Home Is A Long Forgotten Concept

Chapter 6

Author's Note: To answer a recurring question being asked in the reviews, Sam is 8 and Dean is 12 in the Graham flashbacks, but just turned. All other foster parent flashbacks are set after this time unless specified not to be.


-Third Person POV-

The next morning, Mary walked downstairs and into the kitchen.

Bobby was sat at the table with a mug of coffee.

"Mornin'." He smiled.

"Morning." Mary walked over to the living room to check on Sam and Dean.

They were still asleep on the couch, arms wrapped around each other.

She smiled before walking back into the kitchen and sitting down across the table from Bobby.

"You probably have a few questions." Mary stated.

"Just a few." He smiled.

"John and I found a case in Kansas, and when we were there, we found the boys sleeping in some old shop. Then some stuff happened and Dean said that we were their parents."

Bobby's eyes widened. "Are you?"

"We don't know."

"Are you going to do a paternity test to find out?"

Mary nodded.

"So how did the kid get stabbed?"

"Well the reason we went to Kansas was to deal with a poltergeist. It turned out to be the boys' abusive foster parent who had been looking for them. He attacked Dean and when we arrived, he stabbed him. John talked to a woman from the CPS when we were in the hospital and arranged for us to foster the boys so they didn't have to go back to the group home." Mary explained.

Bobby smiled. "They seem like great boys. They're lucky to have you."

"Thanks, Bobby."


-Dean's POV-

My hand was still tightly clutching Sam's as I sat slumped against the side of the wardrobe.

Hearing the sound of the spare room door squeaking open, my eyes widened.

"There you are you little shit!" Graham shouted.

"No..." Sam moaned in a dangerously weak tone. "Please..."

"Leave him alone!" I shouted. "I swear to God, if you hurt him, I'll kill you."

"I would love to see that." He laughed before kicking Sam in the side causing him to moan in pain. "Get up." He waited for a second before kicking him again. "Get up!" He shouted before losing his patience and grabbing Sam roughly. Pulling him up, Sam was almost rag doll like in the way that he sagged in Graham's grip from exhaustion and pain.

"Leave him alone!" I kicked at the wood of the door as hard as I could, over and over. I've done it a millions times before over the days I have spent locked in the wardrobe, and each time it wouldn't budge.

"I could, but it's so fun when he screams." Graham stated.

"You're sick." I spat.

"Thank you."

I heard Sam's moans of pain as I continued to kick the door. Reeling back my foot, I gave the door one last powerful kick before it swung open.

Graham was stood with a knife pressed to Sam's throat.

"De..." Sam's tearful tone called weakly.

"Grrrr!" I growled before rushing over and landing a punch across Graham's face causing him to fall backwards, dropping Sam in the process.

Catching Sam proved difficult as he was almost a dead weight, but I was able to lower him to the floor before standing between him and Graham and grabbing the knife that he had dropped.

"You piece of shit!" He spat, wiping away blood from his lip before charging at me.

I deflected his first punch but was struck by his second, sending me crashing to the floor.

Tackling me down and holding me against the floor, Graham put his arm across my throat to hold me in place.

I gasped for breath before kneeing him in the stomach and throwing him to the side.

Despite being winded, Graham was on me in seconds, grabbing me. As he did though, he gasped.

I furrowed an eyebrow before I noticed the dark red seeping through his shirt. My eyes widened as I removed my hand from the handle of the knife that was now embedded in his stomach.

Graham's eyes closed as his blood continued to flow out.

Sam was crying now.

Picking up the phone, I walked over to him and sat down beside him. Resting his head in my lap, I stroked his hair gently. Dialling a number, I waited.

"CPS. Miss Kearns speaking."

"Miss Kearns..." I struggled. "It's...it's Dean..." I paused. "We need help."


Gasping awake, I must have obviously been tossing and turning in my sleep because Sam was no longer in my arms and Bobby was stood beside the couch with a concerned expression.

"You okay, son?" He asked.

"Where's Sam?" I asked, taking a breath to try and calm myself down.

"I sent him upstairs to watch cartoons." He answered.

I nodded.

"You wanna' talk about it?"

"Not really." I shook my head.

"It might help, and trust me, I don't judge." Bobby smiled reassuringly.

I smiled back.


"Dean, can we talk to you a minute?" John asked.

"Sure." I walked into the kitchen, although I didn't like the sound of where this was going. "Is this about doing a paternity test?" I asked.

"Sorta'." John answered.

I furrowed an eyebrow. "So you're not going to do a paternity test?" I paused. "So you still think I'm lying?"

"It's not that, Dean. We just don't know if we're ready to go through with that just yet." John explained.

"You are seriously giving mixed signals here." I scoffed, shaking my head.

John furrowed an eyebrow.

