

“Well, name, reporter, relationship, nature of the interest, etc.”

“Fine, I’m John, and I’m calling to report two minors abandoned in the Motel Sunrise Port off of Highway 99. They’ve been there for about a month.”

“What are the minors' names, ages; is there any adult with them? Who has parental custody?”

“Sam and Dean Winchester, 12 and 15? No 16, it’s May 2, 1983, and January 21 no 24, 1979. Technically, I am supposed to be with them, but I left. Like a month ago.”

“And you are?”

“John, John Winchester. Their dad.”

“I see, and where is their mother?”

“She died years ago. Sam was still in the crib.”

“Mr. Winchester, technically we work to reunite families, and you can’t just abandon your children without any consequence. The state can’t fiscally be responsible for all children that parents feel like giving up on. We know that teen years are hard, but we can provide some classes and assistance.”

“Look, those boys aren’t typical teenagers. They are good. I’m the one that they need to keep away from; give them a second chance away from me. If you don’t go look for them, they’ll survive, but will be alone, because I ain’t going back.” John hangs up. Fucking government idiots, John whispers under his breath.

John thinks about what he has many times, something twisted and ugly, but still something that pops up in his head every once in a while. It’s probably what led him to ramble on to Kate about the boys being dead 5 years ago. Deep down he sometimes thinks they should’ve died in the fire. At least Sammy, it happened in his nursery. That demon was looking for him. Honestly, it’s made him never be able to connect with Sam, the boy is like an attack dog that you’re too wary of to pet. Dean, this wouldn’t have been his first choice. The kid’s loyal and resourceful, but it’s better this way, he’ll take care of Sam. Besides, a clean break from Mary is better to start with a new woman and Dean not only looks like her, he idolizes her memory and as he barely has a memory of his mom he looks to John to fuel it. John shakes himself, it is done and it is for the best.

He heads to the bar and orders a double shot of whiskey straight up. The bartender places it in front of him quickly and ducks out of sight. John throws it back and grimaces as the liquid burns his throat. He taps the glass against the bar, but then turns it upside down when the bartender materializes in front of him. “Nah, sorry friend, turning a new leaf.” He looks up and the bartender smiles at him. “Hey, don’t I remember you?”

“Yeah,” a big smile cracks the man's face from side to side. “You working?”

“Nah, a new leaf. I see that it’s different for you too? Here at a bar instead of behind the badge? Joe, was it?”

“Yep, Joe, Joe Barton. Wasn’t able to keep on with the badge after that sneak peek you gave me to the, umm other world. So, I switched to tamer pastures. Alcohol is like the crossroads. You hear about the law, that thing you showed me, feelings and regular small town drama. It’s never boring and at the same time, I never have to go deep on any of them. A potpourri, but not a specialist.” Joe wipes down the bar while he talks, John nods.

“So, bar yours?”

“Technically the wife’s, but I get to play here all day. She does some paperwork in the office a few times per week, and somehow we haven’t starved.” Joe grins.

“Sweet, man, sweet. Well, I too am switching to tamer pastures. Right here in Windom, MN!”

“No shit?”

“Ah, don’t play coy. Ex-cop and local barkeep. I’m sure if anyone knows it’s you.” John points his finger at Joe. Joe laughs sheepishly. “You know the whole story, huh?” Joe shrugs his shoulders.

“Hey, Kate is fantastic, I knew the kid was yours since way back. Didn’t know if you knew or not, but that wasn’t my business. You and I had a great time, didn’t want to call you and find out you knew, and you know…”

John laughs a deep belly laugh. “What? Find out I was an asshole? Buddy, you’re gonna find that out anyways.” They laugh together, again. John feels like this is good, because this is one person who knows his true identity as a hunter.

“You want another shot?”

“Nah, I really am changing, no more drinking for me. I get grumpy with the whiskey. Not how I wanna show up for the little one.” John pushes the glass towards Joe. “As a matter of fact, if you ever need help around here, let me know. Barback, fixer of things, bouncer etc.”

“Yeah, maybe for events. Brides-to-be get wild, but that’s just little side stuff.”

“Understood.”

“You know, if you’re looking for a job, you should check out the old poultry farm. It's about 10 miles outside of town. It used to be an industrial poultry farm with thousands of chickens. Then these kids from a save-the-animals type of organization got in and recorded illegally. Like half the things they recorded were the do gooders themselves doing them, but they got a lot of press outrage, and they ended up getting inspected and fines. The new owner inherited the place and she is from a younger generation and just folded under the pressure and closed it down. Said she’s going to do something with the property but hasn’t decided what yet. So they let this farming initiative use it for collaborative farming and that's it. They need someone to look over the place, still run the equipment so it doesn’t rust and help the small farmers when they need help.” Joe stacks some glasses, “Kid that was doing that job, just got promoted.”

“Yeah?”

“Big time, he’s now the heiress’s boyfriend.” Joe raises an eyebrow. John whistles, and they both laugh, reveling in the gossip.

“I’ll go check it out. Thanks for the lead, and man I think I’m going like this new leaf. I’m leaving lots of things behind, so it's real nice to reconnect with ya’ Joe.” John pulls a bill out of his wallet.

“I like ya’ too, but I don’t know. No drinking, you ain’t gonna be too good for business.” Joe smiles.

“Smartass.” John says as he heads out.

“Dumbass,” Joe replies with a smile.

Chapter Text

They drive into the forest, because it feels like they are driving into a private forest area and follow the small discreet wooden signs that direct them to the visitor’s center. They park in front, there are like four cars, all the same, white Range Rovers. They walk inside, carrying Sam’s bags, everything is noisy with forest sounds. Wind, trees rustling, bugs, and a silence that sounds really loud.

The center is round, and mostly in yellow wood with lots of windows. So that inside it is inundated with light. When they step inside, the walls are painted in a soft pink, and not in simple brushstrokes, but in a sort of technique that seems like it was done with plastic bags or something, but it makes it look texturized and rounded. Very pleasant but not homogenous. Hippie for sure. The floor is stone, like an orange. It is all so warm and pleasant. All the furnishings are pale wood. There are no corners, everything is soft, rounded. Sam feels a sudden shiver run down his spine; he looks up, and there is a huge artwork of an angel looking down at him. It is almost not defined; it seems very watercolor, no edges, and yet so defined at the same time. The angel seems to be falling, pressing down on him, with huge extended wings. Sam takes a step back.

“Quite impressive, right?” A black-haired lady steps up towards them.

The social worker turns towards the woman. “Hi, we’re here to check in a camper.”

“Yes, Sam, Sam Winchester. We’ve been waiting for you.” She smiles warmly at him. “I’m Ruby. I’ve been assigned to fill out the paperwork and show you the main areas. Sound good?” Sam and Olivia both nod. “Okay, Sam here is our rules binder and the events calendar. If you want go sit over there,” she points at a green sofa, “while we do the paperwork. Then we’ll tour the grounds and show you your sleeping area.”

Sam takes the rules binder and goes and sits where the lady said. He opens the binder, and the first page is blank. The first thing he notices is that the paper is really nice quality and it also looks like watercolor. It’s not your standard white 11 x 8.5 copy paper. The edges are also rounded, and it’s thick. The second page says:

Celebrating Myth With Heat in the Northeast.
Camp LightBringers
Summer 1995

It’s on the same type of watercolor background, thick stock, rounded edges paper.

The next page says:

We Seek To Be Embraced by His Wings
Some shall crawl
Some shall kneel
Some shall bow
Some shall stand
All will serve.

Then after that, on the same type of paper, the rules start. Sam reads over them. Nothing stands out as particularly difficult or as something he won’t be able to figure out.

Ruby and Olivia come over, the legal, financial, health, adult type papers have been signed and stashed in the file that Ruby now holds and is labeled with his name.

“Let’s go check out the facilities. I promise you a great variety of trees, and a few extra trees thrown in for some flavor.” Ruby says with a twinkle in her eyes. “We even have some wood tables sprinkled here and there so you can sit underneath said trees!”

Sam decides he likes her, even if she is dressed in the typical hippie attire. A one-piece jumper in tye-dye, which later she will excitedly explain she dyed herself, as Sam rolls his eyes. Yellow shoes, which in time he will learn are espargatas and made by an ethically sourced farm cooperative the camp works with and that the graduating class travels to see in Ecuador. Sam himself will go in a few years, although he doesn’t know that yet.

They exit the visitor’s center through a side door and almost immediately land on a wooden bridge that crosses over a small creek. They cross it, and although it isn’t very long, it is like entering deeper into the forest. They can hear frogs, birds, and the wind noticeably picks up.

“To the left you can see the first of several meeting spaces, we call it Classroom A.”

Sam notices that there is a clearing, and that the clearing has been marked off by stones, making it into a semi-circle area but other than that nothing really indicates that it is a meeting area or classroom.

They continue down the path, and Ruby points out some of the lovely tables she had mentioned. They are basically picnic tables alongside the path. They see two more “classrooms,” and then they see the theater. It is the same as the prior classrooms, but it has a stage. The stage is a wooden riser about four inches off the ground and behind it huge stones enclose it, making a U formation around it.

“It’s pretty cool and actually creates some interesting acoustics.” Ruby tells them. “We’ll have a play here on midsommer night. Everyone lays on the grass and watches; it’s lovely. Since it is light until so late, no electricity needed. Then everyone goes back to their tents and hopes to dream of their future love. Come on,” she waves them on, “next stop, the teepees!”

They walk a bit more, and the path opens to a wide meadow that holds teepees splattered throughout and in no discernable pattern. In the middle of the meadow, there is a huge Maypole, all shiny and criss-crossed with ribbons.

“We did that yesterday; too bad you missed it.” Ruby hops, literally hops around the pole. “Okay, which teepee do you want to go to?”

“Um, I get to choose?” Sam asks nervously.

“No, it’s assigned. I’m checking to see if you have any intuition.”

“Oh.” Sam replies crestfallen.

“Don’t worry about that Sam; it will be fine either way.” Olivia assures him.

Sam points to a teepee that is slightly off to the right, about a quarter deep in the line-up, “I’ll go there.”

Ruby raises her eyebrows. She doesn’t say anything, simply starts walking towards that one. “Brady and Belphegor are your roommates. Camp Counselor is Tom. Word of advice, Tom is quiet, but he is the director’s son, so stay on his good side. You’ll meet them all tonight at fireside. That’s our post dinner chat session. Usually, right there.” She turns and points to a huge fire pit off to the middle of the back teepees.

They walk into the teepee, and it is surprisingly big and also luxurious. The beds are individual ones, with wood frames; the floor is covered in lamb rugs, and the back part of the teepee is a fake wall that is a half bathroom with a compostable toilet and a sink.

Olivia whispers “This is nice.”

Sam eyes the bed and laughs, the pillow is fluffy and has a satin pillowcase, “Yeah, yeah it is.” He thinks back to the non-existent pillow at Darla’s.

They walk back towards the visitor’s center, to escort Olivia out. Sam goes all the way to the car with her. He needs to ask one last question.

“Is there any way to talk to my brother?” He looks at her with his big soft pleading eyes. She knows some rich people have mobile phones, and if she were one of them she would immediately cave and let him call, but she is a poor government employee, she doesn’t.

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Sam.” His head drops. “Hey, I’ll coordinate so that when I pick you up in August, we can have a call to the place he is staying at.” Sam smiles, a huge grin. “If they allow it!” She quickly clarifies.

“Thank you!” Sam hugs her.

“Now, go and enjoy this place. It looks amazing.” He nods and jumps out of the car, headed to the visitor’s center.

That evening, Sam meets his roommates and counselor. He and Brady get on famously well. Forming a quick and fast friendship unlike any he has ever had. It does something for Sam’s heart that he never knew he needed. Belphegor is funny, and Tom is easy to please and keep content. Sam feels that the summer will be a good one.

The next day, instead of integrating into the regular camp activities, Sam is called to the administration building. He feels nervous because all his paperwork was completed by Olivia, and he isn’t sure what will be asked. What if he messes up and is asked to leave?

The admin building is similar to the visitor's center, but it is smaller, and the color technique is in a different hue, more purple. As he walks in, he doesn’t see anyone. He wanders up to the office area, where he hears some voices. He sees one office that says Nurse; he figures that one is safe to interrupt, like at different schools' kids go to the nurse because they get hurt or feel sick. He pokes his head in.

“Excuse me.” Sam speaks to the back of a black-haired nurse sitting on a stool.

“Hey ya’ Sam. I’m Nurse Meg, ready for your shots?” She turns towards him, a big smile, apple cheeks and short bangs.

“Shots?” Sam asks with confusion clearly in his tone.

“Yeah, kid, this forest is no joke. Bambi is coming back with a vengeance with the Lyme—well technically it’s the tick. Bambi is too cute to do anything nefarious, you hear, but he’s housing the tick and that one is giving us Lyme disease. So, one dose of Lymerix for ya. Plus, the dengue shot, because that cute river doesn’t flow fast enough to keep mosquitoes from being spawned. So one dose of dengvaxia. And of course, a dose of tetanus, necessary when hopping around in the forest. In case you stab yourself with some asshole’s illegal trash or get bit by some rabid mongoose.” She gloves up and starts to place her materials in front of her on a steel tray.

“Um, you’re making this whole hippy in the forest summer camp sound a bit dangerous.”

“Kid, you’re preaching to the choir. I live on the 13th floor of a highrise, thank you very much. Sealed doors, controlled air conditioner.” Meg chuckles. “Okay, what else did Azazel say to do?”

“Who? Sam asks, completely unknowing.

“Oh, you haven’t seen him yet?” She breathes deeply, pulls her gloves off and stands up from her stool. “Follow me kid.” They exit her dispensary, and two doors to the right she points toward a hanging cement bench that is the same color as the wall and can be easily missed at first glance. “Sit here.” She walks into the office.

Sam sits and starts to pick at his cuticles. There is an expectation that weighs on him, of being a kid with a story ready. He has had to invent a story so many times, but he has always had Dean with him to back him up, an older, bigger brother that is responsible and that adults can feel relieved that they did their due process by talking to him. Here, he feels so alone and small. Although, he does feel better by having gone to the nurse first, because it means that likely this whole being called to administration is about shots. He isn’t as nervous as he was before he spoke to Nurse Meg.

Nurse Meg opens the pale wood door and waves him in. Sam jumps, briefly nervous again. This is like going to the principal’s office after all. He has always charmed school officials, but this is a camp; it is a bit different. Sam sighs, manner’s up.

“Oh, but you’re a gangly one. All bones.” The man stands up; he is stocky but tall, barrel chested with a square face, really light eyes; they look almost yellow and carries himself with quick energy. In a way, he reminds Sam of his dad; there is a definite military quality to him. The man is dressed in jeans and a striped button-down shirt and a professor’s jacket. It seems at odds with the camp hippie vibe, but Sam can see this being the super dressed up version for the people here.

“Hi, I’m Sam Winchester, sir,” Sam sticks his hand out to shake it. The man walks up to him and takes his hand. Shakes it vigorously; it even hurts a little. Then walks around Sam, sizing him up.

“You’re 12, right?”

“Yes sir. Turned yesterday.”

“How tall are you?”

“I’m 5’0, sir.” Sam was wondering where this line of questioning was going, although it was all health related as he had suspected with the vaccines.

“That’s above the average for his age group, particularly as he entered the age group yesterday.” Meg chimes in.

“But scrawny, yeah?” The man looks at Meg.

“I haven’t weighed him yet.” Meg replies, tightly.

“Well, I suppose based on that profile I read that it’s not like you have been eating good, nutritious meals or taking vitamins or doing exercises.”

Sam wants to say something, but there is suddenly a big lump stuck there. He feels a hot flush fill his cheeks with color, so he looks down and merely nods.

“Don’t be embarrassed; his wings will embrace you now.” The man pats his shoulder. “I’m Azazel, and I run LightBringers. Meg told you about the shots for the camp, but seeing your current state, I think it will be prudent to do a more complete check-up if that’s okay. That way, we know if you need extra medicine or more vitamins.”

Sam nods again; he is still a bit flustered.

Azazel continues, “I’d also like to ask you questions about your skills, but we can do that another day. Maybe Friday? Give you a few days to settle in.” Sam nods again. “Perfect, let’s do that check-up.” He turns to Meg, “Here?”

Meg shrugs her shoulders, “Sure.” She goes to the chairs in front of the desk and places them so that they face each other. “Sam, come sit over here.”

Sam feels a warning bell going off in the back of his head, but he goes and sits as told. Nurse Meg sits in the other chair facing him.

“So, this examination is one where I will transfer my energy to inspect and do a health scan of all your internal organs. You are going to close your eyes and simply allow me to do my health scan. You will feel my energy when it moves around during the scan. Some things I may kick out, so you may feel queasy or the desire to go to the bathroom. Try and hold it a few minutes, while I finish.” Nurse Meg explains, and Sam is nodding, while he thinks that this is the hippiest thing he has ever heard.

“Okay, ready? Close your eyes.”

Sam does as he is told and shuts his eyes.

Sam feels a whoosh of air around him and then an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. He smells a bad, rotten egg smell, and his throat is really hoarse and dry. The side of his body is in pain, like when you run a race. He opens his eyes. Nurse Meg is slumped in her chair; she is so zen that she looks asleep, Sam feels worried; he is going to lean forward to check, but Azazel’s hand on his shoulder stops him. Azazel smiles at him, and his eyes look bright; it must be the reflection from the window—they look yellow. He takes his hand and covers Sam’s eyes, like when one closes the eyes on a dead person. Sam trembles and squeezes his eyes shut. He thinks he hears a “Good boy,” but that could be his imagination.

After a few minutes, he does feel his stomach begin to rumble. He remembers the nurse told him to hold on and so he clenches his stomach. Instantly, he feels like someone is prodding inside. He feels nausea, and again he swallows and wills it away. But the feeling intensifies, and he squirms, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead. His heartbeat accelerates. He swallows again. There is pressure. He doesn’t have much in his stomach; what could he possibly vomit? He did try a shot of wheatgrass this morning that Tom told him everyone should have, but that was just a little. He hasn’t had breakfast yet. It feels like something is knocking from the inside and trying to get out; he is going to have to go to the bathroom soon.

“Sam, take some deep breaths for me.” The soft command comes from behind him; it’s Azazel. “One, two, three, deep breath in for a count of eight and then out for a count of eight.”

As he exhales, Sam feels the air cool, and he can smell the rotten egg smell again. The nausea calms down though. He feels very tired, almost exhausted. He feels like he can hear Meg and Azazel speak about him, to him? He is too tired to register all the details.

