Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue.

South Dakota, 1989. 

Thud. Thud. Thud. Bobby woke up to the incessant sound of somebody knocking on his door. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the alarm clock on his nightstand; it read three a.m. on the dot. He groaned, exasperated, and grabbed the gun from under his pillow before heading down the stairs to open the door.

He would’ve liked to say that he was surprised to see John Winchester with his two sons behind it, but it had become a common sight over the last few years. At some point, it became almost his default to entrust the children with him for long periods of time whenever he worked a difficult case or was running low on cash. What did surprise him was the urgency of his visit and the angered look in his eyes. That’s when he noticed that he was grabbing onto Dean and digging his fingers into his shoulders. Before Bobby could give him a puzzled look, John pushed Dean towards the older man.

“I need you to take Dean for a while,” John said through his teeth, clearly upset. “I’ll send you some money later on.”

“Wait,” Bobby said, holding onto the kid. “What’s going on? What happened?”

“This… defiant little rascal,” John spat, with something similar to hatred seeping from his words, “almost got his brother killed! I asked him one little thing: to keep Sammy away from harm. And he goes and lets him roam around an arcade so that some stoner pagans can snatch him and sacrifice him to a god for fertile soil. For what? Some pizza and candy? This was my last straw Bobby! I swear to God!”

Bobby then looked at Dean in the eyes, but he couldn't see what John was raging about: those were the eyes of a scared ten-year-old no matter how you looked at them, not the eyes of a 'defiant little rascal'. A child. He tried to understand, he really did, but all he saw was a big angry man and a terrified little boy, and there was no questioning who was in the wrong there.  So, he said what he never figured he would say.

"Leave him here… but don't come back."

“What?”

“You heard me, John,” Bobby said in his calmest voice possible. “Leave Dean to me, but don’t come back. Take Sammy with you – or hell, leave him here too, I don’t care. Just don’t come back with your bullshit, or I will shoot you off my property.”

John shot daggers at him but didn’t say anything else. Bobby figured he was computing something in that one-dimensioned brain of his.

“’Kay,” John said, more calmly now. “Dean stays. But we’re off.”

Dean, who hadn’t said anything in this whole exchange, turned around in desperation and tried to grab onto his father. “Dad, no!”

But John Winchester had already turned around and taken Sammy with him, back to his impala. Bobby didn’t grab onto the kid, letting him chase after the man who had just given up on being his father. There was something to be learned in all of this, for both John and Dean, as tragic as it was; so, he let the kid do. Once John was no longer in sight and Dean had shed more than a few tears, Bobby hauled him inside, where the kid would be put to sleep in a warm bed at least.

Over the next few days, Bobby figured the dispute at his front door would become a wakeup call of sorts. John would realize he was being the worst of fathers and was losing his son to the chase of a fruitless vengeance, for killing a demon was down-right impossible. He would then come begging to take Dean back – if not because he loved Dean, because he needed the boy to care for little Sam. Then Bobby would have the pleasure of shooting a few bucks at him, only in mild retaliation for being a complete moron.

But John had promised to not come back – and come back he didn't.

Chapter Text

Chapter 1. The father, the son, and the deadbeat.

South Dakota, Summer of 1989.

Dean could recall the exact moment he realized his father wasn’t coming back for him: It was closer to the end of summer, a couple of months after he’d been dropped at Bobby’s unceremoniously in the middle of the night, just when the old man had made the most unusual of offers over breakfast. Dean hadn’t expected it, but it seemed like Bobby had been thinking about it for a while.

“I think it’ll do ya some good to go to school, kid,” Bobby had said. “The new term starts soon and there’s this school nearby…”

The young boy wasn’t used to the idea of school, much less to how it could do him any good. The last school day he remembered was blurry and distant enough that he couldn’t even pinpoint whether it was a positive or negative experience. He wasn’t even sure what to expect of school. John would often force him to read and do work, but it was all hunting related – survival skills, gun care, monster lore. Did that even count?

