Fic: The Art of Building a Nest V
Title:The Art of Building a Nest V
Rating:PG
Warnings: Religion. Lots of it.
Summary: Pastor Jim gets an unusual phone call - and finally can put a worry to rest. Dean's about to celebrate a very special event at the Easter Vigil - and long forgotten memory returns. Lots of C, not a lot of H. Deaf!Dean Verse
Pastor Jim Murphy, Catholic priest and long time resident of Blue Earth, Minnesota was no stranger to monsters, demons and evil. Although unlike many hunters, he saw the monsters they tended to forget or overlook. Inner demons could do just as much damage as one of Hell's minions and sometimes it shocked him how much mankind could hurt one another. How much parents could harm their children. And no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you prayed, things still went horrifically wrong.
Such was the case of Dean Winchester.
The first time Jim met Dean, he was ashamed to admit, he dismissed the look on the boy's face with one of sorrow, instead of the suffering it was. He told himself that the boy was grieving and all he wanted was his mom - and John had no idea how to be affectionate with his children. While Dean did lavish attention on his baby brother - Jim couldn't remember seeing John display affection towards his eldest. And again, Jim dismissed it as grief.
The second time,when the boys were with him for a week, Jim found a few bruises on Dean - and again, he dismissed it for the fact that Dean was a boy and boys were usually sporting a few injuries.
The third time there wasn't any doubt. Dean was completely and utterly terrified of his father. To see that sort of terror in the eyes of a six year old had been gut wrenching. And trying to convince John to leave the boys with him ended badly. John was already mad at him for encouraging Dean's belief in angels. Fairy tales and garbage, were the man's words. Jim remembered that quite clearly.
Sadly, Jim had heard plenty of talk like that before.
When John showed up sans Dean for the first time, Jim was horrified when he was told that Dean had been left in 'good hands'. He didn't press the issue for fear that Sam would end up in the same 'good hands' and Jim had said so many novenas for Dean's sake, he'd lost track.
It been almost a year now, and still John had yet to offer more information on where his eldest was. Sam had told him that Dean was sick, which only made him worry more. That poor boy was somewhere, and he had not been able to save him.
The phone rang, jarring him from his dark musings. He shook his head to clear it and then picked up the receiver. “Saint Lucy's Catholic Church, this is Pastor James Murphy, how may I help you?”
“Good morning, Father Murphy, my name is Robert Hirt, I'm the associate pastor at Our Lady of the Snows, in Potomac, Maryland.”
“Yes.” Jim thought for a moment. “Is this about the choir competition in the spring?”
“What?” The man coughed, “No, I am hoping I have found the right James Murphy. I am calling to inquire if you know a boy named Dean Coulter.”
Jim thought for a moment. “I'm afraid you might...”
“Oh, I gave you the wrong last name. He was recently adopted. Winchester used to be his last name. Do you know a Dean Winchester?” The man's voice was oddly cheerful.
Jim was glad the man was on the phone and not across the desk, because he was certain he had the most stunned look on his face at the moment. “I beg your pardon?”
“Dean Winchester. I'm calling to ask about Dean Winchester.” A pause. “Father, are you all right?”
“I... you caught me off guard, that's all. Yes, I know a boy named Dean Winchester, though I've not seen him in a while.” What was Dean doing in Maryland? Who - what was going on? “He's not in any trouble, is he?”
“No, sir.” The man coughed again. “Excuse me, allergies. I was calling to ask if you know whether or not Dean has been baptized in the Catholic faith, or baptized at all.”
Had he been Robert Singer, Jim would have burst out laughing at that question. John Winchester was such a stark atheist, it was a wonder he could make holy water. “No, he hasn't.” He took a deep breath, “this may sound like an odd question, but is Dean all right?”
“Dean is fine, from what I can tell. His parents don't want me to give anyone from his past a lot of details - they don't want his biological father finding him. Given what little they've told me, and on their behalf, I request that you do not tell him that you were contacted.”
Jim swallowed hard. “I haven't talked to his biological father in several months, but I wouldn't dream of telling him about this conversation. In fact, I can conveniently forget this phone call.” Quite frankly, he couldn't even believe he was having this conversation.
