[fanfic] SPN "Do Dandelions Roar" Chpt 10 Title: Do Dandelions Roar: Chapter Ten Author:kuwamiko Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, John, Missouri Rating: R-NC17 Spoilers: nothing major (set in pre-series AU) Summary: Two years ago Dean disappeared. Now John and Sam have gotten him back. But how will the three of them deal with the unexpected changes his trials in the time between have effected? Warnings: Nongraphic references to non-con sex and underage prostitution. Violence. Language. Incest (duh). Author's Note: This is AU, utter self indulgence, and has massive Dean!whumpage. Will contain Wincest eventually. Set about a year before the pilot, with some major differences. [chpt 1] [chpt 2] [chpt 3] [chpt 4] [chpt 5] [chpt 6] [chpt 7] [chpt 8] [chpt 9] [chpt 10] [chpt 11] [chpt 12] [chpt 13] [chpt 14] [chpt 15] [chpt 16] [chpt 17] [chpt 18] [chpt 19] [chpt 20] [chpt 21] [chpt 22] [chpt 23] [chpt 24] [chpt 25] [chpt 26] [chpt 27] [chpt 28] [chpt 29] [chpt 30] [chpt 31]
"Do Dandelions Roar"
- Chapter Ten - by KnM
"All right, Ash. Thank you. Yeah, I'll send the check to the Roadhouse. No, it won't bounce, God! Just-- look, just tell Ellen to keep an eye out for it, okay? Bye."
John hung up with a little more force than necessary, stuffing his phone back into his jacket pocket and climbing into his truck. Dean's wallet had vanished with him, only his ring and pendant left behind on the beach that fateful day. Not that most of what had been in it wouldn't have been useless now anyway; Dean certainly wasn't twenty-five, not physically.
So this morning John had kept busy buying a new wallet and re-creating most of the papers that had been in the old one. Getting new photo identification made for Dean was unfortunately going to have to wait until John could get his hands on a camera and take some pictures, but he'd forged a new social security card, birth certificate, and other miscellaneous identification.
Now, thanks to his last phone call, the hacker genius who had helped him to finally find his missing son was going to get into the Lawrence, Kansas data base and change Dean's date of birth. Thank God virtually everything was done on computers nowadays. And thank God -- and Ellen Harvelle -- that John knew someone who could take advantage of that fact.
Of course, Mary had been killed a good six or seven years before what would be Dean's new date of birth.... John and Ash had argued back and forth, but finally John had agreed to allow Ash to put a strange woman's name on the birth certificate. It felt wrong, so very wrong, to rob Dean of his mother like that, to erase her name from the paper -- virtual though it was -- that documented the day he had come into John and Mary's life and made them parents....
But John wasn't taking any chances that anyone might be able to take his boy away now that he'd finally gotten him back. A fourteen year old without any "legitimate" ties to the Winchester name would end up in the hands of the authorities, no matter how vehemently John swore that Dean was his son.
Anyhow, the change was only for legal purposes, and he doubted there would be any reason for Dean to even know. It would only confuse him, as he was now. John would have to tell Sam, who was the "older" brother now, and Sam would probably be pissed -- this was going to make Sam and Dean legally half-brothers, he mused abstractly -- but it wasn't as though he'd had a choice. It was what was necessary. And it wasn't going to wipe away any of the memories either boy had of their childhood and lives together.
The Melusine had done that to Dean already, of course, John mused bitterly. But Missouri had promised him that the condition was temporary; that Dean's memories hadn't been taken away, only scrambled and lost. His boy would come back to John and to himself. John had faith in his son's ability and will to heal... if not for his own sake then for his father and brother.
Now he had Dean's new position as his younger son set. He'd still have to break into the Douglas County Public Record Building, to change the paper copies of Dean's information. Good thing he had grown adept at forgery in the last twenty-one years; not a skill he'd ever thought he'd need, when he'd been younger, before the Yellow-Eyed Demon had struck his family and shattered their lives.