“The spleen is enlarged but still reproducing the donated blood and inserting some into the red blood cells as it filters the blood. The original is stored in his bone marrow. Definitely undernourished, lacking vitamins, a few badly set bones, including ribs. Same with scars; he has internal hypertrophic scarring. Both of these would indicate not having looked for proper medical care after physical trauma. Most recent are a series of small bruises, consistent with fingerprints, on the insides of his arms. Signs of puberty are shown and consistent with age. Dental is excellent. Wisdom teeth are still impacted and only present in the lower quadrants.”

“Strong one, huh.” Azazel smirked at her. “Examination gone wrong. At least he hasn’t had breakfast.”

“He had that stupid wheatgrass shot that Tom swears by.” Meg complained.

“Floating in wheatgrass. Ah, Meg, what a champ! You should tell your brother. He’ll be envious.” Azazel walks over to Sam. “Just like this one. A real winner.” He puts a finger under Sam’s chin and lifts his groggy face to look at him. “You’re going to be my special boy? Huh, Sam?”

“Yes, sir.” Sam slurs: he doesn’t know why he’s so tired.

“Well, Meg did her health scan, nothing major. She’ll give you your shots now, and then you can take a nap if you need to.”

Sam nods. “Come on, big guy.” Meg says, and they walk a bit gracelessly over to her office where the shots are still waiting.

Afterward, nurse Meg takes him to the communal room and to the end of the self-serve food offerings. She tells Sam, “You always come here first.” She stands in front of a tall, skinny man who is watching all of the communal room like an overlord. “Alastair, this is Sam. He needs fat on his bones.”

“So do I.”

Sam snickers because it was exactly what he had been thinking.

“I know it was.” Pale grey eyes flicker and look directly at Sam. Sam falters and looks away.

“Stop with your intimidation games.” Meg warns him.

“Why are you gonna fatten that one up? You can tell he’s too soft. And too pretty.”

“Just make sure you give him a more protein rich diet and extra vitamins. Plus, the supplements.”

“For Special Children? Who tested him?”

“He hasn’t been tested yet, but dad, Azazel, wants him on it.”

“What a waste. Then when he goes back to eating standard cafeteria food, he’ll be a thorn in our sides, complaining and bitching.”

“I won’t. If I don’t deserve it, I won’t complain.” Sam says but thinks as he looks at Alastair, I do fucking great at tests and will obilerate it you pock-marked meanie.

“Meanie, really? Child.” Alastair turns toward the kitchen and orders a cook to bring out an “athlete’s special.” When the food arrives, Alastair hands it over to Sam and says, “Sit, eat, always procure your meals as I did, athlete’s special. Your vitamin regimen will start tomorrow; your counselor will give it to you.”

Sam grabs his tray and mumbles a “thank you.”

“Oh, and child,” Sam turns, “Don’t offend me again. I don’t forgive easily, and I never forget.”

Meg returns to her office, not before making a quick stop at Azazel’s. “He pissed Alastair off.”

“Why? Too pretty?

“Yep, and that he is getting treated as a Special Child without being tested.”

“Then he is perfect. Lucifer loves beauty.”

“They spoke telepathically. Or seemed to. The boy replied out loud but there was communication going on regarding things that were not spoken.”

“That is very exciting. I feel that this one is very strong. Let’s assign Ruby to his dogma training; she’ll make it seem fun.”

Sam ran from his teepee out to the stage; he was late to practice. He ran barefoot. He loved the sensation of feeling the earth between his feet; the grounding properties of the land also helped balance out his electromagnetic field. His skin glowed a nice tan, that being under the sun the last 6, almost 7, weeks had helped achieve. He had also gained weight. Even Alastair begrudgingly would say he looked bigger and better.

Nurse Meg said he was now on the charts, because when he arrived, he was off the charts but not in the good way, too low. Sam didn’t know what charts she was talking about, but it was some health thing because she used his weight and height to calculate. He had been checked over more in the past weeks than all his life. His dad had never taken him in for a ‘let’s see how he is growing,’ or for a ‘he has a cold.’ Only to the hospital ER when things had gone seriously sideways, and he couldn’t patch it up himself.

“Sam, there you are!” Ruby exclaimed as he arrived at the stage area. “I need you to find a drape, bedlinen, muslim cloth—something light that we can hang from this branch,” she turned and pointed to the branch she was thinking of, “to create an area for the actors to be hidden, or “backstage”, while it’s not their turn. I can’t believe we didn’t think of this during rehearsals!”

“Yeah, no problem.” Sam could see Ruby was stressed; it was strange because she was usually very joking and fun.

“We can also just squat behind the rocks.” Jake, one of the actors said.

“Jake, you are strong, and have thighs that can do that. Do you honestly think Andy can do that for 20 or 30 minutes?” Jake snorted. “Exactly.” Ruby turned and looked at Sam, “Go, the play is in 3 hours!”

Sam didn’t waste time trying to find a solution. He went straight to the person who handled all supplies and materials, Alastair.

He walked into the communal area; it was dim as the lights were turned off. He could hear some noises in the kitchen, chopping, prep work for upcoming dinner probably. He knew Alastair’s office was towards the back, where it was darkest. Sam took a deep breath and went forth; the space got narrower, turning into a hallway, darker too and then a small light at the end. He got to the door where the light was coming from and called out, “Hello,” the door was slightly open; Alastair pulled it fully open. He was sitting in front of a computer. On the wall in front of him were charts, schedules and other busy looking things that all looked like a lot of work. On the wall to his side, which was the wall one saw coming into the office, there was a huge painting. It was at first glance an archway with a red tint, but then you could see all sorts of weird things like a dog skeleton and a minotaur and some demons and some kings.

“It’s called Dante & Virgil in Hell by Filippo Napoletano, I like it because it reminds me of home.”

Sam wondered if he meant the whimsy or the architecture.

“I like that word, the whimsy. Most people focus on the hellish aspects, and it’s more than that.”

“I understand that.” Sam thought about his childhood in motels but how that was better than foster care with Darla.

“Hmm, interesting. Now, tell me, why are you here, interrupting me?”

“We need a cloth to use as a backstage curtain for the play tonight, but it has to be light because we are going to hang it from a branch.”

“Think of it.” Alastair commands him.

Sam who has understood from the beginning that they communicate half spoken and half in their minds does so immediately. He focuses on the branch, the area the actors would leave the stage, where they will be standing, how tall it needs to be.

“Really, Ruby has to wait until the day of to request this? Scattered brain demoness. As if I don’t have anything else to do.” He complains as he heaves himself up from his chair. “Luckily, I may have something that will work.”

He glides down the dark hallway; they reach the pantry, and he punches in a code. Bright white lights flood them. Alastair goes to the back of the storage room and opens a few boxes, then calls Sam. “Kid, I’m going to lift this lid, and you’ll see a purple cloth, pull it out.”

They work together and, in the end, Sam is holding two long purple curtains.

“Someone got the brilliant idea to put those as the doors for the kitchen to the serving area.” Alastair laughs, “That lasted less than a week; they got filthy, plus cloth and kitchen area, bacteria central. First time we pulled them down to wash them; we also folded and stored them. So, tell Ruby she can keep them for the stage.”

“Thank you so much! I know she will love it.” Sam smiles widely.

“Are you in the play?”

“Oh no, I am too young.” Sam blushes. “But since Ruby is in charge of the play and she is teaching me too, well, I have had to work a lot with it.”

“Well, pay attention to it Mr. PA. It’s a very important part of your studies. Now scram, I’ve got work.” Sam nods and thanks him mentally.

Sam runs back and Ruby is so excited she is about “To shit a brick!” and when she finds out that Alastair gave it to them her reactions continue for the next hour while they hang them from “no way”, to “Sam, did you bewitch him?” and just laughter. Since they have two, they end up putting one on each side and “looking like a proper fucking stage!” as per Ruby.

After dinner the whole camp comes to enjoy the play. Sam also gets to lay on the grass and watch. He isn’t needed anymore. The actors are in their element; Ruby is in the side wings, behind the new curtains. Azazel takes center stage to kick off the event and introduce them.

“Today, as LightBringers we celebrate. This is the longest day of the year, the Summer Solstice. It was the day He spoke to first mother in the garden and told her she could be free, that she did not have to be subjugated. The seed of enlightenment was sparked in Lilith, as it has been in all of you. From that light she was fertile, and all were spawned. “

Sam knew that was the story in the play, he hoped Azazel wouldn’t spoil anymore. He didn’t know yet that they did the same story every year and that was part of both the comfort and the dogma.

Azazel now asked everyone to accompany him in the camp’s vision statement.

“We Seek To Be Embraced by His Wings
Some shall crawl
Some shall kneel
Some shall bow
Some shall stand
All will serve.”

It sounded like poetry, reverence, like an allegiance. Sam didn’t have more time to ponder on it because the play was starting. He flopped on his belly and looked up. Ava was center stage; she was so beautiful. 100% he could believe she was Lilith, the most beautiful woman and the first woman, and mother of all creatures except humans. He sighed as he got lost in the story.

After it ended, they headed to the fire to do a dance around the bonfire. Then after they went back to their teepees. Some people had stayed behind to talk, but Sam and Brady both went back. Sam was pretty beat; it was only now that he was realizing how much work he had done for the play.

“Going to ask for a sign?” Brady asked as he took off his t-shirt and headed to the sink. He was going to wash his hair; he couldn’t stand the stink of smoke and always did this after being at the fireside. Sam found it funny, particularly since the other three guys smelled like smoke, it seemed a bit futile.

“A sign?” Sam asked. Brady had been at the camp the year before and was already 13 so he knew more than Sam.

“Yeah, on Midsommer if you ask for a sign about your true love, you are guaranteed an answer.”

Sam scrunches his face and lifts a shoulder. “I dunno, that isn’t…” He doesn’t know how to say it without sounding rude, because he knows his friend has a very big crush on Jake, who Sam thinks is a very big idiot. “You know, I have to worry about where I’m gonna live at the end of camp, so if Ava is going to adopt me then that would be an awesome sign. If not, I think I can wait a few years.”

“I knew you liked her!” His friend screams and grabs him by the arms as he dances Sam around the teepee. Sam grins like an idiot.

“Stop it. She’s like 15 dude.”

“When you’re older that won’t matter.”

“Seriously, she could be my brother’s girlfriend.”

“Well, introduce them, and then you can at least look at her. Like today, I could see you. Ahhh Ava, you’re sooo beautiful.”

“Shut up!” Sam hits him with his pillow and soon they are in a full pillow fight, giggling and horsing around.

Until Tom comes back to the teepee. “Let’s get ready for bed.”

“Yes, sir,” they say amidst giggles and squirrel off to do so.

That night Sam has a dream. It is strange; he sees the painting from Alastair’s office, but he can also hear it, and it is like when Dean listens to rock music on his headphones really loudly, that others can hear it muffled from the outside. He walks through the painting and isn’t afraid. He heads straight to the throne; as he looks down, he sees that he is wearing royal robes. They are the same color as the robes that the other person on the throne up ahead is wearing. He reaches the throne and realizes it is a settee; in his mind the meaning comes -they co-rule. When he sits, the space is very exact, they fit but only if they become quite literally one. Thigh with thigh, flank to flank, hand must intertwine or go behind their backs. Cojoin on purpose. Sam feels coldness as they touch; it surprises him, everything else around them is so hot. “Sammy.”
Sam turns to look at the other royal and bright light blinds him.

“Rise and shine sleepy heads.” Tom opens the tee-pee flaps and bright sunlight rushes in.

“Uh, no.” Brady complains first.

“Yes, we already let you sleep more than usual because yesterday was a long day, but it’s time. Here’s your wheatgrass shot. Sam, your vitamins. Let’s go. Up, up, up.”

Sam pulls his blankets to the side, willing himself to sit up, sleep still controlling his body. Tom comes over with his wheatgrass shot and pills but suddenly freezes.

“Sam, I need you to remain very calm, but also to very quickly, but very smoothly get out of your bed. I’m going to tell you something, and again, calm but quick. There is a snake in your bed. Now get out without making it agitated so it doesn’t strike.”

Sam takes a sharp breath inward; Belphegor has skittishly moved towards the bathroom while Brady yells out.

“Now,” Tom urges Sam, and he does a quick dash forward, falling forward onto Brady’s bed. The snake moves a bit but doesn’t seek to attack or leave the warmth of the bed. “Belphegor, hand me the broom.”

Tom uses the broom to lift the snake by its belly and toss it out of the teepee; when it twists and looks at Sam, then falls to the floor and crawls away in the grass, they all release a collective sigh of relief.

“I mean, I think it was just a garter one, not a copperhead or anything, but still, scary.” Tom says. “Like all of you kid's morning breath, so let’s go, brush up, vitamins and let’s get the day started. Excitement is over.”

When they head over to the communal area for breakfast, Tom crosses over to the admin building and walks into his father’s office.

“Sam Winchester is chosen.”

Azazel looks surprised; Tom is his quiet child. He smiles and decides to welcome him rather than call out the abruptness.

“I think he is one of the Special Children, yes. We are treating him as such, as you know.”

“No, Lucifer came to him last night. On the Solstice, the night of fertility, like Lilith. He got into his bed. He is chosen.”

“Back up, why don’t you tell me what you are referring to?” Azazel listens, and as he does, he can see that Tom is already creating the myth in head.

“This is very interesting. Now, the child is still so new to our ways; he needs more training. I wouldn’t want to overwhelm or scare him off. And the other Special Children still have important roles to play as well. I wouldn’t want them to feel dissuaded. So, let’s keep this between us for now.”

Azazel looks at Tom; his lips are set in disapproval; he shakes his head. “We want to please Lucifer, and scaring his vessel selection away won’t be the way. The kid isn’t ready yet, so let’s get him ready.”

Tom sighs, “Alright. He gets along really well with Brady, maybe talk to his family and persuade them to foster Sam. That way we can keep him in the fold? They are a devoted family.”

“That’s an excellent idea. Those are the ideas that make me think you’ll be the best one to replace me when I kick the bucket.”

“Not holding my breath, dad.” Tom smiles shyly, glowing under the praise.

Chapter Text

“Can you believe it, big guy? Three months ago, you were a skinny, pale runt that didn’t know the joy of trees.” Ruby stretches out in the middle of the classroom 2; this is how she often teaches Sam.

“And so dumb; I thought you didn’t either,” Sam sitting crisscrossed next to her responds.

“Yeah, no knowledge of sarcasm at all! We’ve fixed that, I think.” Sam nods. “Good, now I think we’ve also taught you to party?”

“Oh God! Another one?”

“Now, let’s see what’s wrong with that phrase?” Ruby asks while she grins.

“Gods, because we have to be respectful of all cultures.” Ruby nods and moves her hand like asking for more. Sam continues “And of people that are non-believers.”

“And?”

“And the Judeo-Christian God has been problematic to many people and groups. For example, at LightBringers, we work with Lucifer, who was unjustly cast out of heaven and is still to this day vilified.”

“Good job, Sam. Now back to the party. Tomorrow, we have another party; it’s called Lammas, and it celebrates the first harvest, so usually wheat. So like bread and beer - it’s like going to a friend's house to see a game, beer, pizza, chips, pretzels. Super chill. And then at the end a little human sacrifice.”

Sam snorts, “What?!”

“Well, to keep the good times rolling, more harvest coming in, you know.”

Sam loves the way she explains everything. They continue talking, learning about the history, spiritual meaning and before long it’s time for him to go on his trail walk.

“Sam, I have two things for you. This is a gift, it occurs on Lammas, well starts on Lammas, so I thought it appropriate to give it to you today.” She pulls out a book “Lucifer and the Child" by Ethel Mannin “I hope you like it.” She says shyly.

Sam looks at the book; it looks like a 1950’s horror book. “I’m sure I will love it. Thank you.” He hardly ever receives gifts, so anything he gets is highly treasured.

“Well, you know camp is about to end.” Ruby sits up.

Yeah, he knows; it is something he hates thinking of. He would have never thought it possible, but he has actually been happy here. To think he has to go back to Darla’s or something worse if she is no longer available, because he isn’t dumb; he knows her place was not bad at all. “Yeah,” he manages to muster.

“We’ve all loved having you here, think you have tremendous promise. Aren’t half dumb,” She jokingly wedges two fingers over his temple, “and more importantly you have done well on the Special Children’s tests. Hell, you’ve even charmed Alastair. ”

“I don’t even know what the Special Children tests were?” Sam says.

“Don’t make me knuckle fist you. You know you are Special, and you know it’s not a math test.” Ruby says. “Come on, just the fact that we can talk openly about Him; most kids still fear the devil and don’t find out until like third year. Even your friend Brady, he doesn’t know, and his family is devoted.”

Sam blushes.

“Which brings me to what I was going to tell you. We spoke to Brady’s parents, and they are willing to foster you, if you are interested in continuing studying LightBringers philosophy.”

“What?” Sam is unsure if he heard correctly.

“Well, you’ll go to regular school because we don’t have a school, but I’ll meet with you a few times a month for dogma studies and whoever else that Azazel determines to develop your other talents. You’ll live with Brady and his parents. They come to all the parties—or like the others call them, yearly celebrations. If you haven't noticed, basically there is one every 6 weeks. Sam? Sam, oh, it’s ok, big guy.” She pulls the sobbing boy into a hug.

Sam’s intention wasn’t to cry or to let the tears take over, but since everything with his dad happened in February, he hadn’t cried, and now he can’t stop. He hates his dad, and he is angry at the system and the messed-up way it works, and he knows it isn’t Dean’s fault, but he also is low-key mad at him. Why did he have to be away that night? What was he doing that he couldn’t make it back to him; they have never told him, but it was illegal, so was it drugs or something to make himself feel good while Sam was alone waiting for him?

He wipes his tears. “Thank you. You’re the best hippie ever.”

“I”ll make one out of you too. You’ll see.” Ruby smiles, her chocolate brown eyes warming her face.

“I’m going to go talk to Brady; he knows, right?” Worry suddenly invades Sam.

“Pretty sure I saw him going into the admin building this morning.”

Sam doesn’t have to wait long to find out; as he is walking back to the teepee, he sees Brady waiting for him, on the lookout. Once he sees him, he runs out, screaming and hooting. Pure joy. Sam feels a relief overcome him and breaks out in a jog, running towards his friend. They meet in a crushing hug mid-meadow. Brady is still bigger than him and lifts him and spins him around in a semicircle, then they start jumping together in place.

“So, you’re cool with it?” Sam hoarsely screams mid-jump.

