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holliOkay, so a while ago I started an SPN Five Things called "Five Winchesters who Weren't," mostly on the strength of one really really shamelessly sappy idea that I had. I only wound up writing two things, one of which will never see the light of day because even I have sappiness limits, but the other one I still kind of like and have a lot of thinky thoughts about. Really, there could be an awesome AU in it, althought it will not be written by me, thank you.
So here's that one thing, and allow me to remind you that it is completely shameless.
1. little brother
Michigan's pretty damn out of the way, especially with the boys in tow, but there's report of a Black Dog in Saginaw and nobody closer than Oklahoma to cover it, so off John goes. He's driving through some nothing little town, on his way back to the apartment in southern Illinois they're renting this month, when he sees flashing lights. The boys are dozing in the back seat, and John's nosy, so he parks at the end of the street.
Dean startles to alertness when John takes the keys out of the ignition. "Are we back already, Dad?" And now Sam's rubbing his eyes, too.
"Nah, just want to check something out." He takes a five out of his wallet, hands it to Dean. "There's a convenience store down the end of the block. See if you can't get something like dinner for you and Sammy."
John strolls up to one of the various neighbors standing at the foot of his front steps, watching the officers talk to a teary-eyed woman. He puts on his best concerned face. "What's going on?"
The man just shakes his head, looking a little disgusted. "Neighbor boy's run off." His frown deepens as a couple of men emerge from the next house over from the woman, and join her and the cops. "Not like they're too concerned. He always turns up."
"So they didn't call the police?"
The man shakes his head; his expression's more like contempt now. "Like they'd bother. I called 'em. I do every time they start up, but it never does a damn bit of good. Seven years old, you think someone'd pay more attention."
Dean comes dashing up to John, Sam in tow behind him. "Dad! Dad, we gotta tell you something--"
"We're about to go, kiddo, you tell me back in the car, okay? Go get Sammy buckled in." There's nothing here for a hunter, it seems, and he'd rather the boys not hear whatever's got the neighbor so upset.
"But Dad--" Sam tugs on his sleeve. "We gotta--"
"In the car, Sammy. I'll just be a minute."
The neighbor watches them run off down the sidewalk. "Those your boys?" he asks.
"Yep." John can't help but let a little pride sneak into his voice. "Dean's eleven, Sammy's nearly eight."
"Well," the neighbor says, "I don't have kids, but I have dogs, and if I treated them like the Millers treat their boy, I wouldn't be fit to keep them." He gives the house across the street one last glare, before climbing the steps up to his door.
"So what was it you wanted to tell me?" John asks as he buckles himself in. In the rear-view, he sees them exchange a look.
"Nothing," Sam says. "Never mind."
"It's not important," adds Dean, so John puts it out of his mind for the next twenty miles or so, until it occurs to him that the boys are being entirely too quiet. They're not counting license plates, or bickering, and they didn't even moo when they passed a dairy farm.
"Boys, is something the matter?" He peers at the rear-view, and, yep, the look they exchange this time is all guilt. "Okay, out with it."
He figures they spent the fiver on candy, or something similar, but Dean looks too upset for that. "It was Sammy's idea!" he blurts, and okay, now John's actually worried. "I said we'd get in trouble, but--"
"Dad, we *had* to!" Sam insists. "We couldn't just leave him there."
Oh, lord. "Leave who?" John asks, and he's expecting a puppy or a stray cat, but it's a towheaded little scarecrow of a boy who picks himself up off the car floor, his red-rimmed eyes wide with fear.
John yanks the car over to the shoulder and brakes hard. "Sam, Dean, what are you-- if we'd crossed the state line, we'd be kidnapping! I could go to jail, you can't just--"
He realizes the boy is shaking, backed up so hard he's pressed into the seat. John forces himself to lower his voice. "Son, I don't know what my boys told you, but we have to take you home."
Somehow, that just makes him shake harder. "P-please," he says, and that's when John realizes there are bruises ringing his arms, a split in his lip, "please don't. S-sam said I could--"
"Dad, he didn't even have a coat," Dean says. "If we didn't take him with us, he'd have to go back or freeze."
The scrubby trees on the edge of the road have frost clinging to them. Sam and Dean, John realizes, had piled their coats in the footwell for the boy to curl up on.
"All right," John says, "All right. The police haven't helped?"
He shakes his head. "My dad tells them I run off, and steal, and my uncle does too. I c-can't tell my teachers, they don't listen--" Sam slings a protective arm around him.
"And your mother's no help?" From the look of the woman he saw, John can sort of guess the answer, but he has to ask.
"Stepmom. M-my real mom died in a fire. When I was a baby."
That's-- there's no way. It's a coincidence, it's got to be, but all the same-- "Okay." John rubs at his forehead, trying to work it out. "Why don't you come back with us for tonight, and we'll see about finding you somewhere safe to stay."
John pulls the car back onto the road. The boy scoots up onto the seat, between Sam and Dean, and Dean gets him buckled in. John realizes that he doesn't even know-- "Hey, kiddo?" The boy jumps a little, even at that. "What's your name?"
"He's Max," Sam says, protective already. "Max Miller."
"Well, for now, anybody asks, you're Max Winchester, okay? Think you can do that?" Max nods, and a tiny smile creeps onto his face.
John has a feeling he won't have much luck finding a place for the kid, but he also suspects Sam and Dean won't mind that one bit.
So here's that one thing, and allow me to remind you that it is completely shameless.
