Debriel Big Bang entry (2012) Part 1
You Are Where I Want To Be (1/4)
For more information see Masterpost
Part I;
Dean, aged 9
“Do you understand what I'm telling you, Dean?” The social worker asked with a gentle voice that didn't match the emotional exhaustion in her bottle green eyes.
Dean swallowed, and looked through the glass window into the adjourning room in which the younger children played. Sammy was only four years old yet and he'd already lost both his parents. At least Dean had five years with their mom and a whole eight with their dad before death and social services had parted them. What memories would Sammy have of the parents who loved him but couldn't help leaving him? Would he recall the soft kiss of their mother's lips on his forehead before he fell to slumber each night? Would he even recognise the scent of their father's aftershave or the melody of his favourite song that had played so often in the background of their lives.
What memories would he have of the bother who was about to leave him too?
“I understand,” Dean said, nodding his acknowledgement. Yeah, Dean understood. He understood a lot. Like that his dad wasn't really ill, he was just drunk all the time because he missed mom. An interfering motel owner had called social services out after John had been missing for three days and the sound of Sammy's crying had made it obvious that both children were alone and unsupervised. The guy should have done what most motel owners did, minded their own damn business.
“Great,” the social worker perked up, and Dean wanted to cry because no, it wasn't 'great', she was just stupid. It was just better. Better for Sammy that he get a home even if Dean couldn't be with him. “Samuel will be transferred this afternoon into the care of Ellen and William Harvelle, and you'll continue to stay with us for a few more days until a home becomes available, okay?” She asked and Dean knew she wasn't actually asking if he was okay. It was just something grown ups said to make themselves feel better.
“Can I say goodbye to Sammy now?” Dean asked. She nodded and led him into the children's room complete with a cushioned obstacle course, ball pits and a variety of lame toys that most of the kids seemed to be ignoring in favour of drawing quietly, watching cartoons, or hitting each other. Sam was, of course, in the former category.
“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said, dropping down to his knees next to his baby brother.
Sammy tuned to look at Dean with an expression of pure innocence and trust. “Dean, are we going home now?” He asked.
“No, kiddo, sorry,” Dean said. “but I've got good news,” he added, trying to sound enthusiastic. “You're going to go on a holiday. There's a woman and a man who have a little girl and they're coming to pick you up later and take you home with them.”
“Okay,” Sammy said, then looked pensive. “And you're coming too, right?”
Sammy, in his short life, had never been separated from Dean. Occasionally in the past few years Dean had felt suffocated by this, the constant presence of a younger brother who was emotionally and physically dependant on him was enough to drive him into foul moods, but he'd never wanted this, and he knew the prospect of being away from Dean for longer than a few hours was not one that Sammy would relish. “I can't come with you Sammy, but it'll be okay. Like an adventure, and I'll see you soon, you know I will,” Dean said, attempting to comfort his brother even as tears welled up in his brother's soft brown eyes. Sammy's little hands reached out to grab onto Dean as the tears fell accompanied by sobs loud enough to draw the stares of the other children and the caretaker who stood by the door way.
“No Dean! No! Don't wanna go! Please don't make me go without you!” Sammy screamed into Dean's cloth shirt and Dean felt a tear fall without permission from his own eyes.
“You gotta, Sammy. It'll be okay, I promise,” he whispered, knowing that he was probably lying.
“No!” Sammy wailed, holding on tighter as Dean tried to extract himself.
“Richards! Glenn!” The social worker who'd stayed at the door way called for back up and the next thing Dean knew he was being forcibly separated from his baby brother.
Dean wouldn't see him again for another three and a half years.
(Three weeks later)
“Dean, we found you a home,” the social services lady told him. It was a different woman now. This one had frizzy blonde hair and smelt like peppermint, as opposed to the smell of dying flowers which had clung to his last social worker and turned Dean's stomach every time she got close to him.
“With Sammy?” He asked, eagerly. Every week he had a meeting with the social worker and every week he asked if he could see Sammy. He was denied, each time, but reassured that his brother was doing okay, that he was 'settling in to his new circumstances'. Dean was happy Sammy was safe, but he missed him so much and hated being away from him.
“Dean... about that. Mr Harvelle died five days ago, an accident, and since the family is understandably grieving and going through a rough time they have withdrawn their application for fostering. I'm afraid you can't go live with Sammy,” she told him, her expression perfectly bland and soothing. What she was really saying was that he'd never see Sammy ever again, or at least not until Sam was eighteen. Would Sam even remember him? Fifteen years was a long time to go without contact. By that point the little girl he lived with would be more of a sibling to him than Dean. He would have been replaced, forgotten, and abandoned once again.
“Can't Sammy come and live with me in my new home?” Dean asked, desperate.
The social worker looked at him with disapproval shining through her face. “Dean, Mrs Harvelle just lost her husband, you wouldn't want her to lose Sam too, would you? That would make her really sad.”
What about me? Why do I have to lose Sammy? I'm his family. He needs me.
But maybe he didn't. Maybe that was what this lady was telling him, that Sammy was happy in his new family and he didn't need Dean. No one did. Except these new people. Perhaps they would want Dean around?
“Alastair and Eve Huntsman are very good people. They have been married for a long time and cannot have children of their own so they foster kids like you until they are old enough to take care of themselves. They've taken in children from our home before. There was a little girl called Ruby who lived with him for five years before she was reunited with her mother. I'm sure you'll be very happy with them,” she said, with a kind smile.
Dean just nodded his head and stared vacantly out into the room in which he had said goodbye to Sammy three weeks ago. This time, he didn't cry.
Dean, aged 10
“We're so very worried, Zachariah,” Eve shared with the psychologist who had just evaluated Dean. In the five months since Dean had been fostered by the couple he had spoken only a handful of times. At first he had asked about Sam, but now, after being refused so many times he had lost the ability to voice his longing to see his brother.
“Yes, terribly concerned about Dean's unwillingness to talk to us. Tell me, is there anything we should be doing to help Dean's... transition?” Alastair asked, and Dean shivered. His voice was all honey and his words were sugar but Dean's fear of the man came from first hand experience of the pain he could induce with just a simple touch.
“Alastair, Eve,” the large balding man said, greeting the anxious couple like long lost friends despite the hatred Dean could see festering in the man's eyes. “Dean is a healthy young boy but he has experienced so much trauma in the past. Seeing his mother die, his father abandoning him, and his brother being taken away... It could just all be temporary. However I would like to continue to see Dean for a few more sessions at least, and hopefully we can get to the root of this issue.”