“Cool? I’m stoked!! Dude, my parents are so boring, now I have a friend all the time!! This is the best.” Brady yells back.

“You’ll change your mind the first time I fart!”

“I’ve already smelled it in the teepee!

They keep on jumping in place as they hug each other. Smiling and bumping each other’s chest randomly.

Tom watches them from the teepee and smiles; it was a good move and would keep the future vessel close to the LightBringers.

Sam is called to the administration building. Azazel explains that they have to call the social worker, and there are only two phones at camp. His office and Alastair’s. They connect with Olivia Sanchez, and Azazel speaks with her briefly and then puts Sam on the line.

“Hey Sam, how are you?”

“Fine, ma’am.”

“I’ve heard wonderful things. That you’ve improved a lot in weight and vitamins. They’ve been taking great care of you?”

“Yes, Nurse Meg is always talking about the percentile and how I am now on the chart and higher on it.”

“Well, that certainly is a good metric, and I’m so happy that they have good data of the improvement.” She sighs. “You’ve liked it?”

“Oh gosh yes, it’s like we’re outside and walking on trails and doesn’t seem like a lot when you say it, but it’s really fun. My favorite is going up this hill, that is really hard but there is a rope you can use to pull yourself up, but I only need the rope on rainy days because it gets slippery, like muddy, you know. The rest of the days I can go up on my own.” Sam gushes out. “See that sounds lame, but it’s not.”

“I am sure it is not lame at all.” Olivia says with a smile in her voice. “Well, I’m sure you heard by now, about the new foster home option?”

“Yes,” Sam replies giddy.

“I went by their home; it is very much the Annie option you wanted.” Sam squeaks because he hasn’t thought of this yet, and it shouldn’t surprise him. This camp, despite being a mostly outside venue option, doesn’t give off cheap vibes in any shape or form. “They accepted the inspection, signed up with the government and are now a foster home. So, I have assigned you to them, and I also enrolled you in the local school.”

“Thank you for doing this.” Sam replies soberly, using his polite-to-adults tone he has honed over the years.

“You did all the hard work, impressing everyone with the singing.”

Sam chuckles. “Yeah, that was it.”

“We normally don’t do long term placements with new foster parents, so this is unusual. Therefore, I need you to be extra vigilant and to tell me if anything makes you feel uncomfortable or feels off. No matter how silly it seems.” Olivia demands sternly.

“What, like not getting a pillow? Dinner? Not having chairs to sit down to eat?” Sarcasm drips off of Sam’s tongue.

“What? Yes, all of that. Sam?”

“Nothing. I am sure that everything will be good. This is my friend.”

“Well, don’t use that as an excuse to pardon bad behaviour. I will be available by phone, and I will be doing my check-in’s as well.” Olivia was back to her regular business tone.

“Thank you. Hey, before we finish, were you able to find out anything about that other phone call we were going to make?” Sam lowers his voice.

“Yes, the place Dean is at allows pre-programmed calls on certain holidays or birthdays for mates that are enjoying full privileges. So no disciplinary problems and specific dates.”

“Oh, when would the next date be?” Sam is disappointed.

“Let’s see, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, Easter, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day and his birthday.”

“Wow, it’s like I can talk to him 4 times in a month and then not at all the rest of the year,” Sam sounds crestfallen. “If he doesn’t get in trouble.”

“Sam, you can’t control your brother or what he does. Focus on your path and getting the best results for yourself. It seems you are doing very well. Continue with that. I’ll see you in about a month, to see how you’ve settled in.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you. Good-bye.” Sam hangs up and gives the phone to Azazel.

Azazel comes around and pats Sam on the shoulder. “Do you know why we say that we seek to be embraced by His Wings?” Sam shakes his head. “Because, if you are inside the Wings, the rest of the world is outside; you are cocooned, protected and safe. You’ve seen the painting in the Visitor’s Center?” Sam nods. “Whenever things are difficult, imagine standing right there, beneath them. The Wings absorb everything, all the hits, venom, attacks and nothing happens to you.”

“Why would he embrace us with his Wings though?”

“Because you protect those you love.”

“Why does he love us?

“Because we love him.” Azazel touches Sam’s crown of hair. “Further, we give him devotion, and he gives us protection. It is a promise. But these are matters to discuss with your dogma teacher.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Just know, Sam; you have been chosen. You must feel it?” Azazel looks at the boy.

“I have been very lucky since arriving here.” Sam admits.

“Exactly, that is because you are in his favor. If you want more, I can teach you how to have more. Do you want more?” Azazel flicks his hand and the door closes.

Sam looks at him with wide eyes but not in fear. He tries to listen to him as he does to Alastair and only hears static.

“I block my mind; I don’t like people eavesdropping on my thoughts. I had heard you could do the telepathy though; it’s nice to confirm it. Since when?”

“I can hear my brother’s thoughts. Never knew if he was saying something or thinking it. It took me a long time to realize that not everyone could hear him the same way I could.”

“What else can you do?” Azazel pushes for more information.

“That door thing.” Azazel dips his head down and raises his eyebrow. “But only if I’m angry, or in a rush. I don’t know, like not thinking about it.” Sam answers with trepidation.

“And?”

Sam shakes his head, “Nothing else sir.”

“So, you’re not going to tell me about the dreams?” Azazel sits down behind his desk. Sam bites his lip.

“I dunno.”

“Are they exact situations?”

“Like?”

“Like you and me here?”

“Oh, yeah, sometimes. Other times they’re different. More dream-like, I guess.” Sam lowers his head.

“Do they come true?”

Sam swallows: he glances up at Azazel and then quickly back at his hands. “I mean, I guess so.”

“Can you give me an example of each type of dream?” Azazel pushes.

Sam sighs. “So, the night before I came here, I dreamt I was Annie. You know the singing Orphan Annie, that gets adopted by some rich folk and lives happily ever after. And well, you know what’s happening.” Azazel nods. “Another time, my brother and I were going out with our dad to help with his work. I dreamt I’d fall over a branch and an animal would catch up to me and bite me. I was so worried about it that I was looking at the ground the whole time and basically ran headfirst into the animal, fell backward over the branch, but it was after seeing the animal.”

“What happened?”

“I’d told Dean, and he jumped on the animal from behind.”

“That’s good; he believed you and was ready to save you.” Sam nods. “Sam, tell me about the dream you had on Midsommer Eve.”

“I don’t know if that is a special dream or just a normal dream.”

“Do you remember all your normal dreams?” Azazel asks, driving home his point clearly.

Sam wipes his palms on his thighs. “I dreamt I was inside Alastair’s painting, just walking inside of it.” He looks up.

“Go on.” Azazel cajoles him.

“Walking to my chair, my throne.” Sam speaks very low, almost ashamed. “I sat down, and it was the same chair, so we were touching. He was cold. He said my name, I turned to look and there was a lot of bright light, and I woke up. Then there was the whole snake thing.”

“Good job, Sam. You’re a real champ. I knew since we met you that we had picked a winner.” Azazel smiles widely. “I’m going to train you, make you stronger. The best Special Child possible. Would you like that?”

“Yeah, I think so. As long as my friends don’t feel left out.”

“Well, they won’t get the same training, but they will feel special for taking care of the next star. You’ll see it will be fine.”

Chapter Text

Fuck, farmwork in August was not a better option than Juvie. He could be cooling his ass indoors. That social worker had swindled him. He could feel his body weight dropping with each pitchfork he lifted. One bundle of hay and half a pound of sweat. To be fair, Sonny rotated the chores so sometimes he had indoor stuff like washing dishes, but it wasn’t like the house was much cooler; it didn’t have air conditioning and was old, so the ventilation didn’t make much sense.

Dean had chosen this option with the mind to run away, so in that sense it was fine. This was definitely a place he could run away from. The locks were laughable, absolutely no security cameras and guards were one person sleeping in the room outside the room they slept in. Or during the day one foreman in the general area. It was 3 staff for 12 kids, definitely easy enough to run away. Problem was, Dean didn’t have anywhere to go. Not yet at least. He needed to find out where Sammy was.

The social worker called once a month and had visited once, to see if he had settled in. Just peachy. When he asked, he was told Sammy was at a summer camp, a hippy one, like with trees and tents. No phone. It bothered him, but also it was good. It was kinda what they had talked about, getting him opportunities. Plus, Sam would totally eat that up; he loved all nature stuff. While Dean would have preferred the air conditioned and cable TV. Oh, God, what he would do for some Cable TV, all Sonny had was a rickety antenna and hit the TV on the side and pray the static let you see something halfway decent. Maybe if they put an antenna on the roof, they could get better reception—hmm, he’d suggest that to him later that evening when they were watching ER. Dean loved that show; if they could see it with better quality, it would be awesome.

Almost two hours later, Dean finished his work. All his muscles hurt, but he was also proud of doing some good, hard work. He put away the pitchfork, hung up the gloves and made sure everything was organized and headed back towards the house.

The two guys assigned to kitchen duty were still at it, and frankly a bit behind. One of them, a new kid called Eggie—you could tell had never even made an egg despite his nickname.

“Hey, you want to set the table, and I'll sear the meat for you?” Dean offers.

The look of relief on the kid’s face is answer enough. Dean steps up to the stove and makes quick work of searing the meat. “You salted and peppered this meat?”

“Um, no?” Eggie answers completely perplexed.

“Good thing I asked before we all started eating!” Dean jokes, he adds salt, pepper, garlic and a splash of soy sauce.

The other kid that is cooking, Hugo, preps a salad and finishes roasting some potatoes. He is quiet, but nods at Dean in acknowledgment of what he has done.

“We'll fry fish with coleslaw tomorrow.” Dean winks, and Hugo smiles and nods.

Sonny comes into the kitchen as they are finishing the prep. “Dean, I thought you were on barn duty; I don’t allow swapping.”

“I didn’t swap, sir. Just browning the steaks, a little at the end with a family garlic butter recipe.”

“I want to talk to you after dinner.” Sonny says, and just like that, dinner is ruined for Dean. His stomach is in knots and the whole meal, he can only push the food around on his plate, wondering what Sonny wants.

As soon as Sonny stands up and takes his plate to the sink, he does the same with his, even though his plate is almost full. Dean almost steps on Sonny’s ankles. “Ready.” Sonny makes a noise that he doesn’t know how to interpret; he doesn’t know this man well enough yet. He takes a step back. He expects Sonny to go to his office, but he heads out the back kitchen door. Dean stands in front of the sink. Is he supposed to follow? Wait? Did he go out for a smoke? Does he want to talk on the porch?

“Dean.” Well, there’s his answer. He bolts out the screen door. Sonny starts to walk; Dean’s brain is scrambled. Should he ask him if he wants him to go with him? He thinks, if this were Dad, what would he expect? He would expect him to shut up and follow him. Dean follows him.

They pass the garage, the shed, the greenhouse and make it to the barn. The other guy that works there, Jack, is leaving the barn. Locking it up. Sonny tells him to go back up to the house and keep an eye on the other kids, and to “make sure no one comes down this way.” Jack doesn’t look at Dean, as if he didn’t exist at all. Dean trembles: they step into the barn and Sonny locks it behind them.

“So, this is where it goes down? Took you long enough, almost had me convinced nothing was going to happen.” Dean gives a small laugh, “Dumb, huh.” Dean shudders. “What’s in it for Ol Jack? Turning a blind eye.” Dean asks.

“You’re a smart kid. Watcha think?” Sonny crosses his arms over his chest as he studies the teenager.

Dean swallows thickly; he will not fucking cry. He gives a short nod.

Dean closes his eyes, and when he opens them, they are full of desire. If Sonny hadn’t seen it happen in front of him, he would have believed it, would have thought it was real.

“Are we not feeding you enough?” Sonny asks, ignoring the come-hither eyes completely.

The question throws Dean; it wasn’t what he was expecting. “Umm, yeah. Thank you, sir," he adds as a precaution.

Sonny walks over to the side of the barn, behind the rusted tractor where some planks are neatly stacked and pulls a bag out. “This yours, right?”

Dean goes pale. Sonny brings the bag over and dumps it at his feet. “Right?”

“Yes.” Dean lowers his head, knowing that this is going to end in a beating. Plus, he is going to lose his stuff, and he’ll probably end up in juvie. He racks his brain, thinking if he should attack Sonny now and run for it, or take the beating and leave tonight before he gets transferred to juvie or thinking back how did we react, can he seduce him? He wasn’t interested, right? Misjudging is what landed him in the first place. If Dean attacks him, it’s at least 5 miles of running in the dark and then it’s only to the local town, no one will help him over Sonny. If it were daytime he’d have a better chance of hitching. Yeah, take the beating, hope he doesn’t mess up his face, and run away tomorrow. That’s the best plan but Dean hates getting hit.

“Figured everything out?” Sonny asks.

“What?”

“Dean, I was just like you. Hit him with that pipe, grab the car keys, get to town, dump the car, switch cars, or to a truck stop and hitch a ride with a trucker. With that neat eye trick, you shouldn’t have any problem making them believe you are in love. And we both know what you were arrested for, so steal a few bucks every evening no problem. Thing is, I don’t care about that, and there is no reason for you to try and hit me with the pipe and or try and steal my car.”

“I’m not going to let you…”

“Let me do what? Because you were giving off signs that you were going to.”

Dean flushes red. “I don’t know, that maybe, or a little bit, maybe.” He shrugs, “It’s nicer to be the object of desire than the object of violence.”

“Oh, Dean,” Sonny seems sad, “they are both violence.” After a minute of silence, Sonny kicks the bag on the floor. “Why have you been stealing food?”

Dean is tired after this exposing conversation; there are no more lies. “It’s all non-perishable.”

Sonny repeats it as if not comprehending, “non-perishable?”

“Yeah, I gotta feed my kid brother. Whenever I get back to him.”

Sonny nods, bends over and looks through the bag, confirming that all the food is in fact non-perishable. “Let’s make a deal, two months before you leave, I’ll help you prep a stash. Organized and decent. Not this messy, random thing. Deal?”

Dean nods, “No Jack?”

Sonny laughs, “No Jack, no Sonny, nobody, ever. I’m a good actor though, had you believing it.” Dean fake pukes. “Get back to the house and put all this back into the pantry.”

Dean nods, Sonny opens one arm, and Dean gives him a side hug. It’s perfect; it wasn’t more than he could give, but it allowed him to seek some comfort. Dean thinks he’ll be able to do his two years here. This Sonny dude isn’t half bad.

Every day, Brady’s mom, Victoria, had them change out the incense and wine on the altar. Some days, she placed special treats and as the festivities came, she turned the house into the meaning of that fest. Similar to others celebrating Christmas, but she would do it for the current celebration. Since, as Ruby explained, they aligned with the seasons, it went mostly unnoticed by people who didn’t practice but was instantly picked up by those who did.

Sam started to realize his own training and studies were more intense than Brady’s. He would take classes with Ruby weekly, plus when there was a celebration he had to go to the camp and stay over for the few days prior and assist with preparation as her assistant, much like with the midsommer play. Brady got to come in and enjoy the play and dinner. Sam didn’t begrudge him this; although it was a lot of work, it was interesting, and Ruby was intoxicating, albeit a bit of a slave driver; it was as if she simply didn’t get tired.

After coming to live with Brady, the first festival had been a harvest and easy in the meaning and dogma. Although, it had been a lot of work at the camp, akin to a big family gathering.

Now it was mid Autumn, and Halloween was fast approaching. Sam had never liked Halloween.

“You probably knew within yourself that it was a bastardized version of the real celebration.” Ruby started her dogma class by explaining the origins of Samhain and how there were similar celebrations in all major religions. “A common theme of death, the underworld and spirits being able to communicate at this time of the year with those on the earthly plane. In every single culture from the Aztecs, Chinese, Irish, I don’t know, why do you think that is?”

“Because it’s true?” Sam says hesitantly.

“Correct!” Ruby replies excitedly. “This time of the year the veil between our world and the spirit world is thinner and spirits can be easily seen, sensed or if strong enough they can be felt as they cross over.”

“So, are spirits real?” Sam doodles in his notebook as he asks.

“Of course! There are some who can communicate with them all the time, but when the veil is the thinnest, they reach out and others can perceive them.” Ruby tells him telepathically to draw her.

“So, are spirits and ghosts the same?” Sam asks as he starts to draw her profile.

“No, ghosts are people who have passed away and have not moved on, usually because of unresolved issues that hold them to this plane, most often to one location. Spirits don’t have to be just people; they can be ancestors, deities, animals, mythical beings, and they can go anywhere. They most often serve as guides or messengers.” Ruby explains as she watches the boy for reactions.

“So, spirits are good?”

“That’s subjective; they are messengers. If they work for a God who is in opposition to your God and bring you a menacing message, what would you think?”

Sam simply nods. Shadowing in the lines of Ruby’s hair. He finishes the doodle and slides it over to her.

“Very nice, but where is the dog?” Ruby asks.

“You didn’t ask for a dog.” Sam replies confidently. Ruby arches an eyebrow; Sam looks at her without backing down. “Besides, witches use black cats.”

“I’m not a witch.” Ruby says, but her words sound like a question.

“That’s not what I heard.” Sam has a half grin on his face.

“You know, gossiping about your teachers should be done with other students, not directly to their faces, with them.” She smacks his shoulder.

“You know, abusing your students should be done in your mind, not directly to your students!” Sam half yelps, half laughs as Ruby raises her hand to smack him again.

“Well, since you can read my mind, it’s the same thing, so I rather you feel it! Smartass!” They both laugh.

“Seriously, it’s good that you have gotten stronger with your telepathy. The Winged one often speaks to his preferred ones in such a manner.” Ruby takes on a serious tone.

Sam lowers his head and in a shy manner asks “How would I know if he is talking to me?”

“Just like you do with Alastair, the director or me.” Ruby replies quickly.

“No, but you all are with me, like in front of me.” Sam shrugs, “He wouldn’t be, you know…?”

“Well, someday he may be; you are one of his Special Children. You have been blessed to have been chosen to be one. But yes, I get what you’re saying.” Ruby leans forward and swipes Sam’s bangs back behind his ears, “it’s never happened to me but I have to imagine that you’d know.”

Sam nods, a tightness in his stomach and a heat in his cheeks. It feels oddly intimate to speak of this, hypothetical as it may be.

Ruby grabs his hand and chants.

“Some shall crawl
Some shall kneel
Some shall bow
Some shall stand
All will serve.”

Sam follows along with her, first mumbling and then they repeat it, her squeeze on his palm the unspoken prompt to do so. More clearly and with conviction.

“Some shall crawl
Some shall kneel
Some shall bow
Some shall stand
All will serve.”

