Chapter Text
In the near darkness of the nursery the man lurking over the crib was little more than a black shape, a silhouette in the trickle of moonlight coming through sheer curtains hanging in the window.
The sight was still enough to create a sick, churning sensation in Sam’s gut. The figure was not truly a man at all, after all.
It was all so familiar. And yet new. It was disturbingly reminiscent of the horrific tales his father and brother had told him, how they had described that terrible night in his own nursery, twenty-one years ago. But this wasn’t that. This was a different nursery, a different home, a different family. Sam didn’t know them, didn’t recognize the green-eyed infant blinking up at the demon in confusion.
Sam desperately wanted to put himself between the demon and child, to protect them. He wasn’t truly there though, he knew. This was just a dream, of sorts; though it was closer to a nightmare. As strangely clear as the vision was, he knew was still asleep, in the twin bed next to Dean’s, in a motel only a short distance from Rochester, Minnesota.
He tried to reach out, the shout in his throat never making a sound, but there was nothing he could do to stop the demon from leaning over the crib. He could only watch with growing confusion and disgust as the creature used a nail to cut its own wrist.
The demon’s blood dripped, falling easily into the mouth of the child.
The soft cry of the small infant broke the silence and Sam’s heart sank painfully. He knew what was coming, who would inevitably come to such a call. And sure enough, just a few moments later, the child’s mother appeared in the doorway, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
‘Run’ he thought, prayed.
And the mother did but in the direction Sam had hoped; the second she laid eyes on the demon standing over her child, she threw herself toward the Demon.
“Harry!” she cried out as she attempted to put herself between her child and the Demon. “Get away from him!”
Her English accent was surprising, unexpected but not truly important in that moment, not when the woman’s motion was cut short. She screamed as she was thrown back against the wall. Her body rose disturbingly at the demon’s will, sliding upward until she was pinned to the ceiling, staring down at her son with dawning horror.
“James!” the woman screamed desperately.
It felt like barely seconds had passed before a black-haired man appeared in the doorway, but by then the demon had already vanished into nothing but black swirling mist. The man, presumably James, darted forward. He swept the quietly whimpering child into his arms, holding the small infant against his chest and shushed him softly.
“Harry,” the woman sobbed.
The man’s eyes drifted up to the ceiling where she remained pinned.
“Lily, no…no,” the man had time to gasp before all disappeared in a horrifying familiar burst of bright flames.
-#-
“No!” Sam screamed as he sat bolt-upright in his bed, sweat sticking his t-shirt to his back and running down his brow. His head was pounding hard enough to leave him dizzy. “No. Fuck! No.”
“Wha?! Huh?!” Dean was upright in his bed too, the Smith and Wesson that he kept under his pillow already in hand.
“No, no, no,” Sam was muttering, his breath coming in deep gasps and his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his already aching temples.
He cradled his head, rubbing at it with his palms, willing away the pain. He blinked deliberately, willing his eyes to adjust to the darkness, almost instinctively peering into the shadows to check for anything there. He was soon sure that he was alone but for his brother, who was at his side, looking around for something to shoot.
“Sammy?” Dean questioned.
Sam ignored him, however, rolling out of his bed. He took a moment to steady himself on his feet before heading straight to the table where he had left his laptop.
“Sam!” Dean snapped irritably.
“One minute,” Sam told him vaguely as he yanked the computer open.
Sam waited the few seconds it took to wake up and then simply stared at the screen. He blinked at it a few times, his hands hovering over the keyboard as though hoping it might find a relevant search of its own accord. But it sat there waiting for him to give it instruction and he belatedly realized he didn’t have much to work with. He really had no idea what he was hoping to find out.
“Fuck,” he cursed again, pressing his hands to his temples.
“Vision?”
His brother’s voice was deep and rough with sleep and Sam hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t look up; there was a soft clunk as Dean put his gun on the table. It told him Dean had woken up enough to assure himself they weren’t in any immediate danger. And given the adrenaline still flooding his body, that was an oddly comforting thought.
“Where to?” Dean asked.
From the corner of his eye, Sam could see his brother already moving to collect up their few possessions. Sam smiled wryly; after what had happened with Max, Dean was taking his visions seriously. It was nice, but bittersweet in the circumstances.
“Don’t think we’re getting to this one in time.” Sam said sadly, typing in a quick search for the effects of demon blood.
It was a subject he had never read anything about and as such he had no idea how much law, mythology or theory there might be. It was a place to start at least. At least he had a disturbing idea of what might have happened in his own nursery all those years ago.
“We’re not going?” Dean asked.
Sam shook his head.
“Aren’t you the one always saying we have to try?”
Sam didn’t need to look up to know his brother was frowning at him with concern. Sam leaned back in the chair and met Dean’s worried expression.
“We’re really not going?” Dean asked, sounding definitely concerned now. “The fuck, Sam?”
“Not unless you are up for an impromptu cross-Atlantic flight. And even then…”
“Wait, you’re getting international visions now?” Dean interrupted, hand raised to cut him off and not sounding at all impressed by that idea.
“Pretty sure psychic powers don’t just stop at country borders,” Sam pointed out dryly. “So yeah, apparently. From their accents, I’m guessing England.” he explained.
Dean dropped into the seat across from him at the small table.
“England?” Dean asked, as though the concept of it being a real place took a moment to process. “Wonder what kind of fucked-up creatures they have there?” he muttered, mostly to himself, before asking, “You sure?”
“Can’t be a hundred percent,” Sam admitted with a shrug of his shoulders. “I didn’t see any kind of clue as to the actual location. Could be an English family visiting America, or that have moved here, for all I know. Wouldn’t know where to start in finding them. Let alone in time.” he added under his breath.
“But they’ve gotta be connected with us. Or the demon that killed mom. Right?” Dean questioned, his expression bordering on hopeful. “Isn’t that how this whole…,” he waved his hand vaguely toward Sam, “vision thing works.”
“Hell if I know,” Sam told him, flicking absently through a few of the first results the search had brought up.
Dean scowled in frustration.
Sam sighed, turning his attention back to his brother. He already knew Dean wasn’t going to react well to what the vision had shown him. If he thought it was an option, he wouldn’t be telling his brother a damn thing.
“This was definitely connected.”
“Really? How?” Dean demanded to know, eyes narrowed and voice deep. “What did you see?”
Not for the first time, Sam cursed the fact his brother knew him so well. Dean knew there was something he was avoiding saying, and he wasn’t going to let up until he had the truth. He had to tell him.
Sam sighed. “A nursery.”
“Fuck, Sammy! A nursery?” Dean cursed.
Sam nodded his agreement in confirmation, as well as in agreement with the sentiment.
“A little kid in his crib; six months old, I’d guess.” Sam paused. “Think you can guess the rest.”