“Have you come up with a diagnosis?” Alastair asked, like it was a forgone conclusion that the psychologist would label him with some mental disease.
The man sighed. “Well, I'd hate to rush into a diagnosis, but if I had to chose one at this point I'd say he has selective mutism. From what you've told me he shows some of the other symptoms as well, including maintaining a blank expression with reluctance to smile, withdrawal from social activities and situations. He has certainly demonstrated that he worries more than other children his age, especially about his brother and father but even about other children who he has no emotional ties to, and the sleep problems of course. I can prescribe you a low dose of tranquillisers to help him sleep at night but I'd be cautious about giving him them more than once or twice a week as we don't want to develop a bad habit in such a young child.”
“Of course, we'll be very careful,” Eve agreed with a caring smile.
“We wouldn't want anything to hurt our precious Dean,” Alastair added.
Dean continued to stare blankly out the window.
Dean, aged 11
Alastair was smiling when Dean emerged from his bedroom in order to join his foster parents for dinner. This was never a good thing. Eve pottered around, bringing over a plate of bread and a wine glass for each of them before joining them at the table and dishing out pot roast, first a generous serving for Alastair, then a reasonable sized portion for Dean and lastly a small amount her herself. After all, she had to keep her figure.
“Dean,” Alastair smiled at him, “we have some good news.”
Dean was immediately scared. He didn't make a sound, because he never did, not any more. At first he had tried to tell someone, then he had learnt that no one believed a nine year old boy who missed his brother. After that he had stopped talking all together, just like when his mom had died.
Eve leaned over and placed a perfectly manicured hand on his arm. The hair on the back of his neck stood up in repulsion. It didn't exactly make sense, since Eve had never hurt him, but he hated her with a passion equal to the hate he felt for Alastair. How could she just swan around the house with a smile on her lips without a care in the world when Dean lay there bleeding each night, silently crying out for anyone to help him. To save him.
“We've been given the all clear to adopt you! Isn't that wonderful!” Eve told him with a girlish squeal of excitement.
Dean wanted to die. He didn't understand. How could they adopt him? He had been told that while his dad was alive no one would be able to adopt him because his dad still had some parental rights even if didn't make use of them. Unless... Dean turned a face wrought with panic towards Alastair.
The man chuckled. “No, no, Dean. Nothing like that. Your father is in perfect health, I was told he had completed his drugs and alcohol rehabilitation and is living in a half way house in South Dakota right now.” It was creepy the way that Alastair could practically read Dean's thoughts, but occasionally it came in handy since Dean lacked the ability to voice the question himself.
Then how? He asked with his eyes.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Eve said, her voice cloying. “Don't you worry a thing about your daddy. He'll be just fine. Especially now he doesn't have to worry about you or your brother any more.”
“Your father agreed to sign over his parental rights over both you and Samuel. He knows you're in good hands,” Alastair informed him.
Good hands... Dean's eyes flickered down to Alastair's hands and remembered all the things they had done to him, all the marks left on his body and the way they help him down while Alastair grunted and groaned over him. There was nothing good about his hands.
“Here's to us,” Eve said with a giggle as she handed them each a full glass. Blood red wine filled the adult's cups but Dean's was only water. Even so, it still burned as he forced himself to swallow it down. They were toasting to their new family. Dean was being forced to toast to the fact that his old one didn't want him any more.
Once again, Dean had been abandoned.
Dean, aged 12
“Code Blue, room 703,” a nurse shouted out and Dean screamed as someone took the knife away from him and restrained him, forcing a blanket over his arms to soak the blood up and slow the flow down.
He wriggled and bucked and fought so hard but soon enough they were stabbing a needle into his thigh and then everything was black.
When Dean woke up he was in a different hospital room, and there was a doctor stood at the bottom of his bed reading a medical file. His own, most likely.
Despite the fact that Dean didn't make a sound the man turned to him, seeming to sense his change in state. “Hey Dean. I'm Doctor Milton, but you can call me Gabriel.”
Dean tried to move in his bed to get more comfortable but found that although his brain was awake his limbs were sleepy and resistance. The he looked at his body. Restraints kept his arms immobile and his wrists were tightly bandaged. Shame and guilt washed though him and he looked away from the sight back to the doctor who gazed at him with a peculiar glint in his golden eyes.
“If you're wondering what an important man like me is doing hanging around in a formerly unconscious boy's hospital room, then the answer is that I was hiding from doing any real work. I got bored after I ate your jello so I read your file, and let me tell you it's an interesting read, Dean-o. Most kids, even foster or adopted kids like you, have fairly boring files. Things like broken bones from falling off a swing, asthma, the occasional bout of flu... Not like your file. Do you understand what I'm saying?” His tone was light but he stared at Dean with an uncomfortably intense look in his amber eyes.
Dean did understand. The doctor was trying to subtly tell him that his file was abnormally thick. That the things that filled his medical records weren't normal and didn't happen to most other kids, no matter the circumstances. The problem was, Dean already knew this. He had been trying to make other people aware for years, but nothing good ever came of it. They had even moved around several times in order to stop Dean from having anyone to tell and from the hospital staff noticing the numerous injuries he acquired. For a boy who wasn't allowed to play sports because of his so called 'anxiety' problems he sure did get into an awful lot of 'accidents'.
“Right, you don't speak. It's in here somewhere... ah, 'selective mutism'. But Dean-o, just because you don't speak, doesn't mean you can't. I'm here to listen if you needed to,” he said, eyes serious and sad, so very sad. Dean had a feeling that the doctor already knew everything, there was no real need to tell him. Still, Dean wanted to communicate with him. He just hoped he could.
“Doesn't change anything,” he said hoarsely, startled at the sound of his own voice which was alien to him after months of silence. Eight months, in fact. The only sound he had uttered recently had been sobs or screams.
The doctor didn't look surprised or pleased, he just nodded calmly. “You've told people before, and they didn't believe you?” He asked.
Dean shrugged. Some of the hadn't, especially in the beginning when people had believed he was lying in order to be reunited with his brother. Later, after the bruises started appearing in more obvious locations and the scars didn't fade as quickly people suspected he might be telling the truth. Many made no move to help him, out of fear or a belief that they didn't have the right to interfere. On the occasion that someone did try to help Dean, Alastair moved them conveniently far away, no change of address listed.
“I believe you,” the doctor said, and left his room without another word.
For the first time in almost four years, Dean cried.
Gabriel, aged 27
“Can you come with me?” Dean asked.
