Chapter Text
The following days were a mix of confusion and excitement for Oscar. Waking up in a huge room on a gigantic pillow left him dazed until he remembered where he'd fallen asleep. He'd found shortly after that Dean had curled an arm around the pillow protectively. Oscar was safe there, no matter what his instincts told him about the huge expanse of the room around him.
Sometimes, the temptation would strike him to scurry into the walls again or to hide. His instincts, formed by a lifetime of living in the walls out of sight, weren't prepared for the open space around him all the time; even in the previous week, he'd spent most of his time in the walls.
He still got to eat plenty of food, and he even found some time to work on his sewing when his nerves ran too high. That certainly fascinated his quiet human friend. Dean could scarcely see the needles Oscar used for his sewing.
After their first full day, Dean had to go to school. Oscar, not wanting to stay in the room by himself and not wanting to go back to his house in the walls after such a sound goodbye, fretted all morning while Dean got ready. If he was alone in the room while one of the maids came in, he could be caught or swatted. It wouldn’t matter that he’d known most of the maids by the sound of their voice since he was a toddler. To them, he was a tiny pest, an invader in the home he was born in.
It didn't take too much coaxing to convince him to go along in a pocket, like he'd done when they visited the park.
The days at school passed him by in a blur. Oscar quickly found out that they were surrounded all the time by humans, humans that weren't quiet like Dean. He was always curled into a ball by the end of the day, cozy but unsettled in the pocket. No one noticed him there.
It was still better than surviving by himself.
By the time a week had passed since Oscar's bold request, he was more prepared for the routine. It almost shocked him to realize they weren't going to school, because it was a Saturday again.
After their lunch, Oscar found himself lying on his front on the table, looking over one of the many pamphlets kept in the motel room. He'd never had a chance to really observe the picture of a serene mountainscape that filled the front of the flyer. According to the bright, colorful lettering, that sight was 'Only 6 miles away!' from the motel.
With two weeks behind him of having a kid smaller than his pinkie around, some of the initial fascination for Dean had worn off. He was absently sketching out some of his homework, distracted by the thoughts on his mind.
All those thoughts fled when he heard a key scrape the lock for their door, and all he knew was reaction.
As the door to the room was shoved open, Dean found himself instinctively leaping to his feet and sweeping Oscar and the pamphlet he was standing on into his hands. He gaped at the person coming in even as he tilted the pamphlet enough for Oscar to roll into his hand, and the pamphlet dropped to the floor.
John Winchester. Back early from his case. An entire two weeks early, leaving Dean with none of the time he thought he’d have to think about how to break Oscar’s existence to the man.
Aside from a passing glance, John barely acknowledged Dean’s presence. He was too caught up in grabbing the items strewn about the room, either tossing them out or into the duffel Dean had pushed up against the dresser.
“Still not talking, I see,” John said gruffly, the disgust in his voice obvious. He refused to realize that different people grieved differently and saw Dean’s temporary mutism as an inconvenience. “Your teachers called me and said you’ve been skippin’ out on your shrink. I told them not to worry about it since you won’t be going back there anymore.”
The remains of the food Dean had on hand was swept from the table and the top of the mini-fridge into a plastic bag, and the loaf of bread was tossed into the trash. Dean winced, remembering how Oscar was with food. A few of the slices in there could feed the child for a long time. Not to mention the memory of all the times Dean needed to take the five finger discount for food like that just to keep enough for Sam to eat at home.
“You’ll talk eventually,” John kept on going, talking to himself more than Dean at the moment. He nodded with approval at the salt lines across the windows and door, and frowned at the line across the vent. He didn’t seem to spot the tiny footprints in it from Oscar crossing over. “I know you can. You’re just… punishing me over Sam.”
Dean’s eyes hardened and his fingers curled close around Oscar, but he said nothing to defend himself.
John knew nothing. It was Dean’s fault Sam was gone.
Pushing past Dean, John dug under the pillow on the teen’s bed and looked slightly mollified to find the Colt hidden away. “Guess there’s hope for you yet,” he muttered as he held out the gun. When Dean didn’t reach for it, John paused, his eyes falling to Dean’s hands. Which were obviously hiding something.
“What’s in your hands, boy?”