“And you, my love, will definitely be standing next to him if I had to bet.” Ruby squeezes his hand again, and Sam blushes deeply.

His mind races, he doesn’t really know how he will serve Lucifer, but everyone seems excited about him being a Special Child, and Ruby often says things like this that make him feel giddy. Sam hopes he will be able to do it right when the time comes. For now he will continue learning, developing and preparing.

When November rolls around, Sam is grateful that he is still attending a regular school as the Thanksgiving break reminds him of the opportunity to call Dean. It isn’t a celebration in the LightBringers community, so they wouldn’t have reminded him.

“Brady,” he calls out to his friend in the safety of the dark one night after they have turned in. They share a room, although there were plenty of rooms in the house, this was “more fun” as per Brady when he moved in.

“Hmm?” A non-committal noise floated down from the top bunk.

“If I want to ask for a favor, which is better, your mom or your dad?”

“Depends… if it’s to buy something, Mom, it’s to do something, Dad. Why? What do you want?” Sam can hear Brady shifting so that his body is hanging off the mattress and looking down to his lower bunk.

“I want to call my brother, but for that I need to call the social worker first.” Sam stopped there. He doesn’t want to provide more information. Brady is used to Sam and his silences by now. He knows that usually when he goes silent it’s when he has the most to say.

“You haven’t wanted to call him before.”

Sam makes a straggled noise. “He can only get calls on certain holidays.” In a lower tone almost whispers, “Of course I wanted to call him.”

Brady asks, confusion in his voice, “What holiday is it?”

“Thanksgiving, the LightBringers don’t celebrate it but it’s popular.”

“Yeah, of course. I know.” Brady sounds offended that Sam thinks he doesn’t know. “We’re not a cult, dude.”

Sam chuckles and Brady swings a pillow his way. “If we were, you’d be further up the ladder than me anyway.” Brady says.

“No way,” Sam complains, “I just got here!”

“Right and have private tutoring. Are considered a Special Child and get a special diet.” Brady lists the perks he knows Sam gets.

“Because they child labor the heck out of me!”

“Such a whiner. Wait until I tell Ruby.” Brady teases.

“I thought you were my friend; how can you blackmail me like this?” Sam feigns hurt.

They both giggle, “nah, seriously, I’ll help you with my mom. You may have perks at camp, but here I have all the sway.” Brady says with a hint of pride in his voice.

“No shit man, you’re their pride and joy.” Sam says warmly, none of the jealousy that he sometimes feels in his voice.

“They love you too!” Brady quickly adds.

“No dude, I know I am here because you asked, and I am super grateful. But I know you’re their baby, hands down, to the border, the mat, hell and back.” Sam says as he stretches his arm up and grabs Brady’s hand, who squeezes his hand, “I love that for you. The only person that has ever loved me is my brother.”

“I love you too, Sam.” Brady says softly in the darkness.

“Yeah man, me too, but you know what I mean.” Sam chokes back a cry because he has made himself sad.

“Yeah, I do.” Brady replies. “You want or hate me?”

Sam is silent for a minute, he considers the offer, on one hand he is feeling crummy and will be crying, the offer is a simple: do you want company or not. “Want.”

Brady slips down from his bunk, steps on the edge of Sam’s mattress and over his body into the space between the wall and Sam. Sam scoots a bit out, his body now on the edge of the wooden frame. Brady steps on his elbow, and when he throws his pillow down hits him in the face, but overall, it’s a pretty seamless transition considering the darkness and space. Brady doubles up his pillow and lays face up; he grabs the comforter and wraps himself. They both know Sam doesn’t use it. He puts his left arm behind his head and that leaves his whole side and chest open to Sam’s back, who lays on his side facing away from him, but scoots back slightly to feel his presence.

“Night, Sam,” Brady stays still and pretends he doesn’t feel the shudders of his friend’s back or hear the swallowing of air as he cries. Eventually, he falls asleep before Sam has finished, but his job is to provide a body—not words, or anything else. The barely there of his armpit brushing Sam’s head, the evenness of his breathing, that is enough for Sam to not feel alone. Brady doesn’t get it; he has been an only child his whole life. Sam has always been part of a duo; he usually shared a bed with his brother, and they fought for who would use the bathroom first, and they’d smell each other’s sweat, farts and piss. They didn’t have to ask how the other slept because they saw, heard and felt it. Brady has never had a brother; Sam had explained all of this wistfully the first week, and Brady understood that he couldn’t be the same as the older brother, but he could be a physical presence that filled part of the empty rooms of Sam’s heart.

The next evening after dinner, Mark, Brady’s dad, tells Sam to, “Swing by my office after you finish dinner and helping in the kitchen.” Sam nods mutely, surprised and a bit nervous.

Brady and Sam usually load the dishwasher and wipe down the dining table. Sam’s hands tremble as he takes the dishes to the kitchen, and Victoria takes them and tells him, “I’ll do that hon, you go to him. He doesn’t know how long these things take and will be expecting you pretty quick.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Sam asks her in a hushed whisper.

“Oh no, nothing like that.” She cups his cheeks, seeing his frightened look. Sam nods and passes the last dish into her hands.

He walks through the dining room, down a small side hall and gives a quick knock on the semi-open door before pushing it open, as it seems if it was open it was meant to usher him in. He still asks if he can come in and is waved in by Mark. He is a tall man, who tends to stoop a bit in order to not tower or make his height not so intimidating over everyone else. Sam figures that Brady will eventually be close in height to his dad because he is already pretty tall. The school’s basketball coach practically salivates everytime he walks by; however, Brady is not interested in sports. Mildly interested in tennis, but as a hobby, not competitively. Definitely not in basketball, despite all the cajoling, promises and sweet promises the coach and teachers set out as lure. Based on his dad’s muscles, Sam supposes he wasn’t interested in sports either.

“Sit down,” Mark motions to the chair in front of his desk. Sam hastens to obey. “You’ve been doing okay at school?”

“Yes sir.” Sam replies steadily and directly. The man makes a noise with his throat that sounds like he was going to clear his throat and then decided to change course and spit.

“You like living with us?”

“Very much, sir.” Sam’s voice quivers. He is afraid. Is he going to be sent away? He sits up straighter. Mark looks at him; he can tell that this question has frightened the child.

“Sam, you are young. Younger than my own kid, certainly than my wife, but you are, let’s say wiser. You haven’t had the easiest of lives, your father seems like he was a real piece of work and in general you’ve seen things that make you more aware.” Mark raises a palm in Sam’s direction as if to gain a verbal agreement. Sam gives him a nod; he doesn’t trust his voice yet. “So, when my wife and my kid get worked up because you are sad, I get to thinking that you aren’t thinking properly.” Mark cocks an eyebrow at him, Sam swallows.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Mark nods, “We haven’t had this conversation before, so you didn’t know. Victoria, and Brady too, they are highly sensitive, they have to be kept isolated from difficult situations. It is why I only had one child. I didn’t want my son to ever feel like he wasn’t the focus of all our attention.” He leans back in the chair, “Which means that when you want something, you come to me. You don’t ask Brady, or Victoria, straight to me.”

Sam nods, “Understood. I’m sorry for the confusion.”

Mark crosses his long fingers, and Sam remembers that he was a doctor once, but he stopped to be an investor after he sold the patent to an instrument he invented. Spends his days on different stock markets.

“To be honest, I wasn’t on board with bringing you into our home.” He leans back and looks at Sam, who swallows and isn’t sure if he is supposed to say something or not. Say thank you? Beg? Assure him he made the right choice? He stays silent. Bides his time. Mark nods, seemingly appreciative of his silence. “My wife, she always thought a second child would have been good, for companionship. I have an older brother, and we hate each other. Fought since the beginning. I think he resented that I came along and changed things as they were for him. It wasn’t my fault or intention. With you, Brady chose you, he likes you. The kinship and friendship was there already. That’s why I said yes.” He types on his computer, and his voice changes, more relaxed, “Plus the LightBringers were so delighted with you too. Can’t hurt to have Azazel owe you one.”

“Well, I am very grateful to be here too sir, and Brady is my best friend; I love that I get to live in the same house as him.” Sam clears his throat. “I’m sorry I upset him and your wife. I sometimes get sad missing my brother. He, umm, raised me because my dad wasn’t there often, as you said a real piece of work,” Sam remembers a study of repeating phrases a person said to make yourself more agreeable, although he doesn’t like that phrase at all. “Where my brother is living, we can talk on some holidays, and the social worker has to coordinate it. I was wondering if you could call the social worker, Olivia, to have her coordinate a call for me to talk to my brother on Thanksgiving, which I know we don’t celebrate in this house, but they do where he is.” Sam feels tired after all that was finally out of his system.

“That’s what you wanted to request? This is what you were hinting about to Brady?” Mark asks. Sam nods. With the ease that people of affluence have for doing things, Brady’s dad, turns around in his office chair, picks up a little notebook and thumbs through it for a minute until he finds what he is looking for. Then he picks up the receiver of the phone that Sam is just noticing, nestled tastefully placed amongst some sculptures and a wire basket for incoming mail and another one for documents to be filed—if the label is to be believed. Sam’s mouth is dry as Mark finishes punching in the numbers and swings back to face him, the auricular cradled between his shoulder and ear. He focuses on his computer again, the big box occupying half the desk. Sam knows most people don’t have one and wonders how it works. It seems like Olivia isn’t in, and Mark leaves her a voicemail; it’s painfully detailed and Sam feels his cheeks flush.

“Alright then, we’ll wait for her to call us back. Set that up, which I don’t see any reason why she wouldn’t. Then over here, we are clear on expectations?” Mark stands and walks Sam to the door of his office.

“Yes, sir and again thank you so much.”

“No need. Keep your nose clean, don’t stress my family out, continue serving the Winged one and we’ll be hunky dory.” Sam nods and smiles at him as he steps out into the hallway.

The wind was working overtime trying to find every crack between the slates on the two-story house where Sonny’s Boys’ Home made its valiant effort to stay upright, the roof sagging under the weight of 3 inches of snow dumped overnight and now gusts of wind blowing over 10 miles per hour. A miserable Christmas indeed, but nothing could wipe the smile off of Dean’s face. He glowed more than the firepit. Heck, if some of the other 6 boys in the home wanted to huddle around him instead of the fireplace, they’d probably warm up more too. He was warm and gooey. He was going to talk to Sammy today! At 1:00pm.

He has hours to kill, and plenty of work. Farm-life never quits. Plus, a bunch of the guys had graduated, so now he is one of the old crew. Except Eggie, all the others are new kids, so he has to set an example and be responsible, do his chores and help establish order.

“Come on guys, ain’t no maid service here. If we don’t make it, we aren’t eating any breakfast.” He heads to the chores list, “Who’s on barn duty? Those chickens gotta be freezing.”

“Dude, it’s Christmas. Give us a break.” One of the new kids bellyaches from the fireplace.

“Oh sorry, does your sentencing say 2 years except Christmas and all other federal holidays? Take your birthday and valentines off too. Mine doesn’t.” Dean puts his hand on his hip staring the kid down. Finally the kid sighs and grumbles, stands up and goes to the kitchen. “Looks like we’ll be getting breakfast folks!” Dean calls out and another kid whoops. “Yup! That’s what I think too.” Dean rubs it in cheerfully. “Okay, barn duty? Come on, don’t make me look at the list. I’ll even go out and give you a hand. Who is it?”

The morning went by quickly, breakfast, chores, cleaning the kitchen. Then around 11:30, the wind beat the old light post that fed into the house. A crack as the power stopped coming into the house and a collective groan from all the boys. Dean felt his heart drop and his smile freeze in place. He snapped back to life, turned and went up the stairs two by two, then strode to Sonny’s office. He gave a short rap as he pushed the door open, “Does the phone still work?”

Sonny didn’t look up from his paperwork, but the panic was evident in the boy’s voice. “Doesn’t matter what I tell you. You gonna want to check for yourself.” Without looking up, Sonny felt Dean’s eyeroll. A few seconds later he felt the boy leaning over his desk, reaching for the phone. The audible relief when he heard the tone on the other end. Sonny glanced up and saw Dean’s shoulders relax and his diaphragm release the air he had undoubtedly been holding in. He felt really bad about what he had to do next.

“You know we can’t stay here with no heat.” Sonny leaned his elbows on his desk and interlaced his fingers, resting his chin on top of them.

Dean still had the phone auricular in his hand, the cord all twisted and wrapped over the desk. He clenched the thin part tightly and set the phone back in its cradle softly. “It’s only until my call is over, two hours. The fireplaces are running and there is enough firewood, and this is the warmest part of the day.”

“It will drop 30 degrees in the first hour and then some more each hour although not as fast. I have to take you boys to a safe and warm place.”

“I can go at 1:30pm, as soon as I finish my call.” Dean states his intentions.

“You know this road, this is a one-time ride out; I am not making someone drive back in and out for you. That’s dangerous.” Sonny states more forcefully.

“You promised in November that I’d get to for Christmas.” Dean’s tone is now slightly whiny.

Sonny’s eyes flash, “Yeah, and that was my mistake. I should not have promised when there were things out of my control because I can only control us, but not the social worker like in November, or Sam and his family, or the weather like now.”

“Please, I didn’t get to talk to him over Thanksgiving because the social worker was hungover and forgot to call in. And now this?” Dean is clenching his fist.

“Dean,” the older man’s voice isn’t menacing, but it certainly conveys a warning, “go pack up. Tell the others as well. We’ll go to Ms. Robinson’s boarding home. I’ll call the social worker and tell her to call there instead, if we hurry, we’ll be there and settled by the time they call. If we delay, we won’t be. If we aren’t, then I’m sorry—that’s the way things go.”

“Yeah, I should be used to it by now. Crappy life for a piece of shit kid.” Dean turns and leaves the office quickly before Sonny can reply or get on his case for using swear words.

“Come on everyone, pack and let’s roll. We’re headed to town to wait out the storm. You got 20 minutes.” He starts banging on doors, clapping his hands, pushing kids on the shoulders and generally channeling his dad to make everyone start moving and packing. They can all tell that he is not the ray of sunshine that started the morning cheerfully; his mood went out with the power.

Everyone is packed and ready to go a bit over half an hour later. Then they have to stop at the Farrington’s, the neighboring farm, to leave their chickens, so they can take care of them while they are away. Sonny thinks they may be away until the New Year’s because of the holiday. It could take a while before they make it out to their remote farm, and then possibly a new light post if they can't fix the old one. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about and frankly had him in as pissy a mood as Dean over his phone call. Everyone could feel the tension and was walking on eggshells. Then the track over fresh snow made the trip into town painfully slow, as it was up to them to crunch it down and compact it.

They finally made it to the boarding home located in the center of town, Ms. Robinson smiling nervously, the last of her renters leaving as Sonny had offered to transfer them to the closest hotel so that they wouldn’t have to be with technically incarcerated or problematic minors, but for him it was to not worry about the boys being around adults that he didn’t know. She had only had a married couple and a single man so that was two rooms for a few nights total, the couple had been booked for two more nights and the man for one more. It was worth it to Sonny to have the boarding home to themselves. Plus, Ms. Robinson promised a nice Christmas dinner.

Dean looks at the clock nervously, it’s almost 1:00pm. “You called Olivia?”

“I left her a message because she didn’t pick up.”

Dean bites his lower lip and looks worried. Sonny is empathetic, he truly is, but he can’t be coddling the kid. “Grab your bag. Take it upstairs, pick a room.”

“Guys, two per room. No running on the stairs. Mind your manners. Go take your bags upstairs and come back in 5 to huddle for house rules.” Sonny projects his voice so that everyone can hear him and get organized. He sees Dean from the corner of his eye talking to Ms. Robinson. “Dean, now.” He points upstairs with his index finger. If looks could kill, Sonny would be underground. Nevertheless, Dean grabs his bags and heads up the stairs. He has always been obedient, and Sonny can’t complain, even his occasional sass is easily controlled with a stern look; he really is a good kid. How much is from a naturally pleasing personality and how much from a forceful upbringing Sonny doesn’t know, he isn’t a therapist, nor does he offer those services. If he were to bet, it’s a good mix of both.

“Ms. Robinson, thank you so much for accommodating us at the last minute. Were the lodgers too off put?

“The man was belly-aching a bit, said he had planned to stay a week. If you ask me, he wanted to get some more nights for free, so I said we’d cover two nights instead of one.” Ms. Robinson speaks like everything is a conspiratorial whisper, her hands on her belly, she wears an apron, and it has pockets where her fingertips dip in and hide.

Sonny sees Dean coming down the stairs already. “I saw one of my boys asking you about, I suppose the phone?”

“Oh yes, I told him I needed to talk to you. That I was the only person that answered calls here and would monitor all incoming calls and confirm with you who could speak to whom. All above board. I know you have rules, and the state makes you be very strict. Don’t want them trying to be sneaky.” She nodded her head to put emphasis on her words.

Sonny chuckled, “I know we are going to be in good hands with you and your help will be welcome.” Sonny patted her back and looked up at Dean’s sour face.

The phone at Ms. Robinson’s rang a few times, two lodging inquiries, her sister, the grocer to confirm the rush order of two hams, 10 pounds of potatoes and 3 pies, the fire department to confirm how many people were residing there for their knowledge in case there was an emergency so they would know how many they were looking to save and a wrong number calling a distant family member for the holidays.

Each time it rang, Dean’s body coiled with expectation and hope. After 5:00pm, he didn’t hold out much hope but still couldn’t control the trigger reaction to the last calls that came in. He helped set the table, ate dispassionately, and asked to be excused even before dessert. Sonny simply nodded, and Dean sprinted up the stairs. They were supposed to be two per room; since they were only 7 and Dean had been in such a bad mood he ended up with a room to himself. He sat on the edge of the twin bed, looked at the door and figured it was safe. Everyone would eat dinner, play some Christmas music, gather around the fire, relax a bit because of the day it was.

A day like today, John… Dean didn’t want to think of the whiskey fueled disasters Christmas used to be with him. He missed Sammy. Today he failed his brother. Dad would have reminded him how he failed. Thinking in this space, his dad may push him that way. The bump against the bedpost wasn’t satisfying. Perhaps he’d bend him over this table, forcefully. Without another to wield an object it wasn’t even terrifying. Dean snickered remembering the fear that position caused when it was for punishment. He opened a drawer, stuck his hand in and closed it. “Fuck,” okay, that hurt, but it felt different than punishment. His nerves were overwrought, all day waiting on alert, the tension of the change of plans; he was exhausted. He grabbed Sammy’s tee; he knew he didn’t deserve it. He had messed up, but it’s Christmas so screw it. Crawled into the bed, curved himself around the Mathlete t-shirt, brought it up to his nose and sighed. As soon as his memory re-created the long-erased scent, the tears broke through like a dam.

