Roane for adrenalineshots

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Title: Roane
Author: mimblexwimble
Recipient: adrenalineshots
Characters: Dean, John, Sam
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: At home, in the wall above the mantel, is a small cupboard, invisible unless you know it's there. Inside lies a wooden chest. Handmade, hand engraved. The wood has been carved to look like ocean waves. Dust coats it heavily. It's empty now.
Author's Notes: For the prompt: Mary leaves John shortly after Dean's third birthday; she dies in Sam's nursery when he is six months old. This is possibly the weirdest thing I could have written for this prompt. But the idea wouldn't leave me alone.



This is only the beginning.

//

A picture frame on the mantle; a man and a woman, with a baby cradled between them. It was one of those days, the nice ones. The sun didn't always shine in Arx, but when it did, it was like the trees had been set on fire, and the ashes from its destruction made a fine, gold dust that floated in the air and shimmered on the ground. And yet, Mary is more beautiful than the gold light surrounding her. Her hair looks white-blond, her smile wide and brilliant. She looks happy. And so does he. Yes, he was happy. He had never been happier. Has never been happier.

Behind the picture frame, in the wall, is a small cupboard, invisible unless you know it's there. Inside lies a wooden chest. Handmade, hand engraved. The wood has been carved to look like ocean waves. Dust coats it heavily. It's empty now.


//


Dean tiptoes into the kitchen. He has a granola bar or two in his backpack, so honestly, he could have just snuck out, but – waffles. Dad made waffles. Dean would have to be a very big idiot to miss Dad's waffles, so he reaches for them carefully. They're arranged on a plate on the table, a bowl of strawberries sitting nearby. The poor table is crippled; one wrong move from Dean and it's likely to tip over onto its shortest leg and give him away.

"Dean."

Dean freezes and winces. Fuck. He inches his hand away from the waffles, and turns around.

"Dad!" he says, beaming.

"Son," Dad responds. His arms are crossed over his chest, his eyebrows raised. "Having breakfast?"

"Yeah – thought I'd just take a couple of these, for the road …" Dean reaches for the plate again.

"This 'road' doesn't happen to be near the docks, does it?" Dad asks, walking around Dean to pull out a chair.

"Depends," Dean replies.

"On what?"

"On what you'll say if I say yes."

Dad chuckles and shakes his head. "You and the ocean, Dean." He takes two waffles from the stack, sets them on a cloth napkin and hands them over. Dean's mouth is watering already.

"Go ahead," he says, waving Dean away. "Nothing I say is gonna keep you here anyway."

"Thanks Dad!" Dean says, and he's out the door and running down the path before another word can be said.


//


Little Joe greats Dean at the docks. Now, the thing about Little Joe is that he's not little. At all. Anywhere. Dean just had his growth spurt, and he was hoping it would make it easier to look Little Joe in the eye, but no. Talk to the guy for too long and you'll have one hell of a crick in your neck from all the craning. Patch, from the inn, told Dean in confidence once that she knows Little Joe "better than most" and that the name makes sense, "if you know what I mean." Dean knows what she means, all right, but there's really no point in trying to figure out if there's any truth to the tale because Little Joe could probably punch your head right off, little dick or not.

"Where you headed, bud?" Little Joe asks, in the middle of tying a fishing dinghy to the dock.

"A little further up the coast," Dean replies. "Got any fish for me, Joe?"

"That I do, kid. Sure as hell like to know what you do with 'em – and why any fool person would rather get paid in fish than in cash." He finishes his knot, and then grabs a small bucket from the boat and hands it to Dean. It's half-full of a bunch of small fish. Dean grins, smacks Joe on the shoulder – okay, fine, smacks him on the elbow – and then turns towards the boardwalk.


//


So, further up the coast was a bit of a lie. It might have been more honest to say, "You know way up the coast where the rocks start getting really crazy and no one in Arx ever goes? That's where I'm headed."

It takes Dean about forty-five minutes to get there, which is a huge improvement on what it took the first time he came – two hours. The boardwalk ends long before the rocks begin, and there's no sand for anybody to walk on. The rocks are all slippery and it probably doesn't matter how much Dean loves the water; if he fell it would, at the very least, hurt like fuck, and at the very most, get him killed. If Dad found out this was where he'd been running off to every morning for the last month… well, let's just say he'd be pissed and leave it at that. Dean's heard about Dad's belt a few hundred times, but Dad's never once used it or raised a hand to him or done much besides yell and ground him. Doesn't mean Dean's going to put him to the test.