Gabriel looked both pleased and incredibly uncomfortable. In the year since he had met Dean Winchester he had somehow become a part of the young boy's life. He had only meant to stop Dean from being hurt the way his brother had been hurt, he wasn't hero material but in Dean's eyes that was what he had become. Gabriel had been unable to walk away after the call to Dean's case worker, stayed with him through the trial and even helped him get a new psychologist, one who would actually try to help him rather than just enable his foster parents to molest him. Since his cousin Anna was newly accredited she'd seemed like the perfect choice, after all he knew she was a good person unlikely to take Dean for a ride in order to profit from his pain. Of course, he should have realised how closely that would tie them together. Not that he believed his current situation was purely due to Dean's sessions with Anna.
“It's not my place, buddy,” Gabriel pointed out.
Dean gazed at him with painfully blank green eyes and Gabriel knew he'd hurt the kid. “I just don't want to get in the way. How about asking Bobby if he'd like to go with you?”
Bobby Singer was Dean's new foster father. It was rare that a single man would be awarded custody of a foster child, especially when Bobby wasn't related to Dean in any biological or legal manner. However John had listed him as 'next of kin' since they met and even named him in his will to take care of the boys if anything should happen to him. Apparently they were old drinking buddies, but whereas Bobby tended to stick to the 'functioning' side of the spectrum of alcoholism, it had taken John some serious therapeutic time to regain his equilibrium.
In the five months since Dean had been living with Bobby, Gabriel had seen a dramatic personality change. At first Dean had clearly been expecting some type of abuse, he'd stayed quiet in the grumpy older man's presence and done his best not to do anything that would anger Bobby. Soon enough they'd bonded, Bobby had taught Dean about cars and his no-nonsense call-it-like-I-see-it attitude had brought Dean out of his shell enough to be himself again, or at least what was left of himself. Today was the real test, though. Today was the day he saw Sam again for the first time in four years.
“Bobby said I should do this myself, and I should stop being an idjit and just go see Sammy. Anna said I'm not an idjit, that it's just Bobby trying to encourage me in his own way. What do you think?” Dean asked.
Gabriel sighed. Too many adults throwing their opinions at this kid like they knew it all. Which was utter crap. If anyone knew the fallibility of adults then it was Gabriel. His parents had failed his brothers, both of them, and he hadn't been much better so far, at least according to Kali. “Doesn’t matter what I think, kiddo. What do you think?”
“I think he won't remember me. He's got a new family now, a little sister and a mom. What if he doesn't want a brother?” Dean asked.
Anna had told him, without revealing anything that would break her confidentiality clause, that she'd had a lot of trouble getting Dean to talk about himself, to open up about anything really. Gabriel hadn't found this to be true, apparently Dean trusted Gabe. He guessed the kid had good taste in people after all.
“Well if he thinks that then he's an idjit. Brothers are cool, way better than sisters,” Gabriel confided to Dean, making the teen eye him warily.
“How would you know?”
Gabriel put on a mock hurt expression. “Dean-o, you wound me. I know everything, of course. I can't believe you doubt my omniscience.”
Dean rolled his eyes and Gabriel shrugged. “I had brothers growing up, and my cousin Cas, he had a sister. Trust me, sisters can't beat brothers.”
Dean smiled, but wasn't swayed from his task. “See, you should totally come and this way you can tell Sammy that.”
“You really want me there?” Gabriel asked.
Dean nodded. “Fine then. I'm all yours.”
Neither of them knew just quite how true that was.
That weekend Bobby said goodbye to Dean and Gabriel drove them down to the Harvelle's place. The journey took about four hours during which Gabriel tried to teach Dean that the seventies wasn't the only place to find good music, although he would later reflect on how much a failure that had been. Nervous tension filled the car, unable to be dispelled even after stopping at Biggerson's for some 'food' and pie. Once they reached their destination that all changed. Gabriel admitted, only to himself, that Dean wasn't the only one worried about his welcome. After all, Sam had been only four when they'd been separated and in the last four and a half years he'd had nothing to remember his brother or his old life by, no photographs to clarify fading memories or relatives to pass on stories. There was every chance this would end in tears, and Gabriel really hated to see Dean hurt.
It was more than a pleasant surprise when Sam immediately took to Dean, running to him with all the speed and energy that almost-nine-years olds posses. He hugged Dean tight, making his brother promise he wasn't going to leave him again. Dean hid a tear in amongst Sam's curly locks and told his baby brother that this only proved he was right, they had seen each other again after all, it had just taken a bit longer than Dean had implied at the time. Sam introduced Dean around to his foster mother Ellen who he called 'mom' (and instantly invited Dean to do the same thing, although Dean never did), and his sister Jo. Jo was a sweet little girl a year or so younger than Sam with ribbons in her blonde hair and grass stains on her jeans. She was everything that a little girl should be, friendly, outgoing but not rude, and she had a cute laugh that was infectious. Sam was equally well brought up and cared for, and Gabriel could see his own sadness reflected in Ellen's eyes that they hadn't been able to save Dean from the hell he'd endured before coming to live with Bobby.
Gabriel felt a bit out of place to start with, but then found himself making friends with Ellen as the children played. Ellen, he could tell, was a good woman. Practical, smart, loving and didn't take any bullshit. She was a good mother, but they both knew that she'd never been Dean's mom despite how much she would grow to care about her foster son's older brother.
“So, how'd you fit in?” She drawled out over a glass of whiskey. Gabriel had decided to indulge, comforted by the fact that Dean was so welcome in his brother's life. They would stay the night and head back tomorrow afternoon.
“I'm just somebody who looked at a kid and saw a whole story, not just the bits they thought were convenient to admit to.” He said absently, watching Dean as he interacted with Sam and Jo, noticing how Dean's emotions ranged from joy at the reunion but sadness because he knew he'd never have the life that Sam has, not after what he went through.
“Oh, I doubt that's all there is to the story,” Ellen murmured.
“It never is, though, is it?” Gabe mused.
“You care about Dean. That's all that matters to me,” Ellen declared.
“I'm just passing through, Ellen. I'm just sticking around long enough to make sure he's set up okay.”
Ellen snorted. “Right. Hun, he's okay, and you know that but we both know you're not ready to leave. My bet is, ten years time you'll still be around.”
Gabriel deliberately didn't look Ellen in the eyes, afraid he'd see only truth in them. He'd never set out to become someone that Dean trusted, knowing that he now had the ability to let him down, to hurt him just like everybody else had. In his head the words 'get out now while you can' echoed in warning, but his heart knew it was already too late. He'd been sucker punched by a thirteen year old.
At the end of the journey, Gabriel asked Dean how he was doing.
