(no subject)
Title: The ties that bind us often divide us
Characters/Pairings: Dean and Sam Winchester, Evelyn and Jack Mercer
Wordcount: 2405
Summary: It started, like most things do, when Sam had a dream.
Dean can't really put a finger on the exact date that the search started. It was kind of just a word here, a mention there for a few months before they actively started looking, and even then, they were only looking when they weren't busy with work, and as they were busy with work about 80% of the time, it was probably half a year between the start and the finish. If you could call it that.
It started, like most things do, when Sam had a dream. It was fuzzy, and he could only remember half of it, but he was sure it was a premonition of something, but of what, he wasn't sure. Dean just kind of shrugged it off because, really? What could they do about it at this point? But the dream persisted, bits of pieces of something, maybe gunfire, maybe not. Nothing ever concrete enough to pin down a location, and Sam was getting frustrated. He said that it felt like he was seeing the edge of the picture, that there was always someone just out of shot that he couldn't see.
One night, though, Sam sees a plate, AZD 2495, on a 1985 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme belonging to a Robert Mercer of Detroit, Michigan. Detroit rang a different bell for Dean. When they were younger, John had a friend in Detroit. It was a bit hazy, he was only 8 or 9 at the time, but Dean could remember answering the phone and hearing a woman ask for John. And as believing in coincidences could get men in their position killed, they agreed that it was probably connected. Which would make the next logical step information gathering.
Dean isn't really surprised when it turns out that Mercer is a thug, wrap sheet that goes on for miles, he's from Detroit after all. Dean's not sure that he's necessarily related, but it's good to know what you're getting into. When he asks Ellen about it, she says that yes, John had a friend in Detroit, and she says friend like most women say “the girl my husband is fucking.” so Dean is only a little annoyed. There will always be a childlike part of him that will defend his mothers honour, always a part that will be offended on her behalf at the thought of John with another woman. But Dean the adult knows that a man going years and years without any affection is just unrealistic, so the working theory is that something is going down in Detroit, and Dad's long ago girlfriend is involved.
Ellen doesn't know the woman's name, so that's going to be regular old footwork. They cruise into Detroit the first night and start sniffing around, looking for anything up their alley. By day four, Dean is chafing a bit and isn't sure there's anything here to find. They're hitting up the parts of town that their father was likely to go, trying to find an address or anything in the journal, and it's on this wild goose hunt that they cross paths with a malevolent spirit.
It might be a poltergeist, but if so, it's a poltergeist on 'roids, because the thing has it's clutches on an entire neighbourhood. Bad shit happening all over the place, playing up the violence already apparent on the street, and just making a mess of everything. They chase the thing down for a few days and end up with a battery of injuries, starting with scrapes and scratches, ending with stitches and bruised egos. Their old friend, Missouri, gives them some pointers, though, and they manage to bag the sucker and exorcise it in a convenience store with a clerk bleeding out, two trigger happy gunmen, and a little old lady hiding by the poultry.
The clerk will live, the gunmen will go to jail, and the little old lady is looking at them like she knows them. Sam's trying to smooth it over and not blow the existence of the supernatural for once, instead of just spilling the whole situation, but this woman is tough and she is not buying it. Dean's pulling Sam away by the arm and trying to get him to just leave when grandma drops a bit of a bomb on them.
“You remind me of a man I once knew,” she says, picking up her purse from where she had dropped it. “Winchester, was his name.”
And then Dean is much less interested in the retreat, wants to know exactly how she knows that name. She isn't talking though, until she gets out of there, so they give their statements (“These young men saved us! They jumped the gunmen!”) to the police and Dean follows her classy Grand Caravan through the winding streets to a fairly rough neighbourhood. Dean's not exactly sure Detroit has nice neighbourhoods, and if it does, they might technically be Windsor. But this isn't really the time for that.
The woman is Evelyn Mercer and she will not say anything relevant until she has fed them. She's so forceful about it that Dean has the good sense to just shut up and enjoy his first home cooked meal in a very long time. It occurs to him that if Evelyn knew John, he might have sat in this very kitchen being brow-beaten by this tough old bird, and he holds that thought in his hands for a minute before putting it away because it still hurts to think of Dad as gone, as not here, and he doesn't know what to do with it other than ignore it.
“So, how did you know our dad?” Sam says, putting on his best puppy dog face. It's probably not necessary.
