Chapter Text
The morning of his eleventh birthday, Dean woke up at dawn like he always did. He ran laps around the junkyard before switching to the strength exercises Dad made him do every morning. Dean hated being up so early, and he didn’t like doing exercise first thing in the morning, especially in the twenty-two-degree weather at Bobby’s, but he did it anyway. Dad needed Dean to keep himself strong so that he could help out with hunting and keep Sammy safe.
After Dean’s morning workout, Bobby made chocolate chip pancakes as a treat for Dean’s birthday.
“Happy birthday, Dean!” Sammy exclaimed as Dean walked into the kitchen.
“Happy birthday, kid,” Bobby echoed, setting a plate of pancakes in front of Dean.
“Thanks, Uncle Bobby!” Dean told him, pouring liberal amounts of syrup over his pancakes. He and Sam ate in silence for a bit while Bobby worked his way through a cup of coffee. Dean liked it; it felt peaceful.
“Where’s Dad?” Sam asked, breaking the peaceful feel of the morning.
Dean sighed. “Dad’s traveling for business, you know that.”
“When’s he gonna be back?”
“I don’t know, Sam. Eat your breakfast.”
“He’s always traveling for work, Dean. Why can’t he get a job here?”
Dean sighed again. “Because he just can’t, alright?”
“But–”
“Sam, your Daddy’s just trying to take care of you and your brother. He’ll be back as soon as he can,” Bobby interrupted, saving Dean from having to make more excuses for Dad.
Dean had hoped that Dad would be back for his birthday, but he knew Dad had more important things to do. Hunting, keeping people safe , that always came first. It would be selfish of Dean to demand that Dad come home for his birthday, not when lives were on the line.
Dean didn’t really want to go to school, but he went anyway. Bobby drove them in one of the few cars he had working, an old Pinto that Dean always expected to literally blow up if they went above forty. Bobby dropped Sam and Dean off at the elementary school. He stopped Dean before he could get out of the car and let Sammy go on ahead.
“I’m real sorry your Daddy ain’t here,” Bobby said once they were alone. “You know he tries his best.”
Yeah, Dean knew. He sometimes wished Dad’s best was better, but he kept that to himself. Dad tried his hardest. It couldn’t be easy, raising two kids while trying to save people from threats they didn’t even know about. Dean refused to be the reason someone died because Dad wasn’t there to save them. He’d accept any number of missed birthdays if it meant Dad could save more people.
School was boring, just like it always was. Nobody really knew Dean. He’d only been there for a couple of weeks, so nobody made a big deal out of his birthday or anything, which Dean appreciated. He hated it when strangers turned that much undivided attention on him.
After school, Bobby picked up a pie from one of the local diners. They went back to the house, where Bobby put a candle in it and made Dean sit through his and Sammy’s horrendous rendition of “Happy Birthday.” Dean smiled a lot, even though Dad wasn’t around.
“Happy birthday, Dean!” Sam said, handing him a small, newspaper-wrapped gift. It was a new Ride the Lightning tape. Well, new to Dean. It was definitely a secondhand tape. Dean was happy, though. His copy of the album had worn out around October, and he’d been trying to find a new one ever since.
“Aww, thanks, Sammy! This is awesome!” Dean told him, ruffling his hair. Sam grinned at him.
“Uncle Bobby helped me find it!” Sam told him.
“Thanks, Uncle Bobby,” Dean said.
“No problem, kid. Here’s one from me.” He handed Dean another gift, this time wrapped in Christmas paper. Dean didn’t mind, though. He was happy to have gotten both the tape and something else, both of which had definitely been paid for by Bobby.
Dean unwrapped the gift to find a braided leather bracelet. On the inside were symbols that Dean didn’t recognize, engraved into the leather. “They’re Hittite. It’s supposed to keep you sharp during times of danger, but I don’t know if it actually works.”
Dean put it on. “Thanks, Bobby.”
They had dinner, even though they’d already had pie, and then Bobby let Dean put on a Godzilla movie.
Dean had hoped that Dad would show up at some point during the day, or even now, during the movie, but he knew better. If Dad wasn’t already there, then he wasn’t coming. Dean just hoped nothing too bad had happened to him.
* * *
Dad didn’t make it home until about three days after Dean’s birthday, and Dean could tell he was hungover, but he’d gotten Dean a gun, just like he asked. He gave him a Seecamp LWS .32 automatic, and Dad spent the day pouring silver rounds for it. They loaded it alternating with hollow points and silver, then they took it out and shot at cans in Bobby’s yard until Dean had a good feel for it.
Dad said he’d had a hunt that had run long, especially when the ghoul he had been hunting had gotten hold of a gun. He showed Dean the bandages covering the wound in his side. Dean knew there had been a good reason Dad hadn’t been back in time for his birthday.