1. little brother
Michigan's pretty damn out of the way, especially with the boys in tow, but there's report of a Black Dog in Saginaw and nobody closer than Oklahoma to cover it, so off John goes. He's driving through some nothing little town, on his way back to the apartment in southern Illinois they're renting this month, when he sees flashing lights. The boys are dozing in the back seat, and John's nosy, so he parks at the end of the street.
Dean startles to alertness when John takes the keys out of the ignition. "Are we back already, Dad?" And now Sam's rubbing his eyes, too.
"Nah, just want to check something out." He takes a five out of his wallet, hands it to Dean. "There's a convenience store down the end of the block. See if you can't get something like dinner for you and Sammy."
John strolls up to one of the various neighbors standing at the foot of his front steps, watching the officers talk to a teary-eyed woman. He puts on his best concerned face. "What's going on?"
The man just shakes his head, looking a little disgusted. "Neighbor boy's run off." His frown deepens as a couple of men emerge from the next house over from the woman, and join her and the cops. "Not like they're too concerned. He always turns up."
"So they didn't call the police?"
The man shakes his head; his expression's more like contempt now. "Like they'd bother. I called 'em. I do every time they start up, but it never does a damn bit of good. Seven years old, you think someone'd pay more attention."
Dean comes dashing up to John, Sam in tow behind him. "Dad! Dad, we gotta tell you something--"
"We're about to go, kiddo, you tell me back in the car, okay? Go get Sammy buckled in." There's nothing here for a hunter, it seems, and he'd rather the boys not hear whatever's got the neighbor so upset.
"But Dad--" Sam tugs on his sleeve. "We gotta--"
"In the car, Sammy. I'll just be a minute."
The neighbor watches them run off down the sidewalk. "Those your boys?" he asks.
"Yep." John can't help but let a little pride sneak into his voice. "Dean's eleven, Sammy's nearly eight."
"Well," the neighbor says, "I don't have kids, but I have dogs, and if I treated them like the Millers treat their boy, I wouldn't be fit to keep them." He gives the house across the street one last glare, before climbing the steps up to his door.
"So what was it you wanted to tell me?" John asks as he buckles himself in. In the rear-view, he sees them exchange a look.
"Nothing," Sam says. "Never mind."
"It's not important," adds Dean, so John puts it out of his mind for the next twenty miles or so, until it occurs to him that the boys are being entirely too quiet. They're not counting license plates, or bickering, and they didn't even moo when they passed a dairy farm.
"Boys, is something the matter?" He peers at the rear-view, and, yep, the look they exchange this time is all guilt. "Okay, out with it."
He figures they spent the fiver on candy, or something similar, but Dean looks too upset for that. "It was Sammy's idea!" he blurts, and okay, now John's actually worried. "I said we'd get in trouble, but--"
"Dad, we *had* to!" Sam insists. "We couldn't just leave him there."
Oh, lord. "Leave who?" John asks, and he's expecting a puppy or a stray cat, but it's a towheaded little scarecrow of a boy who picks himself up off the car floor, his red-rimmed eyes wide with fear.
John yanks the car over to the shoulder and brakes hard. "Sam, Dean, what are you-- if we'd crossed the state line, we'd be kidnapping! I could go to jail, you can't just--"
He realizes the boy is shaking, backed up so hard he's pressed into the seat. John forces himself to lower his voice. "Son, I don't know what my boys told you, but we have to take you home."
Somehow, that just makes him shake harder. "P-please," he says, and that's when John realizes there are bruises ringing his arms, a split in his lip, "please don't. S-sam said I could--"
"Dad, he didn't even have a coat," Dean says. "If we didn't take him with us, he'd have to go back or freeze."
The scrubby trees on the edge of the road have frost clinging to them. Sam and Dean, John realizes, had piled their coats in the footwell for the boy to curl up on.
"All right," John says, "All right. The police haven't helped?"
He shakes his head. "My dad tells them I run off, and steal, and my uncle does too. I c-can't tell my teachers, they don't listen--" Sam slings a protective arm around him.
"And your mother's no help?" From the look of the woman he saw, John can sort of guess the answer, but he has to ask.
"Stepmom. M-my real mom died in a fire. When I was a baby."
That's-- there's no way. It's a coincidence, it's got to be, but all the same-- "Okay." John rubs at his forehead, trying to work it out. "Why don't you come back with us for tonight, and we'll see about finding you somewhere safe to stay."
John pulls the car back onto the road. The boy scoots up onto the seat, between Sam and Dean, and Dean gets him buckled in. John realizes that he doesn't even know-- "Hey, kiddo?" The boy jumps a little, even at that. "What's your name?"
"He's Max," Sam says, protective already. "Max Miller."
"Well, for now, anybody asks, you're Max Winchester, okay? Think you can do that?" Max nods, and a tiny smile creeps onto his face.
John has a feeling he won't have much luck finding a place for the kid, but he also suspects Sam and Dean won't mind that one bit.
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no subject
Date: 2007-04-30 03:56 pm (UTC)I like this John--he's tough but caring. And of course the boys would look out for Max.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-30 04:14 pm (UTC)And, yeah, ths is definitely how I see John when the boys were that age. I suspect he'd have to force himself to be a lot gentler, though, at least at first: what Sam and Dean hear as "stern but fair" would probably make Max flinch.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-30 06:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-30 07:29 pm (UTC)This should have been how it was.
no subject
Date: 2007-04-30 10:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-30 11:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-01 08:47 am (UTC)This is amazing, I'm just sad it's no an epic fic, because I'd read anything about it.
Fantastic idea.
no subject
Date: 2007-05-01 11:32 am (UTC)