Supernatural Fic: Exchange Rate
Title: "Exchange Rate"
Author: lori_leaf
Beta: liselisa
Rating: R
Genre: Gen AU
Summary: There's something funny going on in those woods. Dean goes in as a 26 year old hunter and comes out as a traumatized 7 year old. What John can't figure out is how a 7 year old learned how to draw a perfect Devils Trap when his Dean has never seen one before.
It was too cold for a kid to be out at night, especially a kid who was only wearing sneakers held together with duct tape, jeans that were in tatters, and an oversized filthy flannel shirt with the front pocket ripped off and several large stains adorning the yellow and black plaid pattern. Maybe at one time the shirt resembled a lumber jack bumble bee, but it was so faded and dirt encrusted now that it looked more like piss and puddles of mud. Either way you looked at it, it was an ugly shirt.
John tried to lean down to talk to the boy. The kid was literally shaking. He was frozen in place like a rabbit caught out in the open. Pupils dilated, muscles tense, eyes shifting frantically from side to side. The kid was either about to run or pass out. John spoke to the boy like he was a scared kitten, “Hey...”
That was all he got out before a tiny fist socked him straight in the nose. He cursed and covered his nose in shock. He heard, rather than saw the boy dart off. For a kid who couldn’t be more than nine, he had a solid jab. John’s eyes were watering as blood dripped down his nose onto his shirt.
Fuck.
It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. Dean was supposed to scout out the woods looking for any signs of supernatural tampering. People had been disappearing and reappearing in this town without any memory of their past. Bobby theorized it was witches. Sam was leaning more towards an ancient curse. John didn’t know and Dean didn’t care. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission. Dean didn’t even go at night for fuck’s sake! He tramped out to the woods at two o’clock in the afternoon. That's a downright embarrassing time to go missing. Five hours later neither Winchester man could excuse Dean’s absence on beer or getting lost and they went back to the woods armed with flashlights and salt.
John was supposed to find Dean, not some neglected kid who had shit for brains and was in the woods after dark. He called Sam, “There’s a kid in the woods. Make sure you don’t shoot him on accident.”
Sam’s voice was distorted with static, “A kid? What kind of kid?”
“A kid, kid. They don’t come in magical colors Sammy. He’s just a...” kid with green eyes and what was once sandy hair and now resembled mud and... fuck. It’s not possible. Dean’s 26, not 8. “Sam... if you see him try to catch him.”
“Is it Dean? It’s not Dean is it?” Apparently Sam was quicker on the uptake than his old man.
“I don’t know, son. We’ve got a fucked up situation either way.” John hung up the phone and continued his search.
The sun was up before the Winchesters even thought of taking a break. They met at mile marker 4 on the old trail.
Sam was disheartened, “I didn’t see anyone. Are you sure you saw a kid?”
“Dude, I didn’t break my own nose.” John ruefully stated.
“It doesn’t make sense.”
John agreed, “none of it makes sense.”
It was quiet for a moment before John decisively nodded, “Here’s the plan. I’m gonna stay here. Keep looking. You go back through the research. If that boy was Dean, it puts a new angle on this. Call Bobby, get his take on it. Look for missing persons while you’re at it. Maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves. There’s lots of kids out there with hazel eyes. He could have been a runaway which makes a hell of a lot more sense than Dean shrinking. Got it?”
For once Sam didn’t argue. The Winchesters separated and John continued the search for the kid in the woods.
John was exhausted. He hadn't gotten an abundance of sleep the night before and he’d pulled an all nighter in the woods. His eyes were beginning to itch and his head was pounding. He almost missed the devils trap etched into the ground beneath him and there was no excuse for that. It was scratched into the dew drenched dirt and covered with dead leaves. John would have trudged right past it if he hadn’t been digging in his pockets for a stick of gum to stave off the hunger for awhile. A devils trap drawn in a childish scrawl. Well, it was pretty obvious that the boy wasn’t some random runaway now.
Speaking of the boy, as John stood in the middle of the trap, Dean crept out from behind a tree. His eyes were once again wild and his breathing erratic. The kid was on high alert and every sound of the woods caused him to flinch. The kid stared hard at him, his mouth forming unspoken words. His lips moved quicker and quicker until he just stopped, his head tilted quizzically to the side. The boy gulped and looked even more terrified at John’s lack of a reaction.
John hated to do it. He did. But the kid was obviously an excellent hider and John just didn’t have it in him to chase him around the woods for another day, hoping to gain his trust. Instead John moved like a snake’s strike and grabbed Dean’s arm before the boy could flee.
His entire hand easily fit around Dean’s bicep. It was nothing but bone. Dean sunk to the ground like a dead weight trying to break John’s grip. When that didn’t work he fought like a wild thing. He aimed for the instep, the groin, the belly, any place soft, reachable, and vulnerable. John reached out and hugged the boy to his chest. Dean’s back was to John’s sternum and his legs dangled to the side instead of straight down. John only needed to be kicked in the knee once to figure out the danger of letting Dean stay vertical. Dean tried to scratch and pinch and bite, but John was simply bigger. There was nothing the boy could do.
John tried to speak in a soothing calm voice, “Deano, it’s dad. It’d daddy, champ. Something happened, but we can fix it okay? Please stop fighting me. Dean? Please? Don’t be scared, buddy. It’s daddy.”
John felt a sudden wet warmth slide down his leg. Dean had just pissed his pants.
Obviously something was wrong. Something was very very wrong but it couldn’t be fixed in the woods. The kid had stopped fighting and was now hanging in an almost catatonic state. John risked letting go with one arm in order to dig into his pockets for his cell phone. Sam was on speed dial. “Hurry up and meet me by the lake. I found him and he’s in bad shape.”
By the time Sam arrived Dean was fighting again. The boy had to be exhausted but he just wouldn’t stop. John was exhausted watching him and his arms had long bloody grooves in the shape of Dean’s fingernails. The father felt guilty for being grateful at Dean’s silence. The boy would pant and huff and make choked whining noises deep in his throat, but he didn’t scream. If Dean screamed chances were someone would hear and John couldn’t think of a single good explanation for pinning a terrified, dirty, feral boy.