“John found me a few years ago, four or five, if I recall.” Evelyn sits down opposite the boys at the table, and gives both of the boys a good long stare, not unkind, but searching. She is seeing something that they are not, and once she finds it, she continues. “He was a secretive man, didn't want to tell me the full story. Didn't want to tell me why he was here. Oh, but I knew.”
“Please...” Sam starts in, and she shushes him. Dean smiles.
“John told me that he had met a woman here some time ago, and that they were, well. They were close. But they had a falling out, as people often do. The woman wanted more than John was capable of giving.” Dean isn't sure if this woman is filling in the blanks or if Dad actually told her this, but he gets the feeling she isn't far off the mark. “The last time she spoke to him, she said that she had given birth to a child, his child.”
Dean and Sam look at each other now. Sam is confused, trying to rationalize this, trying to consider a world where John had another child. Dean's first reaction is rejection. No, Dad wouldn't be that stupid, he wouldn't risk bringing another child into the world, he wouldn't leave it unprotected, he wouldn't betray Mom like that. But Dean goes back to that place where he realizes that expecting Dad to stay alone all that time is unreasonable. And accidents happen, and this is a possibility. He wants to resist, but if Dad came back here and Sam is dreaming about it, this might actually be true. Evelyn is silent for a minute, watching them process it.
“D-did you know the woman?” Sam asks, finally.
“No, I never met her. She put the child, a boy, into foster care when he was four. I have spent most of my adult life taking in foster children and finding them homes, and that's how I came to know him, and how John found me.” Evelyn is looking at her hands now, she isn't saying something.
“Do...do you know where he is?” It feels like something is stuck in Deans throat. He can barely get the words out. A brother. Another brother. Sam doesn't know what to do with the information, but Dean is all about taking care of little brothers, he wants to find this kid, make sure he's safe.
“Yes. Jack,” she says his name for the first time, pauses on it, “Jack had a hard time in the foster system. He was very hurt and very afraid when he came to me. I...” she exhales heavily, then meets Dean's gaze. “I took him in myself. I adopted him. He's been my son for 8 years.”
She takes a sip of her tea before she goes on. “John came looking for him years ago, when he was 15. They never met, I think John just wanted to make sure that he was okay. Jack doesn't know who his father is.”
“How old is he?” Sam asks, like it's the only thing he can come up with, but has to say something, has to re-establish some kind of control over this.
“He's 18. And he should be home soon.” Evelyn's voice takes on a warning edge. “Why are you here?”
“We just...we...” Sam starts.
“John's dead.” Dean says, as much reminding himself as informing Evelyn. “And we heard he had a girlfriend here some time ago and...I guess we were looking for something. And we found something, though I'll be honest with you ma'am, I did not see this coming.” and Dean laughs nervous, maybe just to hear a sound that isn't related to the re-alignment of his world.
There's a sound at the front, keys, a door. They stand up quickly, alert, but Evenlyn calls out “Jack?” and a voice responds in the affirmative.
Dean can see John Winchester on Jack so clearly that he might as well have it written on his face. He can see his own eyes looking back from beyond a fringe of slightly wilted hair, he can see his own smattering of freckles along the young man's pale nose and cheekbones. He's tall like Sammy is, he's got Sam's hands. And he can see the absence of John just as clearly, Dean can see Jack case the exits, evaluate if they're a threat, he's probably figuring out if he can take these two if they threaten Evelyn. Sam and Dean spent their entire lives checking the corners and the shadows for monsters, and they can both see that Jack did too, but it was just another type of monster.
Dean makes the first move, extending a hand, which Jack shakes warily. “Hey, I'm Dean. This is Sam.” he nods to Sam, as he extends his own hand.
Jack's hands are calloused, too, but it's not gun, more like guitar. He's slouching a bit, trying to be smaller, hell, if he stood up straight he'd probably be taller than Sam. He's dressed all in black denim and soft cotton, but he's got a backpack overflowing with text books, so it's almost hilariously like a hybrid of both brothers, and Dean really wants to diffuse the tension because Jack looks like he wants to bolt. He's taking in Sam and Dean and he's doing the same math that they're doing. This kid has spent something like 18 years looking at himself in the mirror, and there is no way he doesn't see himself in the two older boys. He's looking to Evelyn, to his mother, for answers now.