The other man chuckled. “I am quite certain that the Coulters appreciate your discretion.”
Jim thought for a moment, imagining the people who had Dean. All he could picture was a couple who loved him as much as a child like that deserved. “I wonder if you could do something for me, Father Hirt.”
“Yes?” He replied, sounding a little surprised.
“Would you please tell Dean that I am sorry I could not defend him, and I will watch out for Sam.” Jim felt his heart twist. He would have to atone for not seeing what had been right in front of him for so long.
“I will pass the word along.” He cleared his throat. “You have a blessed day, Father Murphy.”
“And you as well, Father Hirt.” He took a deep breath. “Good bye.” He hung up the receiver, and had to stare at his hands for several minutes. Dean was far away from here - the how and why of him being in Maryland wasn't something he wanted to ponder. Perhaps John had seen what he was doing and left Dean in the care of a social worker, or a hospital - he didn't want to press the issue. All he knew at this moment was that if he saw one warning signal from Sam Winchester, John wouldn't see his youngest boy again either.
**
There wasn't a Saint Dean and it sort of annoyed him. Dean had been through several books of saints and found no Deans. Mom told him that maybe he could be the first one. That was far too lofty of a goal. Right now, he would settle for just turning out to be a decent kid. The only saint he could find with ties to his name was Saint Michael the Archangel, which - well, was sort of cool. There was Saint Francis de Sales, patron of the Deaf - and while His mom told him he didn't need to worry about a confirmation name for several more years, it was still something he looked over - although he was leaning towards Saint Anthony - patron of missing things. Dean was an excellent finder - maybe he could help find missing children when he was older, or something.
Dean took a deep breath and opened his closet, taking out the slacks, shirt, and suit jacket from where they were hanging. How had April gotten here so quickly? Time had flown by - he'd already been in his new home for over a year. After pulling on the pants and shirt, he put on his socks and shoes, his heart fluttering in that weird way it did the day he met his parents. He didn't know why he was so nervous about this - well, okay, maybe a little.
John Winchester would probably fall down dead from shock if he knew what was going to happen tonight at the Easter Vigil at Our Lady of the Snows Catholic Church in Potomac, Maryland. While Dean was still very much afraid of the man, he also knew it was highly unlikely that the man would ever find him. Pastor Jim knew where he was tonight and the man wouldn't say a thing. Dean didn't blame the Pastor for not being able to help him. He too knew what a stubborn man John was. Pastor Jim was going to watch out for Sammy for him. Like John would ever hurt Sam.
Dean shook his head to clear it and then faced the mirror as he worked the tie around his neck. He looked - sort of good, he guessed. Dark gray slacks, a matching gray jacket, white shirt - and a gray and green tie. He knew that some churches had special baptismal fonts the size of a small bathtub just for the sole purpose of baptizing adults and older kids, like himself. There was just one font at Our Lady of the Snows and the only ones who got fully immersed were infants, if that was their parent's choice. He finished adjusting his tie and shrugged into his jacket.
He could barely recognize himself in the mirror. He had to make a face just to make sure he was the boy in the mirror. He saw the door open to his room open out of the corner of his eye and he turned. He grinned sheepishly at his mother. “I don't think I've ever been this dressed up before.”
“Tonight's an important night.” She crossed the room and smoothed down a stray lock of hair. “You look very handsome.”
Dean felt his cheeks turn slightly pink. “I sort of feel silly, being this dressed up.”
“Well, that's your age.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn't like having to dress up when I was eleven either.”
Dean gave his mom a skeptical look. In the fourteen months he'd known her and a good chunck of the Ambrose family, dressing up was almost normal for them. For crying out loud, when she was his age, Grams had taken her to pick out a silver pattern. They'd gone to Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma and Grandpa Coulter's house and there had been silver there too - and matching china. Place settings with enough dishes for four people and just thinking about it make him dizzy. The idea that mom didn't like to dress up was hard to fathom. “Am I allowed to not believe that?”