“I don’t know, Uncle Bobby,” he mumbled as he moved his eggs around.

Bobby understood his hesitation, but he needed Dean to experience something other than monsters and death in his life. Sure, the first few months together were good and busy; throwing a ball and working on cars would keep a young mind occupied, but that wasn’t enough to nurture a child. School would provide for things that Bobby couldn’t like friends, consistency… a real education. Math and Biology instead of Pagan Rituals and Exorcisms. There was the issue of summer too. People didn’t raise eyebrows or asked questions, but soon they would start to wonder why a child wasn’t at school on a random Tuesday morning and he couldn’t afford some snooping government worker around his home.

“You’ll like it – besides, we don’t want you turning into a real idjit,” Bobby warned. “Your brain becomes mush when you don’t use it.”

Dean frowned. “I’m not an idiot.”

“Then go to school,” Bobby countered.

“What if… what if my dad comes back?” the boy questioned, reluctant.

Bobby took a moment to answer. “… then he can kiss my pretty ass before taking you on the road again.”

Dean laughed, but he knew what that pause meant. It meant that Bobby didn’t expect his father to come back soon… or ever. Otherwise, he would’ve kept him around, busy doing anything at home or in the yard – anything to still pretend his father was forced to keep him away and not having abandoned him. So, as his laugh died down, he decided to do as Bobby had done and dropped all his expectations of John ever coming back.

“Okay then,” Dean said decidedly. “I’ll go.”

“That’s my kid,” Bobby said with a chuckle, as he extended his arm across the table to mess Dean’s hair.

Hearing those words, Dean’s cheeks flared, and his heart swelled.

Later, with the beginning of the new term, came many new things in the Singer household.

For starters, Dean Winchester became Dean K. Singer, son of Robert and Karen Singer. Bobby had some connections that provided them with the right paperwork to enroll Dean in the 5^th grade, and it included a new set of parents for the young boy and a pretty backstory (with some made-up paper trails) to go along with them. The house was another thing that changed. Bobby moved the old books upstairs and cleared the home as best as he could to make it look like a real house, where normal people lived. Dean even got new sheets, a bookcase and a paint job for the guest room – his new room – along with a bike and a backpack for school. 

“I can’t be driving ya to school, so this should do for now,” Bobby said as he brought the bike to the yard.

Dean loved it. Bobby had very obviously built it from things in the scrapyard, but it was sturdy and painted in a nice coat of bright red. “Rad!” he said. “Thank you, Uncle Bobby.”

The last thing that changed was Bobby himself. The man knew very little about being a father – that, he could admit to himself. He wasn’t naturally caring or soft, and in fact he was very afraid that it was in his nature to be the exact opposite of that, but there was no turning back on taking Dean in and making him his own. So, it was decided they would maintain a delicate balance of a normal life and hunting, as in Dean would live a normal life and hunting would take a backseat unless absolutely necessary, for the sake of their work and school schedule.

When Bobby had told Rufus, the man laughed at him. ‘Demons don’t care about school nights!’ he huffed over the phone, but he didn’t insist and eventually started sending hunters the way of other experts, and Bobby’s hunting phone started ringing so rarely that he considered unplugging it from time to time, when he remembered it was still there. He always decided against it, just in case, but the temptation never dwindled.

Of course, not everything was fixed for good. Dean was still a child soldier, and with that there came a whole lot of attitude and violence, little triggers that set him off, and the worst of the brunt: the nightmares. Bobby would wake up every few nights to screaming and crying, bangs on the doors and kicking the furniture, Dean begging for his dad to come save him, for the monsters to please leave him alone. Bobby wasn’t sure how to stop it, but he guessed that the best he could do was to tend to the kid for as long as he could before he could calm down and go back to bed.