Dean wouldn't even bother coming here if it wasn't for the cove. He'd found it by accident, but it was the best accident Dean had ever had. After getting past the rocks Dean wades through the freezing shallow water, keeping a hand on the huge mountain of rock that cups the cove, hiding it from view. The patch of sandy beach comes into view. It's very small, maybe thirty feet across, and a lot of the room is taken up by the remains of a small boat that must have crashed here years back. It's mostly buried in the sand now, and it makes the cove look like an excavation site, a place with history and secrets.

Dean sets down his bucket and plops down next to it. He tugs off his jacket – the trek warmed him up, and the sun is beginning to peek out from behind the clouds today – and pulls off his shoes, letting the sand get between his toes. There's twenty feet of clear water ahead, followed by a maze of sharp, jutting rocks. It's like Dean's private little paradise, a pool of deep blue water, cool white sand and – the seal.

It pops up quickly, from behind one of the rocks across the way and Dean jumps up to wave.

Dean's seen a lot of seals. Arx is a fishing island on the Atlantic, and there have always been seals around, for as long as Dean can remember. A lot of them come onto the beach to sunbathe, and for some reason, the people of Arx respect them. Dean can remember his mother telling him stories of the seals, their world under the water, and how Arx was a safe haven for them. No one on Arx bothered them or chased them away, and seals were never to be hurt. People made sure not to overfish, so that the seals would always have food.

Dean's seal is a young. The first time Dean spotted him, from the rocks near the cove, he had been diving in and out of the water, not another seal in sight. Dean guesses he's probably two years old, which means that he's alright to be alone, but seals aren't really loners, so it doesn't make sense why this one never has anyone with him. Dean's friendly little freak defies the laws of nature. As far as Dean can figure, he spotted Dean sunbathing in the cove one remarkably bright day, and snuck up on him. Dean opened his eyes and there was a seal lying on its back next to him, sunning his golden stomach. Dean's shriek probably reached Arx, and the seal startled, looking around frantically for the threat, and then gazing at Dean with large, shining black eyes when he couldn't find one. Dean got right up and ran all the way home, but when he got up the courage to return a few days later, the seal had been waiting for him. It crept up to him slowly, stopping every now and then like he was making sure Dean wasn't about to bolt. He slug-crawled right up to Dean and pressed his cold nose to Dean's knee. Dean admits that he peed a little out of fear, but when it became apparent the seal wasn't going to chomp his leg off and make a run for it, he calmed down.

He's been coming to the cove as often as possible since that day.


//


The seal takes its time swimming over. Dean can't figure out where it went until he spots a whiskered nose poking out from the water, its nostrils flaring as it sniffs the air. Dean laughs.

"There's food," he calls. "Come on."

The seal's head pops up and it swims up to the sand, and then starts to bounce forward.

"You need a name, seal," Dean says when it reaches him. "'Cause I'm getting a headache from calling you 'seal' all the time. How about Jelly? That's what it looks like your full of, you know. A lot of jelly."

The seal ignores this sentiment, tips over the bucket of fish and starts chowing down. Dean pulls his second waffle from his pack (he'd had the first on the way to the docks) and bites off half.

"Plus, I'm poor now," he says, through the mouthful. "You can totally catch fish on your own. I should stop bringing you mine."

This gets its attention. It gazes at him dolefully, a fish hanging from its mouth.

"There's a reason they tell you not to feed wild animals, you know. It's 'cause they don't feed themselves then and die. You wanna die?" Dean wipes his hands on his shirt.

A slow, doleful blink.

Dean leans forward and tugs the fish from its mouth. "I don't speak seal-eyes, seal. Use your words."

The seal barks once, and leaps for the fish in Dean's hand. Dean falls onto his back, and the seal plops right on, and it's got to be a billion pounds, 'cause it feels like a house landed on Dean. The seal tugs the fish away, and chews it thoughtfully, staring down at Dean.

"Can't – breathe," Dean chokes.

Dean feels its tail twitch against his legs, as it consolingly pets his arm with its fin and keeps on eating.

"You – fat – piece – of – blubber," Dean groans.

The seal bounces on him in retaliation.


//


The first nor'easter of the season comes early. It means no going out to the docks for his son, so Dean spends most of the time helping out at the shop, doing his homework in front of the fire, and staring morosely out the window. John has seen his pictures of the seal he has befriended. He'd gotten the story of the cove out of his son one day, after Little Joe told him that Mike had seen Dean crawling over some rocks way down the coast. Friendly seals are not unheard of, but on Arx they usually mean something else entirely. John knows about seals that are more human than animal better than most. Dean's is a young thing, maybe seven or eight in human years, and John's certain it's a male. He's not sure why it's attached itself to Dean, or where its mother is. He's not sure Dean's even aware of what the seal is, yet.