“You saw the demon,” Dean stated, leaning forward, his arms thunking against the table in his urgency, “the one that killed mom.”
It wasn’t a question but Sam nodded regardless.
“The one that killed mom and Jess. He…” Sam paused again, wondering if there was any possible way to phrase this that wasn’t going to cause Dean to freak the fuck out. Probably not, he decided. “He was in this kid’s nursery; slit his own wrist with a nail and fed the baby his blood…”
Dean made a strangled noise of disgust. “Urg! That’s fucked up” Dean exclaimed, his face scrunched up in revulsion.
“That’s what I saw.” Sam told him with a shrug.
“Why the hell would he do that?!” Dean snapped, looking as horrified as Sam had felt while witnessing it. “That’s just plain wrong; seriously messed up even by demon standards.”
“Hey, no argument here,” Sam told him, his hands up in mock surrender. “All I saw was it dripping blood right into the kid’s mouth. The kid started crying and then, when the kid’s mother arrived…”
“Guessing the same shit that bastard pulled with mom and Jess?” Dean asked, leaning back in his chair. The tone was impassive, his face deliberately controlled and stern. That in itself spoke volumes.
Sam just gave one curt, almost apologetic nod.
He could still see those flames. It felt like they were burned into his brain, just like the ones that had consumed Jess less than a year earlier. He suspected those mental pictures were there for life. He was a little perturbed by how much he now understood his father’s obsession with finding the one responsible; he hated that the demon was still ruining more lives, tearing apart more families; and that wasn’t even starting on his desire for revenge.
Dean had a serious expression and Sam could tell he was thinking hard. He assumed his older brother was trying to figure out a possible way to locate the family; he was all too familiar with his brother’s 'the-hunt-is-on' expression. He only wished he had more to tell, something to give them a clue. He hated that there was nothing he could do for the family, but the vision had, at least, told them something.
“Dean,” Sam said quietly, and he waited for his brother to give him his full attention. This was something they had to talk about, no matter how little either of them wanted to. “I was thinking…”
“Dangerous,” Dean remarked absently.
Sam ignored him, and plowed on, “…given this is what the demon did to me and mom…”
“Don’t, Sammy.”
“No. Think about it, Dean!” he stubbornly insisted. “This has to be what happened to me too. The demon must have given me his blood. Max too, probably. And god knows how many others.”
“You don’t know that!” Dean denied hotly, turning to glare at him.
“Yeah, Dean, I do,” Sam insisted wearily, his patience being tested. “Maybe that’s what is giving me the ability to see these visions in the first place. I don’t know. But that demon, whoever he is, is obviously doing something to us.”
“Whatever that asshole did, we’ll fix it.” he declared stubbornly.
Sam sighed in frustration. He wanted to argue but his brother was the reigning champion when it came to denial. He knew Dean wouldn’t want to hear the what-if’s and so he turned back to his computer intending to sort through the search results it had churned out.
“So you’ve no idea where this family is? The English one?” Dean asked after a few minutes, sounding calmer.
Sam peered over the screen of the laptop, meeting Dean’s eye. Given it was a question he had already answered, he thought it was a fair assumption that Dean was simply trying to avoid the topic of demon blood and whatever might have been done to Sam.
“Wish I did.” Sam told him earnestly.
“Yeah. Me too, Sammy,” Dean agreed tiredly, getting up from his chair and heading back over to his bed. “Not sure what the point of your visions are if we can’t even do anything. But if there’s nothing we can do, I’m gonna get a few more hours of shut-eye.” he told him, carefully returning the Smith and Wesson to its rightful place under his pillow.
“I’m just going to…” Sam started to say, gesturing to the computer.
“Nope,” Dean interrupted, popping the word, as he made himself comfortable. “Whatever you’re doing can wait till at least noon tomorrow ” he insisted.
Sam looked ready to argue but a yawn beat him to it. Dean gave him a knowing look. He surrendered to his brother’s suggestion and shut the laptop, heading back to bed.
-#-
“This house?” Dean asked again, not moving from the passenger’s seat of the Impala, and peering to get a better look at the house they were parked outside of. “You’re sure?”
“Yes, this house. I’m completely sure,” Sam repeated irritably. “The Chevy’s even in the driveway, the one I told you about.”
He glanced at Dean again. His brother’s gaze was fixed on the house and his leg was bouncing nervously. Sam was growing concerned, about what had wrung such uncertainty from his usually over-confident brother.
It was mid-morning and had only been a couple of hours since Sam had had another vision.
Four months had passed since the one he’d had in Rochester, but the vision that morning had been just as vivid.
This time though, Sam had awoken completely determined to get there in time. He still hadn’t had much to go on, but he had at least caught a glimpse of a car registration. A quick call to one of his contacts had given him an address in Lancaster. Sam had then driven at speeds that had obviously made even Dean apprehensive; though he suspected that was more out of concern for his precious Baby than any true fear.
Now they were there though, sitting outside the house Sam had seen, and he was fairly certain they had at least a little time before anything was going to happen. As he stared anxiously passed his brother toward the house.
Sam was certain, this was the place, as he thought back to what he’d seen.
The middle-aged tanned woman had been unfamiliar. She had a head of thick, dark curls; smile lines and crow's feet belied her age. He had watched as she leaned into her Chevy and talked soothingly to a young child, in what was definitely an American accent. She lifted the infant from a car seat, settling him on her hip as she carried him up the driveway and into the house.
Sam had followed them and his vision had seemed to show him nothing more than apparent domestic bliss- until they headed upstairs. His gut had lurched fearfully as they headed into the child’s bedroom, wondering if he would have to watch yet another person burn alive. But a picture of two familiar faces was clearly displayed next to the crib, and realization washed over him.
James and Lily.
He would never forget their names, even less their faces. And he knew then that this was the same child as before, Harry. Sam’s heart ached at the absence of the two parents who had obviously loved their boy. He had wondered as to the fate of the father; though he had no doubt the mother was dead. He tried not to feel guilty about that, knowing there was nothing he could have done to save them.
“You’re sure that it isn’t the demon coming back for the kid tonight?” Dean asked, pulling Sam back to the present.
“Not sure who or what it was, but it definitely wasn’t the demon,” Sam assured him.
He couldn’t say what made him so certain, given he had never seen the demon’s face, but he was sure. This was something different altogether. For one thing, whatever it was that was coming for the kid, wanted little Harry dead. They might not know much about the demon, but it seemed fairly clear it hadn’t wanted the children it came for to die; Sam’s twenty-two years were a testament to that.
Something more was going on and Sam was increasingly convinced Dean knew more than he was letting on. His brother was still staring intensely at the house.
“Going to tell me what’s going on?” Sam asked.