The look Sam gave his brother was heart breaking. Sam looked both shocked and disgusted. “Dean?”
Dean’s only answer was to fight harder and spit in Sam’s face.
Sam shook himself from his reverie, wiped his face and opened the car door to the Impala. “I’ll drive, dad. Can you keep him calm?”
John attempted to get both himself and his son into the vehicle without knocking either one of them unconscious. “No, but I can keep him quiet.”
When Dean went stock still at that, John felt another pang of guilt. “That wasn’t a threat Dean. We’re not gonna hurt you, okay buddy? We’re trying to help.” He could feel the boy’s heart beating in his chest like a wild bird against a cage. John wondered if it was possible for a kid to die from fright.
Sam got them to their cabin in record time. John was never so happy to be squatting. They’d definitely be noticed in a hotel, but the cabin was just far enough away from society that no one would investigate. It had no heat, it was meant to be a summer vacation home, but it had running water and clean sheets. It was also close to where the disappearances had taken place which is why John decided to squat there in the first place.
He bundled Dean out of the car and into the cabin with minimal fuss. Dean couldn’t fight anymore. He just shuddered in John’s arms and took quick gasping breaths. Sam locked the door behind them and then proceeded to lock all of the doors in the cabin before sitting on the couch. John put Dean down while still gripping both arms firmly. He took a good look at his boy. Dean was probably younger than he first guessed. Seven maybe. His hair was longer than John had ever let him keep it. The kid was rail thin and smelled awful. He was covered with dirt from head to toe and if John was honest with himself, the boy probably had lice on top of that.
“Okay Sam, we’re going to need better clothes, a tooth brush, and a lice kit.” John tried to see if Dean was hurt but the boy was coated in so much filth that there was no way to tell. Dean’s eyes kept sliding away from his own, looking anywhere but at John. The boy was looking for exits.
Sam seemed torn, on one hand he wanted to go to his terrified brother, on the other hand he knew that another fully grown man in the kid’s personal space would only freak him out more. “Dean... do you know who we are?”
Dean didn’t answer.
John rephrased Sam’s question, “Do you know who I am?”
The boy nodded.
“Why are you scared of me, Dean? I’d never hurt you.”
Dean shot him a look of such unmasked hatred that John had to fight the urge to step back.
John tried again, “Okay... okay, I don’t know what happened kiddo. Yesterday my twenty six year old son, Dean, went out to the woods, and today I have a seven year old version of him. You’re not from the same time, maybe not even the same place. Let me tell you this though kiddo, I’ve never hurt my son Dean. I don’t know what I’m like where you come from, but I’ll never hurt you here.”
Dean looked completely unimpressed with this declaration of peace.
Sam’s hesitant voice broke the sudden silence, “Um, dad... he’s sort of dripping on the floor.”
John looked down and sure enough the piss soaked hem of Dean’s pants were creating little drops on the hardwood floor. Making a decision, he hoisted Dean up again walking towards the bathroom and threw one last casual order to Sam before shutting the door, “go shopping, son.”
John braced himself for a fight as he tried to peel Dean’s flannel shirt off. Sure enough the boy was a whirling dervish. John managed to strip him but earned himself several new bruises in the process.
The kid naked was even more pitiful than the kid in clothes. The second John let go of him in order to turn the shower on, Dean shrunk back against the corner shaking. John tried to coax him back over but Dean was having none of it, so John just grabbed the kid by the arms and shoved him under the warm water watching as the dirt swirled around the drain. Dean was struggling so fiercely that John was afraid the kid would crack his head open on the porcelain. He climbed in behind his son, fully clothed. Sure he felt ridiculous standing in a shower in his boots, but he had a feeling if he even took off his socks Dean would freak out even more. He held the kid against his chest with one arm and tried to scrub him down with the other. No matter how much lather he worked up, the kid had dirt imbedded so deeply in his skin that nothing short of a long soak and a vicious scrubbing with a washcloth would get him fully clean. Scratches and bruises were revealed as dirt washed away. John began to wonder if some of Dean’s flinching was less from fear and more from the pain of water dripping against infected abraded skin. Against Dean’s thigh John could see a messy scar. It was a symbol to ward against possession and it looked like Dean carved it himself. John didn’t know where the boy could learn of such a symbol. Bobby maybe?
John finished scrubbing the kid as clean as he’d get without a scrub brush. The worse of the dirt was gone and Dean’s hair was clean, if not lice-free, so after coating the kid in neosporin John wrapped him up in a towel and carried him back out to the living room where Sam waited with a few shopping bags.
Sam accepted the unwilling burden of the terry cloth wrapped Dean and began pulling out various bits of clothing from bags.
Leaving Dean in his brother’s capable hands, John returned to the bedroom to change out of his dripping wet clothes. He smeared neosporin over the various bloody wounds Dean dug into him before braving the living room again. Sam held a whimpering Dean between his knees. The kid was still wrapped in his towel but he had a foul smelling shampoo caked in his hair. Sam looked up and sighed, “lice.”
The brothers disappeared into the bathroom to rinse out the shampoo as John looked at the instructions and the tiny comb that came in the lice kit. There was no way that tiny comb was going through Dean’s rats nest. Fuck, he was gonna fucking traumatize the kid even more. There was nothing for it though. John picked up a pair of scissors.
John hated himself for making Sam an accomplice to Dean’s suffering but it took both of them to get Dean lice free. Sam held the boy’s face still with one giant hand as the other made sure no little fingers reached up and accidentally got cut by John’s scissors. John could see trails of tears run down Dean’s cheeks and pool in the webbing between Sam’s thumb and forefinger. The haircut didn’t take long, but combing the dead nits out of the newly shorn hair took a solid thirty minutes of Dean sniffling and John trying to work as quickly as possible. Both Sam and John felt like monsters by the time it was done.
Two hours later Dean was clean, dressed, his hair was short and lice free and he was completely passed out from the adrenaline crash. His little body could only take so much terror before it just shut down. He was curled up in a ball on the couch with Sam slumped next to him looking like a beaten puppy. Both of his kids looked like a wreck.