* * *
Dad took Sam and Dean up to New England about two days after he got back into Sioux Falls. Dean knew Sam had wanted to stay longer. He was starting to make some friends at school, and he liked being at Bobby’s. Dean didn’t care much either way. He never bothered trying to make friends at school, so he was never too broken up about it when Dad pulled them out.
One of the other hunters Dad knew, a guy named Mike Wright, owned a cabin up in Vermont that he was letting Dad use for a month or so while Dad cleared out a wraith problem a few towns over. Dean didn’t bother putting himself or Sam in school, and instead, he talked Dad into buying a couple of homeschool books Dean found in a thrift store so Sam could study with them. They were in good shape for the most part, though a few of the pages had scribbles in the margins. They were also technically for second graders, but Sam could just ask Dean if he was having problems with them.
Dad took Dean with him when the snow that hit the day after they’d arrived finally cleared enough for them to get to the town with the wraith problem.
Dad made sure Dean had a silver knife handy and made him check that his .32 was half-and-half with silver bullets. “Remember, the hollow points won’t kill it, but they will slow it down.”
It took them three days to get the wraith. Dad did the investigation, and Dean either tailed him from a distance so he could see how it was done without Dad having to explain why a young kid was following him around, waited in the car, or stayed with Sam.
Dad finally figured out who the wraith was on the third day, and Dean was there strictly as backup. It was a nurse who did in-home care for the elderly. Dean doubted she ever would’ve been caught if there weren’t hunters in the area.
Dad went in first to draw the wraith out, and Dean waited outside to catch it if it took off towards the woods. He was hidden alongside the shrubs of the house where the wraith was working. Dean could see the back door fine, but he was hidden from view.
Dean heard screaming and the sounds of a fight coming from inside the house, before the wraith came barreling out the back, clutching a hand to where one of Dad’s silver knives was lodged into its thigh, steam rising from the wound.
Dean brought his gun up, took aim, took a deep breath, and hit the wraith dead-on in the forehead, just as Dad came out of the house. He was limping; one of his legs was hurt pretty bad.
The wraith crumpled instantly, its human disguise falling away to reveal the ugly corpse underneath.
Dad was grinning. He looked really proud. “Nice shot, Dean!” He limped over, dragging his right leg. Dean took the round out of the chamber and ejected the cartridge so the gun was unloaded, just like Dad had taught him. Dean put the cartridge back in and put the gun back in the holster he had at his waist. Dad had made it over to Dean by then, and he put his arm around his shoulders. “You did good.”
Dean smiled. It was the first time Dad had taken him on anything other than a salt-n-burn milk run, and Dean was glad he’d made Dad proud. He’d proven that he could be useful for more than just digging graves. Maybe Dad would take him on more hunts where Dean could help him, could keep him safe.
* * *
They ended up staying in Vermont for another few days because of the snow. Dean found an old sled in the shed near the cabin, so he and Sam played in the snow, sledding and having snowball fights. Dad even joined at one point, though he had to be careful on his twisted ankle.
Dean liked that cabin up in Vermont.
* * *
After Vermont was a few days in Ohio. Dad had said that it was only going to be two nights, just a quick hunt, so he only paid the motel for three nights. Dad always paid for at least one extra night, in case he was injured or something.
“When’s Dad coming back?” Sam asked. Night was falling, and Dean needed to find cash or they would be out of luck once check-out time rolled around. Fuck .
“I don’t know, Sammy.”
“Why does he travel so much for work?”
“Because he has to, alright. Now work on your school work and let me think for a minute.” Since Dad hadn’t been planning to stick around Ohio for more than a few days, Dean hadn’t bothered getting himself or Sam enrolled in school, so he was still using the workbooks Dean had found in Vermont.
Sam sighed but went back to working out addition problems. He’d want Dean to check them later, which Dean hated doing. Adding three hundred twenty-one to five-hundred seventy-five or whatever wasn’t Dean’s idea of fun. But it was better than Sammy missing school. He needed to learn that stuff, and Dean would help him.
Dean had no idea when Dad would be back. He could call Uncle Bobby or Pastor Jim, but he would leave that as a last resort. Dad wouldn’t be happy if Dean called someone needlessly. He could take the silver bullets out of his gun and pawn the silver, maybe. Dean knew he could win money playing poker if he needed to, but where would he go to play? Even the skeeviest bars weren’t going to let Dean in. Dean knew a couple good scams he could pull if he had a few more days. Three-card monte was always a good one. And Dean was great at hustling pool.
Dean resisted the urge to sigh. The only option he really had left was theft. He was good a breaking into places, he had a gun he could use to hold up a gas station, or, and he knew before he even finished his thought that this was what he was going to do, he could go pick pockets.