“No.” Dean stated bluntly.
Sam wasn’t surprised.
“The woman who died, the mother, what did you say her name was?” Dean asked abruptly.
“Lily,” Sam told him slowly, watching his brother closely for a reaction.
Dean just hummed pensively and turned back to look at the house once more.
“Seriously, what’s up with you?” Sam asked in frustration.
“Nothing.” Dean insisted.
Sam did not believe him.
“Wait here.” Dean instructed after a few seconds, not even waiting for confirmation before getting out of the car, slamming the door with more vigor than was truly needed.
Sam was stunned for a moment. He was about to call after him when Dean turned and leaned down to the window.
"Don't touch anything," Dean said firmly, looking torn for a moment before turning and stalking off toward the house.
Sam ducked his head enough to watch him.
Dean was fidgeting, running his hands over his jeans, tugging a little at his hair as though he thought the person on the other side of the door might care. And when Dean reached the top of the front steps, he confidently knocked twice and waited. It was almost as though he had been there before, and wasn’t rapping on the door of a total stranger.
Sam didn’t know what to think, particularly when the woman didn’t look entirely surprised to find Dean on her stoop, gesturing him into the house after just a few words. Even the best fake passes didn’t usually get them inside that smoothly.
-#-
Sam had been watching the house closely for almost an hour but had seen nothing.
He was guessing Dean had, for some completely unknown reason, kept both the woman and child away from any window Sam might have been able to see from where they had parked. He was on the verge of going to break down the door himself when it opened, and Dean stepped out.
Sam bounced his knee anxiously, impatiently waiting for his brother to re-join him in the car. His eyes remained fixed on Dean as his brother crossed the lawn, reached the car, and climbed in.
“So…?” Sam prompted when no information was forthcoming.
“So nothing, Sammy,” Dean told him gruffly, not even trying to look him in the eye. “We wait here, and we keep whatever’s coming from laying a damn finger on that kid. That’s the plan, end of.”
“The Hell it is,” Sam argued, twisting in his seat enough to glare at his brother properly. “You’ve been here before. It was written all over your face when we pulled up and I saw the expression on that woman’s face; she knew you!”
There was a pause before Dean said, “Dana.”
Sam blinked at him slowly, confused. “What?” he asked.
“Dana. The woman, her name’s Dana,” Dean explained. “Dad and I were on a job near here, a while back. We met her then.”
“Okay…” Sam was sure there was plenty more to that story, but Dean was finally talking and he wasn’t going to push his luck. He made a mental note to look it up in their Dad’s journal later. “And the kid…?”
“What about him? He’s her honorary great-nephew or something.” Dean told him dismissively.
Sam gave him an unimpressed look. This kid was at the center of all of it, the target in both visions, he was important. Harry was the whole reason they were there.
Dean gave a put-upon sigh. “Dana’s best friend was Lily’s mother or something, alright? Dana took the kid in after the fire.” Dean told him, sounding annoyed, though Sam had no idea why. “What does that even matter?”
“Since when are we assuming things don’t matter?” Sam asked irritably.
He was feeling frustrated and was absolutely sure Dean was still hiding something from him. Missing details put everyone in danger and Dean knew this. But apparently his brother was not in a sharing mood, given the tight-lipped glare Sam was being given.
“What if this Dana woman knows something?” Sam pointed out with exasperation. “Something that might give us some idea why either the demon or this new creature are interested in the boy.”
“She doesn’t know anything,” Dean stated bluntly, dismissively.
Sam opened his mouth to argue.
“Just drop it already!” Dean snapped, angrily now. “Let’s kill this thing and get the hell out of here.”
“Fine.” Sam agreed tersely, his own temper at boiling point.
He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. He knew he probably looked like a sulking child, but right now he didn’t care. Dean was hiding something and he was determined to find out what, preferably before it got anyone killed.
-#-
The next seven hours were spent watching the house from the Impala, which they had moved across the road to get a better overall view of the house. Dean had suggested they take shifts but Sam had looked at him as though he was even crazier than usual and rejected that particular idea without hesitation.
The only break that either of them had taken was when Dean’s stomach had given a loud gurgle of hungry protest.
Sam had tried to insist that they could leave for half an hour to go find something to eat but Dean had uncharacteristically waved off even the suggestion of a cheeseburger.
“I’m good.” he’d insisted.
Sam hadn’t listened, however, his face scrunched up in concern as he left Dean to watch the house and went to fetch a couple of burgers from the place a few streets over. Dean, unsurprisingly, had torn into his the moment Sam handed it to him.
“Did you not tell her to stay home?” Sam asked urgently, a few short minutes after he had returned.
Sitting up, he discarded his barely started burger on the dash, sucking his thumb clean as he watched Dana leave the house and start to bundle little Harry up into her car.
“Yeah,” Dean scoffed sarcastically, around a mouthful of his own food, before swallowing forcefully. “Because she was going to believe me if I told her some unknown… thing… is after the kid.”
“You could have made something up!” Sam suggested irritably, but he knew it was too late now.
Dean didn’t seem worried though, and simply shrugged it off, his attention torn between the burger in his hands and the SUV. Dean had just managed to stuff the last of his burger into his mouth when Dana pulled out of the drive.
Scrunching up the wrapper, and all but throwing it at Sam, Dean started the Impala.
Sam gave an annoyed huff, grabbing his own burger to keep it from going flying, as Dean did a hasty u-turn and followed her.
He was second-guessing his decision to let Dean go into the house to speak to Dana alone. Dean was right, of course. Telling the truth had rarely worked out well for them, but given how tight-lipped his brother was being, he wished he knew what the two of them had talked about for an hour.
At least he wasn’t feeling too worried about Harry and Dana for the moment, given his vision had shown the attack at night. He was sure they would be back at the house before dark, as that was where he had seen them in his vision. But so long as they didn’t lose track of the SUV, he and Dean would be able to protect them when the time came, wherever they were.
However, it became quite clear that Dana was just carrying on with her day as she pulled into the parking lot of the nearby store.
“See, she’s just getting groceries,” Dean pointed out with a vague gesture towards the SUV as he swung them round into a parking spot near the exit and turned off the engine. “Quit worrying.” Dean instructed as he relaxed back in his seat, watching Dana strap Harry into a cart.
Sam didn’t bother to say anything, getting out of the car and going to keep an eye on them while they were inside.
He was glad when Dean didn’t bother to follow; Dana would have recognized his brother anyway, so it would be easier without him. But mostly he was just relieved to have a few minutes away from Dean, before he gave in to the urge to punch the secret-keeping asshole.
As horrible as it was, he really hoped that this attack happened sooner rather than later because if he was going to have to spend days watching over Dana and Harry with Dean, he was going to end up doing something they would both regret.