“You okay Sam?”
Sam hesitated before asking, “what happened? What could have happened?”
John forced himself not to cry, “I have no idea, son. Something in the woods. It has to be the woods.” He took a deep breath and tried to focus, “we need to readjust our search parameters. We’ve been assuming the same people who disappeared have returned and obviously that’s not exactly the case. Several of the victims have acted strangely since reappearing. I thought it was just trauma, but maybe they’re not the same people.” John rubbed furiously at his face. “I just don’t know.”
Sam looked warily at his father before speaking up, “I know you want to stay with Dean, dad, but he’s really freaking out. Maybe you could take lead on the research for a little bit and I’ll see if I can get him to trust me a little.”
John was silent for a moment. “He thought I was a demon. In the woods. He thought I was a demon. Draw a devil's trap and everything..."
Sam scrunched his nose, "What's a devil's trap?"
"It was a symbol in one of Bobby's books. I thought it was just a theory, but I guess it works if the kid's scribbling them everywhere." John shook his head, "he's even got that anti-possession scar on his leg. What kind of world does he live in?”
Sam replied, “Well, where ever he’s from, we can only guess that Dean’s there now and we need to get him out.”
The father nodded and began going through the files once again. He needed answers and this younger version of Dean wasn’t talking.
John managed to stay focused on his research despite Dean waking up an hour later and listening to Sam’s attempts to calm him. Dean was less violent with Sam, but no more trusting. When Sam tried to give him some bread, the boy grabbed it and then scurried under the couch to eat it. By the time Sam finally pulled him out, both were covered in sweat and dust bunnies. Dean seemed pleased by the dirt and smeared a handful of fireplace ash across his face while he was at it. John sighed, he needed his boy back. This one made no sense. Sam carted the kid off to the bathroom again and John tried not to listen to his howls. By the time Sam returned with a now dripping wet kid, John had a few more answers.
“Looks like Dean isn’t the only one who came out on the other side a different age. We have a Jane Doe here who was found in the woods swearing to be Sarah White. Only problem is Sarah White was twenty five when she disappeared a month ago and the woman in the woods was in her seventies. The police labeled it a case of dementia and put the woman in a home. We also have a Walter Williams who disappeared in ‘84 when he was forty three and the police found a ten year old boy they nicknamed Oliver in ‘93 who always ran away from his foster parents and showed up at William’s old house. The kid didn’t talk.” John rubbed at his eyes, “Shit, I should have put this together ages ago.”
Sam was keeping Dean away from the fireplace. “We didn’t know, dad. Whatever it is, it’s in the woods though.”
Dean went limp again and both Winchesters turned their full attention on him. Sam reached towards his unresponsive face in an attempt to rouse him when Dean’s eyes sprung open and he bit Sam’s hand with all the ferociousness of a caged animal. Sam ripped his hand back in shock and Dean bolted towards the back door, throwing himself against it when it was obvious he couldn’t unlock it. John rushed after him before he could break a window and cut himself to ribbons trying to escape.
“Dean, stop it!” John caught the boy in his arms again.
Dean froze.
John had an idea, “Christo.”
Dean jerked in his grip as though he expected John’s head to explode.
John repeated, “Christo. I’m not a demon. Christo, christo, christo. Sam’s not a demon either. We’re not possessed okay? Can you please stop running away?”
Dean shook his head violently before leaning over and puking on John’s shoes.
Great. Just... great.
John gave up, “Sammy, can you help with your brother? He’s less likely to share bodily fluids with you.”
Sam wrapped his bleeding hand as he approached the back door. “Yeah, he won’t piss or puke on me, but he’ll give me rabies.” He knelt down to be on Dean’s level, “Little man, we’re not gonna hurt you. I promise, okay? Look dude, I bet your stomach doesn’t feel so good after puking, huh? Lets get you some Sprite and some crackers, okay?”
Sam took it as a victory that when he put his hand out to Dean, Dean reluctantly took it and allowed himself to be lead back to the kitchen.
John sighed as he stepped out of his disgusting boots. It was time for shower number two today.
The woods. All of their answers lay in the woods. Now John just had to get Dean to show him where he reappeared. Great.
The Winchester family trekked back out to the trail and John struggled to let Sam have primary care over the terrified seven year old.
Sam coaxed, “Dean, can you remember where you came from? Can you show us?”
Sam wasn’t dumb enough to release Dean’s wrist. He knew the second he let his grip grow slack, the boy would bolt away and it’d be hours before they found him again. Reluctantly Dean began to lead them into the woods again. When they finally stopped, John recognized the place and let out a frustrated huff of air, “Dean, Sam’s not a demon either!”
Sure enough the devils trap lay beneath their feet. Dean had tried to capture the demons again and seemed baffled why his trap didn’t work.
Sam made sure his voice was calm, “C’mon Dean, show us where you came from.”
Dean took a deep breath and lead them deeper into the woods. The next time they stopped it was in front of a rock with an odd symbol painted on it. It looked like old blood. Dean just pointed towards it and pulled at his wrist wrapped in Sam’s huge hand.
John snapped a photo of the site on his cell phone before leading his family back to the car. He’d forward the picture to Bobby and a few other knowledgeable hunters. Someone had to recognize the mark. Dean would be home any day now and hopefully they’d get this wild version of Dean to trust them in the meantime.
Bobby... that mark on Dean’s thigh certainly looked like a Bobby design. Maybe it was time to test some new theories. John knelt next to the kid squirming in Sam’s grip. “Hey Dean, do you want to talk to Bobby?”
The kid suddenly went still and his eyes flicked up from the ground, not quite making eye contact with John, but still showing interest.
Sam asked, “Do you know Bobby where you come from?”
Dean paused and then shook his head ‘no.’
Sam added, “You won’t get in trouble, Dean. Bobby is our friend. You can talk to him if you want.”
Dean shook his head with more urgency, afraid of the thought of the demons knowing Bobby.
John decided to wait until they were back at the cabin before pulling out his cell phone and calling Bobby. He tried to get the old man up to date on the situation without freaking Dean out. Dean looked at the outstretched phone with trepidation.