“I'm good now I've seen Sam. He's happy, and that's all that matters. I couldn't have done a better job myself,” Dean added, and Gabriel could tell that was how he genuinely felt about the situation.
It was both reassuring that he was taking it so well, and incredibly sad that he'd felt responsible for his younger brother's upbringing. Gabriel could only hope that Dean learned how to be a kid again before he finished becoming a grown up. Otherwise he'd never get a chance.
Dean, aged 14
“John, don't be such a god forsaken idjit! They're your children. You don't let them dictate your relationship, you show them how it's gonna be.”
Bobby had been yelling down the phone line at Dean's father for half an hour, and it wasn't the first time Dean had overheard similar conversations since he'd moved to South Dakota. Bobby was a great father figure, he'd been teaching Dean about base ball, classic cars, and hunting. Last week they'd shot a rabbit and eaten it, but not before Bobby had made sure Dean had helped clean, skin and gut the animal. This was the safest that Dean had ever felt, and the best part was that every few weeks he'd had the chance to spend the weekend with Sammy, Bobby would usually drive them down but occasionally Gabriel would do it, when his work schedule allowed, and that was the best time. This weekend would be different though. Gabriel had told him he couldn't come because he's working but Dean suspected it had something to do with Kali, Gabriel's on-again-off-again girlfriend who didn't seem to like Dean very much (which was fine with him since he didn't like her either). Normally that would mean just Dean and Bobby, but this time he'd invited John.
John had been out of rehab for three years now. He spent most of his time in Minnesota where Dean knew he had another family, a girlfriend called Kate and a toddler who would be Dean's half brother if only he could stand to think about it. Whenever Dean muttered something derogatory about either of the Milligans, Bobby'd smack him lightly over the head and remind him that Kate was a good woman who just had awful taste in men.
Dean hadn't met either of them yet, but that wasn't surprising since he hadn't seen his dad in five years. Every time Bobby brought up the topic Dean would find a way to change it or else just clam up entirely. Not Anna or even Gabriel had managed to get him to open up. Even Sam had tried and all he'd gotten was the company line.
Dean continued to listen to Bobby's side of the conversation, and finally less than half an hour later the phone was disconnected with a clatter and a sigh. Seconds later there was the clink of a bottle of liquor hitting a glass as Bobby poured himself a drink.
“Are you gonna come out of hiding or shall we both pretend for a little longer that you aren't in trouble for eaves dropping?” Bobby called out loudly and Dean grimaced.
“Does that mean...”
“Don't worry, we're still gonna go see your brother. John's meeting us tomorrow morning and we'll all travel down together in my truck. One big happy family,” Bobby added sarcastically.
“Why do we even have to have him come along?” Dean burst out, surprising both himself and Bobby. While he wasn't above mumbling insults and complaints under his breath, he rarely raised his voice or argued against his elders. It was a survival technique learned from living with Alastair and Eve for so long. “I like it when it's just you and me,” he added, trying not to pout. He was fourteen after all, not a kid like Sammy was.
Bobby put his glass down. “Because, boy, that's your daddy. He might not have been a good father these past years, but he's still the only one you got. So go pack a bag and get some shut eye. We're leaving early tomorrow. Oh, and Dean. Don't think I've forgotten about your punishment for eaves dropping. We'll talk about it when we get back,” Bobby added in a grumpy drawl.
Dean slouched off to bed unhappily. He barely slept a wink but come morning he was wound up tight enough to run a marathon if it meant avoiding his dad. He came down stairs at six fifteen only to find that Bobby wasn't alone. A man with short dark hair touched with gray, matching his scruffy beard, was sitting with Bobby mainlining coffee. Dean's overall impression of the man was that he was big, although he wasn't fat or overly muscled. He was old, but younger than Bobby by maybe as much as ten years or as few as two, it was hard to tell, and he carried himself like a man who was tired of running from himself.
“If you want breakfast you'd better grab it now before we head out, and come and say hello to your daddy while you're at it!” Bobby said without even looking in Dean's direction. One day, Dean would really like to learn how his foster parent did that.
Dean stared in shock at John, who turned around and stared in shock at Dean.
Neither of them spoke.
He wasn't sure if the surprise was because he hadn't initially recognised his father despite being nine when he'd left, or if it was because he hadn't really believed he'd show. It warmed something inside of him that he had turned up, but it only reminded him of all the times John hadn't been there and the hurt blasted away any good emotions associated with his dad.
“Dean,” he said and it was still the same voice, the one he remembered from childhood stories and laughter at the dinner table. “I... I'm so sorry, son,” John continued, practically collapsing onto his knees. “I would never have given you up if I'd... I thought you were safe, I really believed it was better this way. I'm so god damned sorry, son, so sorry Dean,” he said and Dean stood there numbly as his dad clutched tight around his waste in a hug that left Dean feeling cold.
His dad was sorry?
Dean didn't believe him.
He wanted to, but after so much time and so much pain all he knew was that his dad had abandoned him, and then when he needed him the most he had given Dean away to the man who hurt him. For Sammy the situation had been different, Ellen and Jo were a real family for him, whereas Eve had been playing at mommy and Alastair had been abusing him. He thought perhaps anger was clouding his own judgement, but nothing John did or said could make the anger dissipate so they were at an impasse.
“Can we go see Sammy now?” Dean asked, taking a seat that was opposite Bobby and next to John, primarily so he wouldn't have to look his dad in his eyes.
“Sure,” Bobby agreed easily, but it wasn't unnoticed that he spent the whole trip playing buffer between Dean and John. Sam was nervous and shy around John, but he didn't seem to harbour any ill will towards his dad although Bobby suspected that was because in Sam's head John wasn't really his dad, not any more. Surprisingly Ellen and John got on well, although she never allowed Sammy out of her sight while John was visiting. An adopted mom's fear that her child could be taken away at any minute by the birth parents. At the end of the visit John took Ellen alone and thanked her for raising Sam so well, for giving him a home. He added that he was trying to make up for past mistakes, but he would never dream of doing that by taking Sam or Dean away from the people they loved and trusted.
Dean listened in on that conversation with mixed emotions, relieved that he'd be staying with Bobby but at the same time he felt like John was saying he didn't want Dean or Sam enough to fight for them. Later, a conversation with Anna would clarify the issue and Dean would understand the ideal of sacrifice for the greater good, but the path to letting John be his dad again wasn't a smooth one.
John continued to visit both his sons on and off, and eventually Dean allowed them to have a relationship even if it wasn't a close bond. Bobby and Sammy were his family, and Gabriel was his saviour. Back then he really believed that was all he would ever need.