Chapter Text

“Hey! Look at you, I don’t need to measure you to know you are off the charts." Nurse Meg greets Sam. His smile is magnetic, and she feels how it pulls her in towards him. “How old are you now?”

“Turned 13 on Thursday.” He puffs out his chest a bit.

“Oh, a teenager.” Meg mockingly says as she flutters her eyelashes. Sam blushes, and she laughs. “Okay, enough. You here for your yearly shots and check-in?” He confirms with a nod, and she makes quick work with the jabs she already had set out. She also weighs him, gets his height, blood pressure and heart rate. “You’ve been working with Ruby all year, right?”

“Yes, ma’am”

“Don’t you dare ma’am me, or I will choke you with one of the Maypole ribbons this afternoon!” Meg slaps his shoulder, “Seriously, Azazel will want to test your abilities sometime this week. I’ll find out when and who will be testing you.”

“Thanks. Should I go to the same tee-pee as last year?”

“Yeah, that will be fine.” Meg is labeling his chart as Sam is exiting her office and before he leaves, she asks one last question. “Hey Sam, any girlfriend at school?”

Sam stops in the entryway, his cheeks flushed, “Uh, no.” He looks down. “I mean, I talk to this girl, but it’s just in one class period, and we only talk.”

“I’ll mention it to Azazel, and he’ll explain things better to you.” Sam nods and leaves quickly; he feels trepidation in the pit of his stomach.

As he leaves Nurse Meg’s office, he runs into Ruby; she hugs him effusively. “I’m so happy you get to do the Maypole today. With this, you’ll have done the full cycle of all the celebrations. A full year! Can you believe it?” She grabs him by the hand, “Come on, I need you to see something.”

They leave the admin building and cross the small parking lot, with the white Range Rovers and enter the visitor’s center. Ruby pulls Sam, who is still carrying his duffle bag and backpack into the center until he is standing under the painting of the angel. “There.” She exclaims and smiles beatifically. Sam looks at her quizzically, then looks up and stays still. Ruby nods. “Yes, He wanted to see you.” Sam shifts from foot to foot. He can’t confirm or deny what she is saying. Eventually she recites the prayer

“Some shall crawl
Some shall kneel
Some shall bow
Some shall stand
All will serve.”

He joins in, repeats the words, then they leave. They are silent as they walk to his tee-pee. Once there, she reminds him of the Maypole event that afternoon and leaves.

Sam enjoys his roommates and catching up with both Belphegor and Tom. He notices the dynamic here is different than at home between him and Brady; he hopes it doesn’t cause distance or problems. He tries not to highlight the differences, but it is hard because Tom is the first to make the differences an important aspect. It makes him blush, asking him what bed he wants, if he is going to be in the play this year, if he is going to sit with the Special Children or with them at lunch and so on. Sam thinks he dreamed up the silent Tom from last year, because this one has a motor mouth and is making him so uncomfortable.

He slides up next to Brady, “Hey, you’ll teach me everything about the Maypole this afternoon, right?”

“What, your teacher won’t lead you step by step? Or you won’t be in the group of Special Children with extra sparkly satin ribbons and leave the rough burlap ones for us the peasants?” Brady snaps back.

Sam looks down. He doesn’t know what type of ribbon he’ll have; it’s possible that it will be a nice satiny one. He doesn’t know if Ruby will be with him step-by-step; it is possible as it is the last celebration for him to learn. If either of those things happen, he doesn’t want to feel ashamed. They are opportunities, and he wants to grab them by the horns and make the most of them.

“Everything okay over here?” Tom walks up to them. This is the worst thing that can happen in Sam’s mind, thinking Brady will see it as even more preferential treatment, and he snaps at Tom.

“Can we get a break! All the time, breathing down my back.”

“That’s very rude Sam. Particularly as it's my job to ensure harmony at camp, starting here.” He signals their tee-pee enclosure.

Brady steps in, “Sam and I are getting along more like brothers now.” He cracks it like a joke. He comes up to Sam and pats him on the shoulder. “I think he is nervous because this year he can try-out for the play. And although Sam is good at memorizing stuff, it will be a hard sell being so butt-ugly.” He laughs and Belphegor chuckles.

Sam grins and adds “That’s where we see there is no blood relation.”

“Yeah, sorry bud, couldn’t help with genes too.”

“Okay, okay, we don’t don’t joke about other people’s physical aspects. I’m sure Sam’s genes are fine.” Tom adds uncomfortably; he knows the kids are joking, but the subject is tip-toeing into an easy area for picking on someone and kids can be cruel. Particularly as Sam is in the foster system. “Good to hear you’ll be trying out for the play.” Changing the subject is always a safe choice, Tom figures.

Sam nods, Brady jumps in to rib him again, apparently still hell-bent on proving that they are tight, “Yeah, aiming to share the stage with Ava?” Sam flushes bright red. He pushes Brady.

“Shut up,” Sam mutters under his breath, and Brady pushes him back while making kissing sounds.

“Boys, that’s enough.” Tom uses a stern tone. “You may have a dynamic at home, but here you must follow the norms. Remember this camp was made with intention and reverence in mind; yes, you are young, and we expect you to use your energy, but the purpose isn’t horseplay.”

Sam glares at Brady for getting him into trouble.

“Unpack, wash-up, go have lunch and then rest before Maypole, that’s the schedule for today.” Tom seems keyed up. “I’ll see you all in the admin building for lunch. No later than 1pm.” Tom heads out of the tee-pee, ready to be free from the boys before they get into trouble again.

Tom heads over to Azazel’s office. Azazel doesn’t say anything when he walks in, doesn’t welcome him or speak platitudes. He understands his son and knows that he has a shorter social battery. Azazel lets him be, watches as Tom serves himself some water and sits down. Gathers his thoughts, meanwhile the Director continues writing in his own files; when Tom is ready, he will speak.

“Sam is bigger, more confident, but there is resentment bubbling up.” Tom finally brings up his observation.

“The Winged one is an angry being, righteously so. Seems fair that his vessel would be too.” Azazel turns his light eyes towards Tom. “Or do you not think he is chosen anymore?”

“I…I guess so.” Tom shrugs. “The teen years are difficult, and he is about to start them. He needs to be told.”

“We lost Max Miller by not handling this correctly. We waited too long to bring it up, which is why I will be talking to him this weekend.” Azazel speaks in a tone that sounds dismissive to Tom.

“What if later he isn’t chosen?” He persists on the subject because Sam is his; he came to his tent, he found him a home with Brady, and he was the one that saw Lucifer choose him. If somehow he was mistaken, he will be the one that erred. Although he feels right, he feels that Sam is the chosen vessel, the fact that this is a spiritual mission is the main thing that also makes him worry and doubt the most.

“All the Special Children will have assignments. The Winged One will use them for his mission and in the place they best serve him. All will serve.”

“I know but it’s kinda of fucked to think you’re prepped for something and then be sent to an bum fuck outpost.” Tom says in an non-ironic tone and then looks up at his father’s yellow eyes who are boring into him, an arched eyebrow. “Oh, I meant, I guess, okay. Yes, We All Serve.” Tom stands nervously, his father still not commenting on his guffaw, “I’m going to see if the boys have come over for lunch.”

Azazel nods. Tom heads out of his office. “Tom,” He freezes at the door, “bring me Sam when he finishes eating.” Tom nods and hurries out.

He finds the boy already in the cafeteria area, joking in an odd way with Alastair. It’s a conversation meant only for them. Half-sentences, laughs, silences, exclamations and challenges, hoots and wrinkled foreheads. Tom knows that many in the community have been surprised by the bond that flourished between them. For Tom, it is further evidence of Sam’s destiny; Alastair is one of the oldest demons and one that never enjoyed earth or work bound tasks. If Sam can form rapport with him, that speaks to his inherent affinity with that species. At least, that’s how Tom sees it.

“Did you have lunch?” Tom asks Sam as he comes up on the pair. Sam snorts, and Tom has the sneaking suspicion they were talking about him.

“Athlete’s special.” Alastair’s nasally voice confirms. “Also have his vitamins packaged and ready to dispense to you if you want to take them now?” Tom nods; Alastair motions with his hand to follow him towards his office.

Tom looks at Sam, “Go by the Director’s office.” Sam’s eyes widen a bit; Alastair must say something soothing, because he looks at him and nods again and then sighs before waving and heading off towards the admin area. “Quite a kid.”

“He’ll be formidable.” Alastair opens the passcode controlled pantry and quickly grabs the package of vitamins that have been separated for Special Children. Tom stands there, his doubts worn like a cherry red halter top that he wants compliments on. Alastair ignores him. He isn’t fastidious about humans; he finds them easy and sincere. So he’ll work with them easily. Demons are his breed; he loves their cunning and wit. He knows to be wary of manipulation and to always have eyes on the back of his head. Now half-breeds are hard, you never knew how the mix had resulted, each one was different, some were sincere, some manipulative, some dumb and some clever and the endless variety of the traits intermixing was an exhaustive exercise for someone that usually made little to impact on his life, so Alastair preferred to ignore them in general and interact with them as little as possible. This half-breed, for example, dumb and sincere or so he seemed, could be a farce and perhaps he was manipulative and intelligent. Either way, Alastair preferred to keep him at an arm’s length.

“So, you think,” Tom hesitated, to trust Alastair who had the reputation of being so fierce and he had even heard his dad once say that he was “a truly bloody motherfucker”, “that Sam is, Lucifer’s, is a Special Child?” Tom got the words out in a rush.

Alastair fixed his gray eyes on him, tilted his head slightly. “I thought you were the one that said that?” Tom got a bit flustered. Alastair’s gaze didn’t waver. “I myself don’t deal with all those prophecy things. Been around for a long time, people come and go.” Alastair stepped closer, “Your daddy,” his nasal voice spoke into his ear, “oh, he does take all that prophecy stuff so seriously. Makes one want to see prophecy everywhere. Where there is and even if there isn’t any.”

Tom swallowed nervously. “No, it’s not like that. Sam is a Special Child, I was wondering if you thought he was more. That’s all.” Tom took a step back. Alastair smiled crookedly.

“Of course, of course.” His answer was ambivalent in the sense that Tom didn’t know if he was responding to Sam being more than a Special Child or being sarcastic towards him, but he decided that he didn’t need to know anymore.

“I’m going to go check on my other boys, see if they’ve come by for lunch.” Tom stammered.

“Of course,” Alastair repeated, a small smile on his face.

“Sam, you’ve grown quite well.” Azazel greeted him when the boy popped his head into his office, timidly asking if this was a good time. “Yes, come in. We have a few things to discuss.”

Sam looked at him with a slightly panicked expression, and the Director laughed, “Yes, you’re my most problematic student. Come sit down.” Sam wandered over and sat down in the chairs in front of his desk. “Sometimes the good ones make us work a little harder for them, and it’s fine, because in the end it’s worth it.” Azazel smiled at Sam and he visibly relaxed.

“First thing on the list, easiest one, the Special Children testing. You did this last year, it is the same thing but to measure and compare, see if you have had any growth. Would you rather do it on Wednesday morning and miss textile class or Thursday morning and miss the wilderness walk?”

“Thursday.” Sam figured they were out in the forest anyways, while the textile class was more structured.

“Perfect, remember to meditate first and be on fasting since after lunch the day before.” Sam nodded.

Azazel now pulled out Sam’s official student file. “Let’s talk about the foster situation.”

Sam shifted in his chair. “Is everything okay?” His voice squeaked.

“Mostly. Mark isn’t too keen on the state’s processes and has asked us to intervene. Which we have, some things can be done, others can’t. So, they don’t like the social worker visiting the home.” Azazel takes a deep sigh. “I used lots of persuasion to convince Olivia over the phone; it would have been easier in person, that she could do her home visit while you were here.”

“Oh,” Sam’s eyes go wide. “So, she’ll be coming here?”

“Yes, she’ll be doing her home inspection next week. See your room, talk to Brady who is your roommate, housemate. Ruby who gives you classes every week. It’s unorthodox, but it will work.” Azazel taps his pen against the folder.

“I mean, for me, it doesn’t make any difference. I understand why Mark and Victoria would prefer it. I guess you want to help community members? Why does she accept though? Can’t she get in trouble?” Sam asks, confused.

“Well, you can ask her if you like, but I think she already messed up with the calls and figures Mark is angry at her? Since he said he would not accept any more calls coordinated by her because of her unprofessionalism.” Azazel looks at Sammy expectantly.

Sam looks down at his hands; this is a sore spot for him, and he didn’t know that the Director was aware of the situation. The missed phone calls from his brother last year had fucking torn at his heart. The Thanksgiving one after Sam had learned that he had to ask Mark for all favors, and that he wasn’t to show his emotions to Brady. Which meant that every single time that Brady had asked Want or Hate in the dark since then it had been Hate, Hate, Hate. Now Brady doesn’t even ask anymore, and Sam takes extra long showers if he has any emotions to process.

On Thanksgiving, Mark hadn’t ever told him what had happened because that wasn’t “appropriate for children”. Funny, considering how he had spoken so bluntly to Sam before but he heard that Olivia had a hangover and forgot. Sam heard him talking about this with Olivia’s supervisor over the phone.

Then on Christmas, they had called, and it had rung and rung and rung and no one picked up. A few days later, they found out the power had gone out at the place. Which made Sam worry about Dean freezing over winter. Mark, however, took it as a personal offense and said no more calls as they were unable to comply, and that made Sam sad, which made Brady sad, which made Victoria sad, which made him sad. So no more. None. Zero. Eliminated from the menu. Not even for Dean’s birthday. Even though Sam asked for it as a favor, Mark said no and to stop asking.

Now, the whole call situation was being used to make the social worker do whatever Mark wanted. Sam didn’t know the word for it, but he could feel in his heart that it was manipulative. He was also a teenager living for free in the dude’s fancy house, so he had to shut up and agree. Truth was, the house was fantastic, what the social worker was supposed to check was nothing of concern, clean, no pests, no abuse, they fed him, sent him to school, made sure he had medical care, plus he had Brady and the community, so it was really a wonderful place. Sam shouldn’t be ungrateful and spoiled. If he couldn’t see or talk to his brother, well, he couldn’t see or talk to his brother. Perhaps when he got to be an adult. That would be upon them faster than they could imagine.

“Fantastic, now Sam, the next subject is a little more delicate.” Azazel stands up, “Accompany me.” Sam quickly stands and follows the Director.

They walk outside, “You know, when I first got this task, establishing a community, with a camp, and a place to congregate. To develop knowledge of the Winged One. Create a community from where we would be able to develop future leaders, well I knew it wasn’t the work of a year, or even of a decade. At minimum, it would be a 30 year endeavour. For me personally, then it would go on to someone else. I also knew it would require so much. Money, 5 acres in New York,” he laughs, “believe me, not cheap, plus the buildings and maintenance, but more than that energy Sammy. It takes your whole being. You have something like this, and you have to pour yourself into it.” They walk over the small bridge that leads to the classrooms.

Sam nods and walks along with him.

“To be able to pour yourself into a project like this, you need one thing.” He stops and turns to Sam, “Your dad had it for hunting.” Sam goes pale; he hasn’t thought of his dad in over a year, certainly wasn’t planning on thinking of him right now, although he remembers that the first time he met Azazel, he did remind him of his dad.

“What, crazy single minded focus?” Sam asks tentatively.

“It’s similar,” Azazel points Sam off the trail to the theater and they walk towards the stage, “same thing that drives actors—devotion.” Azazel hops onto the stage, “Actors love the adulation, to be admired, but the one sitting in the crowd pouring that love, the one backstage, helping with the clothes and lights and the one who wrote the script and heard their words spoken out loud. They are all part of the cycle of devotion. All needed. They each play a role.”

Sam recites the familiar
“Some shall crawl
Some shall kneel
Some shall bow
Some shall stand
All will serve.”

“That’s what we mean Sammy! None can exist without the other.”

Sam watches the man and agrees with him. He doesn’t think there is anything in his life to be all devotion, single minded focus on, but he’s only 13; he figures it will eventually come.

“How have you been enjoying your classes with Ruby?”

The sudden change in subject, throws Sam off course. “Fine,” Wait, wrong way to answer. “The classes have been going great.”

“Do you feel a connection with the material?”

Sam hadn’t really analyzed that; he had learned the material and adopted the practices and explanations. He shrugs.

“Do you want to continue learning our ways? Do you understand everything being one of the Special Children entails?” Azazel sits on the edge of the stage and motions for Sam to follow suit.

“Ummm, I think so? I mean, yes I want to continue studying, and I think being one of the Special Children are kids that have been identified as capable of developing our powers and talents?” Sam feels like his answer is so pitiful and wrong.

“Sure, but what for?”

This was easy, they repeated it all the time. “To serve.” Sam smiles smugly.

“Serve who?”

Sam knows the answer to this, he is pretty sure, it popped right into his head, but out loud it sounds strange. “The Winged One.” he replies tentatively.

“Good, do you know how you can serve him?” Azazel looks at Sam intensely.

Sam coughs, “I, I’m not sure yet; Ruby told me I was going to be a vessel, and she’d explain that better later.”

Azazel looks at Sam, “Ever wanted to be powerful?”

Sam thinks of the different displays of power he has seen, cruel teachers, macho hunters, bureaucratic paper pushers, even now with Mark saying he can’t call Dean. They are all dressed in different manners but still they are all bullies. “No, I don’t think so.”

Azazel chuckles, “Well, you’re young still.” Azazel sighs, “People generally think of power as a position, or being able to command and tell others what to do. Like here at camp, you could say I have power because I am the Director, right?” Azazel checks and sees that Sam nods and it does go with his previous idea. “However, there is a type of power that is much quieter and subtle. It belongs to the people who influence the decision makers, the people who have access to the books of knowledge.”

“Like the advisors nowadays and astrologers in ancient times?” Sam interrupts to ask.

“You mean the ‘kingmakers’?”

Sam who loves history and has been nerding out on medieval history of late gives an enthusiastic nod.

“Not so much, champ. I mean people that many are not aware of, because they only see the authority figure and not the person that walks by that public authority’s side. They don’t see the behind the scenes person that keeps the center stage one sane and aligned.”

“Sane and aligned? Like a therapist?” Sam’s voice registers confusion.

“Most people have a different home life than you Sam; you’re aware of that?” Sam feels his ears flush red and burn hot. He shrugs his shoulders and gives a half nod. “They have a routine, a family and other things that provide grounding and comfort.”