“Go on, kiddo, take it. You can talk to your Uncle Bobby.” John placed the cell phone on the couch and was unsurprised when Dean grabbed it in one steady motion while diving under the dusty piece of furniture. Sam gave a dismayed grunt at the thought of pulling his brother out from under the couch again but John just shook his head. Either this would work or it wouldn’t and the best thing for it was to give Dean his space. He wasn’t going to talk with the two of them breathing down his back.
Sure enough there were high pitched distressed whines coming from underneath the couch. Dean obviously wanted to say something but wouldn’t or couldn’t. After a few minutes the Winchesters could hear hoarse whispering. It was obvious that Dean could speak, just wouldn’t with them. John wondered when was the last time the kid spoke. Once again John wondered what sort of world that boy grew up in.
It felt like hours before the hushed whispering under the couch went silent. John bent down to peek under the couch from a safe distance and the kid was curled around the cell phone like it was a teddy bear. Dean appeared to be asleep.
“Sam, give me your phone.” John sat up and held a hand out for Sam’s cell phone. Bobby picked up on the first ring.
“What the hell are you guys doin’ out there? That kid is convinced you’re the devil himself, John Winchester!”
John kept his voice quiet in an attempt not to wake up Dean, “I emailed you a picture of the site. There are some symbols on the stone I don’t recognize. As for Dean... I’m doing the best I can, you jackass. You gonna help, or you gonna keep your thumb up your ass and be a stubborn bastard?”
Bobby sighed, “I’ll see what I can find on that stone. That kid of yours though... John, you were possessed by that demon that killed your wife in Dean’s world. Sam died in the fire. The demons took over. Things are a royal mess. Apparently I showed him a few things but the demons got me. It’s like a concentration camp in Dean’s world. All the demons ride the humans. Unpossessed humans are rounded up for fun. I don’t know how that kid escaped all that. He’s been hiding, eating out of dumpsters. He’s freaked out pretty bad, John. Some of the stuff he told me would give a grown man nightmares. Look, I’m coming out there. He doesn’t know Sam. He thinks you’re the Antichrist. Maybe he’ll trust me a little.”
John ran a tired hand over his face, “Can you try and find me the translation to those symbols before you come rushing out here? I can handle Dean. I need to know how to get my boy back though, especially if you say the kid’s world is that bad. We’ve gotta figure out a way to keep both of them safe.”
“Yeah John, I can do that. Try not to terrorize the kid.”
The Winchesters should have known better than to go to sleep. Of course that was when Dean picked the lock to the front door and ran away... again. Sam didn’t mean to dose off. He had first watch. But Dean looked asleep and Sam only closed his eyes for a minute. A minute was all it took.
John and Sam drove to the woods in record time. They knew where Dean would run to. The kid had watched with vested interest the last time they drove out here. He knew the way. They just had to stake out the marked stone. Sure enough two hours later the boy was running in their direction. At some point he had rolled around in mud again, but the patches of him that weren’t dirt coated, had a fine dusty powder on them... salt from dried sweat. The kid must have run all five miles between the cabin and the woods. He looked dead on his feet. When he saw John and Sam standing between him and his destination, he gave a cry of desperation and ran straight at them like a game of “red robin” with much higher stakes. At the last second he dodged past John and pitched himself at the stone. When his hand made contact a humming noise began and the world suddenly went black.
When the Winchesters woke up the kid was gone, in his place stood their Dean. A bleeding, dirty, tired looking version of their Dean.
Dean stared at them before trying, “Um... christo?”
When neither pair of eyes turned black, Dean let out a barking laugh, “Thank god. The shit hole I was just in... everyone was a fucking demon. Well, you were either a demon or you got hunted down by a demon. It sucked. So, what happened?”
No one answered.
“Guys?”
John took a shaky breath, “we just sent a seven year old version of you back to that shit hole.”
That sobered Dean right up, “oh.”
Sam took in his brother’s ragged appearance, “What happened Dean?”
“It was like a Terminator movie dude. It wasn’t a nice place. When I popped up in that field looking nice and healthy I might as well have written ‘bait’ on my forehead. It only took a few high speed chases to figure out that a little dirt helped with the blending in. And man, I’m glad I wasn’t some random schmuck who landed there. I knew enough stuff to hide from the demons, but your average schmoe winds up there, they’re gonna be demon bait. Uh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but I’m guessing that anyone who disappeared here is now dead.”
John wiped at his face again, “shit.”
A cell phone buzzing interrupted the quiet of the woods. Sam answered and moved away a few feet to talk to Bobby as John checked Dean over for injuries. Beyond being a little banged up, his son would live.
Sam hung up and relayed the information, “Bobby says the symbol was for sacrifice. It has Native American roots and it was used in rituals involving spirit walks. I guess that over time the spirit walk became a physical change of spirits instead of simply a communication or whatever. He said he’ll email me a ritual that should disperse the power.”
John asked, “so we can’t get the kid back? It’s a Dean for a Dean?”
Sam was distraught, “Yeah, looks that way. Even if we shoved someone else at the stone, it’d just switch them for that world’s version of them. Bobby doesn’t know of any ritual that will get the little kid back without sending our Dean straight back there.” He wiped at his eyes, “He’s gone.”
The family went back to the cabin in silence. The ritual was finished the next morning and by lunch time they were driving towards Iowa. Dean looked over at his dad before asking, “What was he like? The other me?”
John didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Scared. He was scared of everything.”
Dean hesitated, “The yellow eyed demon... he was in the other place. He had your face, dad. They had these propaganda posters everywhere and there you were, looking at me with yellow eyes. I can see how that’d be scary to a seven year old.”
John glanced at the backseat to make sure Sam was asleep before answering, “I can see how that’d be scary to a twenty six year old.”
Dean’s eyes flickered towards his unconscious brother, “it was okay. I knew it wasn’t really you.”
“The kid didn’t know that.”
Dean nodded, “The kid didn’t know that.” He added, “Are you gonna be okay, dad?”
John replied resolutely, “Yeah. Now I know what’s at stake. Now help me figure out that map, kiddo, we’ve got a yellow eyed bastard to kill.”
