The forgotten brother Milo "Miles" Campbell has always lived a life in the shadows, haunted by the knowledge that he was despised by their father, John Winchester, simply because he was his wife's biggest mistake. Feeling rejected and neglected, Mil...
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Ch. 1 - The Reunion
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MILO LOUNGED CASUALLY on one of the rotating bar chairs in the kitchen, unfazed by the persistent pounding on the door. Dean, it seemed, couldn't take the hint of a door being slammed in his face as an answer to his ridiculous question. Across from Milo, a wall clock measured the passing seconds as Dean relentlessly tried to put his fist through the door with every one that ticked by.
Vaguely, Milo wondered how many complaints were going to be filed against him and Jake that coming morning from the other tenants on the floor.
Five minutes passed when a sudden movement near the inside hallway caught Milo's attention.
On instinct, triggering an age-old reflex, he flung the knife still in his hand toward the figure and watched in pure annoyance as it narrowly missed the person, embedding itself into the drywall with a resounding thud. The figure stepped into the light, revealing themselves to be Jake, looking dishevelled with a rumpled t-shirt and messy brown hair flattened on one side and sticking up ridiculously on the other, just woken up and beyond disoriented.
In his defensive posture, Jake held Rodger up as if to shield himself, the poor dog having no choice but to flail helplessly in the air due to his size.
"What the hell!" Jake shouted, startled by the knife throw and the loud pounding of wood slamming against the doorframe.
Milo's jaw dropped open in a guffaw of incredulity, "Oh yeah, use the dog as a shield, you absolute disgrace of a cop." He moved toward the pair, freeing Rodger from Jake's arms and letting the poor thing run back into the room before returning to the kitchen.
"Dude, I was already holding Rodger and that throw was clearly a headshot!" Gripping the handle of the embedded knife, Jake dislodged it and sent it flying back toward Milo, who deftly evaded its trajectory. They watched, as if in slow motion, as the knife stabbed an identical mark on the drywall behind him.
"Well, there goes our deposit," Milo muttered.
Meanwhile, the relentless pounding on the door grew louder, amplified by the commotion inside.
"Who the hell is that?" Jake groaned, taking stock of the scene he walked into—Milo, armed and poised in front of the door with high-strung tension and darkened features.
Milo struggled to respond as the pounding continued. Although he cultivated an air of indifference to most things, certain signs betrayed his true emotions. Signs that only Jake could discern after living and working with him over the years. And to Jake, Milo seemed almost as on edge as he had been when they first met.
His eyes were wild, on high alert as his gaze darted around chasing shadows that weren't there.
Without a second thought, Jake reached into the bowl of fake fruit on the counter that neither of them ever touched and pulled out a pistol. And before Milo could even blink, he stalked over and swung open the door to aim the firearm squarely at Dean's head, demanding, "Who the hell are you."