“Jackie, these nice young boys are the sons of a friend of mine. They wanted to meet you.” and that's the name of the game, Dean thinks, not explicitly saying the truth they're all acutely aware of.
Jack takes them to a local haunt, a bar not far from the house. He walks a half pace behind them, and has his hands deep in his pockets, skinny frame encased in a beat up leather jacket, still looks like a puppy, or maybe a startled deer. Dean can see Sam is still working on accepting this, but hopefully talking to the kid gets him through that. Even though he is obviously not legal anywhere except Quebec, the bartender serves Jacks, and takes stock of Sam and Dean before serving them.
“How's your brother.” the man asks Jack. “Heard he was back in town. Raising hell, as usual.”
“Bobby's alright, he'll be by.” Jack's voice is husky and deep, almost doesn't match his angel face, but Dean can hear his own voice in it, and he finds that he likes listening to Jack speak as much as he likes listening to Sam speak. But he will never say that out loud.
Ensconced in a corner, Jack nurses his beer like a pro, goes through maybe half a pack of cigarettes over the next five hours. They talk about anything and everything. About the places the brothers have been, about the college Jack goes to. They talk about music and they talk about books. Jack is a little bit of column a and b. He gets a bit more comfortable after a while. Stops checking the exits so frequently, starts opening up a bit. He has an easy smile, and when he relaxes he sprawls a bit, and Dean grins and teases him a little bit. It's easy now. They don't talk about the monsters they've seen, or the scars they have.
When they go back to Evelyn's house, they stand outside for a minute. Jack rocks on the balls of his feet, ducks his head a bit, tries to be small again. He doesn't know how to say goodbye, or if this is goodbye at all. Dean shakes his hand again, and at the last minute pulls him into a brief, strong hug. Sam doesn't even hold the pretence of a shake, just wraps arms around Jack for a moment before they step back.
They part, the boys go to their car and Jack goes to the house. A stocky man with slicked back hair meets Jack at the door, and greets him as 'Cracker Jack', asks him if he's bringing his boyfriends in for some fruitcake, and Dean laughs and peels away. This doesn't feel like it's finished, though, so the boys know that they'll be back for their brother.
Characters/Pairings: Dean and Sam Winchester, Evelyn and Jack Mercer
Wordcount: 2405
Summary: It started, like most things do, when Sam had a dream.
Dean can't really put a finger on the exact date that the search started. It was kind of just a word here, a mention there for a few months before they actively started looking, and even then, they were only looking when they weren't busy with work, and as they were busy with work about 80% of the time, it was probably half a year between the start and the finish. If you could call it that.
It started, like most things do, when Sam had a dream. It was fuzzy, and he could only remember half of it, but he was sure it was a premonition of something, but of what, he wasn't sure. Dean just kind of shrugged it off because, really? What could they do about it at this point? But the dream persisted, bits of pieces of something, maybe gunfire, maybe not. Nothing ever concrete enough to pin down a location, and Sam was getting frustrated. He said that it felt like he was seeing the edge of the picture, that there was always someone just out of shot that he couldn't see.
One night, though, Sam sees a plate, AZD 2495, on a 1985 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme belonging to a Robert Mercer of Detroit, Michigan. Detroit rang a different bell for Dean. When they were younger, John had a friend in Detroit. It was a bit hazy, he was only 8 or 9 at the time, but Dean could remember answering the phone and hearing a woman ask for John. And as believing in coincidences could get men in their position killed, they agreed that it was probably connected. Which would make the next logical step information gathering.
Dean isn't really surprised when it turns out that Mercer is a thug, wrap sheet that goes on for miles, he's from Detroit after all. Dean's not sure that he's necessarily related, but it's good to know what you're getting into. When he asks Ellen about it, she says that yes, John had a friend in Detroit, and she says friend like most women say “the girl my husband is fucking.” so Dean is only a little annoyed. There will always be a childlike part of him that will defend his mothers honour, always a part that will be offended on her behalf at the thought of John with another woman. But Dean the adult knows that a man going years and years without any affection is just unrealistic, so the working theory is that something is going down in Detroit, and Dad's long ago girlfriend is involved.