But that little trip was going to have to wait. No way could he do it in the middle of the day, and he'd have to be sure that he had all the appropriate papers already prepared.
John glanced at the time and turned the steering wheel toward the nearest super store. He needed to get back, back to his sons, both of them, but there were a few things that Dean needed, that John hadn't gotten in his last shopping trip. There was that little voice in his head that screamed "avoidance".... But Dean was busy with Missouri right now, and if John and Sam were alone together for too long they were liable to start fighting again. His split lip still stung as a reminder of that fact.
He loved his boys. He did. But right now it was best for him to stay away from both of them. At least for a few more hours.
He'd get a digital camera, so that he could complete Dean's wallet with a couple of pieces of photo ID. Also, Dean needed a new cell phone; his old one had vanished with him. And a .45 to replace the one he'd had when he'd been fourteen... last time he had been fourteen. John had to struggle for a moment to recall what had happened to it, and then he remembered the spirit of the coal miner who'd turned his son's weapon on himself. It hadn't been any monster that had destroyed the gun -- it had been John, himself. And Dean still had a thick, twisted scar on his right thigh that would make John ache for the rest of his life.
All of Dean's scars from the last two years were inside, now, where his father couldn't reach them. But hopefully at this very moment Missouri was helping Dean. John clung to that knowledge, needed it to get him through the day.
And in the meantime, he was going to have to keep busy, in order to avoid losing what was left of his sanity.
Dean would need a new .45; he was going to have to be able to protect himself. And a silver blade while John was at it. One he could fit into his shoe... provided he and Sam could keep the boy in his shoes.
That reminded him, he had to get a pair of slippers. If Dean was going to be running around Missouri's house without his shoes on, he'd need slippers.
Camera, cell phone, silver blade, gun.... John ran the list through his mind; he didn't want to forget anything.
And slippers. He definitely couldn't forget the slippers. Maybe a pair for Sam as well. He might not be able to do much for either of his boys right now, but at least he could do that much.
"Cell phone, slippers, and a forty-five," he murmured to himself as he flicked his turn signal and pulled into the super store parking lot.
He would make sure that Dean got what he needed.
***
There had never been so much pain in her home before. Not even with the grieving widows and widowers, the bereft parents who came to her seeking a last word from a loved one, or just the assurance that there was an afterlife....
Not even the first time John Winchester had visited with his two babies in tow, the loss of his wife an open wound, his older son's fear and confusion an invisible wall between himself and the adult world. Not even then had there been this much pain in her home.
She almost hated John Winchester for bringing this down on her head, but it wasn't in her to resent people for their misfortunes.
And, really, where else could the man have brought his poor broken boy? Even if John knew another psychic that he trusted as much as Missouri... she shuddered to think of another person pushing their way into Dean's head, forcing him, leaving psychic fingerprints all over his already damaged brain. Maybe it was immodest of her, but she had a hard time believing that anyone else would have the delicate touch she did. What other mind reader had seen Dean when he was four years old, after all? No one else, that was who!
Dean's thoughts were a lot less open to her now than they had been when he'd been a baby, of course, but that was only to be expected.
Missouri kept an eye on Dean while she puttered about her kitchen, putting together a hot lunch. He sat at the table, hands clasped in his lap, quiet, his gaze turned inward. She could "hear" the surface of his thoughts, though, and knew that he was anything but silent internally. He was wildly processing things, struggling to piece together the fragmented memories that he could finally begin to hold onto. It wasn't going to be easy.
At this point the poor child was lucky to now be able to remember his name. Whatever power had placed its mark on him, it had done more than mess with his mind. His very existence, both previous and current, had been fractured, scattered. Even now that he could actually hold onto his memories, instead of having them for only a moment before they slipped away again, they were not linear, did not fit together neatly the way they were supposed to. Someone had upended the puzzle box, and Dean was going to have to put all the pieces back together. And Missouri could only help him so much.