“I have that now.” His voice is weak.

Azazel probes his mind and can see how Brady has that and Sam pretends it is enough for him. He can also see how there was a similar feeling before, with his brother.

“That feeling, the way your brother dedicated himself to you. Or seemed to, there are people who are called to dedicate themselves to the Winged One. That’s their only job. They dedicate themselves with devotion. And are the ones that are next to him, sometimes with him as one, keeping him sane and organized.”

“That’s the one you say is a behind the scenes person?” Azazel nods

“And provides grounding and comfort?” Azazel doesn’t reply; he looks at Sam and lets him continue.

“Are the ones next to him…” Sam takes a deep breath, a vision of his dream coming back to him, walking to the throne and sitting next to him, thigh to thigh; he had felt that closeness, but when he turned to look, there had only been light. Blinding light.

Azazel’s words continue coming to him, “Sometimes with him as one.”

“Yes, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes go wide. “A vessel. Like to contain?”

Azazel bites his lower lip; his eyes flicker and seem more yellow than normal. He leans forward towards Sam but doesn’t speak.

“Is that what keeping sane and organized means?” Sam asks with a bit of hysteria in his voice.

“When you have devotion, the task will be divine. There are only a handful of people that can even be considered for this privilege. You are special.” Azazel’s tone is softer, more placating.

“I don’t understand.” Sam jumps off the stage and starts pacing. “It makes no sense, I’m a kid. “I’ve got nothing, nobody wants anything from me, and Lucifer wants me?”

“Remember we tested you and determined you are a Special Child; you have talents. Telepathy, telekinesis, empathy, premonition through dreams, and that is what we know about right now. We plan on developing more talents. Then, like it or not, your papa’s training made you a valuable off-grid survivor. You know fighting, camping, survival skills like hunting and wilderness.” He pauses, when he sees that Sam turns to face him indicating that he is paying attention; he smiles in a reassuring manner, “You also have your penchant for academic study and reading, plus an introverted nature. Which long-term is better suited for this position.”

“What if I am not interested in this ‘position’,” Sam air-quotes.

Azazel scoffs, “I say that you don’t understand what is being offered and are reacting with fear, and that’s ok because you are a child.”

Sam feels a spark of anger in his chest.

Azazel bursts out laughing, “It’s fine, Sam. I didn’t say anything that wasn't true. You are a child; you have barely been with us a year. Despite how talented you are, we can't expect you to understand all of the complexities in that time when there are people that have been studying for decades and still don’t know everything.” He stands up off the stage, strolls over to Sam and puts his arm over his shoulders. “Look, if in the end you don’t want to be the Winged One’s vessel, that’s fine. You don’t have to say yes. Max said no; that’s why he isn’t here anymore. Jake is still thinking about it, possibly wants to be in the military, say yes to the US government, be their vessel.”

“Really?” Sam’s shoulders relax after hearing this. Azazel can feel them lower under his forearm. He nods and directs the boy back to the main path.

“Yes, the Winged One will ask for consent, has to really, but we’ll get into more of those details in your dogma class. For now, I think your best course of action is to continue studying and learning with the intention of deciding later. How’s that sound?”

That isn’t so intimidating and a pretty reasonable request. Sam nods as he kicks a rock with his foot. “Yeah, I can decide later. Right?”

“All the way up to the last day of your last year of camp.” Azazael pats his back. “Let’s get back.”

Sam agrees and they start walking back. “Now, of course, while you remain undecided, it is expected for you to continue participating as if you were going to say yes. Studying, doing your physic exercises and being devoted to the Winged One in all aspects such as celebrations and carnally.” Azazel mentions this without fanfare as they stroll back.

Sam plays with the words in his head. He isn’t sure if he is supposed to know what that means or if he should ask. He wonders if he should wait and ask Ruby.

“It’s usually better to clarify immediately when you have the question rather than later.” Azazel looks over at him and Sam blushes, having forgotten that his thoughts are an open book to the Director.

“Can you teach me to mask my thoughts like you do?” Sam asks out loud.

“Of course, that is an important psychic protection skill. Not what you were wondering about though.” The Director prods.

“What did you mean by carnally? I mean the word refers to the body, so, how do I devote my body to the Winged One?” Sam blushes as he asks, because he thinks he has an idea.

They are on the bridge that crosses to the administrative buildings, Azazel leans against the railing. “Well, taking care of the body, like we have been doing, giving you the special diet, extra vitamins, additional medical checks. That is the first step. Doing exercise, you have to be responsible and keep the body strong and agile. That is the second step. Then you can’t be reckless, you can’t parachute, bungee jump, free form mountain climb or even play football. That’s third and lastly you must be celibate. Which means that girl you said you were talking to at school, no more. Or I know Brady teases you about Ava; she will never look at you. Not because you aren’t a good-looking kid, or because you are too young. It’s because Ava is a Special Child, and she is on this path too.”

Sam takes a big step away from Azazel, backing away. “Sammy, breathe through it.” He hears the command but feels blood rushing through his body so fast that he can hear the actual flow. “Breathe.” He looks and Azazel has a hand on his shoulder.

Sam knew there were other Special Children; he just hadn’t thought of what it meant before. What did it mean? “What does it mean? Does he pick one of us? Are we competing? Are Ava, Jake and I competing? Was Max competing before he left? Does he use us all as vessels?” Sam’s questions came as run-ons in despair.

“Sam, you are very, very special. I knew that from the moment I met you. You are also so very new, bud. You have so much to learn. Don’t worry about all those other details for now. Let’s first figure out if you’ll even be sticking around. You might be like hey I’m out.” Azazel shrugs his shoulders, “We send you back to regular foster care, you figure your shit out, call you brother and you know godspeed, no hard feelings.” Azazel controlled his tone, droned it out in a lazy bored tone. He takes Sam by the arm and gently pulls him into the visitor’s center, which is only a few dozen feet away.

“Or, you let one of the most powerful deities in the universe wrap you in his Wings. He will cherish you and offer you protection and power and all he wants is for you to serve with devotion.” Azazel points at the painting on the second floor wall, the tip of the wings dripping down. Azazel cups Sam’s cheek, “You are a Special Child, I’m sure you’ll be able to decide on the right thing to do.” He strides off, leaving Sam alone under the watch of the Winged angel.

Chapter Text

1998

“John,” Kate calls from the front door over her shoulder, “Come on in, what was it?”

“Dean, ma’am”

“Come this way, he gets his music blasting in the backyard and can’t hear a thing. He’ll be delighted to see you.” Kate leads him through a hallway, past the living room and to a sliding door that opens to a backyard, from inside they can already hear the old rock. “My poor kid is only going to learn 70’s rock and think music stopped developing then.” The blond jokes to Dean.

“Yep, I can hear his music is the same old stuff, literally old.” Dean feels John’s eyes first. They slide over him, and he wants to cry, and he also wants to run and say dad while he punches and breaks his nose. Everything wars in him at the same time. He hears Kate say “Mary’s nephew,” and his dad answer “I fucking know who my family is,” cranky bastard.

“Yeah, don’t know if you remember me, Dean Campbell, since it’s been a while. You haven’t seen me since I was a kid.”

John comes up and hugs him. He has tears in his eyes. “You look so much like Mary.”

Dean can’t hold it back; he had debated coming for over a month. When he finally decided to come, he had promised himself to be hard-hearted and not forgive John and here he is, not even two minutes in, and he is blubbering and crying on the man’s sleeve.

“You look good, sir.” He says in a low voice that is meant to be heard by John. He pats the chest of the man he wants to hate but can’t help but love and looks down trying to compose himself and a set of blue eyes look up at him curiously. “Hey.” His fingers grip into John’s shoulder.

“Hey, Baby Boy, Adam, come ‘ere.” John squats down and pulls up the long legged boy. He has to be 8 or 9 by Dean’s estimate. “Adam, this is Dean, your,” his eyes look at Dean with a pleading glance, “your cousin.” The kid hides his face in John’s belly.

“Hey, Adam.” Dean’s throat closes on itself. He knew, from the research, from the comment Kate made when he came in, Dean knew. But it is not the same as looking at the kid in front of him. Same shaggy hair as Sammy, same long, knobby legs, but then some things are different and like his mom. But what is really killing him is John’s hand in the kid’s hair, petting him in a reassuring way because there is a stranger in their backyard. Adam is allowed to be scared of him, simply because he is a stranger, and John comforts him. Dean thinks he may pass out.

“Dean, do you want some lemonade or tea?” Kate offers. John gives a slight nod and that’s enough. Enough to establish their dynamics where he waits for his dad’s approval, enough for a wave of appreciation to wash over him. While he is simultaneously keyed up about the deceit. He doesn’t know why, but he does know that his dad hasn’t told his wife about him and Sam.

“Yes ma’am, I’d appreciate it. Lemonade please.”

John smiles at him. Points at a tree behind him, “Fresh squeezed, from right here this very yard.” He presses Adam’s head, ruffles the hair, “Go help your mama.” Gives him a gentle push.

As soon as both Adam and Kate are gone, John asks “What the fuck, Dean?” He steps closer to him, and his face is a serious scowl, Dean automatically takes a step back. “I mean, thanks for not blowing my cover, but why now?” The tone isn’t friendly yet not menacing.

Dean swallows; he looks back over his shoulder at the little kid walking in the backyard door to a family den where he can grab a bag of chips and watch TV until dinnertime. Dinner his mom will make,a healthy and balanced meal. Then he’ll take a bath, read a book and sleep in his own bed, with clean sheets and stuffed toys. And if he says there is a monster in the closet this man in front of him will open the closet and check it out, sweep for monsters, chase them away and make his closet safe, so he can sleep. Dean’s eyes run the length of the patio, a swing set, a trampolin, a tee-ball and a bat, a BBQ and a furniture set.

“You living the dream, huh.” He shakes his head, realizing how pathetic he is, has always been. He half-turns to leave, wounded animal that he is. Yet, the same thing that brought him here is strong enough to anchor him a few more minutes. He inhales deeply. Turns to face his father. “Sammy’s missing.”

“What?” John’s dark eyes bulge out and now there is anger in them. They take an unspoken step together, John forward, Dean backwards. “I can’t talk here, give me a minute.”

John goes inside and speaks to his wife. In his fairytale of a backstory, he used to be a bounty hunter. He tells Kate that Dean, his dead wife’s nephew, is having trouble with an unsavory type. The type he used to deal with and the kid thought of his old uncle. He won’t get involved, but he’s going to take the kid to the bar, hear his story and give him a few tips. No big deal, good to flex those memory muscles too, not waste all his knowledge.

“As long as he isn’t bringing trouble to this house, that’s fine.” She kisses him. “I can tell you’re excited. Guns and macho stuff. Go, help him, but be back before 5:30, I got my shift at 6:00pm.” John slips an arm around her waist and brings her in tightly.

“Yes, darling.” He smiles sweetly, his cheeks bunching up and his eyes crinkling.

Dean stares from a few feet away in amazement and shock at the domestic bliss and tranquility. He wonders if his dad was ever like that with his mom. He wonders if he was supposed to be like the blond, blue-eyed kid that is still staring at him suspiciously. He wonders if he was supposed to grow up in a house like that, instead of the car that he realizes he had missed so badly as he gets in it as John signals to him to hop in.

“Ah, sure missed this girl.” Dean runs his hands over the dashboard. As John backs out of the driveway. “If you ever decide to change rides, I call dibs.” John snorts but gives a quick jut of the jaw, which Dean takes to mean yes.

They ride into the downtown area and park in the employee parking of a local pub, The Chicken Roost. “I do security for them sometimes, so I can use the parking space. Come on.” They walk in through the back, so Dean figures it is legit that John works for them.

“Hey, Joe, pour me my regular and you’re what 20?” John turns to look at Dean, who blushes deeply at being asked that in a bar, “What the hell, he can vote and go to war, give him a light pale one.”

“Not your ass if the sheriff comes around, right?”

“You know as well as I do that Sheriff don’t leave Mulberry Lane on Fridays.”

“Why John, you old gossip.”

“Why Joe, you big ear, pour my boy his ale and stop acting like you didn’t tell it to me first.”

They both laugh, and Dean is again shocked. His dad is joking, and having a good time with the bartender, not fighting and being ornery like he normally does, or did three years ago.

They grab the back corner booth; it is hidden, and Dean’s back is to the entrance so nobody can see his face while he drinks. Joe brings over the beer and a glass with ice and a clear liquid.

“You switched from Whiskey?”

“I did.”

“I’m 19 by the way.” Dean says as he sips the beer.

“Not your first beer either way.”

“No, no it isn’t.”

“Well, cut to the chase. How’d you lose Sammy?”

Dean almost laughs out loud. Of course he’d blame him. “Well, the day you abandoned us, with no warning, we had no prep time.”

“Dean,” there is a flash of anger in his eyes. Dean likes it, this person he knows, unlike the family man one who continues showing up all jovial and nice.

“We’ve been separated since that day. Since the day you abandoned us.” Dean says it in a low voice, looking down, as if he should be the one ashamed but not backing down from using the word again.

John’s sharp intake of air is followed almost immediately by a verbal welp as Dean found his hand being tightly squeezed. “Tell me everything.”

Dean grimaces, and tries to pull his palm back gently, but John won’t release his hand.

“You called, CPS showed up, Sam was alone, they took him in, I was running car scams at the rest stop, and got arrested. I was supposed to go to Juvie and managed to get redirected to a Boy’s Home for two years. After I turned 18, I went to Bobby’s and immediately started looking for him.” Dean squirms in the vinyl bench; John is still gripping his hand,

“Sam got sent to foster care, then he got into a special summer camp, thought it was Pastor Jim’s doing, real hippy stuff. From there, he got into the house of one of the kids, looks like they were friends. Very well off. The family moved to California. They didn’t take Sam, and he supposedly ran away.” Dean summarizes three years in a minute and can’t believe that is all he has to tell John. He pulls his hand away by applying more force, then takes a deep swig of his beer, his hand trembling.

“Which is bullshit, because if Sam ran away, the first place he’d go would be Bobby’s or Pastor Jim’s.” John says.

“Plus, that dad had a whole thing about not letting Sam talk to me. I’ve called a few times and he won’t let me talk to the kid either.”

“The kid know something?” John asks as he swirls his ice around.

“The whole family, but like I said the dad is an asshole. The kid was his friend; he would talk.”

“Well, it seems like you know what you got to do.” John leans back in the booth.

Dean’s eyes go wide. “Sir...” he looks down at his hands balled into fists in his lap.

A minute goes by in silence. Then Dean quietly says, “You really are the same person. You are in a better mood. You have a nice house, a wife and kid. Friends.” He looks up at the bartender. “But you are still the same selfish asshole that didn’t care about his sons.” Dean grabs his beer and takes a final drink.

“Son, you better watch your tone.” John’s voice goes low and grumbles.

“Or what? You’ll call CPS? Abandon me? Disown me? Pretend I’m dead.” Dean stands up, “Do whatever you want, I have to look into finding my brother.”

“What did you need help with?” John grabs Dean by the arm and asks in a soft, apologetic tone.

Dean sighs, and he slides into the booth again, “I need a reliable way to get to California because cars from Singer Salvage Yard ain’t cutting it. Plus someone who doesn’t look like a teeny-bee-popper to ask more serious, judicial questions.”

John nods. “What have you gotten so far?”

Dean explains all of Sam’s moves, from Darla’s foster care, the different schools. The camp, foster care with the Tyson’s, and how they now lived in California but had not taken Sam with them but Sam showed as missing in the system.

“So, this family just left him? Like a dog they didn’t want anymore?” John asks, his voice laced with anger.

Dean’s lips purse, and he says “Yeah, Olivia, our social worker, told me it is hard when it is a foster situation because she would have to transfer his custody to the state of CA, then they need to approve the family as a foster home and then place him.” He taps his fingers against the empty beer. “Made it seem basically impossible.”

“Why didn’t they adopt him?” John asks.

Dean shrugs, “like I said the dad was a dick,” he flickers his eyes up to John momentarily, “I think they were doing it for the son, definitely didn’t need the money. The dad invented a scalpel material that is softer for brain surgery. Maybe that’s why they didn’t want to adopt, don’t want another kid to be able to claim inheritance or whatever.”

“But he was living the sweet life?” John asks.

“Would seem so.”

“Would they say he ran away but really it be a fake run-away so that he could stay with them? They could be lying and hiding him out?” John ponders.

“That’s another reason I need to go to California, physically see them. See their house and what they are doing. See if Sam is there. Plus talk to the kid; I think he is the key.”

“Or see what they were hiding.”

“So, you…” Dean swallows; he looks at John, who stares back at him. His dad is going to make him ask. “Will you go with me? Please?” Dean’s fingers tear at the corners of the label of his beer.

“This is going to be a bitch to explain to Kate.” John sighs and calls out to Joe, “Hey another 7-up and tonic for me please.”

Dean smiles shyly; he is nervous as hell but this is what he wanted. His dad is a better hunter than him, and Dean knows he will be able to find Sammy.

Chapter Text

Sam finishes studying a bit before 2:00 pm. He notices the sandwich that someone from the kitchen must have brought in when he was immersed reading and hadn’t noticed and quickly digs in. Oh, it’s so good. It still surprises him, everyday luxury creeps up and hits him square across the face. This simple sandwich, he can taste the quality, the cheese is an expensive one, the meat is smoked, the garlic was pureed in the kitchen, the bread is fresh, the arugula is from the garden. Nothing came wrapped in plastic. He groans in appreciation as he takes another bite. He finishes the sandwich and the cup of berries that were on the side, flavored with a squeeze of mint and sugar.

He takes the plates to the kitchen.

“No, give me that Mr. Winchester. You should have left them in the library. I would have picked them up.” Josefa the kitchen staff says as she takes the plates away from him.

Sam smiles at her, "I can’t leave them laying around. Least I can do is bring them to the kitchen!”

“You think I don’t know the truth? You coming to check out what’s for dinner.” The tiny demoness shakes a ladle in his direction.

“Busted!” Sam laughs.

“That’s one way of putting it.” The cold drawl of Asmodeus’ voice comes from the kitchen entrance. Sam swallows thickly and Josefa turns to her pot, stirring quickly. “Shouldn’t you be in the pool?”

“I just ate…” Sam’s voice is low.

“Why? Lunch was scheduled at 12:30.” Asmodeus steps into the kitchen and his presence makes Josefa shiver, and Sam’s stomach clench. The demon is not as stocky as Azazel or as tall as Alastair, but his presence is menacing. The type of man that John had always taught his sons to steer clear of while not losing sight of him. “Did you not tell the young man to eat?” He turns to the short demoness who is trying to make herself smaller even as she works at her cooking station.