Being father and son wasn’t easy for either of them. There were a lot of new experiences, unknowns and truths yet to be told, but they did what they could with what they had, and it eventually worked out for the better. Dean started the 5^th grade without any major issues and Bobby was able to pour himself back into his mundane job without the guilt itching in the back of his brain. For what they both cared, demons and ghosts and djinns and monsters were a thing of the past.

South Dakota, Summer of 1991.

The next time Dean saw his biological father was much later, during the last days of his sixth grade. It was a hot May afternoon, and he was biking with a friend – Luke O’Donell, local wimp with a heart of gold who, coincidentally, also loved AC/DC and had more than a few cassettes at home – when Dean spotted the unmistakable impala parked around the corner from his home. He gulped.

“Hey, Luke,” Dean said while slowing down his bike. “Maybe you should go home. We can listen to those tapes later.”

“What? Why?” Luke stopped immediately, disappointment shining through his brown eyes. “I thought you said your dad was making us burgers for dinner.”

Dean stopped next to him and with his eyes he signaled to John’s car. “John’s here.”

“For real?” Luke immediately looked over the corner, curious.

“Yeah, that’s his car,” Dean said stiffly. “Trust me, I’m sparing us some trouble. My dad can make us burgers any other time, too.”

“Well… if you say so…”

“Dean,” a male voice spoke over the two boys and Dean’s back immediately straightened.

The boy turned around to the imposing figure of John Winchester. His dark hair was longer, but other than that, his rugged appearance hadn’t changed much in the couple of years Dean hadn’t seen him. Unconsciously, Dean looked behind him, hoping to see little Sammy trailing behind, but he didn’t spot the brunette anywhere.

“Sir,” Dean said roughly, not wanting to call him ‘Dad’ and afraid to call him ‘John’. “What brings you here?”

The question lingered in the air and even Luke had a hard time discerning if the cold look John was giving them was good or bad. The brunette boy gulped audibly, bringing John’s attention to him and his frail frame. Luke’s father had never laid a hand on him, but in his mind, John Winchester looked capable of doing that and worse, given what he had heard from Dean before.

“Your friend should go home,” John said coldly.

Luke did not hesitate to whisper a hurried goodbye to Dean and race down the street as soon as he was able to. Dean’s eyes followed his back all the way until he couldn’t spot him anymore. John observed him, though there was no curiosity behind his black eyes – only a distant need of recognition.

“Where’s Bobby?” John asked, not wanting to lose any time in reunions or sobbing with his kid. Not that Dean would give him any of that, even if he allowed for it to happen.

The kid wasn’t quite the little boy he had dropped at Bobby’s two years prior. He was a few inches taller, a few shades tanner, and looked plumper, although not chubby. There was a certain softness to the kid that John did not remember him having, nor did he want him to have. He looked like a proper tween and it both irked John and saddened him. How could he live so freely when there were monsters out there? He felt like shaking Dean, but refrained on the account that he would not speak if he did so.

“He’s probably getting some groceries,” Dean explained flatly. “We’re having burgers for dinner.”

John laughed to himself. “How idyllic,” he muttered.

“You’re welcome to wait here or on the yard,” Dean muttered. “I’ll go inside now.”

John stepped towards him and Dean flinched in response. The man sighed, not wanting to push his luck further with the boy.

“I hope you’re not giving Bobby any trouble,” he says.

“No, sir,” Dean gulps. “We’ve been doing fine. I get good grades, too.”

“You go to school?” John questioned, genuinely bewildered. “What’s Bobby teaching you?”

Dean’s hands curl into nervous fists. “I’m going to middle school in September… sir.”

“And hunting?” John steps closer. “You stopped hunting?” the man grabs Dean by his shoulders, and the boy immediately stiffens, not wanting to say anything or look John in the eyes.

Before the boy has to say anything though, a voice calls out for him from across the street and Dean is relieved to spot his neighbor, Mrs. Jones.

“Dean!” she motions excitedly towards him, making John step back. “I knew it was you!”