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For more information see Masterpost
Part I;
Dean, aged 9
“Do you understand what I'm telling you, Dean?” The social worker asked with a gentle voice that didn't match the emotional exhaustion in her bottle green eyes.
Dean swallowed, and looked through the glass window into the adjourning room in which the younger children played. Sammy was only four years old yet and he'd already lost both his parents. At least Dean had five years with their mom and a whole eight with their dad before death and social services had parted them. What memories would Sammy have of the parents who loved him but couldn't help leaving him? Would he recall the soft kiss of their mother's lips on his forehead before he fell to slumber each night? Would he even recognise the scent of their father's aftershave or the melody of his favourite song that had played so often in the background of their lives.
What memories would he have of the bother who was about to leave him too?
“I understand,” Dean said, nodding his acknowledgement. Yeah, Dean understood. He understood a lot. Like that his dad wasn't really ill, he was just drunk all the time because he missed mom. An interfering motel owner had called social services out after John had been missing for three days and the sound of Sammy's crying had made it obvious that both children were alone and unsupervised. The guy should have done what most motel owners did, minded their own damn business.
“Great,” the social worker perked up, and Dean wanted to cry because no, it wasn't 'great', she was just stupid. It was just better. Better for Sammy that he get a home even if Dean couldn't be with him. “Samuel will be transferred this afternoon into the care of Ellen and William Harvelle, and you'll continue to stay with us for a few more days until a home becomes available, okay?” She asked and Dean knew she wasn't actually asking if he was okay. It was just something grown ups said to make themselves feel better.
“Can I say goodbye to Sammy now?” Dean asked. She nodded and led him into the children's room complete with a cushioned obstacle course, ball pits and a variety of lame toys that most of the kids seemed to be ignoring in favour of drawing quietly, watching cartoons, or hitting each other. Sam was, of course, in the former category.
“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said, dropping down to his knees next to his baby brother.
Sammy tuned to look at Dean with an expression of pure innocence and trust. “Dean, are we going home now?” He asked.
“No, kiddo, sorry,” Dean said. “but I've got good news,” he added, trying to sound enthusiastic. “You're going to go on a holiday. There's a woman and a man who have a little girl and they're coming to pick you up later and take you home with them.”
“Okay,” Sammy said, then looked pensive. “And you're coming too, right?”
Sammy, in his short life, had never been separated from Dean. Occasionally in the past few years Dean had felt suffocated by this, the constant presence of a younger brother who was emotionally and physically dependant on him was enough to drive him into foul moods, but he'd never wanted this, and he knew the prospect of being away from Dean for longer than a few hours was not one that Sammy would relish. “I can't come with you Sammy, but it'll be okay. Like an adventure, and I'll see you soon, you know I will,” Dean said, attempting to comfort his brother even as tears welled up in his brother's soft brown eyes. Sammy's little hands reached out to grab onto Dean as the tears fell accompanied by sobs loud enough to draw the stares of the other children and the caretaker who stood by the door way.
“No Dean! No! Don't wanna go! Please don't make me go without you!” Sammy screamed into Dean's cloth shirt and Dean felt a tear fall without permission from his own eyes.
“You gotta, Sammy. It'll be okay, I promise,” he whispered, knowing that he was probably lying.
“No!” Sammy wailed, holding on tighter as Dean tried to extract himself.
“Richards! Glenn!” The social worker who'd stayed at the door way called for back up and the next thing Dean knew he was being forcibly separated from his baby brother.
Dean wouldn't see him again for another three and a half years.
(Three weeks later)
“Dean, we found you a home,” the social services lady told him. It was a different woman now. This one had frizzy blonde hair and smelt like peppermint, as opposed to the smell of dying flowers which had clung to his last social worker and turned Dean's stomach every time she got close to him.
“With Sammy?” He asked, eagerly. Every week he had a meeting with the social worker and every week he asked if he could see Sammy. He was denied, each time, but reassured that his brother was doing okay, that he was 'settling in to his new circumstances'. Dean was happy Sammy was safe, but he missed him so much and hated being away from him.
“Dean... about that. Mr Harvelle died five days ago, an accident, and since the family is understandably grieving and going through a rough time they have withdrawn their application for fostering. I'm afraid you can't go live with Sammy,” she told him, her expression perfectly bland and soothing. What she was really saying was that he'd never see Sammy ever again, or at least not until Sam was eighteen. Would Sam even remember him? Fifteen years was a long time to go without contact. By that point the little girl he lived with would be more of a sibling to him than Dean. He would have been replaced, forgotten, and abandoned once again.
“Can't Sammy come and live with me in my new home?” Dean asked, desperate.
The social worker looked at him with disapproval shining through her face. “Dean, Mrs Harvelle just lost her husband, you wouldn't want her to lose Sam too, would you? That would make her really sad.”
What about me? Why do I have to lose Sammy? I'm his family. He needs me.
But maybe he didn't. Maybe that was what this lady was telling him, that Sammy was happy in his new family and he didn't need Dean. No one did. Except these new people. Perhaps they would want Dean around?
“Alastair and Eve Huntsman are very good people. They have been married for a long time and cannot have children of their own so they foster kids like you until they are old enough to take care of themselves. They've taken in children from our home before. There was a little girl called Ruby who lived with him for five years before she was reunited with her mother. I'm sure you'll be very happy with them,” she said, with a kind smile.
Dean just nodded his head and stared vacantly out into the room in which he had said goodbye to Sammy three weeks ago. This time, he didn't cry.
Dean, aged 10
“We're so very worried, Zachariah,” Eve shared with the psychologist who had just evaluated Dean. In the five months since Dean had been fostered by the couple he had spoken only a handful of times. At first he had asked about Sam, but now, after being refused so many times he had lost the ability to voice his longing to see his brother.
“Yes, terribly concerned about Dean's unwillingness to talk to us. Tell me, is there anything we should be doing to help Dean's... transition?” Alastair asked, and Dean shivered. His voice was all honey and his words were sugar but Dean's fear of the man came from first hand experience of the pain he could induce with just a simple touch.
“Alastair, Eve,” the large balding man said, greeting the anxious couple like long lost friends despite the hatred Dean could see festering in the man's eyes. “Dean is a healthy young boy but he has experienced so much trauma in the past. Seeing his mother die, his father abandoning him, and his brother being taken away... It could just all be temporary. However I would like to continue to see Dean for a few more sessions at least, and hopefully we can get to the root of this issue.”
“Have you come up with a diagnosis?” Alastair asked, like it was a forgone conclusion that the psychologist would label him with some mental disease.