Sam steps forward, “She did, I was just really absorbed in my reading.”

Sam is flung against the closest wall abruptly and forcefully, the air in his lungs whooshing out quickly, which is a shame because he also feels Asmodeus cold phantom fingers gripping tightly around his windpipe. Blocking his air.

“Josefa, do you mind telling me the truth?” Asmodeus stands in the same place as before, only his left hand barely lifted to keep Sam pinned at a distance with telekinesis.

“He was very concentrated, and I didn’t want to distract him.” Her voice wavers, her eyes shift to the boy whose face is flushed deep red already but who doesn’t struggle against the hold. “I’ll do better next time.”

“Will you now?” Asmodeus grins and drops his hand, letting Sam loose, who gulps in air. The change so sudden that a wave of nausea hits him, a cold sweat breaks out on his skin, air burns his throat and lungs as it fights to fill quickly and he feels dizzy as he tries to stand straight and seem unaffected. “Sam, what should we do here?”

Sam hates him. He knows that Asmodeus will make this a performative lesson. If anyone asks he is doing his job, teaching his ward how to be a better ruler, how to make decisions. Consequences of actions. Keeping hierarchies in place. Sam can see all the lessons and lines of thought. Asmodeus is one of the Princes of Hell; he was created by Lucifer and was a general who commanded demons for eons. He is ruthless and to be feared. He is also now Sam’s tutor.

“She failed to follow the expectation of telling me that it was lunchtime, but I failed to notice the time, the schedule or that someone had come up so close to me. Plus, when you asked she told the truth, and I lied.” Sam lists how his having lunch late is all, or mostly all, his fault.

“So, she should be let off the hook?” Asmodeus looks at him with a small grin.

Sam squares his back, “Yes, Josefa already said she’ll do better next time. She didn’t do it with ill intent, she thought my studying was important and shouldn’t be interrupted. Now she knows that the schedule is more important, and I need help,” Sam nods at the cook, “to stay on schedule.”

“Very well. It’s hard to get good kitchen staff too, so better if I don’t have to smite her.” Josefa visibly relaxes, she nods at Asmodeus, bowing her head in gratitude. “Sam, your punishment?”

Sam bites his lower lip. This asshole. Sam is so glad Azazel taught him to mask his thoughts. He sees Josefa turn away and purposely busy herself with preparing a salad. Sam knows Asmodeus by now; he has been living with him for almost a year. He believes the body should be mortified, and that lessons are learned through pain. Asmodeus is incredibly proud of his scar, received as a punishment from Lucifer for releasing the Shedim. He tells the story with glee. Yet this is something small; Sam has to ask for a punishment according to that. After all, that is the lesson he is supposed to be learning. How to punish justly. Sam exhales.

“I was an hour and a half, so a lash for every half-hour.” He says it tentatively but is met with a look of approval, but he can see that Asmodeus wants more, “and, and two more for trying to lie about it.”

Asmodeus smacks his lips, and Sam thinks he is going to be sick. “I think that’s fair.” his southern accent grates on Sam’s nerves but it may be that he is nervous now that he knows he is going to be punished. “Get in position.”

Asmodeus walks to the hallway and calls out to Ketch, his main security man. He strolls into the kitchen, all swagger and poise. Controlled strength. This isn’t the first time Asmodeus has called him to deal with the rugrat. Not his favorite part of the job but at least the kid doesn’t put on theatrics.

“Mr. Ketch, 5 lashes please.” Asmodeus points towards Sam.

The kid is up against the wall, hands next to his face. He has taken off his shirt. Ketch figures he is 15 or 16; he is tall for his age but skinny. He knows that Sam is human and obviously doesn’t have a family or otherwise wouldn’t be living with this demon. He knows he has some sort of psychic powers but doesn’t know what else makes him special to Asmodeus, honestly doesn’t want to know.

Ketch unbuckles his belt and folds it in half, if he could complain he would, this is a real Ferragamo leather belt but he gets paid an obscenity so he’ll buy another. He aims quickly for the shoulder blades, figures that area is sturdier and should hurt less. He knocks two more lashes out quickly before a small cry comes from the boy as he arches away from the belt, his chest molding into the wall. The boy’s nails dig into the wall, trying to grasp at something to keep himself propped up. Ketch unleashes the fourth lash, his hand is a bit sweaty now and the folding loosens, dragging the lash out. He’d apologize if Asmodeus weren’t there. He lays the fifth one and both he and the boy release a breath they’d been holding. The boy’s breath comes out wet, his nose drips, and tears mix with his snot as he breathes deeply. Ketch’s comes out deep like a smoker’s relief.

“You know Sammy, you’re actually 20 minutes more behind schedule right now.” Asmodeus' tone seems mocking.

Sam makes a noise that sounds like he is swallowing a small bird. He turns his face in profile; Ketch can see the streak of tears. “Mr. Ketch, can I have one more?”

Ketch looks at Asmodeus, who nods. Ketch lets the belt slice angrily through the air and land against the young man’s skin. He doesn’t take care to look for a less painful area, or to swing with less power. He doesn’t pretend to understand the game this kid is playing, but he is definitely playing it, then let him play it and pay the consequences.

Sam’s knees buckle, he rests his chest and face against the wall, slack jawed and eyes full of unfallen tears. His back stinging. His palms open, pushing to keep him standing.

“Thank you Ketch, that will be all for now.” Asmodeus dismisses him.

Ketch shakes his head as he threads his belt back through the hoops of his pants. Asmodeus never touches Sam, but he certainly punishes him.

“Sam, make sure you catch up with the rest of your schedule for the day.” Asmodeus orders as he leaves the kitchen.

“Yes sir.” Sam replies demurely as he leaves the kitchen to get into the pool and back on schedule.

Josefa shakes away the tension of everything that occurred in her kitchen. She won’t be forgetting that the kid may be sweet but her master is Asmodeus.

Chapter Text

Underwater, Sam lets himself fall apart. The cold water helps with the sting of the welts, and his tears are non-existent as they are drops in the greatness of the pool, and he doesn’t have to know if his face is wet due to crying or swimming.

It reminds him of when he would have to cry in the shower at the Tyson household because Mark had mandated not stressing Brady out. It had broken his heart always having to say Hate, when Brady would whisper Want or Hate. Eventually Brady has stopped asking, tired of always hearing Hate as the answer.

Sam wishes he would have had the strength to also not ask when his friend cried. To listen to the muffled cries and to turn on his side and pretend he hadn’t heard anything. But no, the day that Brady was gasping into his pillow, noisely blowing snot and trying to breathe he hadn’t even made it into his bed when the words were out of his mouth. Sam remembers that night almost a year ago vividly. The night that changed everything and made him lose his friend and have to come live here with Asmodeus. Sam had walked into their room from his shower; Brady was already a crying mess. Sam didn’t know why yet, although he’d find out later it was because Jake had left the community and not even said goodbye to him.

“Hey, hey,” Sam had cradled Brady’s head, his arms stretching to reassure his friend who lay stretched out on the top bunk. Sam’s wet hair still dripping made wet drops on the pillow right next to the wet drops from Brady’s tears. “Want or Hate?” Sam asked, although he was already petting his friend and trying to comfort him.

“Want,” Brady wailed pitifully.

Sam said, “Well, scoot over.” He dimmed the room lights and grabbed his pillow before swinging himself up into the bunk space. “Damn Brady, you got fat, we don’t fit here together.” He joked. Thinking it was probably that they hadn’t done this in over a year.

“You're just a gigantor. Like one of those museum displays of dinosaur bones.” Brady shot back. “Jake is really big too.” his voice got sad.

“Oh, so this is about Jake?”

“Shut up.” Brady said heatedly, and it made Sam’s stomach clench, although it wasn’t his fault, and it had been years by that point he still tensed up when someone seemed to get angry at him, like his dad would when he’d drank too much. Brady continued wallowing in his sadness. “I can’t believe he left. Just left and didn’t say anything.”

“Maybe he had to leave quickly and couldn’t wait until we got back from Ecuador.” Sam tried to justify or make the situation better. Since they had just gotten back from doing volunteer work over Spring Break at the textile cooperative that worked with the LightBringers in Ecuador. Sam didn’t dare ask why Jake would say anything to Brady before leaving. If this was something he should know about or if this was something exclusively in his friend’s mind, it didn’t matter. Jake was gone either way, so no point in making him feel bad by asking that.

Brady renewed his crying, he turned on his side and Sam opened his arm letting him find comfort in his arms. Soon the black Metallica tee-shirt was wet on the right side and underarm. Sam scratched his friend’s short blond hair. He didn’t speak; he had never been good at finding words to express comfort. They’d get stuck in his throat. But he throws all his intention of being there for his friend into his being and hopes Brady can feel it. After a while, Brady’s breathing calmed down, he wasn’t crying anymore and Sam held himself less stiffly. “You okay?” Brady mumbled a confirmation and slotted closer. Sam was going to hop back to his bed, but his friend’s limbs felt heavy with sleep; he didn’t want to interrupt him, and he was on the threshold between conscious and unconsciousness himself, so he closed his eyes again.

There was a gentle pressure on his lips. It felt nice. There was more pressure. He let his mouth fall open, a soft wet flick touched his teeth. The pressure on his lips was now also wet, then a nip. Sam’s eyes flew open! “Brady?”

Brady simply said “Want,” before he brought his mouth down near Sam’s ear, nibbling there.

Sam tried to sit up. A hand on his chest pushed him down into the mattress. “Brady, I can’t.” Sam whispered as his heartbeat sped up under the heat of the hand on his chest.

The bedroom door opened, and the overhead light flooded the room, “Oh no, Mark, it’s true!” Victoria shrieked.

Mark stepped into the room and barked at them, “Brady, Sam get down from that bunk bed immediately.” He turned to his wife, “Go prepare the extra bedroom for tonight.” Victoria ran out.

“Do you know how stupid you both are? You’ve absolutely fucked it all. Brady, I am disappointed in you. Sam, you should be ashamed of yourself. The betrayal, after we took you in, to this family, to this community, and to the Winged One. I don’t know what will happen with you, but you better get ready for possibly being kicked out.” Mark’s speech was delivered with an almost gleeful tone.

“No Dad, it’s not his fault! It was me.” Brady said desperately.

“Brady, be quiet and do NOT repeat that again,” Mark had stared at him angrily. “Now, get to bed; it is 4:00 am. Sam, guest bedroom, now.”

Sam had shamefacedly gone to the guest bedroom where he had lain down but not slept a wink. He had prayed to the Winged One all night, promising that he meant fealty.

The next day, they visited Azazel as a family. Victoria’s dream that had awoken her was explained, how she was instructed to go to the boys room and separate them before they did anything they regretted.

Sam replayed the scene to Azazel in silence. Azazel asked if Sam had really said he couldn’t, which Sam confirmed. Then he asked it out loud to Brady, who uncomfortably admitted that he thought so, but they were so sleepy he couldn’t remember 100%.

In the end, the community negotiated with the Tyson’s and ended up asking them to participate with another chapter, located in Palo Alto, CA. Mark grumbled but Victoria seemed happy for the change and thought it was all happening due to destiny.

Azazel had asked Sam if he understood how Lucifer had stepped in that evening. “He either thought you would be tempted or forced and made sure nothing happened.”

“Nothing would have happened with Brady; he’s my friend.” Sam said uncomfortably.

“Fortunately, we didn’t have to find out since Victoria was so devoted and the Wing One could communicate through her.” Azazel waited for Sam to settle down. “Now, this situation does push certain decisions up for us.” Sam had looked at him curiously. “Technically, we are supposed to call Olivia and tell her you have to leave your foster home immediately. She’d pick you up, place you in a new foster tonight. One like the place you’d been before.” Azazel leans back. “Not only would it look suspicious if we had another family, but we don’t. Further, the people I would prefer to put you with are not going to pass CPS background checks because they are not people.”

Sam looked at him confused. Azazel just raised an eyebrow and then it clicked for Sam. “You mean like Ruby or Alastair?” Azazel nodded. “So, what do you suggest?”

“It depends. If you think you are most likely going to stay and choose Lucifer, then I think it makes sense to commit to your studies all the way. If you have lots of doubts and uncertainty, then it's best to go back with Olivia, and we will try and offer you a summer camp position in a few months if there is space.” Azazel shrugged, “I know this is earlier than expected, and it doesn’t mean you can’t back out later, but it does require a higher commitment. Although you already are a special case. You know so much more than other children do, so much faster. You are so special Sam; I think that is because of a more important reason.”

Sam had beamed, everyone wants to feel special, right? Besides, he had lost his family twice already; he didn’t want to lose the camp as well. Plus, this was the path to getting closer to a new family, with Lucifer. So, he chose the staying option. If it turned out to be a bit of an interesting choice, where he dropped out of school and became a run-away, well, that was just a formality. He was being home-schooled, had different tutors and honestly had never lived in such luxury as the one he had been living in for the past year.

Yes, having Asmodeus as his tutor was difficult but as Alastair had told him at camp last summer, it would help mold him into a better ruler because he would learn what not to do as well as what was most wished for. Plus the lessons he did give on telekinesis, contract negotiation and hell history were good. Eventually, this would be a small blip in time. Plus it demonstrated willingness to do hard things.

In the end, Sam was content with his choice to move forward with his education as a Special Child. He felt he was really progressing. He slips out of the pool, now almost caught up as after pool would have been his personal time. The red welts cooled by the water. He’ll get ready for his evening debate section.

Chapter Text

They had been watching the house for two days; it was clear that Sam didn’t live there. Or if he did, he didn’t leave the house but since the other kid did they figured that Sam didn’t. The family home was stately, elegant and reeked of money with a round about driveway, columned entrance and ivy trellis archway. That was just the entry way they could see, Dean imagined there were many more money inspired details throughout the home. It was also only 2 and half blocks away from Palo Alto High School, which meant Brady walked.

They decided that pulling up next to him would be too scary and off-putting. More likely to have him scream for help. So today, Dean was going to meet him on the path, about half-way. Not in view of the home or the school.

“Hey,” Dean said as Brady passed by. Brady nodded and continued on. “Nice day.” Brady, nodded again. Dean took a step towards him, and Brady’s eyes squinted, concern visible. Dean raised his hands, “Sam, Sam Winchester is my brother.”

Brady stops, looks at him and asks, “How many times did you get to talk to Sam in the past 3 years?”

“None, man. Was supposed to a few times, but something always got messed up.”

Brady nods; he believes him. “What do you want, Dean?” Dean is surprised that the kid knows his name.

“You know who I am?” he still asks, and although he pushes his chest out in a cocky manner, his voice betrays how badly he wants to hear exactly what Brady answers.

“Of course I know. Sam wouldn’t shut up about you. Everything you two ever did, everything you ever taught him. Every corny joke. All your lame music choices. Dude, you’re practically my brother by proxy. Like a movie I have watched 100 times.”

Dean flushes red with embarrassment but warm with love. He unravels when Brady punches his bicep and says “Hey, no chick flick moments.” He has to turn away, cough and blink real fast to make sure everything is under control.

“Damn, kid,” Dean blows a raspberry, “nice meeting you.” He shakes his head to center himself. “I am now out and about, you know about Juvie?” Brady nods, “Well, now, I’m looking for Sam. I tracked him to your family, until you all moved here. What happened? Where’s Sammy?”

Brady’s face has taken a turn, and looks uncomfortable. “We moved, and he went back into the system.”

Dean cocks his head, “You know, I was getting to like you. Let’s try that again. Where’s Sam?”

Brady shakes his head, “I don’t know.”

“But you have an idea of where I can start looking. That isn’t the whole ‘Sam ran away’ bullshit I was fed.”

Brady scoffs, “Yeah, of course. He is a Special Child.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sam’s royalty; he wouldn’t run away.”

“You’re going to have to back up and explain it to me like I’m two and don’t know what you mean. Because I don’t.”

“Did you go to Lightbringers?”

The name sounds familiar, and Dean is silent a minute rooting around in his brain for it, but Brady provides it. “The camp.”

“The camp? The summer one? That’s where you guys met.”

“Yeah, it’s more than a summer camp. It’s a whole community. We have celebrations all year long. My family moved out here, and we go to the same community, the LightBringers, but the local chapter.”

“So, it’s like a church?” Dean asks, confused. “It didn’t look like it was open except for summer.”

“No, it’s active, and Sam is a Special Child.” Brady says.

“Let me guess, those sit on the pastor’s lap.” Dean’s forehead creases.

“You’re a little fucked up, and a lot gross.” Brady says while pointing at him with a judgemental finger, “No, they have like psychic powers, are like ancient language nerds, can have prophetic dreams basically like future pastor material you know.”

“Okay, that does sound like Sam. So that sounds good, what’s the problem?” Dean asks.

“So the Special Children are taught to maximize their talents, and they can’t do anything fun. All they do is studying, training and then they say yes or no.” Brady explains.

“Yes or no? To what?” Dean’s tone is suspicious.

“Well, I’m not sure. I’m too ‘young.’” Brady air quotes, “But when they say no, they leave and never come back to the community. My friend Jake, ex-friend, he left, and it was like he was gone. No goodbye. Nothing.” Brady looks down, he sticks both hands in his pockets forcefully, breathes deeply, “Like nobody talks about him. As if he never existed, and he did, you know?”

Dean nods, “I’m sorry, about your friend.”

Brady shrugs, “Well, I mean good for him right?” He wipes his eyes, “Special Children get to say yes or no, so he said no. He got out. My parents never asked me; I’m not special, and I am in the LightBringers, and I’d be too scared to leave.”

“What happens if a Special Child says yes?” Dean asks quietly. Brady already said he doesn’t know, but he asks again to see what he answers now.

“I’m not sure; I think they become Gods.” Brady slings his backpack, “Like I said, I don’t really know but it’s a big deal and everyone was all over Sam to convince him to say yes. Lost him too. So I don’t think I’ll be friends with any Special Children again. They say no, lose ‘em. They say yes, lose ‘em.”

“One last question: why didn’t Sam come with you out here?”

Brady looks at Dean, “I don’t want to tell you.”

“Please, if it will help me find Sam.” Dean pleads.

“Only because I know how bad Sam wanted to talk to you. He would cry about not being able to talk to you. Slept with your tee-shirt every night, either wearing it or tucked under his pillow.” Brady looks away and towards the school at Dean’s visible emotional reaction to that piece of information. After a few seconds when he thinks Dean is composed, Brady continues, “They sent us out here because Sam and I were too close,” he looks Dean square in the eyes, daring him to ask more, “Special Children can’t have any relationships because they are going to dedicate themselves to the Winged One.”