And then there was Sam. That boy, bless his battered heart, was upstairs in their bedroom. Not sulking, Missouri was willing to allow, because his pain was real and completely reasonable. As much as it had hurt Dean when his brother had left for college -- and she suspected that Sam hadn't previously had the faintest idea how much -- Dean had wounded his brother in return now, without even meaning to. It hadn't been fair to either Sam or Dean that this desertion had been the first thing of his brother that Dean had remembered, but life was never fair, and it only made sense that the strongest memory return to Dean before any others.
Missouri felt bad for Sam, could feel his confusion, guilt, sadness, and, yes, faint resentment radiating through her entire house, and she didn't blame him for a single nuance. But John wasn't back yet and she couldn't leave Dean alone to go to him. Sam needed a good talking-to, needed to be told that it was all right to feel bad but not to wallow in self pity... and he needed a nice, tight hug.
Well, John should be back soon. She'd give Dean into his care -- it was about time the man stopped running away and gave his boy some focused attention -- and go to Sam then. He'd have to angst alone until then, but she was only one woman and there was only so much that she could do.
"Cream of tomato soup and grilled tuna sandwiches, how does that sound, Dean?" she asked, sending the boy a slightly distracted smile from where she stood before the stove.
Dean's head came up at the sound of his name and he focused on her. There was so much that she couldn't read from him; it was odd. She wasn't sure if he was unconsciously shielding, if he had somehow learned how to consciously shield, or if it had something to do with the mark on the back of his neck, the touch of the supernatural on his skin and brain. She was inclined to think it was the latter, but at this point nothing would have surprised her. As it was, she was only able to get whispers of what he was thinking, and it had only been with time and patience, coupled with gentle requests, that she had been able to get into his head enough to begin repairing the damage.
The memories in his head were horrific. She'd gotten a taste of them, even though Dean had seemed to do his best to keep them away from her. As she had told his father and brother, Dean had suffered violations physical, mental, and emotional.... And she was sure that tonight she was going to dream of choking, drowning, being held in salt water under crushing weight, entangled in long, slick hair, unable to break free.
To think that there were memories in his head that were worse than being beaten and raped. She wouldn't have thought it if she hadn't gotten a taste of what it had been to be captured and held by the Melusine. Though he'd been held longer by the humans and the things they had done to him had been terrible as well. Violation was violation, whatever the manner or source.
It might not be a kindness, to bring Dean back to himself, to rob him of the fog that had been clouding his mind until this morning... but she'd had to do it. He had to be given the choice, couldn't continue on as he had been. He had been struggling, trying and failing to remember who he was and who the people around him were. Missouri had felt enough of his anguish and frustration -- both the night before and this morning -- to know this was true.
What he would find now that he knew he was "Dean Winchester"... well, he had the tools now to deal with it. She'd do all she could to help him, but the most important hurdle had already been surmounted. She couldn't say she was pleased, but she'd done her best and it might hurt now, but it was for the better in the long run.
Dean didn't reply to her, it seemed too much effort for him at this point to form and voice a reply, but she could sense the flicker of interest and approval at the surface of his thoughts. His green eyes were fixed on her, and she knew he was actually seeing her. His mind was able to hold both her face and her name, and that was more than he'd been able to grasp before they had gone into her reading room this morning.
She'd done good; John Winchester's blind faith in her had been borne out and she'd been able help his boy. She was relieved, because despite her confident words to both John and Sam, there had been times when she had feared that Dean might be too deeply damaged for her to reach. He'd allowed her to carefully come inside, however, and he had seemed to quickly grasp what she was trying to do for him, and had done his best to meet her halfway. Even with the strange shields that she'd encountered, even though he'd tried to shelter her from the worst of his rampant memories, Dean had still been one of the most responsive subjects she had ever worked with. He'd reacted instinctively, somehow seeming to know just what she was trying to do, and the best way to help her to do it. He'd helped her to help him, and with as shattered and broken as he was, that was simply amazing to her.
He had a long way to go yet, but Dean had things well in hand. He would still need her help, but he was going to be able to do most of his healing on his own. Now, she'd have to go and talk to Sam, and then she needed to give John a stern talking to about not avoiding his sons, either of them....