The man sighed. “Well, I'd hate to rush into a diagnosis, but if I had to chose one at this point I'd say he has selective mutism. From what you've told me he shows some of the other symptoms as well, including maintaining a blank expression with reluctance to smile, withdrawal from social activities and situations. He has certainly demonstrated that he worries more than other children his age, especially about his brother and father but even about other children who he has no emotional ties to, and the sleep problems of course. I can prescribe you a low dose of tranquillisers to help him sleep at night but I'd be cautious about giving him them more than once or twice a week as we don't want to develop a bad habit in such a young child.”
“Of course, we'll be very careful,” Eve agreed with a caring smile.
“We wouldn't want anything to hurt our precious Dean,” Alastair added.
Dean continued to stare blankly out the window.
Dean, aged 11
Alastair was smiling when Dean emerged from his bedroom in order to join his foster parents for dinner. This was never a good thing. Eve pottered around, bringing over a plate of bread and a wine glass for each of them before joining them at the table and dishing out pot roast, first a generous serving for Alastair, then a reasonable sized portion for Dean and lastly a small amount her herself. After all, she had to keep her figure.
“Dean,” Alastair smiled at him, “we have some good news.”
Dean was immediately scared. He didn't make a sound, because he never did, not any more. At first he had tried to tell someone, then he had learnt that no one believed a nine year old boy who missed his brother. After that he had stopped talking all together, just like when his mom had died.
Eve leaned over and placed a perfectly manicured hand on his arm. The hair on the back of his neck stood up in repulsion. It didn't exactly make sense, since Eve had never hurt him, but he hated her with a passion equal to the hate he felt for Alastair. How could she just swan around the house with a smile on her lips without a care in the world when Dean lay there bleeding each night, silently crying out for anyone to help him. To save him.
“We've been given the all clear to adopt you! Isn't that wonderful!” Eve told him with a girlish squeal of excitement.
Dean wanted to die. He didn't understand. How could they adopt him? He had been told that while his dad was alive no one would be able to adopt him because his dad still had some parental rights even if didn't make use of them. Unless... Dean turned a face wrought with panic towards Alastair.
The man chuckled. “No, no, Dean. Nothing like that. Your father is in perfect health, I was told he had completed his drugs and alcohol rehabilitation and is living in a half way house in South Dakota right now.” It was creepy the way that Alastair could practically read Dean's thoughts, but occasionally it came in handy since Dean lacked the ability to voice the question himself.
Then how? He asked with his eyes.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Eve said, her voice cloying. “Don't you worry a thing about your daddy. He'll be just fine. Especially now he doesn't have to worry about you or your brother any more.”
“Your father agreed to sign over his parental rights over both you and Samuel. He knows you're in good hands,” Alastair informed him.
Good hands... Dean's eyes flickered down to Alastair's hands and remembered all the things they had done to him, all the marks left on his body and the way they help him down while Alastair grunted and groaned over him. There was nothing good about his hands.
“Here's to us,” Eve said with a giggle as she handed them each a full glass. Blood red wine filled the adult's cups but Dean's was only water. Even so, it still burned as he forced himself to swallow it down. They were toasting to their new family. Dean was being forced to toast to the fact that his old one didn't want him any more.
Once again, Dean had been abandoned.
Dean, aged 12
“Code Blue, room 703,” a nurse shouted out and Dean screamed as someone took the knife away from him and restrained him, forcing a blanket over his arms to soak the blood up and slow the flow down.
He wriggled and bucked and fought so hard but soon enough they were stabbing a needle into his thigh and then everything was black.
When Dean woke up he was in a different hospital room, and there was a doctor stood at the bottom of his bed reading a medical file. His own, most likely.
Despite the fact that Dean didn't make a sound the man turned to him, seeming to sense his change in state. “Hey Dean. I'm Doctor Milton, but you can call me Gabriel.”
Dean tried to move in his bed to get more comfortable but found that although his brain was awake his limbs were sleepy and resistance. The he looked at his body. Restraints kept his arms immobile and his wrists were tightly bandaged. Shame and guilt washed though him and he looked away from the sight back to the doctor who gazed at him with a peculiar glint in his golden eyes.
“If you're wondering what an important man like me is doing hanging around in a formerly unconscious boy's hospital room, then the answer is that I was hiding from doing any real work. I got bored after I ate your jello so I read your file, and let me tell you it's an interesting read, Dean-o. Most kids, even foster or adopted kids like you, have fairly boring files. Things like broken bones from falling off a swing, asthma, the occasional bout of flu... Not like your file. Do you understand what I'm saying?” His tone was light but he stared at Dean with an uncomfortably intense look in his amber eyes.
Dean did understand. The doctor was trying to subtly tell him that his file was abnormally thick. That the things that filled his medical records weren't normal and didn't happen to most other kids, no matter the circumstances. The problem was, Dean already knew this. He had been trying to make other people aware for years, but nothing good ever came of it. They had even moved around several times in order to stop Dean from having anyone to tell and from the hospital staff noticing the numerous injuries he acquired. For a boy who wasn't allowed to play sports because of his so called 'anxiety' problems he sure did get into an awful lot of 'accidents'.
“Right, you don't speak. It's in here somewhere... ah, 'selective mutism'. But Dean-o, just because you don't speak, doesn't mean you can't. I'm here to listen if you needed to,” he said, eyes serious and sad, so very sad. Dean had a feeling that the doctor already knew everything, there was no real need to tell him. Still, Dean wanted to communicate with him. He just hoped he could.
“Doesn't change anything,” he said hoarsely, startled at the sound of his own voice which was alien to him after months of silence. Eight months, in fact. The only sound he had uttered recently had been sobs or screams.
The doctor didn't look surprised or pleased, he just nodded calmly. “You've told people before, and they didn't believe you?” He asked.
Dean shrugged. Some of the hadn't, especially in the beginning when people had believed he was lying in order to be reunited with his brother. Later, after the bruises started appearing in more obvious locations and the scars didn't fade as quickly people suspected he might be telling the truth. Many made no move to help him, out of fear or a belief that they didn't have the right to interfere. On the occasion that someone did try to help Dean, Alastair moved them conveniently far away, no change of address listed.
“I believe you,” the doctor said, and left his room without another word.
For the first time in almost four years, Dean cried.
Gabriel, aged 27
“Can you come with me?” Dean asked.
