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Lost and Found by Lisa Marie Plant

June 28, 2011

((Warning: Some swearing present in text))

Then…

 

June 17th 2011 at the Phoenix Square. Creative Writing night for Star Base Leicester. The task; think of a character, write a short description, and then answer the following questions in the form of a story.

1. How would the character hold a baby?

2. What type of shoes do they wear?

3. How many birthday cards did they receive last year, and from who?

4. Would the character buy The Big Issue?

5. What would the character say if asked “Do you dance?”

6. What do they keep hidden in their underwear draw?

7. Do they stay in contact with their friends?

I chose the character of Dean Winchester from Supernatural. Supernatural is

the story of two brothers, the aforementioned Dean, 26 when the series began in 2005, and Sam. Dean pretty much raised Sam from the age of four, when their mother was killed by a demon on the night Sam turned six months old and their father became a hunter of all things supernatural (and in this particular universe, Supernatural usually means evil). Two decades later and the boys are now working the ‘family business’…

 

Now…

 

The Impala rolled to a stop outside the motel. Dean sighed with relief, finally, he could get inside and wash off the vampire blood and a whole bunch of other crap. Right now he looked like he’d gone mud wrestling with the Thing from the Black Lagoon… Which wasn’t an impossibility in his line of work. ‘Just another perk of the job.’ he thought to himself.

“Sam! Wake the hell up Sleeping Beauty!” he yelled, slapping his younger brother on the shoulder and sending a startled Sam’s head on a collision course with the car window.

“Ow! Dean! What the-?”

“We’re home.” Dean said. Sam blinked himself back to consciousness, hearing the driver side door sqeak open and clunk closed.

Sam made no move to exit the car, hoping by the time he made it into the room Dean would be in the shower, allowing Sam to go to sleep and avoid his brother until morning, when hopefully, his mood would have improved. Although Sam was busy trying not to be a vampire’s breakfast at the time, it was still somehow his fault that Dean had ended up hip deep in crud. Sam had a sinking feeling it’d be him who wound up washing down the interior of Dean’s precious baby before they left this particular ‘middle of nowhere’ hick town.

Sam squinted through the window to try and gage whether enough time had passed, only to find Dean standing completely still, staring at something in the shadows that Sam could not hope to see from his position.

Alert again, now that his brother was possibly in danger from some nasty that had followed them home. Sam silently left the vehicle and warily approached his brother, who still had yet to move at all.

“Sam…” Dean’s voice floated back through the darkness. “Is there maybe something you forgot to tell me?”

Hearing not danger, but bafflement in Dean’s voice Sam quickly closed the distance between them and peeked over Dean’s leather clad shoulder… And directly into the sleeping face of a newborn baby.

 

It amazed Sam that something that tiny could possibly make so much noise. Having accidently jarred the infant whilst moving him or her inside the rented room, the tyke had started to make it’s presence known by crying… loudly… very loudly…

The boys stood by the bed that they had placed the baby on, slightly horrified by the situation that they seemed to found themselves in.

“You know,” said Sam, eventually. “I think you’re supposed to pick them up when they do that.”

“You pick it up.” Came Dean’s immediate response. Sam turned towards his brother, who, Sam saw, was eying the baby with a nervousness usually reserved for Hell Hounds… or aeroplanes.

“Why me, Dean? I’ve never even been near a baby before.”

“Cause I said so.” This was Dean’s standard response, when he didn’t actually have a good reason but was choosing to exercise his big brother card.

Sam sighed his patented ‘put-upon-little brother’ sigh, which just caused Dean to smirk because this signalled victory, and bent down to pick up the screaming infant.

Sam brought the baby up to his shoulder, and to both the boys surprise the baby immediately stopped crying. Dean raised and eyebrow, and shot his little brother a grudgingly respectful look… which is when the baby spit up… right on Dean’s boots…

“Kill it Sam, it’s definitely evil.”

 

Three Days Later…

Sam sat on one of the beds, feeding formula to the baby, who Dean had taken to referring to as Damian, whilst Dean was out chasing down a lead as to the baby’s identity and how the hell, he had ended up on their doorstep. Sam could only hope he was successful. Not that he didn’t like Damian, the name had kind of stuck, but there was no way the kid could stay with them. Family and ‘the life’ didn’t mix. Dean and Sam had lost their mother, father, grandparents, Jessica… Pretty much anyone either boy had ever loved to one monster or another, hell both Sam and Dean themselves had died more than once. You could either be a hunter or have a family, not both.

Of course, the brothers themselves were exceptions to this rule, having been raised to be hunter’s by their father. But, as much as Sam loved his brother, and father, it wasn’t much of a family. Not in the lack of love, John Winchester had died to save Dean, and Dean had sold his soul and gone to hell to save Sam, and, Sam knew, would do it again if he felt he had to. It was more that they just didn’t do the ordinary things that families did. They didn’t celebrate holidays, or even birthdays, not since before Sam took off for college anyway. Hell, he’d never even bought Dean a birthday card, not once. There just wasn’t money for frivolities like that when there was rock salt and holy water that needed buying on a regular basis.