“Disbelieve it all you want.” She smiled. “But I'll have you know I used to be a champion tree climber.” She clapped her hands. “We should get going. Parking for the Easter Vigil is almost as bad as Christmas.”
Dean could believe that - although he had a feeling far more people turned out for the five-thirty Christmas Vigil than the seven-thirty one on Easter.
*
The church was full of smells - almost all of them overpowering. Incense, perfume and candle wax seemed to be inescapable and Dean wished he was near a window so he could open it. Things happened in a whirl, and with a crowd like this, the woman signing the mass to him and his parents had to sit in the pew with them. Dad was relying heavily on his hearing aides, Dean and his mom followed along in the missal when they could.
When it came time for him and the other Elects (as he and the rest of the Catechumens had been called since Lent started) were called to the front of the church to join the faith, they were to go in alphabetical order by their last name. Thankfully, in the past year Dean had gotten used to being near the beginning, rather than near the end. In this case, he was second. If Father Schmidt could see his hands trembling slightly, he figured the man couldn't blame him.
The faint scent of chrism oil wafted up from the water in the font and Dean closed his eyes as he felt the first rivulet of water coursed over his head and streamed down the side of his face, and a long forgotten memory came to him. He was five years old, sitting in the choir loft at Pastor Jim's church, right next to the pipe organ, feeling the music as the accompanist practiced a song. He remembered how he smiled honestly for the first time since his mother died on that day.
A hand on his back told him it was time to lift his head, and Dean found he had unknowingly started to cry. He didn't feel so bad about it - Mom and Dad were crying too.
Back in the pew, Dean covertly turned pages in the hymnal, stopping when he reached the song he knew, knew had been that song from that day in Pastor Jim's church. His fingers lingered over the title, Gather Us In and there, in the first verse, he read something that made him smile a little more. Gather us in the lost and forsaken. That was him. The lost and forsaken - it was like in that other song, about being lost and then found.
Dean said extra prayers that night for Sammy - and a few for John. Maybe John would stop hunting monsters and be a dad for Sammy. Sammy needed family and a home that wasn't the Impala.
Rating:PG
Warnings: Religion. Lots of it.
Summary: Pastor Jim gets an unusual phone call - and finally can put a worry to rest. Dean's about to celebrate a very special event at the Easter Vigil - and long forgotten memory returns. Lots of C, not a lot of H. Deaf!Dean Verse
Pastor Jim Murphy, Catholic priest and long time resident of Blue Earth, Minnesota was no stranger to monsters, demons and evil. Although unlike many hunters, he saw the monsters they tended to forget or overlook. Inner demons could do just as much damage as one of Hell's minions and sometimes it shocked him how much mankind could hurt one another. How much parents could harm their children. And no matter how hard you tried, no matter how much you prayed, things still went horrifically wrong.
Such was the case of Dean Winchester.
The first time Jim met Dean, he was ashamed to admit, he dismissed the look on the boy's face with one of sorrow, instead of the suffering it was. He told himself that the boy was grieving and all he wanted was his mom - and John had no idea how to be affectionate with his children. While Dean did lavish attention on his baby brother - Jim couldn't remember seeing John display affection towards his eldest. And again, Jim dismissed it as grief.
The second time,when the boys were with him for a week, Jim found a few bruises on Dean - and again, he dismissed it for the fact that Dean was a boy and boys were usually sporting a few injuries.
The third time there wasn't any doubt. Dean was completely and utterly terrified of his father. To see that sort of terror in the eyes of a six year old had been gut wrenching. And trying to convince John to leave the boys with him ended badly. John was already mad at him for encouraging Dean's belief in angels. Fairy tales and garbage, were the man's words. Jim remembered that quite clearly.
Sadly, Jim had heard plenty of talk like that before.
When John showed up sans Dean for the first time, Jim was horrified when he was told that Dean had been left in 'good hands'. He didn't press the issue for fear that Sam would end up in the same 'good hands' and Jim had said so many novenas for Dean's sake, he'd lost track.
It been almost a year now, and still John had yet to offer more information on where his eldest was. Sam had told him that Dean was sick, which only made him worry more. That poor boy was somewhere, and he had not been able to save him.