Gabriel looked both pleased and incredibly uncomfortable. In the year since he had met Dean Winchester he had somehow become a part of the young boy's life. He had only meant to stop Dean from being hurt the way his brother had been hurt, he wasn't hero material but in Dean's eyes that was what he had become. Gabriel had been unable to walk away after the call to Dean's case worker, stayed with him through the trial and even helped him get a new psychologist, one who would actually try to help him rather than just enable his foster parents to molest him. Since his cousin Anna was newly accredited she'd seemed like the perfect choice, after all he knew she was a good person unlikely to take Dean for a ride in order to profit from his pain. Of course, he should have realised how closely that would tie them together. Not that he believed his current situation was purely due to Dean's sessions with Anna.
“It's not my place, buddy,” Gabriel pointed out.
Dean gazed at him with painfully blank green eyes and Gabriel knew he'd hurt the kid. “I just don't want to get in the way. How about asking Bobby if he'd like to go with you?”
Bobby Singer was Dean's new foster father. It was rare that a single man would be awarded custody of a foster child, especially when Bobby wasn't related to Dean in any biological or legal manner. However John had listed him as 'next of kin' since they met and even named him in his will to take care of the boys if anything should happen to him. Apparently they were old drinking buddies, but whereas Bobby tended to stick to the 'functioning' side of the spectrum of alcoholism, it had taken John some serious therapeutic time to regain his equilibrium.
In the five months since Dean had been living with Bobby, Gabriel had seen a dramatic personality change. At first Dean had clearly been expecting some type of abuse, he'd stayed quiet in the grumpy older man's presence and done his best not to do anything that would anger Bobby. Soon enough they'd bonded, Bobby had taught Dean about cars and his no-nonsense call-it-like-I-see-it attitude had brought Dean out of his shell enough to be himself again, or at least what was left of himself. Today was the real test, though. Today was the day he saw Sam again for the first time in four years.
“Bobby said I should do this myself, and I should stop being an idjit and just go see Sammy. Anna said I'm not an idjit, that it's just Bobby trying to encourage me in his own way. What do you think?” Dean asked.
Gabriel sighed. Too many adults throwing their opinions at this kid like they knew it all. Which was utter crap. If anyone knew the fallibility of adults then it was Gabriel. His parents had failed his brothers, both of them, and he hadn't been much better so far, at least according to Kali. “Doesn’t matter what I think, kiddo. What do you think?”
“I think he won't remember me. He's got a new family now, a little sister and a mom. What if he doesn't want a brother?” Dean asked.
Anna had told him, without revealing anything that would break her confidentiality clause, that she'd had a lot of trouble getting Dean to talk about himself, to open up about anything really. Gabriel hadn't found this to be true, apparently Dean trusted Gabe. He guessed the kid had good taste in people after all.
“Well if he thinks that then he's an idjit. Brothers are cool, way better than sisters,” Gabriel confided to Dean, making the teen eye him warily.
“How would you know?”
Gabriel put on a mock hurt expression. “Dean-o, you wound me. I know everything, of course. I can't believe you doubt my omniscience.”
Dean rolled his eyes and Gabriel shrugged. “I had brothers growing up, and my cousin Cas, he had a sister. Trust me, sisters can't beat brothers.”
Dean smiled, but wasn't swayed from his task. “See, you should totally come and this way you can tell Sammy that.”
“You really want me there?” Gabriel asked.
Dean nodded. “Fine then. I'm all yours.”
Neither of them knew just quite how true that was.
That weekend Bobby said goodbye to Dean and Gabriel drove them down to the Harvelle's place. The journey took about four hours during which Gabriel tried to teach Dean that the seventies wasn't the only place to find good music, although he would later reflect on how much a failure that had been. Nervous tension filled the car, unable to be dispelled even after stopping at Biggerson's for some 'food' and pie. Once they reached their destination that all changed. Gabriel admitted, only to himself, that Dean wasn't the only one worried about his welcome. After all, Sam had been only four when they'd been separated and in the last four and a half years he'd had nothing to remember his brother or his old life by, no photographs to clarify fading memories or relatives to pass on stories. There was every chance this would end in tears, and Gabriel really hated to see Dean hurt.
It was more than a pleasant surprise when Sam immediately took to Dean, running to him with all the speed and energy that almost-nine-years olds posses. He hugged Dean tight, making his brother promise he wasn't going to leave him again. Dean hid a tear in amongst Sam's curly locks and told his baby brother that this only proved he was right, they had seen each other again after all, it had just taken a bit longer than Dean had implied at the time. Sam introduced Dean around to his foster mother Ellen who he called 'mom' (and instantly invited Dean to do the same thing, although Dean never did), and his sister Jo. Jo was a sweet little girl a year or so younger than Sam with ribbons in her blonde hair and grass stains on her jeans. She was everything that a little girl should be, friendly, outgoing but not rude, and she had a cute laugh that was infectious. Sam was equally well brought up and cared for, and Gabriel could see his own sadness reflected in Ellen's eyes that they hadn't been able to save Dean from the hell he'd endured before coming to live with Bobby.
Gabriel felt a bit out of place to start with, but then found himself making friends with Ellen as the children played. Ellen, he could tell, was a good woman. Practical, smart, loving and didn't take any bullshit. She was a good mother, but they both knew that she'd never been Dean's mom despite how much she would grow to care about her foster son's older brother.
“So, how'd you fit in?” She drawled out over a glass of whiskey. Gabriel had decided to indulge, comforted by the fact that Dean was so welcome in his brother's life. They would stay the night and head back tomorrow afternoon.
“I'm just somebody who looked at a kid and saw a whole story, not just the bits they thought were convenient to admit to.” He said absently, watching Dean as he interacted with Sam and Jo, noticing how Dean's emotions ranged from joy at the reunion but sadness because he knew he'd never have the life that Sam has, not after what he went through.
“Oh, I doubt that's all there is to the story,” Ellen murmured.
“It never is, though, is it?” Gabe mused.
“You care about Dean. That's all that matters to me,” Ellen declared.
“I'm just passing through, Ellen. I'm just sticking around long enough to make sure he's set up okay.”
Ellen snorted. “Right. Hun, he's okay, and you know that but we both know you're not ready to leave. My bet is, ten years time you'll still be around.”
Gabriel deliberately didn't look Ellen in the eyes, afraid he'd see only truth in them. He'd never set out to become someone that Dean trusted, knowing that he now had the ability to let him down, to hurt him just like everybody else had. In his head the words 'get out now while you can' echoed in warning, but his heart knew it was already too late. He'd been sucker punched by a thirteen year old.
At the end of the journey, Gabriel asked Dean how he was doing.