-#-
As they returned home from the store, pulling up across from the house, Sam’s attention was suddenly piqued. He shifted in his seat to get a better view of the Chevy.
Dana was lifting Harry from the car seat, talking to him softly as she did so, and it was a sight he had seen before. This was exactly how his vision had started.
Dean didn’t miss the change in him.
“This familiar?” Dean asked, gesturing towards the driveway. He was already drawing his gun, seemingly without conscious thought, and looked ready to jump out of the car.
“Yeah.” Sam confirmed.
Reaching out, he put his hand on Dean’s arm, silently telling him to wait. His gaze though, was still fixed on Dana as she carried the young boy into the house.
“We have a little while, but this is happening tonight.”
Dean nodded once, lowering his gun to his lap but not putting it away and Sam could see that his brother was still tense and ready to move at a moment’s notice.
They had to be patient, however; timing could be everything.
-#-
It was a long, tedious hour that followed and Dean had never been the most patient.
Sam was only a little surprised when as soon as they saw Dana heading upstairs, presumably to go to bed, his brother all but threw himself out of the driver’s seat. Dean was already round the back and yanking open the trunk before Sam had really registered what had happened.
“We’re not letting this thing get anywhere near that kid.” Dean stated as Sam got out of the car, thrusting a shotgun into Sam’s hands as he joined him by the trunk.
“We don’t even know where it’s coming from. Or how it’s going to get into the house.” Sam pointed out, checking the gun was loaded on instinct, before pocketing a few spare shells.
“Then we wait where we do know it’ll be.”
Sam stared at him for a moment, trying to process whether Dean had actually just suggested what he thought he had. That was crazy even by Winchester family standards.
“You’re kidding?” Sam asked hopefully, as Dean continued to shove things into a bag.
“Nope.”
“The nursery?” Sam questioned skeptically, fixing Dean with an expression of stern disapproval.
Dean totally ignored him as he slammed the trunk shut and turned to head across the street toward the house.
“You want to sit in this kid’s nursery, with shotguns?” Sam asked in complete disbelief.
This was a new low, even for them. He was frowning, but followed, his long strides enabling him to quickly catch up.
“Not just shotguns. I have holy water, silver bullets, evergreen steaks, salt, and an iron crowbar too,” Dean told him, holding up the duffle-bag he had in hand. They hadn’t needed to discuss it to know they would want a selection of weapons, given they had no idea what would work. “And the Smith and Wesson.” he added, as an afterthought.
“That’s really not the point.” Sam told him, keeping his voice down now as they made their way across the front lawn, drawing closer to the house.
Sam was increasingly concerned about the possibility of Dana catching them breaking into her home. And he could only imagine how badly she would react to finding two armed men in Harry’s nursery. And more importantly, if she found them, they might lose their chance to deal with whatever was coming, and to protect Dana and Harry.
The area was almost eerily quiet, disturbed only by the sound of the wind and the occasional car heading down Main Street, a couple of blocks over, and Sam stuck close as Dean led the way around the side of the house. They hugged the wall, trusting the moonlight’s shadows to keep them hidden.
As they reached the back door, Dean crouched down and started on the lock.
Sam took a moment to survey the backyard. It was very suburban, with a patio, somewhat rundown dining furniture and a large, but well-kept, lawn. What he was looking for though, were any signs of movement that might mean they weren’t alone.
He saw nothing.
It was peaceful. If he hadn’t known something was coming, hadn’t seen it for himself, he might not have believed there was any reason for them to be there.
The soft click of the lock opening captured Sam’s attention. Neither of them said a word as Dean twisted the handle slowly and eased the door open.
The kitchen was in near darkness, lit only by the slivers of moonlight that filtered through the windows. It was just enough for Sam to get a feel for the layout of the room. He cautiously shut the door behind him and turned back to his brother. But Dean was already expertly navigating his way past the table and chairs, and the breakfast bar sticking out into the middle of the room, eyes sweeping every corner of the house as he went.
Sam’s brow furrowed.
The certainty with which Dean moved spoke of familiarity, and Sam suspected it was from more than the hour his brother had spent in the house earlier that day. Now, however, was not the time to confront him on his suspicions, so Sam mentally filed the thought away for later with the hundred-and-one other questions he needed Dean to answer.
Moving swiftly, but with care not to make a sound, Sam followed his brother.
He caught up with him in the hallway. Dean had paused there, head tilted subtly as he listened for the smallest sound of movement. Sam listened too. There was nothing. Confident they weren’t about to be discovered, Dean crept up the stairs, Sam close on his heels.
Even from the top of the stairs, Sam could see the door to the nursery was ajar and the light off inside, but every other door along the landing was closed. It seemed Dana truly had gone to sleep, or at least to bed.
They quickly entered the nursery, trying to stay as quiet as possible and pushed the door half closed behind them.
Just as in his vision, there was only a hint of moonlight making its way through the curtains that hung over the only window in the room.
“Fuck it’s dark in here.” Sam grumbled, in such a quiet whisper that it sounded like little more than a breath. He didn’t dare move, lest he knocked into something, which would be a particularly bad idea while he still had the shotgun in hand.
Dean said nothing but clicked on a flashlight, keeping it half buried by the duffle-bag so the whole room wasn’t illuminated too suddenly or too brightly.
Sam nodded his gratitude and blinked around the nursery now he could see a little better. Dean, much to Sam’s surprise, left the flashlight where it was and moved quickly to the crib.
“Dean…?” Sam stared at his brother with bemusement.
But Dean simply reached down and lifted the sleepy, grizzling Harry up into his arms. He shushed the small boy as he held him close, the infant’s head nestled in against his neck.
“Are you crazy?” Sam hissed, clicking the nursery door properly closed before taking a couple of steps towards his brother. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Keeping the kid from crying.” Dean said unrepentantly, rocking gently as though he’d had lots of experience doing just that.
Sam blinked at him, stunned speechless for a moment. It was so peculiar to see such a different side to his brother, particularly given how comfortable Dean seemed with the one-year-old tucked against his chest.
“Besides, I still got a shooting hand free.” he added, shifting Harry enough to be able to wave a free hand for emphasis.
Sam seriously wanted to punch the smug grin off his brother’s face. He didn’t get a chance to properly consider all the ways that would be a very bad idea before the nursery door slammed open. Both brothers turned toward the sound and Harry let out a surprised cry against Dean’s neck.
“Dean!?” Dana exclaimed in shocked outrage, as she stood in the doorway.
“Shit,” Dean grumbled under his breath, increasing his rocking motion and using his free hand to rub circles on Harry’s back in an attempt to calm the agitated child. “This is not what it looks like.”