"I mean, first you foster us. Then you say that you don't want to take a paternity test. What is up with that?" I asked. "If you don't want us, then just get it over with, cause' this wouldn't be the first time that we've actually found someone who's taken care of us just for them to ditch us a month down the line. I'm not putting Sammy through that again." Her name was Elisa Beech and she was the nicest foster parent we've ever had. She looked after us, treat us like her own children. I was stupid enough to actually start trusting her. I thought that she could be the parental figure that Sammy never had. But I was wrong. One minute it was all happy families, and the next, Miss Kearns from the home was at the door telling us to pack. For some reason that was never explained to us, Elisa decided that she didn't want us anymore, and so back to the group home we went. Sammy cried for weeks. I should never have let him get so close. I should have known that it was all going to go to crap, because it always does.

John walked back over. "Our children died, in a fire!"

"You both know that that's not true." I argued.

"It has been ten years...how can you be them?" John's voice became softer ever so slightly.

"Because we didn't die in that fire."

"No..." John shook his head and turned around so that he wasn't facing me.

"Why can't you accept the fact that maybe I'm right?" I asked.

"Because then I'd have to live with the fact that for ten years, my two boys have been alive and having to live without their Mom and Dad. I don't want to think about them struggling on the streets to stay alive or being abuse by a foster parent that the CPS hadn't checked out properly. I don't want to think that my eldest lost his childhood at four years old because he took on the responsibility of looking after his little brother and keeping him safe. I don't want to imagine my Dean being so desperate that he had to resort to stealing food or clothes just so his little brother wouldn't go hungry, even if that meant going hungry himself, or going without even though his clothes were in much dire need or being replaced. My children would believe that their Mom and Dad didn't love them because they hadn't tried to find them..." John's voice broke. "My Sam and Dean died in the fire that night."

"For fuck sake!" I screamed in anger, slamming my hand across the table knocking the contents to crash to the floor. "Get a grip!"

John furrowed an eyebrow.

"I get it, you're a parent and it's hard for you, but get a fucking grip!" I stated sternly. "You have absolutely no idea what it was like for us out there." I paused. "None!" I took a breath. "Getting beaten up practically everyday by Graham, if he hadn't already locked one of us in the wardrobe. Being starved for days and then punished for eating. Having to simply watch as your little brother suffered in excruciating pain after being whipped by that psycho, not being able to do anything about it, protect him, comfort him, or reassure him. That's what true pain feels like." I paused. "Being truly helpless and knowing just how screwed your life is. Wondering why you got dealt such a shit hand, and wondering what you could have possibly done to deserve it." I took a breath. "Sam and I didn't deserve anything that he did to us..." My voice began to trail off. "We hadn't done anything to deserve how he treated us."

As I looked between John and Mary, I noticed Mary's fearful expression. She looked scared of me.

"Go upstairs." Bobby stated as he walked in.

John went to argue, but Bobby shot him a look.

They walked off up the stairs.

"Is this the part where you kick me out?" I asked with a sigh. "Don't worry, I've been through this moment a million times before. Miss Kearns would call us into her office after Sam and I had been sent back to the group home to tell us the reasons why the foster parent had ditched us." I paused. "But why would anyone want to foster us?" I asked. "I have anger problems, I'm overly protective of the people I love, which in my case is Sammy, I'm codependent, violent, stubborn, disrespectful, too cocky for my own good, and have a criminal record for stealing and punching a cop." I paused. "And I'm a murderer." I sighed.

"I'm not kicking you out, Son." Bobby answered.

I furrowed an eyebrow. "You're not?"

"Son, let me tell you something." He began. "When I was a kid, my Dad was a nasty son of a bitch, just like that dickhead of a foster parent you had. He would hit me and my Mom like punchbags, just because he could, and he knew no one was gonna' stop him. Until one day, I stood up to him. I grabbed my Dad's hunting rifle and aimed it at his head. He taunted me about not being enough of a man to fire it...so I pulled the trigger." He paused. "You know what the first thing my Mom said to me was?" He asked.

I shook my head.

"Bobby, what did you do? God is gonna' punish you." He answered before smiling softly at me. "You're not a murderer, Dean."

"I killed Graham." I stated.

"No, you grabbed a knife to defend yourself and your brother with, and while he was fighting you, he fell on it." Bobby paused. "That does not make you a murderer. That makes you a kid that who was protecting his little brother."

"He still died."

"And now there's one less child abuser in the world. I see that as a plus." Bobby smiled before noticing how apprehensive I looked. "They'll come around."

"Yeah right." I laughed slightly. "Even if I had Sam and I's friggin' birth certificates, they'd probably still not believe me."

"It's just gonna' take time."

"What before they get bored of us like everyone else did and send us back to the group home?" I stated.

"No one's sending you boys back to the group home." Bobby retorted. "And anyway, there will always be a place for you here, with or without the Winchester's."

I smiled. "Thanks, Bobby."

"You're welcome, Dean."

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