“Mrs. Jones,” he breathes. “What’s up?”

“Well, I was talking to Wendell about how you offered to mown the lawn and he remembered we have little Wendell’s old stuff just collecting dust up in the attic and we wanted to check if you want to give it a look and maybe clean up there as well… you know, Wendell is too old to climb up there but I bet it’ll be a breeze for you and you can keep whatever you like as well…” the middle-aged woman kept speaking at a rapid pace and Dean pretended to carefully listen, glancing back at John from time to time. John did seem to get increasingly annoyed at her. “Oh, I do apologize, I didn’t see you there. I’m Rebecca Jones, I live right across and know the kid and the father pretty well… and you are?”

“John,” the man extended his hand. “I’m a friend of the family.”

Rebecca shook his hand and carefully looked at John. “Hadn’t I seen you before?”

“No,” he replied curtly. “It’s my first time visiting in a while.”

“Well, I saw Bobby go out a while ago, so why don’t the both of you come by for some refreshments? I made lemonade earlier and it’s cold now,” she smiled, pointing at her home.

“I think I will come back later,” John said through his teeth.

“No, no, I insist,” Rebecca urges. “Bobby shouldn’t be long, anyway.”

“I am okay,” John replicated, and Dean knew his patience was wearing thin. “Maybe I can take Dean for ice cream, right kid? I’m sure Bobby won’t mind.”

Dean didn’t want to agree, because it would mean being alone with John and it would mean being alone with the anger that was boiling under his skin just now. He looked at Mrs. Jones, who was also starting to catch up with his hesitation when a hand dropped on his shoulder from behind him.

“John,” Bobby said somberly. “I didn’t know you were going to drop by.”

“I was in town,” John said, now visibly more relaxed, but still cold. “Thought we could catch up.”

“Rebecca,” Bobby nodded her way. “Mind watching Dean for a few minutes?”

“No problem! I had just told him to come by for lemonade,” she replied sweetly, before grabbing the kid and gently pulling him away. “I’ll send him back later!”

Neither of the men turned to look at Dean as he walked away with Rebecca, and from the glance he threw back to them, the kid could tell that he was much better far away and nowhere John would feel safe to take him along. Once they went through the screen door to the Jones’ home, he felt himself sigh in relief.

“Honestly kid, who was that?” the woman asked. “He’s so scary looking.”

“Just some old friend of Dad’s,” Dean mumbled. “He doesn’t like me very much.”

“Doesn’t seem to like anyone too much!” the woman complained. “Looks like a very unfriendly guy.”

“He really is, Mrs. Jones, he really is,” Dean said as he looked through the screen door and noticed neither men were visible anymore. “More than unfriendly really… just a mean man.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 2. Like father...

South Dakota, 1991.

Bobby stared at John across his dining room table. Back when he had dropped off Dean, he seemed like a dictator – a man with such a sense of self-importance and the littlest of fuses that even Bobby would cower away from his anger. Now, he seemed more like a small and sad man, weathered by whatever he had been hunting out there. Bobby felt a sense of satisfaction when he realized he couldn’t and didn’t want to relate to John anymore.

“Demon got your tongue?” Bobby questioned after a few moments of silence. “Spit it out, why are you here?”

John didn’t answer. Instead, he observed the room he had been dragged into. The man had seen the inside of the Singer household many times before: the battered books piling up in the corners, the ammunition and the tools scattered around for easy access, the groups of beer bottles waiting to be picked up. This wasn’t that. The curtains were drawn, and the sunlight showered the rooms. The books and the piling beer bottles were replaced with board games and schoolwork, a skateboard, baseballs, a bat, a pitching glove. This was a home.

“The kid had a bike, too,” John said finally, amused.

“If you’re just going to sit there and babble nonsense you better get going,” Bobby pointed out dryly.