Author: lori_leaf
Beta: liselisa
Rating: R
Genre: Gen AU
Summary: There's something funny going on in those woods. Dean goes in as a 26 year old hunter and comes out as a traumatized 7 year old. What John can't figure out is how a 7 year old learned how to draw a perfect Devils Trap when his Dean has never seen one before.
It was too cold for a kid to be out at night, especially a kid who was only wearing sneakers held together with duct tape, jeans that were in tatters, and an oversized filthy flannel shirt with the front pocket ripped off and several large stains adorning the yellow and black plaid pattern. Maybe at one time the shirt resembled a lumber jack bumble bee, but it was so faded and dirt encrusted now that it looked more like piss and puddles of mud. Either way you looked at it, it was an ugly shirt.
John tried to lean down to talk to the boy. The kid was literally shaking. He was frozen in place like a rabbit caught out in the open. Pupils dilated, muscles tense, eyes shifting frantically from side to side. The kid was either about to run or pass out. John spoke to the boy like he was a scared kitten, “Hey...”
That was all he got out before a tiny fist socked him straight in the nose. He cursed and covered his nose in shock. He heard, rather than saw the boy dart off. For a kid who couldn’t be more than nine, he had a solid jab. John’s eyes were watering as blood dripped down his nose onto his shirt.
Fuck.
It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. Dean was supposed to scout out the woods looking for any signs of supernatural tampering. People had been disappearing and reappearing in this town without any memory of their past. Bobby theorized it was witches. Sam was leaning more towards an ancient curse. John didn’t know and Dean didn’t care. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission. Dean didn’t even go at night for fuck’s sake! He tramped out to the woods at two o’clock in the afternoon. That's a downright embarrassing time to go missing. Five hours later neither Winchester man could excuse Dean’s absence on beer or getting lost and they went back to the woods armed with flashlights and salt.
John was supposed to find Dean, not some neglected kid who had shit for brains and was in the woods after dark. He called Sam, “There’s a kid in the woods. Make sure you don’t shoot him on accident.”
Sam’s voice was distorted with static, “A kid? What kind of kid?”
“A kid, kid. They don’t come in magical colors Sammy. He’s just a...” kid with green eyes and what was once sandy hair and now resembled mud and... fuck. It’s not possible. Dean’s 26, not 8. “Sam... if you see him try to catch him.”
“Is it Dean? It’s not Dean is it?” Apparently Sam was quicker on the uptake than his old man.
“I don’t know, son. We’ve got a fucked up situation either way.” John hung up the phone and continued his search.
The sun was up before the Winchesters even thought of taking a break. They met at mile marker 4 on the old trail.
Sam was disheartened, “I didn’t see anyone. Are you sure you saw a kid?”
“Dude, I didn’t break my own nose.” John ruefully stated.
“It doesn’t make sense.”
John agreed, “none of it makes sense.”
It was quiet for a moment before John decisively nodded, “Here’s the plan. I’m gonna stay here. Keep looking. You go back through the research. If that boy was Dean, it puts a new angle on this. Call Bobby, get his take on it. Look for missing persons while you’re at it. Maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves. There’s lots of kids out there with hazel eyes. He could have been a runaway which makes a hell of a lot more sense than Dean shrinking. Got it?”
For once Sam didn’t argue. The Winchesters separated and John continued the search for the kid in the woods.
John was exhausted. He hadn't gotten an abundance of sleep the night before and he’d pulled an all nighter in the woods. His eyes were beginning to itch and his head was pounding. He almost missed the devils trap etched into the ground beneath him and there was no excuse for that. It was scratched into the dew drenched dirt and covered with dead leaves. John would have trudged right past it if he hadn’t been digging in his pockets for a stick of gum to stave off the hunger for awhile. A devils trap drawn in a childish scrawl. Well, it was pretty obvious that the boy wasn’t some random runaway now.
Speaking of the boy, as John stood in the middle of the trap, Dean crept out from behind a tree. His eyes were once again wild and his breathing erratic. The kid was on high alert and every sound of the woods caused him to flinch. The kid stared hard at him, his mouth forming unspoken words. His lips moved quicker and quicker until he just stopped, his head tilted quizzically to the side. The boy gulped and looked even more terrified at John’s lack of a reaction.
John hated to do it. He did. But the kid was obviously an excellent hider and John just didn’t have it in him to chase him around the woods for another day, hoping to gain his trust. Instead John moved like a snake’s strike and grabbed Dean’s arm before the boy could flee.
His entire hand easily fit around Dean’s bicep. It was nothing but bone. Dean sunk to the ground like a dead weight trying to break John’s grip. When that didn’t work he fought like a wild thing. He aimed for the instep, the groin, the belly, any place soft, reachable, and vulnerable. John reached out and hugged the boy to his chest. Dean’s back was to John’s sternum and his legs dangled to the side instead of straight down. John only needed to be kicked in the knee once to figure out the danger of letting Dean stay vertical. Dean tried to scratch and pinch and bite, but John was simply bigger. There was nothing the boy could do.
John tried to speak in a soothing calm voice, “Deano, it’s dad. It’d daddy, champ. Something happened, but we can fix it okay? Please stop fighting me. Dean? Please? Don’t be scared, buddy. It’s daddy.”
John felt a sudden wet warmth slide down his leg. Dean had just pissed his pants.
Obviously something was wrong. Something was very very wrong but it couldn’t be fixed in the woods. The kid had stopped fighting and was now hanging in an almost catatonic state. John risked letting go with one arm in order to dig into his pockets for his cell phone. Sam was on speed dial. “Hurry up and meet me by the lake. I found him and he’s in bad shape.”
By the time Sam arrived Dean was fighting again. The boy had to be exhausted but he just wouldn’t stop. John was exhausted watching him and his arms had long bloody grooves in the shape of Dean’s fingernails. The father felt guilty for being grateful at Dean’s silence. The boy would pant and huff and make choked whining noises deep in his throat, but he didn’t scream. If Dean screamed chances were someone would hear and John couldn’t think of a single good explanation for pinning a terrified, dirty, feral boy.