Picking pockets, it was.
Dean wasn’t much of a pickpocket for the most part. He tended to lift from stores if he was going to steal, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t good at it. The easiest marks were drunk people, usually the ones coming out of slightly nicer bars than the ones Dad usually frequented.
There was a bus stop that was about a fifteen minute walk from the motel. Dean was grateful they were in a city with public transportation, because otherwise he would have been shit outta luck.
Dean waited until Sam went to bed to head into town. Normally, the trick with pickpocketing was not to draw attention to yourself. It was usually easier to just bump into someone and then disappear into the crowd, but Dean knew he’d be even more conspicuous as a little kid hanging around bars without a good gimmick.
All it took was holding his eyes open for too long for the tears to collect, and Dean had a foolproof disguise. He had this shit down to a science . It wasn’t his first rodeo.
Dean would wait for a group of people to walk past on the street. He had a good eye for easy marks, women with easy-to-open purses and men with loose pockets. Then he’d put on his best innocent and lost expression and run up to the mark, all teary-eyed and frantic. He’d get into their personal space and tug on arms, bump into torsos, slip sticky fingers into pockets as he told them they just had to help him! He couldn’t find his little brother or his Dad or his big sister or whatever, and they’d been right there just a second ago! He’d ask about a tall man or a toddler or a teenager or whoever, and they’d tell him they hadn’t seen the family member Dean described, and then Dean would be off, frantically shrugging off attempts to get him to a police officer or payphone as he searched wildly for his family.
It worked pretty well. By the end of the night, Dean had enough to pay the motel room up for a few more days, and keep himself and Sam fed on top of it. He dumped the wallets in a dumpster a few blocks from where he’d been hanging out most of the night, and he wiped his prints off of them in an overabundance of caution. The last thing Dean wanted was to get caught for something stupid.
Dean got back to the room sometime between two and three in the morning. He’d stayed out until just after last call time. He wasn’t interested in sticking around long enough to deal with the truly drunk people. They usually didn’t have much on them anyway.
Dad still wasn’t back, and Sam didn’t stir when Dean showered the smell of the city off of him and practically collapsed into bed. Hopefully, the night had been a waste of Dean’s time. Hopefully, Dad would come back first thing in the morning, safe and sound, and Dean would be able to keep the money around for a rainy day. Hopefully, all the monsters disappear from the face of the earth tomorrow and we can all sing Kumbya .
Dad didn’t come back the next morning, or the morning after, or the morning after that. It took him five days to get back.
Dean wished he could believe him when he apologized and said that he’d do better about keeping it from happening again.
“Did ya kill it?” Dean asked. He used to ask if Dad was ok, then he’d asked if the hunt had gone well for a while, but he’d found that asking if Dad had killed it was best. Dad always killed it. He always got the monster. His hunts were always worth it.
* * *
After Ohio was a week spent near Indianapolis in a motel room that was only supposed to have been a weekend thing. At least Dad had paid the motel room up for longer this time, so all Dean had to worry about was keeping Sammy fed, which was easy enough. He still had the money he’d gotten in Ohio, so he didn’t have to try to figure out how to make more.
Instead, Dean could take Sam to the library every day after school hours and focus on making sure the kid wasn’t falling behind, since they still weren’t enrolled in actual school. Dean would have been fine spending all of their time at the library, either working his way through comic books and magazines while Sam read novels or reading out loud to Sam, but he knew better than to get caught for truancy. He supposed he could use the homeschooling excuse on the librarian if she asked why he and Sam weren’t in school, but he didn’t want to risk drawing attention to them. So in the mornings, he entertained Sam with cartoons and the meager toys Dad allowed them to keep around, or he got Sam to keep working his way through the homeschool textbooks from Vermont. Sam was getting close to finishing out one of the smaller ones, some kind of reading comprehension thing. Dean wasn’t surprised. Sam was a good reader. Little nerd.
* * *
Dean could tell something was wrong when Dad got back to their motel room outside of Indianapolis. For starters, he was hungover, which usually happened when a hunt had gone horribly wrong, but he wasn’t injured. And then there was just something about the way he was acting that was off. Dean didn’t know what exactly it was, but it was there. Something had happened on that hunt, and it had messed with Dad.
“Did ya kill it?” Dean kept his voice low in consideration of Dad’s hangover.
“Huh? Oh, yeah, I got it.”
Dad almost seemed… distracted. But by what? Dad was never distracted. Not from the mission, at least. Saving people, hunting things, avenging Mom. Dad never wavered in his dedication to those goals. Something big must’ve happened to pull his attention away, but Dean hadn’t the faintest idea what it could’ve been. He didn’t have time to figure it out either, before they were on their way down towards South Carolina.