Speaking of John, that was his truck she heard rumbling up, stopping at the curb out front. Perfect timing; the soup and sandwiches were ready.
She could sense John's uncertainty and burgeoning hope as he let himself into the house, and she smiled a little. He was hoping so hard that he was coming back to a son who remembered himself, who recognized him, but he was so afraid to let himself anticipate it. She would make sure he didn't dangle too long.
"We're in the kitchen, John," she called, ladling the soup into three bowls -- she would take one up to Sam before she came back down to have her own -- and setting two of them on the table.
Dean's head had snapped up at her hail, and his eyes were huge. Missouri's small smile widened as John stepped into the kitchen, and Dean launched himself across the room with a glad cry.
"DAD!"
Missouri hoped that there wasn't anything breakable in the bags that John so unceremoniously dropped, but the expression on the man's face as he locked his arms around the boy who had just slammed into his chest rendered such considerations trivial.
Maybe she wasn't going to have to lecture John after all.
"Dean--" was all John managed to choke out, and then neither of them was talking, neither was capable of speaking, but the way their arms were locked around each other, the tears on their cheeks, said everything that needed saying.
Missouri quickly and quietly divided the two grilled sandwiches; one half a piece for everyone in the house. Putting John and Dean's on the table, she then placed Sam's soup and half sandwich on a tray, adding a glass of juice, since she didn't keep pop in the house, and hefted it.
"Excuse me, John," she said softly, because the man and his son were blocking the door of the kitchen. She thought for a moment that he wouldn't respond, but he raised his head, giving her a smile that made her think she might just be seeing an echo of the man he had been before his wife had been killed. His eyes were bright with joy and unshed tears and his cheeks were damp.
"Your lunch is on the table," she informed him, before he could speak, knowing that he was struggling to think of what to say. She didn't need fumbling words of thanks right now, she could see it shining on his face, gleaming in his eyes. "Make sure you both eat, all right?"
"Sam?" John queried, his voice a little raspy. Dean craned his neck back to look at her, his brow wrinkling, though he didn't loose the hold he had on his father's torso. Missouri almost chuckled to see him clinging like a monkey, but she knew the emotions that fueled this response and they were no laughing matter.
"This tray is for him," Missouri replied, brandishing said tray. She didn't elaborate, and John didn't ask. Well, he was a little distracted right now, having his son back and everything. She would cut him a little slack. Just this one time, and because it was easier for her not to have to explain why Sam had exiled himself to his room.
"Thank you, Missouri," John said simply, meaning it on so many levels, as he finally moved, kicking one of the bags he had dropped out of the way and drawing Dean with him toward the table.
"There's juice and milk in the 'fridge," she said, smiling gently at her erstwhile house guests. They both looked so contented together. She knew it wouldn't last. Dean had so very, very much yet to work through, had been hurt so much, so deeply. John couldn't help Dean to battle the demons in his mind; only Dean could deal with the hurts that had been heaped upon him in the last two years. But in the meantime she had at least managed to bring them both a measure of peace and happiness in one another's presence. She was proud of that fact if nothing else.
Now it was time to go and do the same for Sam. Just because Dean's first returning memory of his brother had been traumatic, that didn't mean that Dean didn't need Sam as much as he needed to breathe. And until she could drag Dean away from his father, it was going to be up to her to convince Sam of that.
She'd do her best. Because that was all anyone could ever do.
***
"You left."
"You left."
"You left."
The words echoed through his head, over and over, along with the wide-eyed, wounded expression on Dean's face. Sam was well aware that he was being a little cowardly hiding out in his room like this, but, damn it all, Dean had finally recognized him, and that was what he remembered?!
"Sam, honey, open the door for me, please."
He wondered for a moment why Missouri was calling to him from the hall outside, instead of knocking, but once he rose and opened the door as he'd been directed, he understood.
"Oh," he said blankly, staring. "I'm... I'm not hungry."