“I’m just surprised how much you’re enjoying playing ‘Dad’… should I start calling you Gil¹? Maybe you should also update the sign for the yard. Buckman’s has a nice ring to it,” John mused, although there was venom in his tone.

The sound of a gun cocking slightly surprised John and, as he looked under the table, a chuckle escaped his lips.

“I’m just surprised, Bobby,” John raised his hands over his head. “I’m taking things in.”

“You better start spilling things out. My patience is not what it was,” Bobby’s eyes never wavered.

John hummed and decided that he could forget about Dean if it meant receiving Bobby’s help.  

“I found the demon.” John stated. Bobby barely blinked and the younger man thought it was taking him a minute to assimilate his words, but when he kept his unamused look, John figured he simply wasn’t going to show him any emotion – positive or negative.

<< Of course, I knew I would… someday. I just didn’t expect it to happen so soon. I was doing a job in Indiana. It was honestly so random. This lady was spilling her guts about her kid that was sick at the hospital, swearing up and down she had done everything to have him and that she was sure it was a demon who was doing it to anyone and everyone that listened. I inquired on and on, and found some idiotic girl… a new witch doing some widespread hex. But it irked me you know? Why was that lady so sure it was a demon? So, I pushed her until she spit it. She made a deal back in the day, it even got her husband killed in a house fire. The deal? To let this demon, Azazel, come into her house in ten years’ time in exchange for curing a heart defect that would’ve killed her before even having any children. It was the day her son turned six months on the dot, same day her husband died. Then it clicked for me that November 2^nd was around the six-month mark for Sammy too, so I counted.>>

John shifted and his face fell, from serious into a painful contortion. Bobby crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair, trying to take everything in.  

<<Six months on the dot, Bobby. I really racked my brain to remember what could’ve pushed Mary to make a deal. Her folks were gone, and she never complained about anything, so why would she do it? I still can’t wrap my head around it. I don’t think I ever will.>>

“So? Where did you find the bastard?” Bobby coughed awkwardly. He didn’t want to start feeling bad for John or turn into a shoulder to cry on.

“He moves around, but I’m positive he’s circling this town in Wyoming,” John cleared his throat. “I also caught wind of something he’s looking for.”

“What?”

“The Colt.”

“Ha!” Bobby laughed. “That ol’ hunter fairytail? Even if it was real, what demon would come into shooting distance of you?”

“It’s real… I tracked it back to someone,” John explained, frustrated. “I am sure I can get my hands on it. The issue is Sammy.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow. “What’s going on with Sam?”

“If the bastard had an agenda it has something to do with Sam. Why else would’ve Mary fought him in the nursery? Why else would’ve that other dad also died?” John put his face between his hands and rubbed away the tears starting to pool in his eyes. “That’s why I decided he needs to be safe. Having him on the road isn’t. Not now, at least.”

“And now you want… what exactly? Are you handing him to me?” Bobby questioned, although not as angrily as before.

John laughed softly. He looked at Bobby with this amused look and a half-smile that reminded the man a lot of his own son. It bothered him, but it was so obvious that he was his father. The way the corner of their eyes crinkled was eerily similar. Bobby was so lost in his own thoughts for a second that he didn’t immediately catch Johns sarcastic laugh.

“No, well, yes but not anymore,” John said. “I waited for a few days before showing my face here. Everything I saw made me realize that losing one kid is better than losing both.”

“Losing a kid?” Bobby spat, baffled.

“The bike? The little friend and your neighbor? School at eight and into your door by three thirty? The kid acts like nothing is going on. He’s too soft now. He’s not a hunter anymore. You’re not even a hunter anymore.”

“He’s a kid, John. He deserves a life, friends, a bed and something more – something that’s not monsters and demons,” Bobby argued, his voice rising.

“Not my kid. It wasn’t in his nature, sure, but a few years… a few years on the road would’ve hardened him for the life,” John argued back.

“So, you’re telling me you don’t want that for Sammy? A happy life?” Bobby was now standing, and yelling.