In Dean's hands, Oscar shook. He hadn't even had time to yelp in surprise when Dean swiftly picked him up, and the sight of a new human in their midst locked his voice up. When he'd asked Dean if he could stay, he hadn't even thought this far ahead. He hadn't thought about what he'd do when another human shoved his way into the mix.
That voice, after weeks of Dean's quiet, felt like it shook the air. Even Dean's teachers and classmates didn't command as much attention as his father did. Oscar remembered hearing tall humans like that from his haven in the walls.
They always scared him when they yelled, even if it was only over a sports game.
Now, at least, he had someone on his side to look out for him. Still, even with the cave-like protection of Dean's cupped hands around him, Oscar's timid nature took priority.
He took a chance to lean to the side and peek between two of Dean's fingers. The sight almost froze him. Dean's father was tall, and his face even more enigmatic and world-worn than Dean's. He was stern, frustrated even. Oscar ducked away with the knowledge that the human had to have seen him.
Left with no other options, Oscar curled into himself, hugging his legs close and hiding his face. Don't hurt me, he pleaded silently, eyes shut tight.
At an angle John wouldn’t be able to see, Dean curled his thumb inwards and touched against Oscar’s arm to reassure him. The tiny kid was trembling hard enough for Dean to make it out, loud and clear, a lot like that first day they’d met.
He really should have seen it coming.
Not once, in all the times that Dean was stuck at some no-tell motel, had his father ever returned at the time he said he would. Mostly that meant that Sam and Dean would be stuck staying there past their initial check out time, and had to find a way to fork over the cash. Other times he’d come bursting in early, tearing the brothers out of the school they were enrolled in, not to mention any friends they’d managed to make in their time. It was why Dean would rather stay with Bobby if he had a choice - at least there they knew they’d have food on the table if John was late.
John frowned, his expression severe. He was just as frozen in place as Oscar was at the sight of a tiny child in his child’s hand. “You don’t know where that came from or what it is,” he said firmly, shattering the trance. “Put it down!”
At that, one of his hands went for Dean’s wrist, intending to force his hands open. Dean stepped back, angling himself to put his arms out of reach, and the next thing that happened shocked them all.
“No.”
After weeks of being unable to talk because his voice would choke up inside his chest, Dean finally burst free of his impediment. His eyes narrowed and he cupped Oscar closer as John froze again. It was so long since Dean had used his voice it came out of his chest gruff and hoarse; but his refusal stood, clear as day. The echo of it danced around them, his defiant stand against his father after weeks of weathering the scathing comments.
“What did you say?” John asked in a command.
Dean straightened his shoulders as he faced off against his dad. Never before had he considered defying John’s orders, but here… Oscar was only a kid, and someone needed to stand up for him and help him. Dean had taken that on the moment he said Oscar could stay.
“I said no,” he repeated firmly. “Oscar’s just a kid, and he’s all on his own. Alone, with no one to watch after him. I’m not leaving him here.”
Oscar didn't know what to focus on first. After hearing the scathing words against him, he'd thought for sure that he'd be sent away by Dean's dad if not locked up or worse. During the jostling around, he curled up even more to protect himself from whatever might happen.
Despite all that, nothing could have prepared him for Dean to speak.
Weeks without saying a word were brushed aside as Dean spoke up, his voice gaining strength in the chest near where Oscar huddled. Oscar stared straight up, his lips parted. His own voice felt so much smaller now, just pitiful squeaks of fear. If he talked, the others could drown him out easily.
Oscar uncurled himself to turn around and peer out at Dean's father again. The inscrutable look on the face above him set his nerves racing again and he ducked out of sight. He didn't want to push his luck with a potentially angry human. The man already talked about him like some kind of pest.
At least Dean was shielding him. Oscar placed a hand on a nearby finger and hoped dearly that the larger human wouldn't come for him again. He was counting on Dean more than he ever realized he would need to when he first came into the room with his blanket bundled in his arms.
Dean and John stared at each other, unblinking during the standoff. John was the first one to look away, his gaze drawn back down to where Dean’s hands were cupped. Dean slowly uncurled his hand, letting John see the tiny child he held but staying at the ready in case the hunter lunged.