Ellen doesn't know the woman's name, so that's going to be regular old footwork. They cruise into Detroit the first night and start sniffing around, looking for anything up their alley. By day four, Dean is chafing a bit and isn't sure there's anything here to find. They're hitting up the parts of town that their father was likely to go, trying to find an address or anything in the journal, and it's on this wild goose hunt that they cross paths with a malevolent spirit.
It might be a poltergeist, but if so, it's a poltergeist on 'roids, because the thing has it's clutches on an entire neighbourhood. Bad shit happening all over the place, playing up the violence already apparent on the street, and just making a mess of everything. They chase the thing down for a few days and end up with a battery of injuries, starting with scrapes and scratches, ending with stitches and bruised egos. Their old friend, Missouri, gives them some pointers, though, and they manage to bag the sucker and exorcise it in a convenience store with a clerk bleeding out, two trigger happy gunmen, and a little old lady hiding by the poultry.
The clerk will live, the gunmen will go to jail, and the little old lady is looking at them like she knows them. Sam's trying to smooth it over and not blow the existence of the supernatural for once, instead of just spilling the whole situation, but this woman is tough and she is not buying it. Dean's pulling Sam away by the arm and trying to get him to just leave when grandma drops a bit of a bomb on them.
“You remind me of a man I once knew,” she says, picking up her purse from where she had dropped it. “Winchester, was his name.”
And then Dean is much less interested in the retreat, wants to know exactly how she knows that name. She isn't talking though, until she gets out of there, so they give their statements (“These young men saved us! They jumped the gunmen!”) to the police and Dean follows her classy Grand Caravan through the winding streets to a fairly rough neighbourhood. Dean's not exactly sure Detroit has nice neighbourhoods, and if it does, they might technically be Windsor. But this isn't really the time for that.
The woman is Evelyn Mercer and she will not say anything relevant until she has fed them. She's so forceful about it that Dean has the good sense to just shut up and enjoy his first home cooked meal in a very long time. It occurs to him that if Evelyn knew John, he might have sat in this very kitchen being brow-beaten by this tough old bird, and he holds that thought in his hands for a minute before putting it away because it still hurts to think of Dad as gone, as not here, and he doesn't know what to do with it other than ignore it.
“So, how did you know our dad?” Sam says, putting on his best puppy dog face. It's probably not necessary.
“John found me a few years ago, four or five, if I recall.” Evelyn sits down opposite the boys at the table, and gives both of the boys a good long stare, not unkind, but searching. She is seeing something that they are not, and once she finds it, she continues. “He was a secretive man, didn't want to tell me the full story. Didn't want to tell me why he was here. Oh, but I knew.”
“Please...” Sam starts in, and she shushes him. Dean smiles.
“John told me that he had met a woman here some time ago, and that they were, well. They were close. But they had a falling out, as people often do. The woman wanted more than John was capable of giving.” Dean isn't sure if this woman is filling in the blanks or if Dad actually told her this, but he gets the feeling she isn't far off the mark. “The last time she spoke to him, she said that she had given birth to a child, his child.”
Dean and Sam look at each other now. Sam is confused, trying to rationalize this, trying to consider a world where John had another child. Dean's first reaction is rejection. No, Dad wouldn't be that stupid, he wouldn't risk bringing another child into the world, he wouldn't leave it unprotected, he wouldn't betray Mom like that. But Dean goes back to that place where he realizes that expecting Dad to stay alone all that time is unreasonable. And accidents happen, and this is a possibility. He wants to resist, but if Dad came back here and Sam is dreaming about it, this might actually be true. Evelyn is silent for a minute, watching them process it.
“D-did you know the woman?” Sam asks, finally.
“No, I never met her. She put the child, a boy, into foster care when he was four. I have spent most of my adult life taking in foster children and finding them homes, and that's how I came to know him, and how John found me.” Evelyn is looking at her hands now, she isn't saying something.
“Do...do you know where he is?” It feels like something is stuck in Deans throat. He can barely get the words out. A brother. Another brother. Sam doesn't know what to do with the information, but Dean is all about taking care of little brothers, he wants to find this kid, make sure he's safe.
“Yes. Jack,” she says his name for the first time, pauses on it, “Jack had a hard time in the foster system. He was very hurt and very afraid when he came to me. I...” she exhales heavily, then meets Dean's gaze. “I took him in myself. I adopted him. He's been my son for 8 years.”