The look Sam gave his brother was heart breaking. Sam looked both shocked and disgusted. “Dean?”
Dean’s only answer was to fight harder and spit in Sam’s face.
Sam shook himself from his reverie, wiped his face and opened the car door to the Impala. “I’ll drive, dad. Can you keep him calm?”
John attempted to get both himself and his son into the vehicle without knocking either one of them unconscious. “No, but I can keep him quiet.”
When Dean went stock still at that, John felt another pang of guilt. “That wasn’t a threat Dean. We’re not gonna hurt you, okay buddy? We’re trying to help.” He could feel the boy’s heart beating in his chest like a wild bird against a cage. John wondered if it was possible for a kid to die from fright.
Sam got them to their cabin in record time. John was never so happy to be squatting. They’d definitely be noticed in a hotel, but the cabin was just far enough away from society that no one would investigate. It had no heat, it was meant to be a summer vacation home, but it had running water and clean sheets. It was also close to where the disappearances had taken place which is why John decided to squat there in the first place.
He bundled Dean out of the car and into the cabin with minimal fuss. Dean couldn’t fight anymore. He just shuddered in John’s arms and took quick gasping breaths. Sam locked the door behind them and then proceeded to lock all of the doors in the cabin before sitting on the couch. John put Dean down while still gripping both arms firmly. He took a good look at his boy. Dean was probably younger than he first guessed. Seven maybe. His hair was longer than John had ever let him keep it. The kid was rail thin and smelled awful. He was covered with dirt from head to toe and if John was honest with himself, the boy probably had lice on top of that.
“Okay Sam, we’re going to need better clothes, a tooth brush, and a lice kit.” John tried to see if Dean was hurt but the boy was coated in so much filth that there was no way to tell. Dean’s eyes kept sliding away from his own, looking anywhere but at John. The boy was looking for exits.
Sam seemed torn, on one hand he wanted to go to his terrified brother, on the other hand he knew that another fully grown man in the kid’s personal space would only freak him out more. “Dean... do you know who we are?”
Dean didn’t answer.
John rephrased Sam’s question, “Do you know who I am?”
The boy nodded.
“Why are you scared of me, Dean? I’d never hurt you.”
Dean shot him a look of such unmasked hatred that John had to fight the urge to step back.
John tried again, “Okay... okay, I don’t know what happened kiddo. Yesterday my twenty six year old son, Dean, went out to the woods, and today I have a seven year old version of him. You’re not from the same time, maybe not even the same place. Let me tell you this though kiddo, I’ve never hurt my son Dean. I don’t know what I’m like where you come from, but I’ll never hurt you here.”
Dean looked completely unimpressed with this declaration of peace.
Sam’s hesitant voice broke the sudden silence, “Um, dad... he’s sort of dripping on the floor.”
John looked down and sure enough the piss soaked hem of Dean’s pants were creating little drops on the hardwood floor. Making a decision, he hoisted Dean up again walking towards the bathroom and threw one last casual order to Sam before shutting the door, “go shopping, son.”
John braced himself for a fight as he tried to peel Dean’s flannel shirt off. Sure enough the boy was a whirling dervish. John managed to strip him but earned himself several new bruises in the process.
The kid naked was even more pitiful than the kid in clothes. The second John let go of him in order to turn the shower on, Dean shrunk back against the corner shaking. John tried to coax him back over but Dean was having none of it, so John just grabbed the kid by the arms and shoved him under the warm water watching as the dirt swirled around the drain. Dean was struggling so fiercely that John was afraid the kid would crack his head open on the porcelain. He climbed in behind his son, fully clothed. Sure he felt ridiculous standing in a shower in his boots, but he had a feeling if he even took off his socks Dean would freak out even more. He held the kid against his chest with one arm and tried to scrub him down with the other. No matter how much lather he worked up, the kid had dirt imbedded so deeply in his skin that nothing short of a long soak and a vicious scrubbing with a washcloth would get him fully clean. Scratches and bruises were revealed as dirt washed away. John began to wonder if some of Dean’s flinching was less from fear and more from the pain of water dripping against infected abraded skin. Against Dean’s thigh John could see a messy scar. It was a symbol to ward against possession and it looked like Dean carved it himself. John didn’t know where the boy could learn of such a symbol. Bobby maybe?
John finished scrubbing the kid as clean as he’d get without a scrub brush. The worse of the dirt was gone and Dean’s hair was clean, if not lice-free, so after coating the kid in neosporin John wrapped him up in a towel and carried him back out to the living room where Sam waited with a few shopping bags.
Sam accepted the unwilling burden of the terry cloth wrapped Dean and began pulling out various bits of clothing from bags.
Leaving Dean in his brother’s capable hands, John returned to the bedroom to change out of his dripping wet clothes. He smeared neosporin over the various bloody wounds Dean dug into him before braving the living room again. Sam held a whimpering Dean between his knees. The kid was still wrapped in his towel but he had a foul smelling shampoo caked in his hair. Sam looked up and sighed, “lice.”
The brothers disappeared into the bathroom to rinse out the shampoo as John looked at the instructions and the tiny comb that came in the lice kit. There was no way that tiny comb was going through Dean’s rats nest. Fuck, he was gonna fucking traumatize the kid even more. There was nothing for it though. John picked up a pair of scissors.
John hated himself for making Sam an accomplice to Dean’s suffering but it took both of them to get Dean lice free. Sam held the boy’s face still with one giant hand as the other made sure no little fingers reached up and accidentally got cut by John’s scissors. John could see trails of tears run down Dean’s cheeks and pool in the webbing between Sam’s thumb and forefinger. The haircut didn’t take long, but combing the dead nits out of the newly shorn hair took a solid thirty minutes of Dean sniffling and John trying to work as quickly as possible. Both Sam and John felt like monsters by the time it was done.
Two hours later Dean was clean, dressed, his hair was short and lice free and he was completely passed out from the adrenaline crash. His little body could only take so much terror before it just shut down. He was curled up in a ball on the couch with Sam slumped next to him looking like a beaten puppy. Both of his kids looked like a wreck.
“You okay Sam?”