“Dean...” Dana sighed with obvious exasperation, running a hand over her tired face before smothering a yawn. “If you want to see Harry, that’s… understandable. It’s fine; we can work something out. But you can’t just break into my house in the middle of the night!”
“That’s not…” Dean protested, shaking his head.
“Then what?” Dana stepped forward, her arms out to take Harry.
Sam was shocked, however, when Dean moved back half a pace, wrapping his arms more tightly around the one-year-old, protectively. Dana stared at Dean with narrowed eyes, dropping her arms back to her sides.
Sam had no idea what to think.
“I’m trying to protect you, both of you.” Dean told her quickly, insistently, seeming as stunned by his own actions, as Sam and Dana were.
“From what?” Dana asked disbelievingly, her hands moving to rest on her hips. “Merlin’s beard, Dean! Why are you really here? What’s going on?” she demanded to know, throwing her arms in the air.
“Trust me, I wish I knew,” Dean told her earnestly. “But it’s nothing good. And whatever’s after Harry… it’s coming. Tonight.”
“Dean…” Dana sighed.
“I saw it,” Sam said, speaking up for the first time and drawing Dana’s attention. “I know it sounds crazy, and I wish we had time to…”
“Saw it?” Dana interrupted, looking genuinely concerned for the first time since she had slammed open the door.
Sam nodded both bemused and grateful Dana seemed to at least somewhat believe him.
“Sam’s visions are disturbingly accurate.” Dean told her. He was standing still once more, Harry fast asleep against his shoulder.
“I saw Lily’s death, in Harry’s nursery; the one he had before,” Sam blurted out, causing both Dana and Dean to look his way again.
Dean’s eyes narrowed in warning; Dana, however, looked interested.
“I would’ve saved her if I could,” Sam promised, not wanting her to get the wrong idea, “but I had no way to find them and...”
A sound from downstairs made them all fall suddenly quiet. Dana spun to look towards the door.
Sam moved for the duffle-bag, swinging it up over his shoulder, throwing the Smith and Wesson to Dean before cocking the shotgun. When Dana looked back a few seconds later, they both looked ready to fight, despite the sleeping infant Dean was still holding. Apparently, it only took her that second to make a choice.
“Get Harry out,” Dana told Dean firmly, before heading out into the hallway, pulling a slender, straight stick from her sleeve as she went.
“Dana!” Dean exclaimed, but Sam stepped in front of his brother as Dean moved to follow her.
“I’ll stick with Dana.” Sam promised, pressing his hand to Dean’s chest.
“You’re not going after that thing alone,” Dean argued, looking very much like he wanted to push Sam’s hand away, or else grab hold of Sam and not let go, but he had no free hand to do either.
“Get Harry away from here! It’s him this thing’s after.”
Sam didn’t wait to hear any more of Dean’s arguments, hurrying out into the corridor with the shotgun raised. The lights were still off, the doors still closed, and there was no one there. The landing was clear.
A terrified shout had him hurrying for the stairs, which were momentarily illuminated with a strange flash of green.
Pointing the gun over the banister, he moved as quickly as he could, sweeping the stairwell as he went.
“No!” he exclaimed as he reached the bottom of the stairs.
Dana’s body was sprawled on the floor. Her eyes were open and glassy, frozen in a moment of fear. Over her stood the creature, dressed in a long black robe, with pale skin and red eyes, just like Sam remembered from his vision.
Sam didn’t hesitate, his finger pulling the trigger and filled the creature with buckshot.
It actually cried out in shock and stumbled back a couple of paces; Sam was relieved this thing was at least solid enough to shoot at. Sam shot again, but with a loud pop the creature vanished, and the shot did nothing but pepper the wall.
“Sammy!”
Sam turned and found Dean on the stairs, gun raised, a bag thrown over his shoulder, and Harry in his other arm, sobbing hysterically into his neck.
“I shot it once, but then it vanished,” Sam told him. He didn’t mention Dana; he knew Dean would have seen her obviously lifeless body for himself. “We need to get out of here. Now. Before it comes back.”
“No argument here,” Dean agreed.
Sam led them past Dana’s body and out the front door, which had been left wide open by the creature on its way in.
A few neighbors were coming out of their houses or looking curiously out of their window, presumably drawn by the gunfire. Sam paid them no mind. He threw the bag of weaponry into the back seat and saw Dean do the same with whatever bag he had picked up, before climbing into the passenger seat with Harry securely in his arms.
Sam spared a moment to glance back at the house, before climbing in the driver’s side and starting the engine. Guilt over failing to save Dana was burning in his gut but he pushed it from his mind. RIght now, they had to leave, and quickly.
Wanting to get them far away from there, Sam put his foot on the gas.
-#-
“Fuck!” Dean exclaimed about ten minutes later. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he added for emphasis.
“We need to find the rest of this kid’s family,” Sam said, trying to force himself to remain calm. They had to prioritize. They needed to go after the creature but they couldn’t do that with Harry in tow.
“No,” Dean stated gruffly, shaking his head, “we don’t.”
“What are you talking about?” Sam snapped irritably. “Of course we do. We need to hunt that creature and Harry…”
“Harry stays with me.”
Sam stared at Dean in disbelief as best he could while watching the road.
Dean, however, was focused on Harry, who had been thankfully rocked back to sleep by the motion of the car. The affection on Dean’s face was one thing too much and Sam pulled the car over onto the side of the road.
“Start talking!” Sam demanded.
“Shh, Sammy, you’ll wake him again,” Dean chastised, his hand hovering just over Harry’s exposed ear. “Drive will ya. We need to keep moving.”
“Then talk quickly,” Sam told him sternly.
“Sam!” Dean snapped, glancing worriedly out the back of the car.
“No, Dean, you need to talk to me. This is crazy, even by your standards,” Sam exclaimed, though keeping his voice softer this time. The kid had a serious set of lungs on him, for one so small and Sam wasn’t in a hurry to wake him up. “We can’t just keep him.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you,” Dean said, finally looking up and giving Sam the most pointed of looks. “I can.”
Sam stared at him. He blinked at him slowly a couple of times, knowing Dean was hoping he would put two and two together and figure something out. For the life of him, though, he couldn’t think of one good reason why Dean would even want to keep a kid. But as he looked down at Harry’s sleeping face again, and back to Dean’s uncharacteristically worried one, and started thinking hard, a thought came to him.
A ridiculous, unbelievable, totally not okay, thought.
“No,” Sam stated.
“Yeah,” Dean said slowly.
“No way.”
“Yeah,” Dean repeated, smiling wryly.
“No,” Sam repeated, laughing a little hysterically. “No. No way.”
“Trust me, I didn’t want to believe it either,” Dean assured him.