The phone rang, jarring him from his dark musings. He shook his head to clear it and then picked up the receiver. “Saint Lucy's Catholic Church, this is Pastor James Murphy, how may I help you?”
“Good morning, Father Murphy, my name is Robert Hirt, I'm the associate pastor at Our Lady of the Snows, in Potomac, Maryland.”
“Yes.” Jim thought for a moment. “Is this about the choir competition in the spring?”
“What?” The man coughed, “No, I am hoping I have found the right James Murphy. I am calling to inquire if you know a boy named Dean Coulter.”
Jim thought for a moment. “I'm afraid you might...”
“Oh, I gave you the wrong last name. He was recently adopted. Winchester used to be his last name. Do you know a Dean Winchester?” The man's voice was oddly cheerful.
Jim was glad the man was on the phone and not across the desk, because he was certain he had the most stunned look on his face at the moment. “I beg your pardon?”
“Dean Winchester. I'm calling to ask about Dean Winchester.” A pause. “Father, are you all right?”
“I... you caught me off guard, that's all. Yes, I know a boy named Dean Winchester, though I've not seen him in a while.” What was Dean doing in Maryland? Who - what was going on? “He's not in any trouble, is he?”
“No, sir.” The man coughed again. “Excuse me, allergies. I was calling to ask if you know whether or not Dean has been baptized in the Catholic faith, or baptized at all.”
Had he been Robert Singer, Jim would have burst out laughing at that question. John Winchester was such a stark atheist, it was a wonder he could make holy water. “No, he hasn't.” He took a deep breath, “this may sound like an odd question, but is Dean all right?”
“Dean is fine, from what I can tell. His parents don't want me to give anyone from his past a lot of details - they don't want his biological father finding him. Given what little they've told me, and on their behalf, I request that you do not tell him that you were contacted.”
Jim swallowed hard. “I haven't talked to his biological father in several months, but I wouldn't dream of telling him about this conversation. In fact, I can conveniently forget this phone call.” Quite frankly, he couldn't even believe he was having this conversation.
The other man chuckled. “I am quite certain that the Coulters appreciate your discretion.”
Jim thought for a moment, imagining the people who had Dean. All he could picture was a couple who loved him as much as a child like that deserved. “I wonder if you could do something for me, Father Hirt.”
“Yes?” He replied, sounding a little surprised.
“Would you please tell Dean that I am sorry I could not defend him, and I will watch out for Sam.” Jim felt his heart twist. He would have to atone for not seeing what had been right in front of him for so long.
“I will pass the word along.” He cleared his throat. “You have a blessed day, Father Murphy.”
“And you as well, Father Hirt.” He took a deep breath. “Good bye.” He hung up the receiver, and had to stare at his hands for several minutes. Dean was far away from here - the how and why of him being in Maryland wasn't something he wanted to ponder. Perhaps John had seen what he was doing and left Dean in the care of a social worker, or a hospital - he didn't want to press the issue. All he knew at this moment was that if he saw one warning signal from Sam Winchester, John wouldn't see his youngest boy again either.
**
There wasn't a Saint Dean and it sort of annoyed him. Dean had been through several books of saints and found no Deans. Mom told him that maybe he could be the first one. That was far too lofty of a goal. Right now, he would settle for just turning out to be a decent kid. The only saint he could find with ties to his name was Saint Michael the Archangel, which - well, was sort of cool. There was Saint Francis de Sales, patron of the Deaf - and while His mom told him he didn't need to worry about a confirmation name for several more years, it was still something he looked over - although he was leaning towards Saint Anthony - patron of missing things. Dean was an excellent finder - maybe he could help find missing children when he was older, or something.
Dean took a deep breath and opened his closet, taking out the slacks, shirt, and suit jacket from where they were hanging. How had April gotten here so quickly? Time had flown by - he'd already been in his new home for over a year. After pulling on the pants and shirt, he put on his socks and shoes, his heart fluttering in that weird way it did the day he met his parents. He didn't know why he was so nervous about this - well, okay, maybe a little.