“The Winged One?” Dean’s voice is tinged with confusion.

“Yeah, The Lightbringer. I got to go, but Sam is either at the camp or at the home of someone from the community, like he used to be at our place.” Brady sticks out his hand, and Dean automatically shakes it. “If not, he’ll definitely be back for camp that starts on May Pole Day. That’s in a little over a month, you can find him then.” Dean pulls on the hand he is still gripping and brings the kid in for a hug. Dean gives him a rough slap on the back and rubs his shoulder. Brady pulls back, “Good luck.” He takes off down the sidewalk towards his school.

Dean waits until he is out of view and then crosses the street and walks a bit and gets in the passenger seat of the Impala. “So, get this, it’s the camp.”

“The camp?” John turns his dark eyes towards his eldest expectedly.

“Yeah, it’s like a church and Sam is a Special Child that they want to develop his psychic powers, ability to learn ancient languages and be like a future leader.”

“The summer camp?” John asks again, incredulously. “I thought that was like a one time thing.”

“Yeah, the LightBringers. Apparently, they are a whole community and all year long and all over. The family moved here to another chapter.”

“Yeah, I bet.” John says darkly. “What did the kid say they want with Sam?” He puts the Impala into drive.

“To say yes, but Brady didn’t really know to what.” Dean speaks low, he recognizes the tight jaw and anger spilling from John’s pores.

“Did he know where Sam was or not?” John asks angrily.

“He said at the camp or the home of one of the community members. Like his family had been. Also said if we didn’t find him that camp starts on MayPole Day, that’s May 1, right?”

“We are not waiting until fucking May 1rst, Dean.” John’s jaw is clenched. They drive in silence for about 10 minutes, then John looks at him. “You don’t know, do you?”

“No sir.” Dean doesn’t ask what or try to guess. He doesn’t know, he won’t pretend to know.

“Sam would know. He probably does, which is why this is so confusing to me. LightBringers, huh.” John muses.

Dean is itching to ask. He wants to know, but they have fallen back into their patterns. His dad will tell him when he figures that Dean needs to know.

The room is completely dark; he has heavy fabric curtains that reach the floor on the windows, so not a slither of moonlight can get in. That’s why when the burst of light flashes at the foot of his bed, Sam knows he can’t try and explain it away as thunder or a light post or something else. The room gets cooler as well. Sam doesn’t turn on the lamp, get up or change anything in the room. He hears the voice clearly, although he couldn’t say if the voice was outloud or inside his mind. If he was asleep or awake.

“Sam, I’ve been waiting for you for such a long time.”

Sam wants to answer but a sudden knot clenches in his throat, and he feels an overwhelming desire to cry.

“You can feel it, right?”

He wonders if the Winged One can see him clearly in the darkness. “What?” he squeaks out as he pulls up the comforter, a meager defense.

“How I make you feel Joy.”

“No, I don’t feel right... I am nervous.” Sam’s inner voice immediately corrects the word to scared; he is scared shitless.

Sam hears a soft hmph. “I can see how you feel Sam; you can’t lie to me. And you’ll learn that you don’t have to lie to me, and that I won’t lie to you. Ever. Because it is impossible to lie to oneself. The time is near.”

“I thought,” Sam props himself up against his pillows, his concession to this possibly not being a dream, “that I still had study time. That I needed to learn more, that…”

“You know enough, and they have given me no choice. I see how you have always felt alone, out of place. Even with your family… they were foster care at best. It is why you were always running away; you were seeking your true family. You found me.”

“But Dean loves me.” Sam protests feebly.

“He did, but like a child with a toy. I will love you because we are two halves of one whole.”

“Is it me then?” Sam asks hesitantly.

“Yes, you’re the one, Sam. You’re my vessel. My true vessel.”

Sam lets out a big exhale, a pressure loosening from inside. The light in the room fades and Sam is alone again. His body goes boneless, and he feels tears slip from the sides of his eyes. He has cried alone in this room many nights, but none has been with this feeling of relief.

Chapter Text

“Of course we saw them, a blind man would notice them.” Asmodeus barks into the phone as Sam walks into his office. “I’ll have Ketch take him over.” He slams the receiver down. Runs his hand through his hair, unsettling the waves in a manner that makes a lock pop loose on his forehead. “Azazel needs to talk to you, so morning lessons will be cancelled.”

“He already knows, then?”

“Yes, you little shit, we all know.”

Sam looks down; he wasn’t expecting congratulations. At least not from Asmodeus but perhaps the blatant mistreatment to stop.

Josefa comes in with a tray full of coffee and tea and all the fixings needed for preparing either to taste. She sets it on the hutch behind Asmodeus’ desk and stays still, waiting for a good moment to quietly step between them and leave.

“It’s not my fault.” Sam’s voice has a quiet tone of misery.

“Really? If it’s not your fault, why are your mangey, feral family members here? Causing us trouble?”

“What?” Sam asks lost to what he means.

“They are exactly like you, stray, ugly, rag-tag foster care dogs. How dare you think you are a Special Child? You’re worthless. I have no idea why my brother fixated on you. You can pick up stronger psychics outside any Metaphysical Shop, prettier specimens outside any modeling school and purer lineage from any of our community families.” Spittle flys from the demon’s lips, he lifts both hands to push Sam, but Sam lifts his own hands and blocks his energy.

Sam doesn’t find it difficult to protect himself from Asmodeus’ energy. His eyes widen as he sees the demon notice and anger. “How?” Asmodeus asks, confused.

“You said everyone knew. The Winged One.” Sam hesitates. “He said it was me.”

Asmodeus lets out a groan of anger. Everything on his desk lands on the floor with one swipe of his arm.

“He is chosen, a King. The Boy-King!” Josefa states enthusiastically.

“Josefa, leave.” Asmodeus straightens his jacket, “Sam, I wasn’t talking about that. How do you even know? Are you sure it wasn’t a delirium or a dream? You are still very young and susceptible.”

“I am certain.” Sam looks at him resolutely.

Asmodeus shakes his head, and calls his security guy. “Ketch, take Sam to Azazel. Be careful because the men we were talking about will be tailing you. Let them get on the property so we can call the cops for trespassing.”

“What men?” Sam asks, now remembering the comment about his family members.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. You’re chosen.” Asmodeus says it in a vicious and mocking tone. “Mr Ketch here will make sure nothing happens to you now that you are officially, as per you, the vessel.” Asmodeus grabs Sam’s arm and turns him around, “Make sure the boy is unharmed. Find out what my brother wants to do with him to sign, seal and deliver.”

Ketch raises an eyebrow. This is all way more than security detail for one person, but he fears it is not the time to negotiate. Both Asmodeus’ tone, distressed manner and the pressing matter of the black Impala with the two men with fake IDs and impressive hunting skills indicate that it is a time for action. He’ll have to negotiate after the fact. At least it seems like it will be a lively and entertaining afternoon. Keep his skills sharp.

They drive up to the administrative building and park their white Range Rover next to the other ones that belong to Azazel, Meg and Alastair. There are only two in the lot so one of them isn’t in, probably Meg as campers haven’t started yet.

“Go to the Director’s office.” Ketch orders. He is already eyeing the surroundings. Expectant of trouble.

Sam enters the building and heads to Azazel’s office. The director is all smiles and before Sam has even approached him fully he has made his way towards the youth. “Sam! Please, come and tell me everything. You always were my favorite.”

Sam smiles widely and feels giddy. He has been on this path for almost four years, and it’s true, since even before they had tested him as a Special Child the director had been championing him as his favorite. He lets himself fall into a hug against the stocky man’s barrel chest and just breathes. Azazel laughs, being caught unawares. He pats Sam’s back. “You’ve done good, sport.” Sam nods and squeezes him one more time before breaking the hug.

They sit, and Sam starts to retell him about his experience the evening before. When suddenly Ketch arrives leading the man, the trespasser, the one who was tailing them into the office. It’s John Winchester. Sam trembles with barely contained anger.

“Sammy, baby, you’re so grown.” John’s tone is wistful, and he speaks as if he weren’t being restrained.

“Director, I can’t. I don’t want to see or talk to this man.” Sam’s flushed and is shaking. His mind goes so fast that his words stumble before they come out.

“Sam, there’s things you don’t know about these people. You have to listen to me.”

“Did you already call the cops for trespassing?” Sam asks and Ketch nods. “Mention my name again, and we’ll add harassment and stalking when the cops get here.” Sam spits out to John.

“Ah baby, you don’t know. I’ll explain later but I need you to—”

“I need you to shut up. I’m not a baby, and you don’t know me or what I know.” Sam hiccups, the first tears running down his cheeks.

“Sam, champ. I’m so proud of you. Go to the Tee-Pee and take a nap or visit Alastair. I have to stay here until the cops come and take him away. Then we’ll finish our conversation.” Azazel promises the boy, who nods and moves out of the office quickly.

Ketch excuses himself and promises to stay outside to guide the authorities upon arrival.

“You’ve got a pretty sweet set-up here.” John says once they were alone.

“I do.” Azazel agrees. “And so does your son.”

“Yeah, at what cost? Being with demons? Lucifer? Nah, pass.” John scoffs.

“Funny, you are worried about a kid we found undernourished, with lack of vitamins, no formal structure in his education, zero mental, spirtual or psychic stimulation, lonely as fuck, socially and emotionally mal-adjusted, behind on all medically recommended treatments and that you legally abandonded.” Azazel lists, “We saved him and allowed him to flourish.”

“From the goodness of your hearts.” John says sarcastically.

“Do you know who Sam is? Speaking of his heart? The enormity of it?” Azazel scoffs. “You don’t deserve him. He deserves the world, and we’ll make sure he gets it. As a father, you should be happy that he is getting everything and being treated so well.”

“Yeah, if only there weren’t that big BUT in the middle, he’s lovely but he’s dead, he’s fantastic but he’s ancient, he’s perfect but he’s Lucifer, oops but he’s the devil!!” John smiles all teeth and sarcasm.

Azazel walks over to him, “I’m sure as a deity he has similar thoughts of you, but understands you’re a flawed dead-beat father, and that Sam doesn’t care about your opinion.”

Ketch knocks twice and pops his head in. “The police have arrived. Figured you might prefer to go and meet outside? Creates a sense of urgency.” Azazel nods. They all head out.

Azazel portrays the worried director who doesn’t understand this random man’s obsession with their camp but who is so glad staff caught him before the young campers arrive in a few weeks. He speaks of his suspicion that John’s intentions were familiarizing himself with the land before camp started for some nefarious plan. Maybe even kidnapping; they do have several well-off participants. No, no students are currently attending. Only a few adult staff. They had first seen him four days ago. No, he isn’t the parent of any current or past camper.

John smirks and smiles throughout; he alleges that he didn’t know it was private property. The place looks like a national park. He is an avid camper, and was just looking for a spot to unwind. It’s an honest mistake. He rolls his shoulders. The cops seem dubious of both sides but promise to escort John off property and down to the station to run his prints. If nothing pops up, to cut him loose. Azazel seems amenable to that as no harm has come to the camp but wants it documented that John has already trespassed. The local cops agree to send a preventive patrol twice a day. Finally all the nuisance with John Winchester has been resolved, Azazel breathes and returns to his office.

He’ll wait for Sam to make his way back to his office on his own. The kid must be overwhelmed from seeing the father that abandoned him. Azazel is truly astonished at how well he handled himself. He knew from the day he met Sam that the kid was special, but seeing how he has developed into his powers, learned about their hierarchy, politics and the role he is expected to play has been a gift. History has changed, monarchs used to train and rule from younger ages but in this era the expectations placed on the younger ones was different so they acted differently. Sam is a throwback to past eras in that sense, largely due to John’s upbringing or lack of technique. Either way, they need to talk and see what instructions Sam will be following, or giving, now. Azazel is excited; he has waited decades for this assignment to be completed, and it is reaching its conclusion.

Ketch opens the flap of the teepee, “Sam?”

Sam is in the same bed he has always used since he started at camp at 12 years old. When he wandered in half-an-hour ago he saw Brady’s bed and wondered who would be assigned there this year. It wasn’t something that never happened, Belphegor had finished school the year before and a new kid, Andy, had joined their tent. Andy was a jokester and a bit of a stoner but overall had a good vibe to him. Yet, Sam didn’t think he was going to be ready for a new camp year without Brady, even though Brady had been gone almost a year everything had happened after camp. So although he had come to the tee-pee for a nap as Azazel had suggested, he found himself wallowing in thoughts of his friend and also of his father.

He was trying very hard to block his dad from his mind. Or as the voice in his head reminded him, not your dad, he gave you up, legally terminated that relationship. The anger would swell in his chest and crest in shaky breaths and then crash in pitiful half-fists.

“Sam?” Ketch called again.

Sam sits up, “Yeah?”

“You’re needed in the Visitor’s Center,” Ketch stands waiting, ready to escort him.

Sam gets up and leaves the tee-pee, he looks at Ketch strangely. He feels something is amiss. “Did he leave? Did the police take him away?” Ketch nods and sees how the boy’s chest loosens when he confirms this.

After walking a bit more, Ketch, who normally doesn’t speak or express any sort of personal opinion, says, “I was surprised that you had family.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Ketch lets out a short gruff laugh, “what type of family lets their kid go live with demons?”

“You met the guy.” Sam bites back acidly. “Besides, technically, he isn’t even family because he abandoned me.”

“Well DNA isn’t that easy to scrub off.” Ketch replies.

“Seems like it was for him.” Sam replies angrily. “Doesn’t matter, I made a new family, one that won’t abandon me, ever.

They cross the bridge that leads to the administrative buildings. Ketch opens the doors to the Visitor’s Center, Sam looks at him confused. “There’s someone here to see you.” Ketch says in a low voice, when Sam remains paralyzed in front of the door he adds a “Please.” Sam steps inside.

The visitor’s center is shrouded in shadows, nobody is working there at the moment. Camp hasn’t started. Sam feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Ketch says, “I’ll stand guard, don’t take too long.”

Sam wanders further in, his mind still unsure of what is going on. For a moment, he thought it might be Brady, his heart even quickened, but Brady is smarter than this, he would have gone to the high school.

And in his bones he knows.

Asmodeus had said on the phone “of course we saw them”. He had asked him why “his family members” were here. They had said “the men that were tailing them”. Plural. Two men. Sam had felt disappointment upon seeing John, upon only seeing him. Because he expected to see them both.

“Hi’ya Sammy.” The soft voice of his older brother sent chills of elation through his body.

“Dean!” All the air left his body in one second. His heart was slamming itself against its confines. Sam was moving so fast that he was uncoordinated. His arm easily swept above Dean’s neck; he chuckled and pulled back and lowered it placing it under his armpit. Then Sam stuck his head in the crook of Dean’s neck, although he had to hunch a bit to be able to do so.

Dean crosses his hands on Sam’s shoulder blades, “Damn Sammy, you got big.”

“Happens when you eat your veggies.”

“Bitch.”

“Jerk.”

They tightened their hug and every time one of the two made a move to step back, the other would grasp more tightly and pull them over into the hug again.

“Okay, that’s enough of that for now. We’ll hug more later. I’ll make a schedule to catch up on hugs. Promise. But we gotta get out of here.” Dean pulls back, a beautiful grin lighting up his face. “Your security man said he’d get us to the main road; there’s a gas station, and Dad is going to be waiting there if the cops didn’t lock him up. If they did, we hitch a ride out.”

“Wait, what? Sam asks, confused.

“We got to go before they start looking for you, because they think you are taking a nap? Like hello princess Sam, are you in for a rude awakening.”

“Ketch is getting us out?” Sam asks again, confused.

“Yeah, pretty solid dude. Come on.” Dean grabs Sam’s arm and turns towards the entrance, a hand on his waistband, where Sam imagines he carries a knife or perhaps even a gun by now, Dean has also grown up—he supposes his weapons are different too.

“Dean, no. I can’t.” Sam stops walking, he pulls his arm out of Dean’s grasp.

Dean turns to look at his brother. Really look at this tall, turning into a man stranger that he hasn’t seen in years. The squaring of his jaw, the glint in his eye, the way he juts his hip forward all stating that he is determined.

“Sam?” Dean poses it like a question, “What do you mean you can’t? All we have to do is walk 30-40 feet to the parking lot and get in the car. Then we go home.”

Sam shakes his head, he blows out a deep breath. “Dean, I am so happy to see you. So glad to know you are safe. But this is my home.”

“Sammy, home is where your family is. Where I am. Right?” Dean points at the painting of the Winged One, “This? This is a camp. A cult, Sammy. Happy colors and angels? Come on, you know better.”

Sam shifts his weight from one foot to another. He rubs his arm as if seeking warmth, “Dean, don’t get me wrong, when I was a child you were my home. All my life you watched out for me, took care of me, killed the monsters under the bed and the monsters outside the door and kept Dad in check. You did things a brother shouldn’t have to do.” Sam sees that Dean is fighting back tears, “Don’t, don’t hide them.” He stretches his hand forward and pulls Dean towards him. Their foreheads touch.

“Let’s go, Sammy. I came back for you.”

“I know, but Dean, I’m not Sammy anymore. I don’t need to go back. I’m sorry.” Sam whispers between tears.

“We can go wherever you want, Sam. Together.” Dean grabs Sam by both shoulders, near the base of his neck. Pulling him towards him desperately. “Sammy, why?” he sees Sam close his eyes, he can feel him steel his body to stand up straight, independently. “Don’t!” Dean refuses to believe that Sam is doing this. Hurt, Dean pushes Sam back off of him hard. Sam reels from the sudden loss of balance and trips backwards.

Two wings stretch down like arms from the mural and become a swing that wraps around Sam. Not only breaking his fall, but lifting him from the floor.

Dean yells for his brother in consternation, “Sam!” He scrambles towards his brother but feels a strong hand pulling him from behind.

Ketch pulls on Dean, dragging him towards the door and pulls Dean outside. The door closes. A burst of white light expands inside the center.

“Get out of here. Go.” Dean hears the words muffled as if he were underwater. His body reacts with muscle memory, and he starts sprinting off in a daze powered by fear.

Inside, a bright light radiates throughout the whole space. It pulsates, pale blue, purple, pink, silver and then pure white.

Sam is in the midst of the light. He is the Genesis. Sam has turned towards the wings, unafraid to be embraced by them.

“It had to be you, Sam. It always had to be you.”

Sam faces the Winged One.

“Yes.”