She takes a sip of her tea before she goes on. “John came looking for him years ago, when he was 15. They never met, I think John just wanted to make sure that he was okay. Jack doesn't know who his father is.”
“How old is he?” Sam asks, like it's the only thing he can come up with, but has to say something, has to re-establish some kind of control over this.
“He's 18. And he should be home soon.” Evelyn's voice takes on a warning edge. “Why are you here?”
“We just...we...” Sam starts.
“John's dead.” Dean says, as much reminding himself as informing Evelyn. “And we heard he had a girlfriend here some time ago and...I guess we were looking for something. And we found something, though I'll be honest with you ma'am, I did not see this coming.” and Dean laughs nervous, maybe just to hear a sound that isn't related to the re-alignment of his world.
There's a sound at the front, keys, a door. They stand up quickly, alert, but Evenlyn calls out “Jack?” and a voice responds in the affirmative.
Dean can see John Winchester on Jack so clearly that he might as well have it written on his face. He can see his own eyes looking back from beyond a fringe of slightly wilted hair, he can see his own smattering of freckles along the young man's pale nose and cheekbones. He's tall like Sammy is, he's got Sam's hands. And he can see the absence of John just as clearly, Dean can see Jack case the exits, evaluate if they're a threat, he's probably figuring out if he can take these two if they threaten Evelyn. Sam and Dean spent their entire lives checking the corners and the shadows for monsters, and they can both see that Jack did too, but it was just another type of monster.
Dean makes the first move, extending a hand, which Jack shakes warily. “Hey, I'm Dean. This is Sam.” he nods to Sam, as he extends his own hand.
Jack's hands are calloused, too, but it's not gun, more like guitar. He's slouching a bit, trying to be smaller, hell, if he stood up straight he'd probably be taller than Sam. He's dressed all in black denim and soft cotton, but he's got a backpack overflowing with text books, so it's almost hilariously like a hybrid of both brothers, and Dean really wants to diffuse the tension because Jack looks like he wants to bolt. He's taking in Sam and Dean and he's doing the same math that they're doing. This kid has spent something like 18 years looking at himself in the mirror, and there is no way he doesn't see himself in the two older boys. He's looking to Evelyn, to his mother, for answers now.
“Jackie, these nice young boys are the sons of a friend of mine. They wanted to meet you.” and that's the name of the game, Dean thinks, not explicitly saying the truth they're all acutely aware of.
Jack takes them to a local haunt, a bar not far from the house. He walks a half pace behind them, and has his hands deep in his pockets, skinny frame encased in a beat up leather jacket, still looks like a puppy, or maybe a startled deer. Dean can see Sam is still working on accepting this, but hopefully talking to the kid gets him through that. Even though he is obviously not legal anywhere except Quebec, the bartender serves Jacks, and takes stock of Sam and Dean before serving them.
“How's your brother.” the man asks Jack. “Heard he was back in town. Raising hell, as usual.”
“Bobby's alright, he'll be by.” Jack's voice is husky and deep, almost doesn't match his angel face, but Dean can hear his own voice in it, and he finds that he likes listening to Jack speak as much as he likes listening to Sam speak. But he will never say that out loud.
Ensconced in a corner, Jack nurses his beer like a pro, goes through maybe half a pack of cigarettes over the next five hours. They talk about anything and everything. About the places the brothers have been, about the college Jack goes to. They talk about music and they talk about books. Jack is a little bit of column a and b. He gets a bit more comfortable after a while. Stops checking the exits so frequently, starts opening up a bit. He has an easy smile, and when he relaxes he sprawls a bit, and Dean grins and teases him a little bit. It's easy now. They don't talk about the monsters they've seen, or the scars they have.
When they go back to Evelyn's house, they stand outside for a minute. Jack rocks on the balls of his feet, ducks his head a bit, tries to be small again. He doesn't know how to say goodbye, or if this is goodbye at all. Dean shakes his hand again, and at the last minute pulls him into a brief, strong hug. Sam doesn't even hold the pretence of a shake, just wraps arms around Jack for a moment before they step back.
They part, the boys go to their car and Jack goes to the house. A stocky man with slicked back hair meets Jack at the door, and greets him as 'Cracker Jack', asks him if he's bringing his boyfriends in for some fruitcake, and Dean laughs and peels away. This doesn't feel like it's finished, though, so the boys know that they'll be back for their brother.