A part of him hopes he never finds out. There's no need for it. Humans and seals – they just don't mix. Not in a way that ends in happiness. Dean's only eleven. John doesn't want him hurt. He's already got so much of his mother in him, and despite her strength, she couldn't stay. But at least she had somewhere to go, at least she had a way to reach her home. Dean can't answer the call in his blood, and he can't follow the seal, and that seal might follow him, but eventually, its nature will take over.

There's just no fighting it, John has learned. Not even love can stop it.


//


The nor'easter ends, but leaves behind a blanket of ice and freezing cold. Dean's got his thermal underwear on, plus two big jackets, a hat and wool mittens, and he's still feeling the sting. Doesn't matter. Nothing's going to stop him. He hasn't seen the seal in a week, and he's itching to get to the cove.

"Where you headed?"

Dean turns. Dad's standing in his doorway.

"The cove," Dean mumbles, looking down as he buttons his jacket. Darn it. Please don't say it, he thinks. Please, please, please—

"Kiddo, you can't go to the cove. It's dangerous under normal circumstances, but the nor'easter flooded the coast. The water's still high."

"But maybe—"

"No, Dean. No. Even if you somehow managed to make it to the cove, it would be underwater right now. Go down to the docks if you want to, but you're not gallivanting across Arx today." Dad's face is deathly serious, his tone firm. Dean thinks for a moment, wondering if he could promise obedience and then just go anyway, but Dad's too smart for that – he's probably got Little Joe and Patch and Mike and Preacher and Askew and everyone in Arx on guard. Damn. It. To. Hell.

"Dean?"

"Okay, Dad," Dean says, meeting his father's eyes. "I'll just – go down to the docks."

Dad's eyes warm and he steps into the room to pat Dean on the shoulder and ruffle his hair. "Good," he says, and then leaves. The floorboards creak as he walks down the hall.

Dean finishes buttoning up, and tries not to think of his seal.


//


There's chaos on the docks when Dean arrives.

Patch is standing a few feet away from the crowd, hands on her hips, her brown hair flapping in the wind. Dean trots up to her.

"Hey, sweetheart," she says, smiling.

"What's going on?" Dean asks.

"A seal got stuck in one of the fishing nets during the storm," Patch says. "No one's been checking the nets, so they didn't find out until it washed up on shore today. Poor baby's been tied up for a while."

Dean stands on his tiptoes, trying to peer over shoulders, get a glimpse of the seal. "Is it okay?"

"Well, it's alive. As far as I could tell, it got cut up pretty bad by the net. Someone's gone to fetch Jefferson."

Jefferson comes running up at that moment, looking harried and half-awake, following Little Joe, who only needs his shadow to part the crowd. Dean falls into step behind Jefferson and manages to shimmy his way to a good spot in the group.

"What's happened?" Jefferson asks, falling to his knees, his back to Dean. Someone fills him in as he pulls on a pair of latex gloves. The seal has a huge gash running around its neck, where the net must have gotten caught. The crowd quiets down as Jefferson looks it over.

"Infected," he murmurs. The seal is crying weakly. Jefferson shuffles around to the other side, hand petting the seal gently, and that's when Dean gets his first good look at the poor thing.

"That's my seal!" he shouts, going cold all at once. He doesn't realize he's moved, but he finds himself crouching next to the seal, hand on its heaving stomach. "It's my seal," Dean whispers again. The seal blinks at him, and some of the tension seems to leave its body. Dean puts a hand under its head and it rests against his palm and closes its eyes.

"Shit!" someone says, suddenly.

For a moment, a terrifying, heart-stopping moment, Dean thinks it's dying. It goes so still, and its wound begins to peel away, and then there's a cut opening along its belly, blooming bloodlessly and curling outwards, like flower petals opening. The crowd is gasping, shouting, backing away. Jefferson's gotten to his feet too, shocked. But Dean can't, Dean can't leave it, can't move away. He bends closer, curls over his seal, whispers, "Please be okay, please be okay, please, be okay."

"Dean," someone says. There's a hand on his shoulder. A big hand. Little Joe.

"No," Dean says. He doesn't want to know that his seal has died, rotted away in his arms. "No. No, no, no."

"Dean." The hand tugs him away easily, and Dean opens his eyes, looks at the animal in his arms—

The boy in his arms. The little boy, with big eyes and a sliced-open neck, lying on a bed of what looks like seal skin. The boy, who rests his hand atop Dean's, still lying on his stomach, then closes his eyes and passes out. Ribbons of red slip from his cut and down the sides of his neck.


//


They end up taking the seal – the boy – the whatever – to the clinic. Jefferson takes him from Dean's arms, gathers him up and leaves Dean with a blood-spattered seal skin. People in the crowd are talking in hushed whispers, exchanging glances.