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Hey, can you blame me? Lily was hot,” Dean stated, trying for a smirk, though it was definitely off.
“Harry’s…? You’re his…?” Sam stammered disbelievingly.
“Congrats, you’re an uncle, Sammy,” Dean told him, reaching over and patting his knee, before quickly wrapping his arm around Harry once more as though terrified at the prospect of dropping him.
“What the hell, Dean? He’s really yours?!” Sam managed to spit out after a few moments.
“Apparently,” Dean said, clearly trying for casual.
The two of them went back to staring out of the windscreen in silence. Sam had no idea what to say. He probably should have been surprised this hadn’t happened before now, but he had never actually believed it would. He had sort of thought the Winchester line might end with them.
Sam smothered a burst of bemused laughter, as another thought crossed his mind.
Dean threw him a questioning look. “What?”
“Nothing,” Sam insisted unconvincingly, shaking his head with a half-smile.
“Seriously, what?” Dean asked more demandingly, clearly not remotely amused.
“Just… Dad is going to lose his shit when he finds out,” Sam told him with a gleeful cackle of a laugh.
“We could just not tell him?” Dean suggested hopefully, his eyes drifting back down to Harry, asleep in his arms.
“Not. A. Chance,” Sam declared, laughing properly when Dean actually pouted.
-#-
Sam was still feeling shell-shocked, but a little more level headed by the time they pulled back out onto the road ten minutes later. The two of them had easily agreed on exactly where they needed to head now.
“We’ve got a hell of a drive ahead, so you might as well start talking,” Sam prompted.
Dean sighed, a resigned sound, and relaxed back in his seat. He checked Harry was still asleep, pulling his coat around him to keep him warm. Sam knew it was an avoidance tactic, but they had time, so he waited.
“Dad and I were hunting a ghost,” Dean said after several long minutes, his gaze staring out at the road ahead of them. “Was just your regular dead woman with a vendetta, should have been no big thing. Dad was off doing research into where her bones were, so I passed the time with a few drinks.”
Dean paused, and Sam glanced at him, seeing the small smile that twisted at the corner of his brother’s mouth.
“You got drunk and knocked someone up?” Sam asked, sounding almost disappointed. “It’s that a bit... cliché?”
Dean laughed wryly. “You’d think, but ain’t that simple,” he assured him.
Sam just flashed him a look of skepticism.
“Lily was working the bar, you dope,” Dean told him with exasperation. “And let’s just say that most of the regulars weren’t great company for a twenty-year-old English girl, who just wanted to make a few bucks while staying with her aunt for the summer.”
“Oh my god, you actually liked this girl!” Sam exclaimed in surprise. “Like, like liked.”
“What are you, twelve?” Dean asked, sneering at Sam like he’d lost his mind. “She was hot and seriously smart. Not to mention, way better company than Dad, particularly when he’s stuck in business mode.”
Sam snorted. He couldn’t really argue with that. “So you became… friends?”
“Of a sort,” Dean agreed with an expression that Sam could only describe as lecherous.
Sam snorted. “Yeah, I’ve seen you make those friendships before.”
“Finding the bones took longer than we expected, so we ended up being there for weeks. Lily and I spent a lot of time together.”
“I bet you did.”
“Hey, it might‘ve started out just a simple fuck, but…” Dean trailed off. “She even took me to her aunt’s house for dinner a couple of times.”
“That’s how Dana knew you,” Sam said, mostly to himself. “So what happened?”
“What do you mean, what happened?” Dean asked, looking confused. “We burned the bones and left. And Lily apparently went back to her old boyfriend in England.”
“Yeah, with your kid!” Sam pointed out, feeling annoyed on his brother’s behalf.
“With my kid,” Dean agreed quietly, his eyes drifting back to Harry on his lap.
-#-
By the time they pulled into Bobby’s salvage yard, the sun was already up. Harry was now wide awake and peering around, wide-eyed and curious, from his seat in Dean’s lap.
They had made good time, despite having had to pull into a gas station an hour earlier, when Harry had woken up wailing. They had both felt quite out of their depth, trying to work out how to calm the kid down. Eventually, though, they had managed to figure out how to change him into one of the fresh diapers that had thankfully been in the bag Dean had thought to grab from Dana’s.
They had both been stumped by what to feed him though. They had been quite grateful when a random guy, who had seemed more than a little amused by their confusion, had recommended a jar of apple and banana mush that had apparently been his daughter’s favorite. Harry had liked it well enough.
“Ba la,” Harry babbled happily, his hand patting against the passenger side window.
“You like cars, kid?” Dean asked, helping Harry to stand up in his arms so he could see more.
Harry screeched excitedly, banging against the window again.
“We are going to get along great,” Dean insisted proudly, pulling up Harry’s pants as they slid down.
“Well you do have the same mental age,” Sam teased as he pulled up, a stone’s throw from the house, shutting off the engine.
“Your Uncle Sammy is an ass,” Dean told his son, turning Harry to face him.
“Ah!” Harry agreed happily, clapping his hands.
“Uncle Sam thinks this kid will be swearing like a trucker by the time he is two,” Sam pointed out, shaking his head in amusement.
“Nonsense,” Dean insisted, “Harry will be good, like…”
“Like you?” Sam interrupted sarcastically, scoffing a laugh.
“Like his mother,” Dean corrected pointedly.
Sam snorted and gave him a disbelieving look. “She got knocked in her early twenties, by a guy she met in a bar and had known less than two weeks.”
“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean grumbled half-heartedly, getting himself and Harry out of the car. He was already getting better at managing to do things with just one free hand.
Sam leaned out of the window, as Dean headed over to the house. “Don’t think most people would think that counts as being a good girl,” he called after him.
Dean flipped him the bird, but Sam just chuckled as he got out of the driver’s seat. Getting the bag of Harry’s things out of the back of the car, he followed his brother up the few steps to the house. Dean had already knocked, so the door swung open just as he reached the porch, revealing an older, bearded man, who was staring at them with narrowed, suspicious eyes.
“Hi Bobby,” Dean greeted jovially, smiling a little awkwardly when Harry babbled a greeting of his own, waving his hands vaguely at the man in the doorway.
“What did you two idjits do now?” Bobby asked, gesturing them inside and wandering off to the kitchen.
They followed him inside.
“Well I didn’t do anything,” Sam said, as he shut the front door behind them, dropping the bag in the hallway.
Dean was already downing the shot of holy water Bobby had given him, having given Harry a sip first, enough to appease the suspicious older hunter.
“Nothing? Really?” Bobby asked disbelievingly, jerking his head in Harry’s direction as he handed Sam a shot glass.
“Well, unless you count aiding and abetting in the kidnap of the little guy,” Sam added cheekily, before downing the shot.