"Don't you lie to a mind reader, Sam," Missouri said briskly, moving forward with such determination that Sam had to step back or he'd have found himself wearing his lunch. "Now close that door behind me, would you?"
Sam knew he was pouting as he moved to do as his hostess had directed, but he couldn't help it. "I don't want to talk about it," he tried, doing his best not to sound sullen. He didn't succeed very well, he was embarrassed to recognize.
"Sometimes in life we don't get what we want," Missouri said intractably, as she settled the tray she was carrying atop the desk. She turned and gave Sam a sympathetic look. "You know that better than most people, honey."
Sam shrugged uncomfortably. Didn't mean he had to like it, he thought a little snarkily, grimacing as Missouri raised a brow at him.
"Thank you," he said grudgingly, hoping that she would just leave him alone with the food, not stay to talk, not force him to talk....
"Sit your ass down here, young man," Missouri instructed, giving him a hard stare and pointing at the chair before the desk.
Shocked into submission, Sam plopped down before he even realized.
Missouri seated herself delicately on the edge of the mattress, her short legs barely reaching the floor. Sam noticed with an internal wince that he'd forgotten to make the bed that morning. Well, he'd been in a hurry, surely Missouri could understand that. Dad would've kicked his butt when he'd been younger, and Sam would've convinced Dean to do it for him.... But that wasn't an option right now.
Sam slouched, turning the chair to face Missouri. Maybe the food would get cold, but his stomach was in knots that only had a little to do with hunger, and he knew that eating was secondary now; Missouri had really come into this room to talk to him.
"Your brother is downstairs with your father," Missouri told him, answering a half-formed query, though Sam hadn't really thought that she would leave Dean on his own.
"I'll bet Dean was happy to see Dad," Sam found himself snarling bitterly before he could help himself.
Missouri flinched, though whether it was his harsh tone or because it was true, Sam couldn't tell. He wasn't a mind reader, after all.
"Sam, honey, I know this is asking a lot of you, when you've already given so much," Missouri said earnestly, clasping her hands in her lap and fixing him was a steady look. "But you can't take what happened personally."
Sam snorted in disbelief before he could help himself.
"No, listen to me," Missouri continued. "The fact that the first thing your brother said to you involved a bad memory.... Well, that's just because his strongest memory of you was what returned first. And, unfortunately, that was the memory of you going away to college. I'm sorry, that's not fair, but that's the way it is. But think on this, Sam. That was only one memory of thousands that he's going to have to sift through. And most of his memories of you are good. I'd bet you anything that if you went to him right now he'd be as thrilled to see you as he was your father. I'm certain of this!"
Sam shifted in his seat. Missouri was probably right, he had to admit. But that knowledge didn't make it stop hurting.
"I know, honey." Missouri was nodding, and Sam felt a little better that she was agreeing with him, that she wasn't just telling him off for feeling sorry for himself. And because she could read his thoughts, she did know just how much he was hurting. "Just don't blame Dean, all right?"
"No!" The horrified cry burst out of Sam immediately. He'd never even considered blaming Dean! "It was me, Missouri! I'm the one who left him! I'm the reason he was captured by the Melusine! It was all me! All...."
Missouri was shaking her head. "Sam, you can't blame yourself for that; for any of it. Not for going away to college, and definitely not for what happened on the coast! You had every right to continue your education, and Dean knew that. He might never had told you so, but he was proud of you. And as for the Melusine, that was entirely his choice. You think that if he had to do it all over again, he wouldn't do exactly the same thing he did the first time?"
Sam slumped back into his chair. "No, I know he would. That doesn't make it not my fault, though."
"Don't make me smack you, boy," Missouri warned, shaking a finger at him. She should have looked ridiculous, but she didn't. Not in the slightest. "Are you listening to a word I'm saying to you?"
"The last time we saw each other we were fighting," Sam said bleakly, staring sightlessly at the small ceramics atop the dresser, across the room.