Sam hesitated before asking, “what happened? What could have happened?”
John forced himself not to cry, “I have no idea, son. Something in the woods. It has to be the woods.” He took a deep breath and tried to focus, “we need to readjust our search parameters. We’ve been assuming the same people who disappeared have returned and obviously that’s not exactly the case. Several of the victims have acted strangely since reappearing. I thought it was just trauma, but maybe they’re not the same people.” John rubbed furiously at his face. “I just don’t know.”
Sam looked warily at his father before speaking up, “I know you want to stay with Dean, dad, but he’s really freaking out. Maybe you could take lead on the research for a little bit and I’ll see if I can get him to trust me a little.”
John was silent for a moment. “He thought I was a demon. In the woods. He thought I was a demon. Draw a devil's trap and everything..."
Sam scrunched his nose, "What's a devil's trap?"
"It was a symbol in one of Bobby's books. I thought it was just a theory, but I guess it works if the kid's scribbling them everywhere." John shook his head, "he's even got that anti-possession scar on his leg. What kind of world does he live in?”
Sam replied, “Well, where ever he’s from, we can only guess that Dean’s there now and we need to get him out.”
The father nodded and began going through the files once again. He needed answers and this younger version of Dean wasn’t talking.
John managed to stay focused on his research despite Dean waking up an hour later and listening to Sam’s attempts to calm him. Dean was less violent with Sam, but no more trusting. When Sam tried to give him some bread, the boy grabbed it and then scurried under the couch to eat it. By the time Sam finally pulled him out, both were covered in sweat and dust bunnies. Dean seemed pleased by the dirt and smeared a handful of fireplace ash across his face while he was at it. John sighed, he needed his boy back. This one made no sense. Sam carted the kid off to the bathroom again and John tried not to listen to his howls. By the time Sam returned with a now dripping wet kid, John had a few more answers.
“Looks like Dean isn’t the only one who came out on the other side a different age. We have a Jane Doe here who was found in the woods swearing to be Sarah White. Only problem is Sarah White was twenty five when she disappeared a month ago and the woman in the woods was in her seventies. The police labeled it a case of dementia and put the woman in a home. We also have a Walter Williams who disappeared in ‘84 when he was forty three and the police found a ten year old boy they nicknamed Oliver in ‘93 who always ran away from his foster parents and showed up at William’s old house. The kid didn’t talk.” John rubbed at his eyes, “Shit, I should have put this together ages ago.”
Sam was keeping Dean away from the fireplace. “We didn’t know, dad. Whatever it is, it’s in the woods though.”
Dean went limp again and both Winchesters turned their full attention on him. Sam reached towards his unresponsive face in an attempt to rouse him when Dean’s eyes sprung open and he bit Sam’s hand with all the ferociousness of a caged animal. Sam ripped his hand back in shock and Dean bolted towards the back door, throwing himself against it when it was obvious he couldn’t unlock it. John rushed after him before he could break a window and cut himself to ribbons trying to escape.
“Dean, stop it!” John caught the boy in his arms again.
Dean froze.
John had an idea, “Christo.”
Dean jerked in his grip as though he expected John’s head to explode.
John repeated, “Christo. I’m not a demon. Christo, christo, christo. Sam’s not a demon either. We’re not possessed okay? Can you please stop running away?”
Dean shook his head violently before leaning over and puking on John’s shoes.
Great. Just... great.
John gave up, “Sammy, can you help with your brother? He’s less likely to share bodily fluids with you.”
Sam wrapped his bleeding hand as he approached the back door. “Yeah, he won’t piss or puke on me, but he’ll give me rabies.” He knelt down to be on Dean’s level, “Little man, we’re not gonna hurt you. I promise, okay? Look dude, I bet your stomach doesn’t feel so good after puking, huh? Lets get you some Sprite and some crackers, okay?”
Sam took it as a victory that when he put his hand out to Dean, Dean reluctantly took it and allowed himself to be lead back to the kitchen.
John sighed as he stepped out of his disgusting boots. It was time for shower number two today.
The woods. All of their answers lay in the woods. Now John just had to get Dean to show him where he reappeared. Great.
The Winchester family trekked back out to the trail and John struggled to let Sam have primary care over the terrified seven year old.
Sam coaxed, “Dean, can you remember where you came from? Can you show us?”
Sam wasn’t dumb enough to release Dean’s wrist. He knew the second he let his grip grow slack, the boy would bolt away and it’d be hours before they found him again. Reluctantly Dean began to lead them into the woods again. When they finally stopped, John recognized the place and let out a frustrated huff of air, “Dean, Sam’s not a demon either!”
Sure enough the devils trap lay beneath their feet. Dean had tried to capture the demons again and seemed baffled why his trap didn’t work.
Sam made sure his voice was calm, “C’mon Dean, show us where you came from.”
Dean took a deep breath and lead them deeper into the woods. The next time they stopped it was in front of a rock with an odd symbol painted on it. It looked like old blood. Dean just pointed towards it and pulled at his wrist wrapped in Sam’s huge hand.
John snapped a photo of the site on his cell phone before leading his family back to the car. He’d forward the picture to Bobby and a few other knowledgeable hunters. Someone had to recognize the mark. Dean would be home any day now and hopefully they’d get this wild version of Dean to trust them in the meantime.
Bobby... that mark on Dean’s thigh certainly looked like a Bobby design. Maybe it was time to test some new theories. John knelt next to the kid squirming in Sam’s grip. “Hey Dean, do you want to talk to Bobby?”
The kid suddenly went still and his eyes flicked up from the ground, not quite making eye contact with John, but still showing interest.
Sam asked, “Do you know Bobby where you come from?”
Dean paused and then shook his head ‘no.’
Sam added, “You won’t get in trouble, Dean. Bobby is our friend. You can talk to him if you want.”
Dean shook his head with more urgency, afraid of the thought of the demons knowing Bobby.
John decided to wait until they were back at the cabin before pulling out his cell phone and calling Bobby. He tried to get the old man up to date on the situation without freaking Dean out. Dean looked at the outstretched phone with trepidation.