“An apple pie life is nothing more than ignorance and complacency, Bobby!” John went red with anger. “If I can save Sammy from that then I will.”

“Where’s Sam, John?” Bobby questioned. “I will take him in, damn it. I will give him everything. Just don’t play about that anymore. Don’t make a decision that will ruin your kid… both your kids’ lives. Just tell me where he is.”

John sighed as he put his hands on his knees and pushed on them to stand up.

“I hid him away,” he said. “Somewhere it’s hard even for me to reach. Thought that if you had kept Dean well-trained I could sweep him off and bring him back. But I can’t. Not when you’re going soft.”

“I swear to god John, if you don’t bring me the kid…!” Bobby yelled.

“I will post an obituary every three weeks, you know the drill,” John sighs. “Come looking once I don’t.”

“John!”

“Stop it Bobby!” John yells back, suddenly. “I wanted to! I really did! But at least one of my sons will remember his family and fight to avenge it.”

“You’re just a bitter man, if you’re willing to ruin your family like this,” Bobby warned him.

“And you’re a pathetic man if you’re this willing to steal my son away,” John spat.

The younger man walked past Bobby with his stoic look back on. His steps rang heavily on the hardwood floor. Bobby didn’t think to look back or to even say goodbye; his blood was boiling at the thought of Sammy, somewhere out there, by himself, probably scared to death.

“Oh. You should tell Dean… Sam’s okay,” John said quietly. “I left something in the mailbox for him.”

Bobby huffed, incredulously. “Sure.”

Once he heard the sound of the door closing behind John, Bobby kicked the table towards the wall. The crash lead to Dean’s skateboard and helmet to topple over, among other things. He sighed painfully once he realized he had just lost the only thing he could never give him – his brother.

Once Dean was allowed to be back home, his father remained silent throughout. Neither could be bothered to bring up John, but there was a more pressing issue than the man, and that was Sammy. Dean couldn’t bring himself to ask out loud, but his eyes kept staring holes into Bobby, and that drove the man insane with guilt as he had decided that keeping John’s stupid plan to himself.

“John… he left this for you,” Bobby said awkwardly after clearing the plates, while putting a cream-colored envelope on top of the table.

“Don’t want it,” Dean said, his throat tight.

“I think it’s worth looking at, kid,” Bobby whispered. “I think… I think it’s from someone you’d like to hear from.”

“Can I be excused?” Dean asked as he shakily took the envelope.

“Yeah, I’ll finish here kid,” Bobby sighed. “Don’t worry about your old man.”

“Thanks dad,” Dean breathily said before bolting out of the kitchen with the envelope.

Upstairs, in his room, Dean ripped the envelope open and pulled the contents onto his bed. He guessed Sam had put it together for him and John was only in charge of delivering it, although he didn’t put it past his biological father to pull out any sort of direct communication. He was still glad to see how Sammy was doing.

Inside the envelope there were only a few school-related papers, some newspaper clippings of movie schedules of movies Sam probably watched, and a picture of Sammy against a blue background. Dean guessed he had been lucky enough to be a part of Picture Day at some random school, which made him smile. He rummaged through the papers and found a few homework sheets, but what caught his eye was that there was a letter carefully placed between two tightly stapled cardboard report cards, contraband of sorts. Sam’s still child-like handwriting narrated few things, but Dean focused on the last line of the letter:

‘Don’t come back. I’m glad at least you’re with Uncle Bobby. I miss you.’

Dean cried that night while holding the letter, although it would be the last night it would be out of a plastic cover, as he noticed that although John Winchester had been decent enough one time, it probably wouldn’t happen ever again.

¹Gil Buckman is one of the main character from a (fairly popular) 1989 movie called ‘Parenthood’ and is a businessman who decides to become a more present father when he realizes his children are not doing well. I recommend it! It’s actually really good! My guess is that John saw it at a motel or rented it in VHS for Sammy at some point.