After being stuck in the motel room play nanny for several hours, Sam was starting to get antsy, and so decided to call Dean and see what he’d managed to discover about their new roommates origins.

Sam felt his blood pressure begin to rise as even through the phone and before Dean spoke Sam recognised the familiar sounds of a bar.

“Yeah, Sammy?” Was Dean’s greeting.

“Dean? Why are you in a bar?” Sam asked through gritted teeth. If Dean was slacking off and leaving him at the mercy of the poop machine, Sam swore the kid emitted at least twice what they put in, he was gonna kill his beloved brother in the most violent manner he could think up.

“Taking a break Sammy, union rules.” Dean listened to the ominous silence coming through the phone. “You’re so totally giving me that bitch-face of yours right now, aren’t ya?” He asked with a smirk, managing to give the sexy bartender a suggestive wink at the same time.

“Dean…”

“Oh, calm down Sam, I think the Omens mother might work here, okay, I’m working the case, is it my fault the clues led me to be surrounded by really hot women in a fine establishment like this one?”

“…”

“Yeah, see? I’ll be back soon. If you’re good, I might even pick up dinner on the way.” Dean disconnected the phone before Sam could explode, and turned to the pretty brunette working the bar.

“Sorry about that, just my partner checking in, he’s following a different lead on the case.” He said, whipping out one of the more devastating smiles in his arsenal. “You were telling me about this girl, went missing last week?” He asked, waving away someone selling a magazine.

“Uh-huh. Hadn’t worked here long, kept to herself, kinda stuck up, if you asked me, crappy dresser too, always wearing these really baggy sweaters… Say I get off in about a half hour, do you dance, detective?”

Dean looked up from his notepad, with a slow smile. “No, hell no. Unless you’re referring to the horizontal-mambo, sweetheart?”

The girl, Victoria, Vanessa, Veronica, something like that, let out a loud laugh and went to pour a drink for one of the regulars.

 

Later that evening, after experiencing an epic hissy fit courtesy of a supremely pissed off Sam, Dean had filled his little brother in on the case, which was now starting to come together. Dean was beginning to think that they actually had a chance of reuniting the noise-maker with it’s mother.

Sam was sleeping on one of the beds, when Dean heard the gravel outside the motel crunch. This wouldn’t have usually set off his internal alarms, but rather than a series of crunches, which would be the sound of one of the other residents returning to their rooms, this noise was singular. Most likely someone, or something, was attempting to sneak up to the door and had made a mis-step.

Dean stood silently, and crept over to the chest of drawers, he quietly opened the top one, pushed aside several pairs of boxers, and pulled out an absolutely wicked looking blade, that was actually more of a short-sword than a knife. He eased around his bed, which the baby currently slept on, and passed a now wide awake Sam, woken by the tension in the room, Dean guessed, and approached the door. Sam rose and placed himself behind Dean, between the door and the baby. Dean smiled, damn it if they hadn’t already both started to get attached to the little tyke.

Checking again that Sam was ready, he was – gun in hand, Dean grabbed the door handle, threw the door open, lunged at figure on the other side, and pushed it against the wall, blade to jugular…

Only to find himself eye to eye with an absolutely terrified young woman.

 

Two Day’s Later… Singer’s Auto Salvage Yard

Dean stood outside gazing at the scenery, but not really seeing it, he raised the beer bottle to his lips and took a healthy swallow. He heard the door behind him open and his sasquatch of a brother ease up beside him.

“So… Tricia and Bradley are about to leave.” He said, as though stating the weather, and not giving his big brother a verbal nudge.

“Good. About time we got back to business as usual.” Dean said, refusing to acknowledge Sam’s sidelong glances and unasked questions. For a while, they both stood in amiable silence, Dean taking occasional sips of his drink. “Bobby’s got ‘em sorted though, right?” Dean eventually ground out. Causing Sam to smile indulgently, something Dean absolutely did NOT see happen.

“Yeah, they should be safe now.” It had turned out that Bradley, the aforementioned poop-machine, and his mother Tricia had been on the run from a demon-worshipping cult, Tricia, certain that the cult was closing in on her had left her little boy outside the brothers room, after watching them arrive at the motel from one of the upstairs rooms. Determining that they looked strong enough to protect her son and feeling desperate, she abandoned her child and attempted to lure the cult away.

Failing abjectly, she had returned to warn the brother’s before the cult could descend en masse. Upon hearing this, and deciding there was no way that they could fight off an army of fanatics single-handedly. The boys had turned to their one real friend and surrogate father figure, Bobby Singer. After telling them that they were both idjuts several times over, Bobby set about using his contacts to get Tricia and Bradley safely relocated and protected.

“Admit it, Dean, you’re gonna miss him.” Said Sam with a chuckle.

“Am not.”

“Right. Sorry forgot who I was talking to for a minute.” Sam muttered rolling his eyes in exasperation at the man, who wouldn’t admit he was anything less than fine even if all his limbs had just been torn off.

“Well, why would I? All it does is cry, eat and crap, sometimes all at once, and well, I got you for that.” Dean said with a wicked smirk, before turning and walking back inside.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

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