"Jesus Christ," someone murmurs. And,

"Fuckin' hell, a selkie—"

"Wasn't Mary the last one—"

"Haven't seen one in years—"

"His mother, yes—"

"Just a little boy—"

"Dunno, we've only seen girls – all the stories are about girls—"

Then a voice, louder than the other, says, "Hey, Mom, wasn't Aunt Mary pregnant? Before she—"

Dean looks up to see Jo, with Patch's hand clamped over her mouth. "Shush, Joanna Beth," Patch says to her daughter. "Go back to the inn." She gives Jo a shove, and Jo grumbles under her breath, but hurries away, looking over her shoulder at Dean.

Patch moves forward quickly, puts an arm around Dean. "C'mon," she says gently. "Let's go to the clinic. Your friend would want you there. He must be scared."


//


Preacher barrels through the front door while John is having coffee and going over the morning paper. You need to come, he says breathlessly. John's known Jim – Preacher, that is – long enough that this kind of behavior is surprising. The man's the most taciturn fellow he knows. So he doesn't hesitate, simply sets down his coffee and follows Jim all the way to the clinic.

Jim leads John to one of the observation rooms, concerned eyes flicking over his shoulder repeatedly. John hasn't got the slightest clue what's going on. When he spots Dean in the room, his heart almost stops. But it's not Dean lying down. He's standing over the bed, holding a small hand in his. The hand belongs to a boy, maybe seven years old, long, dark hair. There's horrible gash across his throat, bruises running up his jaw and down to his collarbones. Who is he? John asks. Dean doesn't have any friends that young—

Jim licks his lips and looks over John's shoulder. John turns to find Ellen watching him. She lifts her hands, holding a furry, spotted, golden skin. John's seen a skin like that before. It haunts his dreams and memories. He reaches for it, feels bristly fur under his fingers.

It's the boy's, says Ellen.

John holds the heavy skin, looks back through the observation window just in time to catch the little boy mouthing something to his son.

Brother. Brother.

The boy's eyes are hooded with pain, but he's looks at Dean as if Dean put the sun in the sky. John doesn't know what his son's face looks like. He moves to the door, pushes it open, ignoring Jim and Ellen's protests. He doesn't enter, just watches for a second, fingers digging into the skin.

What's your name, Dean asks quietly. He's petting the boy's hand, as carefully and gently as you please.

Sam, the boy whispers. He swallows hard, breaths out.

John watches as Dean pulls a chair sitting against the bed forward, scooting as close to Sam as possible. He never once releases the boy's hand.

I'll take care of you Sam, he promises. You're gonna be fine. I'll take care of you.

The boy smiles.

John closes his eyes.


//


A yellowing snapshot in his pocket; a man and a woman, with a baby cradled between them.

It's Dad and Mom and Dean. Mom gave the picture to him one day, long ago, before she left. She pulled him into her lap and ran her cool hands over his cheeks. I have to go away, she said. I have to go away. But not because of you, and not because I don't love you. If I could take you and Daddy, I would, in a second. But I can't, sweetheart. And I can't stay. She was crying, and Dean started crying too.

They told me not to tell you, she said, hugging him close, pressing him into her, and Dean held on as tight as he could, felt her warmth and her softness, felt everything that he loved about her, tried to show her how much he loved her too. Then she leaned back, took his hand and rested it on her tummy.

You're brother, she said. You're baby brother is in here. Someday he'll come to you Dean. He'll find you and he'll find Dad, because he won't be like me, not completely, and he'll need you both, so, so much.

She shook her head then, closed her eyes. I know you don't understand, angel… you won't, not for a long, long time. But the important thing to remember is that someday, your little brother will find you. He might be different, but he's not wrong. If you're still in Arx, it won't matter so much, but other places – they won't understand. I want you to love your brother, Dean, all right? Love him, because he'll love you and need you. And I think you will need him. Can you do that baby? Can you remember that?

Dean pressed his face to Mom's stomach and sighed. I'll love him, he whispered. I'll love him forever.

Dean holds Sam's hand tight in his. He's numb and scared and confused, but he won't let go, not for a moment. Everything's changed, but he remembers what Mom said, all those years ago. He's never forgotten. He reaches for Sam's hair, smooth down the brown locks.

At home, in the wall above the mantel, is a small cupboard, invisible unless you know it's there. Inside lies a wooden chest. Handmade, hand engraved. The wood has been carved to look like ocean waves. Dust coats it heavily, right now, and it has been empty for many years.

Maybe, Dean thinks, maybe it won't be empty now.


//


This is only the beginning.


//