“It wasn’t kidnapping. I’m all he has left!” Dean pointed out furiously, causing Harry to cuddle into him more tightly.
“Was just a joke,” Sam assured him, holding his hands up in surrender.
“Not a funny one,” Dean snapped, even as he rubbed his hands over Harry’s back in an attempt to reassure him. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly to Harry.
“Fuck me,” Bobby moaned quietly, staring, wide-eyed, at Dean and Harry.
“It’s been a long few days,” Sam grumbled wryly.
“I’m gonna need my other flask for this,” Bobby bemoaned, shoving the one of holy water back into his jacket pocket before heading further into the house. “On second thought, screw the flask,” he declared as he pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk, “I’m gonna need the bottle.”
“We weren’t sure where else to go,” Sam told him, as they followed him into the library, just in time for Bobby to clunk a bottle of whiskey onto the desk.
“You’re sure the kid’s yours?” Bobby asked Dean, as he dropped into the chair behind the desk and took a deep swig.
“Pretty damn certain, yeah,” Dean said, as he took a seat on the sofa and sat Harry down on the rug by his feet.
Sam watched on curiously, as Dean leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs, watching Harry roll sideways onto hands and knees, before taking off at a crawl. He had sounded more serious than Sam had expected.
“Balls,” Bobby said softly, leaning back and taking another swig. “So, guessing your Daddy don’t know about you making him a Grandpa.”
Dean let out a bark of a laugh. “Fuck no,” he stated adamantly.
“Maybe you could give him a call,” Sam suggested to Bobby,
“Sam!” Dean protested.
Sam ignored the glare his brother was shooting at him.
“Dad’ll answer for you. You could get him here,” Sam went on, absent-mindedly bending down to sweep Harry up into his arms, when the kid went to crawl past him towards the kitchen.
Harry screeched happily at the sudden movement but fell quiet when he found himself face to face with his uncle.
Sam stared into a face that was like a strange, slightly distorted echo of his brother’s, a pair of bright-green eyes blinking at him curiously. However, Harry’s short attention span apparently wore out a few seconds later, as he was wiggling to be put down. Sam obliged, pointing him back towards Dean.
“Yeah, alright. I’ll see what I can do,” Bobby agreed wearily. “Besides, I wanna be there to see John’s face when he hears this.”
Dean groaned dramatically. “Well if you two are marching me to certain doom, can we at least eat first?”
-#-
There was shouting downstairs, and Sam was sure it must have been what had woken him.
Groggily he turned over in bed and glanced towards the window. It was still light out, but only just. Clearly early evening. He had been asleep for most of the day, but it still didn’t feel long enough.
One of the voices became louder and angrier, and Sam recognized the sound at once. He had been shouted at by his father too many times not to. Rolling out of the bed, Sam hurried out into the hallway. Dean was already standing at the top of the stairs looking pissed.
“If they wake Harry…”
Sam gasped out a surprised laugh; that was not at all what he had expected Dean to say. It was so… paternal.
“What?” Dean demanded, his voice still rough with sleep and looking annoyed.
“Nothing,” Sam said, chuckling a little. “Just, Dad’s not going to be worried about waking Harry. He doesn’t even know he exists.”
Dean gave him an unimpressed look.
“You could go down there and tell him,” Sam suggested with an amused smirk.
“Yeah, because that’ll stop the yelling,” Dean pointed out sarcastically.
Sam hummed in agreement, the two of them going quiet in the hopes of hearing some of what Bobby and their father were arguing about. Their attempts however, were cut short by a soft cry coming from the room that Dean and Harry had been sleeping in.
“Fuck,” Dean huffed, letting out a weary moan and scrubbing his hand through his hair.
“Want me to get him?” Sam offered, not sure if he really knew what to do with a baby, but wanting to give Dean something of a break.
Dean shook his head though, heading back into the bedroom as Harry’s cries became louder. Loud enough to be heard downstairs, if the sudden quietness from there was anything to go by. Sam decided to let Bobby deal with John’s inevitable questions though and instead moved to the bedroom door. He watched as Dean picked Harry up from one of the mattresses that had been placed on the floor, and cuddled the not-quite-one-year-old to his chest.
“Shh,” Dean hissed softly as Harry scrunched up handfuls of Dean’s shirt in his tiny fists, very clearly expressing his frustration at having been woken up. “It’s okay, kid. You’re fine. I’ve got you,” he continued to tell his son, as he kept moving around the room, bouncing them both gently.
“Sam.”
Sam spun on the spot and found himself face-to-face with his father, who stood at the top of the stairs with Bobby just behind him.
“Dad,” Sam gasped out.
He moved forward and quickly found himself pulled into a tight hug. He hadn’t seen his dad since the mess with Meg and the Daeva in Chicago, and no matter his dad’s thoughts on the risks, he was glad they were back together.
“So, tell me,” John said, pulling back to look Sam in the eye, his hands on Sam’s shoulders, “what’s so important you had to get Bobby to drag me back here in such a hurry?”
Sam merely glanced over to the room where Dean and Harry were, and John followed his gaze. Dean was just standing there, staring at them, Harry whimpering in his arms. It was a tense moment as John stepped past Sam, patting a hand on his shoulder, and over to Dean.
“Your kid?” John asked simply.
Dean took a moment to look him in the eye, as though hoping to gauge his reaction.
“Yeah,” Dean answered a few moments later, almost daring his father to get pissed at him.
But John didn’t look overly surprised, and not even really upset, as he moved forward again.
Dean let out a surprised and rather undignified yelp, scrabbling for a moment to regain his hold on his son as John swiftly removed Harry from his arms. Their father sat Harry against his own side with a practiced ease and Sam blinked slowly, rather taken aback by their father’s easy acceptance.
John had one arm under Harry’s diaper-padded bum and the other hand under his armpit, so he could look his grandson in the eye. And look he did. Harry, who had been surprised into a moment of peace, stared back.
“Hi, kid,” John said. “Were you just angry or did ya actually want something?”
“Ba!” Harry exclaimed before shoving his fist into his mouth and sucking on it.
“Yeah, I get that,” John said soundly, nodding as though Harry had just explained himself fully, and he brought Harry close, letting the young boy’s head rest over his heart. He looked up then, meeting Dean’s eye. “You're certain he’s yours,” he said, more a statement than a question.
“Err… yes sir,” Dean answered anyway, sounding nervous, his moment of bravado thrown by his father’s unexpected reaction. “Harry. His name’s Harry.”
“He looks like you,” John said, his whole body swaying gently.
Sam was struck by the strange contrast it made to the shotgun-wielding version of his father he was far more familiar with; somehow their own father being paternal was weirder to him than when Dean was.