“Go on, kiddo, take it. You can talk to your Uncle Bobby.” John placed the cell phone on the couch and was unsurprised when Dean grabbed it in one steady motion while diving under the dusty piece of furniture. Sam gave a dismayed grunt at the thought of pulling his brother out from under the couch again but John just shook his head. Either this would work or it wouldn’t and the best thing for it was to give Dean his space. He wasn’t going to talk with the two of them breathing down his back.
Sure enough there were high pitched distressed whines coming from underneath the couch. Dean obviously wanted to say something but wouldn’t or couldn’t. After a few minutes the Winchesters could hear hoarse whispering. It was obvious that Dean could speak, just wouldn’t with them. John wondered when was the last time the kid spoke. Once again John wondered what sort of world that boy grew up in.
It felt like hours before the hushed whispering under the couch went silent. John bent down to peek under the couch from a safe distance and the kid was curled around the cell phone like it was a teddy bear. Dean appeared to be asleep.
“Sam, give me your phone.” John sat up and held a hand out for Sam’s cell phone. Bobby picked up on the first ring.
“What the hell are you guys doin’ out there? That kid is convinced you’re the devil himself, John Winchester!”
John kept his voice quiet in an attempt not to wake up Dean, “I emailed you a picture of the site. There are some symbols on the stone I don’t recognize. As for Dean... I’m doing the best I can, you jackass. You gonna help, or you gonna keep your thumb up your ass and be a stubborn bastard?”
Bobby sighed, “I’ll see what I can find on that stone. That kid of yours though... John, you were possessed by that demon that killed your wife in Dean’s world. Sam died in the fire. The demons took over. Things are a royal mess. Apparently I showed him a few things but the demons got me. It’s like a concentration camp in Dean’s world. All the demons ride the humans. Unpossessed humans are rounded up for fun. I don’t know how that kid escaped all that. He’s been hiding, eating out of dumpsters. He’s freaked out pretty bad, John. Some of the stuff he told me would give a grown man nightmares. Look, I’m coming out there. He doesn’t know Sam. He thinks you’re the Antichrist. Maybe he’ll trust me a little.”
John ran a tired hand over his face, “Can you try and find me the translation to those symbols before you come rushing out here? I can handle Dean. I need to know how to get my boy back though, especially if you say the kid’s world is that bad. We’ve gotta figure out a way to keep both of them safe.”
“Yeah John, I can do that. Try not to terrorize the kid.”
The Winchesters should have known better than to go to sleep. Of course that was when Dean picked the lock to the front door and ran away... again. Sam didn’t mean to dose off. He had first watch. But Dean looked asleep and Sam only closed his eyes for a minute. A minute was all it took.
John and Sam drove to the woods in record time. They knew where Dean would run to. The kid had watched with vested interest the last time they drove out here. He knew the way. They just had to stake out the marked stone. Sure enough two hours later the boy was running in their direction. At some point he had rolled around in mud again, but the patches of him that weren’t dirt coated, had a fine dusty powder on them... salt from dried sweat. The kid must have run all five miles between the cabin and the woods. He looked dead on his feet. When he saw John and Sam standing between him and his destination, he gave a cry of desperation and ran straight at them like a game of “red robin” with much higher stakes. At the last second he dodged past John and pitched himself at the stone. When his hand made contact a humming noise began and the world suddenly went black.
When the Winchesters woke up the kid was gone, in his place stood their Dean. A bleeding, dirty, tired looking version of their Dean.
Dean stared at them before trying, “Um... christo?”
When neither pair of eyes turned black, Dean let out a barking laugh, “Thank god. The shit hole I was just in... everyone was a fucking demon. Well, you were either a demon or you got hunted down by a demon. It sucked. So, what happened?”
No one answered.
“Guys?”
John took a shaky breath, “we just sent a seven year old version of you back to that shit hole.”
That sobered Dean right up, “oh.”
Sam took in his brother’s ragged appearance, “What happened Dean?”
“It was like a Terminator movie dude. It wasn’t a nice place. When I popped up in that field looking nice and healthy I might as well have written ‘bait’ on my forehead. It only took a few high speed chases to figure out that a little dirt helped with the blending in. And man, I’m glad I wasn’t some random schmuck who landed there. I knew enough stuff to hide from the demons, but your average schmoe winds up there, they’re gonna be demon bait. Uh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but I’m guessing that anyone who disappeared here is now dead.”
John wiped at his face again, “shit.”
A cell phone buzzing interrupted the quiet of the woods. Sam answered and moved away a few feet to talk to Bobby as John checked Dean over for injuries. Beyond being a little banged up, his son would live.
Sam hung up and relayed the information, “Bobby says the symbol was for sacrifice. It has Native American roots and it was used in rituals involving spirit walks. I guess that over time the spirit walk became a physical change of spirits instead of simply a communication or whatever. He said he’ll email me a ritual that should disperse the power.”
John asked, “so we can’t get the kid back? It’s a Dean for a Dean?”
Sam was distraught, “Yeah, looks that way. Even if we shoved someone else at the stone, it’d just switch them for that world’s version of them. Bobby doesn’t know of any ritual that will get the little kid back without sending our Dean straight back there.” He wiped at his eyes, “He’s gone.”
The family went back to the cabin in silence. The ritual was finished the next morning and by lunch time they were driving towards Iowa. Dean looked over at his dad before asking, “What was he like? The other me?”
John didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Scared. He was scared of everything.”
Dean hesitated, “The yellow eyed demon... he was in the other place. He had your face, dad. They had these propaganda posters everywhere and there you were, looking at me with yellow eyes. I can see how that’d be scary to a seven year old.”
John glanced at the backseat to make sure Sam was asleep before answering, “I can see how that’d be scary to a twenty six year old.”
Dean’s eyes flickered towards his unconscious brother, “it was okay. I knew it wasn’t really you.”
“The kid didn’t know that.”
Dean nodded, “The kid didn’t know that.” He added, “Are you gonna be okay, dad?”
John replied resolutely, “Yeah. Now I know what’s at stake. Now help me figure out that map, kiddo, we’ve got a yellow eyed bastard to kill.”