John Winchester would probably fall down dead from shock if he knew what was going to happen tonight at the Easter Vigil at Our Lady of the Snows Catholic Church in Potomac, Maryland. While Dean was still very much afraid of the man, he also knew it was highly unlikely that the man would ever find him. Pastor Jim knew where he was tonight and the man wouldn't say a thing. Dean didn't blame the Pastor for not being able to help him. He too knew what a stubborn man John was. Pastor Jim was going to watch out for Sammy for him. Like John would ever hurt Sam.
Dean shook his head to clear it and then faced the mirror as he worked the tie around his neck. He looked - sort of good, he guessed. Dark gray slacks, a matching gray jacket, white shirt - and a gray and green tie. He knew that some churches had special baptismal fonts the size of a small bathtub just for the sole purpose of baptizing adults and older kids, like himself. There was just one font at Our Lady of the Snows and the only ones who got fully immersed were infants, if that was their parent's choice. He finished adjusting his tie and shrugged into his jacket.
He could barely recognize himself in the mirror. He had to make a face just to make sure he was the boy in the mirror. He saw the door open to his room open out of the corner of his eye and he turned. He grinned sheepishly at his mother. “I don't think I've ever been this dressed up before.”
“Tonight's an important night.” She crossed the room and smoothed down a stray lock of hair. “You look very handsome.”
Dean felt his cheeks turn slightly pink. “I sort of feel silly, being this dressed up.”
“Well, that's your age.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn't like having to dress up when I was eleven either.”
Dean gave his mom a skeptical look. In the fourteen months he'd known her and a good chunck of the Ambrose family, dressing up was almost normal for them. For crying out loud, when she was his age, Grams had taken her to pick out a silver pattern. They'd gone to Thanksgiving dinner at Grandma and Grandpa Coulter's house and there had been silver there too - and matching china. Place settings with enough dishes for four people and just thinking about it make him dizzy. The idea that mom didn't like to dress up was hard to fathom. “Am I allowed to not believe that?”
“Disbelieve it all you want.” She smiled. “But I'll have you know I used to be a champion tree climber.” She clapped her hands. “We should get going. Parking for the Easter Vigil is almost as bad as Christmas.”
Dean could believe that - although he had a feeling far more people turned out for the five-thirty Christmas Vigil than the seven-thirty one on Easter.
*
The church was full of smells - almost all of them overpowering. Incense, perfume and candle wax seemed to be inescapable and Dean wished he was near a window so he could open it. Things happened in a whirl, and with a crowd like this, the woman signing the mass to him and his parents had to sit in the pew with them. Dad was relying heavily on his hearing aides, Dean and his mom followed along in the missal when they could.
When it came time for him and the other Elects (as he and the rest of the Catechumens had been called since Lent started) were called to the front of the church to join the faith, they were to go in alphabetical order by their last name. Thankfully, in the past year Dean had gotten used to being near the beginning, rather than near the end. In this case, he was second. If Father Schmidt could see his hands trembling slightly, he figured the man couldn't blame him.
The faint scent of chrism oil wafted up from the water in the font and Dean closed his eyes as he felt the first rivulet of water coursed over his head and streamed down the side of his face, and a long forgotten memory came to him. He was five years old, sitting in the choir loft at Pastor Jim's church, right next to the pipe organ, feeling the music as the accompanist practiced a song. He remembered how he smiled honestly for the first time since his mother died on that day.
A hand on his back told him it was time to lift his head, and Dean found he had unknowingly started to cry. He didn't feel so bad about it - Mom and Dad were crying too.
Back in the pew, Dean covertly turned pages in the hymnal, stopping when he reached the song he knew, knew had been that song from that day in Pastor Jim's church. His fingers lingered over the title, Gather Us In and there, in the first verse, he read something that made him smile a little more. Gather us in the lost and forsaken. That was him. The lost and forsaken - it was like in that other song, about being lost and then found.
Dean said extra prayers that night for Sammy - and a few for John. Maybe John would stop hunting monsters and be a dad for Sammy. Sammy needed family and a home that wasn't the Impala.