"The last time he saw your Daddy they were fighting," Missouri informed him, gaining herself a wide-eyed stare of stunned disbelief from Sam. "Oh, yes. John, he didn't want Dean bothering you at college. He didn't think it was good for Dean to cling so hard to you, didn't want Dean disrupting your studies. So the two of them had words. Ended with Dean taking off without saying so much as good-bye. And you think that hasn't torn your father up inside these last two years?"
"I.... I didn't know," Sam breathed. Not that he was surprised that he didn't know; it wasn't exactly the sort of thing his father would have told him. Especially when the two of them could barely keep it civil even when they were both worrying about Dean.
"You Winchester males, you're all so stubborn," Missouri sighed. "I swear I've never in my life seen a group of more bullheaded men, and that's saying something indeed."
Sam grinned sheepishly and picked up his sandwich, taking a big bite. It was strange, but what Missouri had just told him made him feel a little better. Not because his father and Dean had fought, but because if Dean could forgive John, then he'd surely have to forgive Sam. Right?
"That's better," Missouri murmured. She stood, her dark eyes fixed on Sam's face. "All right, honey. We're not done talking yet, but I want you to eat before the food gets too cold. Once you're done, you come down to my reading room and come on in. Dean and I will be waiting there for you, and we'll talk. All three of us. You might not realize it, but your brother needs you; he needs your love and support. And I'll smack you if you ever tell anyone I said so, but I dare say he needs you more than he needs your father."
Sam blinked, a little taken aback by this blunt declaration, but it did set a small swell of warmth growing in his chest. His heart felt a little less bruised and he began to think that he might be looking forward to seeing Dean again.
Well, with all the times that they had hurt each other in the past, maybe it was good that they had already gotten the worst of it out of the way. Now they could move forward, concentrate on what was good, making a new future for themselves.
"That's my boy," Missouri said, a warm hand on Sam's shoulder. "Now you stand up and you give me a hug."
Sam did as directed, rising and wrapping his arms around Missouri, her own wrapping around him in return, holding tight. It didn't feel so strange; Sam had gotten used to hugging people who were shorter than him, on the rare occasions that he traded hugs, by the time he'd been sixteen. It felt good, actually. Missouri was warm and soft and she smelled like gingerbread and coffee.
"It'll be all right, Sam," she murmured against his chest, patting him gently on the back. "It's not going to be like it was before, and it's not going to be easy. But it'll be all right. Especially if you're willing to work for it."
Sam nodded, his throat too tight to reply, but Missouri could read his mind, so he didn't have to speak his gratitude aloud.
"Now, you go ahead and eat before it gets too cold," Missouri instructed, releasing him. "Bring the tray down once you're through. The dishes can soak in the sink. And don't you forget to come to the reading room."
"Thank you," Sam said, meaning it for so much more than the lunch. But Missouri knew that too.
With a final pat for his arm and a sweet smile, she left the room. Sam resolved to make the bed before he went downstairs... but after he ate. Now that he was feeling a little less despondent, he discovered that he was really hungry.
Thank God for Missouri Mosely. Really.
***
Dean Winchester.
He was Dean Winchester. And that was knowledge that he could hold onto, even when he sometimes didn't remember exactly who Dean Winchester was.
It was a good thing to know. He was here, in this now, and he was grounded by his name. Things still slipped through his mind, and his memories were a confused jumble; something that had happened when he'd been twelve momentarily seeming as clear to him as what had happened yesterday, swinging back and forth inside like a pendulum. But at least now he knew who he was. And that gave him something to hold onto while he sorted through all the rest of it.
He was Dean Winchester, and he was wrapped up in his father's arms right now. He knew who this was. It was Dad. He remembered and could hold onto the knowing. This was his Dad, and there was nothing that could take that fact away from him. Not anymore.
"Come on, Dean. Let's eat."