“He’s barely two inches tall, dad,” Dean said evenly, his voice forceful despite the weeks without being used. “Do you really think he’s dangerous?” Dean was disdainful at the thought. “He lost his family and was surviving off scraps. I’m not going to send him back to that.”
John scowled, but some of his intensity started to go down. “Where did you find him?”
Dean nodded at the floor. “Running from me and trying to hide.”
With a huff, John turned away. “If you want him to come along, you better be ready to watch out for him. I don’t need him getting in the way when I’m on a hunt.”
Dean narrowed his eyes, but in that moment saw his victory. “He’s not going to get in the way. You won’t even know he’s around. He’ll stick with me.” He lifted up his hands, looking at Oscar square in the face. “That is… if it’s still what you want, Oz.”
Oscar had his arms hugged around himself and he still trembled, but he nodded mutely. Being the center of attention was basically anathema to someone like Oscar, especially someone who grew up as timid as he had. He glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder and then quickly averted his gaze from John. It would take more effort to get used to that human.
A lot more effort.
Instead, he focused on Dean. "Y-yeah," he said quietly, feeling so meek after the stern voices passed back and forth over his head. "I don't wanna get left behind again."
His trepidation morphed suddenly into a confused frown. Another glance around the room, and then he spoke in an almost conspiratorial voice. "You called me 'Oz,’ not Oscar," he pointed out.
A brief smirk graced Dean’s face, despite the seriousness and urgency of their situation. “That’s right,” he said, suddenly realizing how good it felt to be able to speak up for himself. The wall in his mind that had held him back for so long was finally shattered, all in the name of defending the small kid in his hands.
He looked up at John, and didn’t explain himself further as he shifted his hands so only one held Oscar, and held out his hand for the colt, clearly expecting John to hand it over. Which he did, begrudgingly. Of all the weapons John owned, this one was Dean’s and always would be.
“We need to head out fast,” John said gruffly, glancing briefly at Oscar again before ignoring him. “The monster slipped me and might be able to track us back here, so we’re going to head to Bobby’s and try and catch it off guard. Don’t let me see him getting in the way.”
Dean scoffed as he tucked his gun in his pants and concealed it from view with his jacket. “I know what to do on a hunt. I think I can handle this.”
Oscar's tiny hands grasped at Dean's thumb for stability amidst the excitement. He saw the gun glint in the light as it passed between humans and didn't recognize what it was. Something told him it was serious. He watched Dean's face and suddenly wondered what kind of human he'd become so attached to over the last couple of weeks.
"A monster? " he echoed weakly, glancing at Dean's father yet again. He didn't look like the kind of man to make things up, and Dean accepted it without issue. "Ohhh." He couldn't help the quiet noise that escaped, a mix of exasperation and confusion and worry.
"Dean, my blanket," he said, a little louder but still so softly. The tattered cloth wasn't much, but it was his, and it remained on the pillow he slept on at night.
Dean ruffled Oscar’s hair with a thumb, then walked over to the bed. “Don’t worry, Oz,” he said reassuringly, “you don’t have to worry about the monsters. Dad’s a hunter, and I’m gonna be one too. I’ll always look out for you.”
The blanket was tiny between his fingers, barely a scrap of cloth. Dean tucked it away into his pocket, knowing his dad was standing there, impatiently waiting for him to leave. With a sigh, Dean held Oscar up next to the pocket. “You can come out when we’re in the car, okay?” he asked, bridging his fingers over the gap and slightly tilting them for Oscar. Despite John’s impatience, Dean didn’t take his eyes off Oscar, knowing a fall from this height could be fatal if the kid slipped over the edge of his fingers.
Oscar nodded and scooted himself towards the pocket. Despite knowing that he would be almost completely at Dean's mercy in a pocket with one difficult way out, he didn't waste time. The enclosed space invited him in to counter the nerves of the last several minutes. A weight left his tiny shoulders when he slipped into the pocket and out of sight.
He landed on his blanket and immediately shifted around to tug it over his shoulders instead. It was all happening faster than he ever anticipated. He was leaving his motel home behind, for real. The thudding heartbeat nearby offered him an anchor and Oscar sighed, resolving himself for whatever was to come.
He was ready.
FIN