“I'm good now I've seen Sam. He's happy, and that's all that matters. I couldn't have done a better job myself,” Dean added, and Gabriel could tell that was how he genuinely felt about the situation.
It was both reassuring that he was taking it so well, and incredibly sad that he'd felt responsible for his younger brother's upbringing. Gabriel could only hope that Dean learned how to be a kid again before he finished becoming a grown up. Otherwise he'd never get a chance.
Dean, aged 14
“John, don't be such a god forsaken idjit! They're your children. You don't let them dictate your relationship, you show them how it's gonna be.”
Bobby had been yelling down the phone line at Dean's father for half an hour, and it wasn't the first time Dean had overheard similar conversations since he'd moved to South Dakota. Bobby was a great father figure, he'd been teaching Dean about base ball, classic cars, and hunting. Last week they'd shot a rabbit and eaten it, but not before Bobby had made sure Dean had helped clean, skin and gut the animal. This was the safest that Dean had ever felt, and the best part was that every few weeks he'd had the chance to spend the weekend with Sammy, Bobby would usually drive them down but occasionally Gabriel would do it, when his work schedule allowed, and that was the best time. This weekend would be different though. Gabriel had told him he couldn't come because he's working but Dean suspected it had something to do with Kali, Gabriel's on-again-off-again girlfriend who didn't seem to like Dean very much (which was fine with him since he didn't like her either). Normally that would mean just Dean and Bobby, but this time he'd invited John.
John had been out of rehab for three years now. He spent most of his time in Minnesota where Dean knew he had another family, a girlfriend called Kate and a toddler who would be Dean's half brother if only he could stand to think about it. Whenever Dean muttered something derogatory about either of the Milligans, Bobby'd smack him lightly over the head and remind him that Kate was a good woman who just had awful taste in men.
Dean hadn't met either of them yet, but that wasn't surprising since he hadn't seen his dad in five years. Every time Bobby brought up the topic Dean would find a way to change it or else just clam up entirely. Not Anna or even Gabriel had managed to get him to open up. Even Sam had tried and all he'd gotten was the company line.
Dean continued to listen to Bobby's side of the conversation, and finally less than half an hour later the phone was disconnected with a clatter and a sigh. Seconds later there was the clink of a bottle of liquor hitting a glass as Bobby poured himself a drink.
“Are you gonna come out of hiding or shall we both pretend for a little longer that you aren't in trouble for eaves dropping?” Bobby called out loudly and Dean grimaced.
“Does that mean...”
“Don't worry, we're still gonna go see your brother. John's meeting us tomorrow morning and we'll all travel down together in my truck. One big happy family,” Bobby added sarcastically.
“Why do we even have to have him come along?” Dean burst out, surprising both himself and Bobby. While he wasn't above mumbling insults and complaints under his breath, he rarely raised his voice or argued against his elders. It was a survival technique learned from living with Alastair and Eve for so long. “I like it when it's just you and me,” he added, trying not to pout. He was fourteen after all, not a kid like Sammy was.
Bobby put his glass down. “Because, boy, that's your daddy. He might not have been a good father these past years, but he's still the only one you got. So go pack a bag and get some shut eye. We're leaving early tomorrow. Oh, and Dean. Don't think I've forgotten about your punishment for eaves dropping. We'll talk about it when we get back,” Bobby added in a grumpy drawl.
Dean slouched off to bed unhappily. He barely slept a wink but come morning he was wound up tight enough to run a marathon if it meant avoiding his dad. He came down stairs at six fifteen only to find that Bobby wasn't alone. A man with short dark hair touched with gray, matching his scruffy beard, was sitting with Bobby mainlining coffee. Dean's overall impression of the man was that he was big, although he wasn't fat or overly muscled. He was old, but younger than Bobby by maybe as much as ten years or as few as two, it was hard to tell, and he carried himself like a man who was tired of running from himself.
“If you want breakfast you'd better grab it now before we head out, and come and say hello to your daddy while you're at it!” Bobby said without even looking in Dean's direction. One day, Dean would really like to learn how his foster parent did that.
Dean stared in shock at John, who turned around and stared in shock at Dean.
Neither of them spoke.
He wasn't sure if the surprise was because he hadn't initially recognised his father despite being nine when he'd left, or if it was because he hadn't really believed he'd show. It warmed something inside of him that he had turned up, but it only reminded him of all the times John hadn't been there and the hurt blasted away any good emotions associated with his dad.
“Dean,” he said and it was still the same voice, the one he remembered from childhood stories and laughter at the dinner table. “I... I'm so sorry, son,” John continued, practically collapsing onto his knees. “I would never have given you up if I'd... I thought you were safe, I really believed it was better this way. I'm so god damned sorry, son, so sorry Dean,” he said and Dean stood there numbly as his dad clutched tight around his waste in a hug that left Dean feeling cold.
His dad was sorry?
Dean didn't believe him.
He wanted to, but after so much time and so much pain all he knew was that his dad had abandoned him, and then when he needed him the most he had given Dean away to the man who hurt him. For Sammy the situation had been different, Ellen and Jo were a real family for him, whereas Eve had been playing at mommy and Alastair had been abusing him. He thought perhaps anger was clouding his own judgement, but nothing John did or said could make the anger dissipate so they were at an impasse.
“Can we go see Sammy now?” Dean asked, taking a seat that was opposite Bobby and next to John, primarily so he wouldn't have to look his dad in his eyes.
“Sure,” Bobby agreed easily, but it wasn't unnoticed that he spent the whole trip playing buffer between Dean and John. Sam was nervous and shy around John, but he didn't seem to harbour any ill will towards his dad although Bobby suspected that was because in Sam's head John wasn't really his dad, not any more. Surprisingly Ellen and John got on well, although she never allowed Sammy out of her sight while John was visiting. An adopted mom's fear that her child could be taken away at any minute by the birth parents. At the end of the visit John took Ellen alone and thanked her for raising Sam so well, for giving him a home. He added that he was trying to make up for past mistakes, but he would never dream of doing that by taking Sam or Dean away from the people they loved and trusted.
Dean listened in on that conversation with mixed emotions, relieved that he'd be staying with Bobby but at the same time he felt like John was saying he didn't want Dean or Sam enough to fight for them. Later, a conversation with Anna would clarify the issue and Dean would understand the ideal of sacrifice for the greater good, but the path to letting John be his dad again wasn't a smooth one.
John continued to visit both his sons on and off, and eventually Dean allowed them to have a relationship even if it wasn't a close bond. Bobby and Sammy were his family, and Gabriel was his saviour. Back then he really believed that was all he would ever need.
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