Dean stepped to John’s side, into Harry’s line of sight, and he reached out and ran his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry put three of his own fingers into his mouth, sucking on them gently, his eyes blinking slowly up at Dean.
“His mother’s eyes,” Dean said a little awkwardly, gesturing to Harry before stuffing his hands into his pockets, as though fighting the urge to snatch Harry back for himself.
John let the tense silence hang for a moment before he started to ask, “And she’s…?”
“Dead,” Dean interrupted, his tone harsh and blunt. He hesitated for a moment before adding, “A fire. In Harry’s nursery.”
John’s expression flared angrily for a moment, before he pulled himself back under control, though to Sam it looked like he was holding Harry just a little bit tighter than before.
“The moment Harry’s asleep, you boys are going to tell me everything,” John stated.
“Everything,” Sam agreed quickly before Dean had a chance to argue.
-#-
With the decent sleep Harry had managed the night before and the several long naps he had taken throughout the day, it was apparent that the young boy was not planning to sleep again for a while.
Sam, though, was quite happy to sit with Harry, on the rug in the library, while the kid played with the few toys that had been in the bag from Dana’s house. Sam was a little impressed that Dean had had the forethought to grab it; though they were going to need more supplies and clothes for Harry soon regardless.
“I’ll go get dinner,” Dean said about half an hour after they had moved downstairs. Apart from Harry’s giggles and babbles, the atmosphere was tense and far too quiet. “Assuming you and Harry are happy to carry on with your play date?” he asked.
Sam turned to fix him with a piercing glare.
“Hilarious,” Sam said dryly. “But yes, I’ll keep an eye on him,” he promised.
He suspected that Dean mostly wanted to escape the searching looks their father was giving them; he could understand that. They both knew John had taken it all too well so far, which meant there was a storm brewing.
“You should go to the store and get some things for Harry,” John said as Dean threw on his jacket and fished the keys to the Impala out of the pocket.
Dean paused, his whole body tense. Sam was quite certain Dean was censoring the first half a dozen things that had come into his head.
“Of course,” he said, turning again to head out the door.
“Don’t forget wipes, you don't have many left.” John told him, with a gesture to the mostly empty pack that had been left with the rest of Harry things when Dean had changed Harry earlier.
“I know,” Dean snapped, turning back to glare at John. “I’m his father, not you. And I’ve been managing perfectly fine without you for the last year with everything else, so I’ll manage this too.”
And with that, Dean stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.
Harry burst into loud, hysterical tears.
“God fucking damn it!” Dean exclaimed, as he stormed back into the house a few seconds later, swept Harry up into his arms and took him outside to calm down.
“He might just make a good father yet,” Bobby pointed out, “given the chance.”
John just hummed vaguely.
-#-
“A kid, Dean? How could you be that irresponsible?” John demanded to know as he towered over his eldest son, who was once again sitting on the sofa in the library. “Given the lives we live…”
It was well into the evening now.
Dean had managed to calm Harry down enough to leave him with Sam for a while. He had then taken their dad’s truck and disappeared for a couple of hours. He had come back with the back loaded up with things for Harry, including a crib and a car seat. It had been obvious to Sam that even John was rather impressed by how thorough Dean had been.
Now though, they had finished their dinner and could finally talk. Though from where Sam was standing in the doorway, it looked more like John taking the chance to berate Dean.
“Accidents happen, Dad,” Dean told him angrily.
“Apparently,” John snapped.
“This wasn’t something I planned!”
“I should fucking hope not!” John exclaimed, narrowing his eyes at him. “And why am I only hearing about my grandson now, anyway? He’s got to be…”
“A little over ten months; yeah,” Dean confirmed, and for the first-time Sam realized that Dean might actually be feeling bitter about the months of his son’s life he had missed out on.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” John asked, crouching down in front of Dean, trying to look him in the eye.
Dean snorted wryly and shook his head.
“The first I knew of him was yesterday!” he explained, looking anywhere but at John. “It was when we were hunting that ghost in Lancaster, the one with the missing bones. But we didn’t even stick around long enough for Lily to have known she was pregnant before I was long gone.”
“Wait, Harry’s mother is that British girl? The barmaid you took a liking to?” John asked, looking surprised and moving to sit next to Dean on the sofa.
Sam was just surprised John had noticed that much about Dean’s personal life.
“Yeah, Lily,” Dean said, he looked a little taken aback too. “But I was gone, so she did what she had to. She went home to England, back to her old boyfriend, and had Harry there.”
“England?” John asked, apparently momentarily surprised by that small detail. “That’s where she was killed?”
“Sam saw it all. One of those visions of his,” Dean said, nodding his head. “And Lily’s aunt, Dana, confirmed it. Harry’s nursery, when he was six months old. And his… step-father brought him to the States, left him with Dana. And now that she’s dead too…” He trailed off.
“It was just like what the demon did to Jess, and mom,” Sam said, mostly to give Dean a moment. “She burned on the ceiling, Dad. And I saw what it did to Harry too, what it must have done to me.”
“Shut up, Sammy!” Dean snapped.
“It fed him demon blood,” John guessed, looking concerned at his own words.
“It did what?!” Bobby exclaimed, but both Sam and Dean simply stared at their father in shock. “What the hell did it do that for?”
“That I don’t know,” John admitted.
“But this is personal right?” Sam asked after a few moments. “I mean, has the demon ever attacked outside of the States before?” he asked curiously.
John frowned. “Not that I know of.”
“Wait, you’re saying Harry was targeted because he’s my kid? Because he’s a Winchester?” Dean asked, sounding genuinely horrified.
“Now you get why I’m worried?” John asked. “You get how much danger Harry is in just by simply being your kid?”
“I get it, alright!” Dean snapped, getting to his feet. “But Harry is my kid, there’s nothing I can do about that, even if I wanted to.”
“No one’s suggesting you should,” Bobby said a little placatingly.
Sam suspected he was simply trying to keep a full Winchester family feud from breaking out in his home.
“And Harry was in danger before I even knew he existed!” Dean went on determinedly. “If it wasn’t for Sam’s visions my son would be lying dead in his cot right now.” He paused there, glancing over towards Sam with an expression of sadness and relief.
“Harry’s fine, Dean,” Sam said softly, a little perturbed by how shaken Dean looked.
Dean nodded firmly, before turning back to John. “Harry’s here now, with us and I’ll protect him,” he declared, turning and leaving the room. Sam could hear him hurrying straight upstairs and knew he had gone to check on Harry.
“Dean’s right, Dad,” Sam said, as he pushed off the doorframe. “It’s not ideal, but at least this way we can watch over him. Harry’s safest with us.”
“Yeah, I know,” John agreed. “But everything just got more complicated.”
Sam didn’t have to say anything to that, they all knew it was true. That this changed everything.