Dean let Dad guide him over to the table. He didn't want to let go, didn't want to lose the warmth and familiar smell of his father. He wanted to make sure that Dad wasn't going to escape from him, slide into the yesterdays that were crowding at the back of his head. But Dad was telling him to sit down, and he wasn't supposed to disobey. Not in his yesterdays before Her, and not in his yesterdays after Her, and not now.
Besides, there was food and he was hungry.
It tasted good. He remembered this soup, he'd made it for Sammy sometimes. It was better now, for some reason.
"Dad, where's Sammy?" he asked. He couldn't remember. He ought to know, but the knowledge wasn't there in his head. Dad would know, though. He was sure of that.
His Dad looked happy and sad at the same time. It worried him a little, and he wondered if there was something wrong. "Sam's upstairs, Dean. Missouri took him up some food."
Dean nodded, even though he didn't understand. He understood "upstairs". There was a room up there, where he and Sammy slept. He didn't like the stairs, because they were tall and twisty and made of hard wood. But he liked sleeping with Sammy; he especially thought that he would like it now that he remembered who Sammy was. Even though he was pretty sure that in his heart he had remembered all along, even when his head hadn't remembered.
He understood "Missouri", too. She was the nice, dark lady who had made this food. He didn't really know who she was, thought that she was a stranger to him, but maybe he'd met her before. Either way, she was nice to him and she touched him with gentleness. He wanted to keep her safe, protect her from... well, he wasn't sure what, but he had to keep her safe.
What he didn't understand was why Sammy was upstairs, why he wasn't here. Sammy was supposed to be with Dean, wasn't he?
Dean blinked, pausing while he was eating his sandwich. But Sammy had been away from him for some of his yesterdays. Not just when he'd been with Her, not just when he'd been.... Not in the yesterdays that Dad and Sammy had saved him from, the ones that he couldn't think on. But before that....
"How are you feeling, son?" Dad asked. He was sitting there, staring at Dean, not eating. He looked tired, more worn down than the picture of him in Dean's head. But Dean's memories from childhood where all mixed up with his memories from now, so maybe he wasn't seeing right.
"Good," he replied, trying to hold onto the moments as they came to him and not lose any of them from one breath to the next. He'd answered Dad's question, and now he could ask his own. He remembered what it was. "Dad, are you okay?"
Dad kind of smiled at him, and his eyes were wet. Dean wanted to touch, but he had to be a Good Boy and eat his food. He'd been told.
"I am now," Dad answered, and Dean didn't understand what that meant, but he thought that it meant "yes", and so he was contented.
"Will you eat?" he asked, because Dad needed to eat too.
"Yes," Dad answered, nodding and picking up his half sandwich. It was tuna and cheese, and Dean couldn't remember tasting anything so good in all his yesterdays. He thought that he had, but he couldn't remember. "Do you want some juice, Dean?"
He thought about it. That sounded good. He nodded.
Dad smiled at him, and it was still sad, but he couldn't think what he could do to make that go away. Dad hadn't smiled much since Mommy had been killed, but when he did smile it shouldn't be sad....
He lost a few heartbeats and breaths, and when his mind came back to this now, his soup was mostly gone and Dad was putting a glass of orange juice down next to the bowl.
"Thank you, Daddy," he said, then felt dumb, because only little boys said "daddy", and even though his yesterdays were all mixed up, he ought to remember that he wasn't a little boy anymore. But it was hard and he wasn't ever sure what was going to come out of his mouth. He should probably be glad that he was able to make words at all. The dark lady had helped him with that, hadn't she?
His Dad's hand was heavy but careful on his shoulder, rubbing his upper back, and it made him feel all warm and happy inside.
"Dad, where's Sammy?" he asked. He couldn't remember, and it worried him. Dad wouldn't let Sammy go off on his own, would he? Sammy was too little to be alone anywhere, and Dean knew that Dad worried just as much as he did.
"He's upstairs, Dean," Dad said, his voice careful and his eyes watchful. Dean wondered what he'd done wrong. "Do you remember? We just talked about it."
Dean silently shook his head. That was what he'd done wrong. He was wrong. He couldn't remember.... Oh, yes. Now he remembered. He'd asked that same question twice and Daddy hated when he did that. He'd been Bad.
"Sorry." He shrank back into his chair. He hated to disappoint Dad.
"No, it's all right, Dean," Dad said quickly, sinking to one knee and tugging Dean into a tight hug. He was almost rough, but Dean was used to being treated roughly and he knew that Daddy would never hurt him. "It's all right, Dean. I'm just a little worried about you, that's all."
Dean nodded again. He understood that. Maybe there were other things he couldn't remember or understand, but he understood Dad worrying about him. He understood because he was worried about Daddy. And Sammy.
"You said he's eating, Dad?"
Dad nodded, his whiskers prickling Dean's ear. "Yes, Dean."
"I remembered," he assured Dad, patting his back. "It just went away for a little bit."
"That's okay," Dad said, pulling back and running his fingers through Dean's bangs, brushing them back out of his face. "We can't rush things, right?"
"I want to be better," Dean said earnestly, meeting Dad's eyes. They were darker than he remembered, and he was worried. "I need to take care of you and Sammy."
Dad bowed his head and took a deep breath. "Don't you worry about that, Dean," he husked, his hands cupping Dean's face. They felt so big and so strong. "Me and Sam, we're going to take care of you right now. Okay?"
Dean knew what that meant. That meant that he was useless, that he couldn't even take care of himself. And he hated that. What good was he if he couldn't take care of Dad and Sammy?
He didn't know that he was crying until Dad rose and pulled him into his arms.
"It's okay, Dean, it's okay," Dad was saying, rubbing his back, and it wasn't okay, but if Dad said it, he couldn't contradict him.
Dean lost some time again, because Dad's arms were safe and warm and it felt good to be held here. He rested his cheek on Dad's shoulder, and closed his eyes. Dad was strong, stronger than Dean, so maybe he didn't need for Dean to take care of him right now.
Just for now.
Dad let go of Dean after a while, and knuckled the tears off his cheeks. He'd forgotten about crying, He'd forgotten a lot of things.
He wasn't doing so good at remembering, but at least now he knew who he was. He was Dean Winchester, son of John and Mary, and brother of Sammy.
"John Winchester, I didn't cook you a nice lunch so that you could ignore it and let it get cold," the nice dark lady said as she bustled back into the kitchen.
"Sorry, Missouri," Dad said, and that was her name. Dean wanted to remember. He was going to try.
"Dean finished his," Missouri said, smiling at him. He watched as she collected her own food and joined them at the table. Dad was eating now, and that was good. Dean was done; he'd been a Good Boy. He just wished he could remember what he'd forgotten. There was something missing.
"Sam is eating, Dean," Missouri assured him, and that was what it was. "Once he's done, we're going to talk to him, okay?"
Dean nodded. He wasn't sure why he couldn't talk to Sammy right now. But Sammy was upstairs, and Dean didn't like the stairs. That must be it.
"Is there anything I should...?"
"It's all right, John," Missouri said, reaching over and patting Dad's hand. "You finish eating, take those photos of Dean, and then you can get his new I.D.s made up while I speak to both your sons. Then we'll all have a nice dinner together. Sound good?"
"Yes." Dad sounded relieved, but Dean didn't know why. His mind was crawling away to the side and he was having trouble holding on to this now. He wasn't sure where his brain was going, but it wasn't completely here anymore. "Thank you, Missouri."
Dean nibbled at his finger. He was full now, the food had tasted good, but there was something missing.
"Dad, where's Sammy?"
"He's eating his lunch upstairs, Dean." Daddy sounded a little choked up, his hand shaking as he reached over to pat Dean's knee. "You'll see him soon, I promise."
"It'll get better, John," Missouri said, her voice quiet and sad. "Remember, this is only the first day. We still have a long ways to go."
"I know," Dad said.
And Dean was glad Dad knew, because he sure didn't.
But he was going to get to see Sammy soon. That was all that he needed to know now. He would try to hold onto that knowledge.