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. 9: Six Feet Under
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1988
THE CHLORINE-SCENTED AIR OF the empty school gymnasium hung heavy, serving as a thick blanket of suffocation that only intensified the nervous anticipation radiating from Milo. Standing alongside Dean, he peered into the dimly lit expanse of the school's indoor pool, the moonlight casting eerie shadows on the water. It rippled softly, still but in contact motion. It was sort of entrancing in a way—Milo had always loved the water, probably because blue was his favourite colour. Dean would call him weird for how much emphasis he put on a colour. He always had to wear something blue, whether it be socks, shoes, or a random hair tie he found and used as a bracelet. But there was something about it that made him feel calm. He could look down at the colour and immediately feel better as if it helped tether him back to reality. It was his thing, just like Sam's attachment to a particularly beat-up pillow he couldn't sleep without, and Dean always needed John's leather jacket to feel the most confident.
The idea of seeing the ocean, with its vast blue expanse, had always been a more superficial dream for Milo. He wanted the real thing, rather than the stupid postcard version that always seemed to be lining up random gas station walls on their never-ending road trips. It would be amazing, to see such an expanse of richly blue sea stretching further than his eyes could even register. The indoor pool was a paler blue, nothing like the ocean, yet it still held a soothing quality, albeit dampened by the eerie flickering shadows that seemed to dance on its surface made Milo shift nervously, half-expecting it to be a lurking figure rather than a mere trick of the light.
It wouldn't be surprising given the nature of his life.
"Are you sure nobodies gonna find us?" Milo shuffled around, trying to get a better view, even going as far as rising on his tiptoes as if the extra height could make a difference in seeing through the high windows.
Dean snorted, "This is like the millionth time we've broken into a place, but you're scared now? It's a school, what are they gonna do, send us to detention?"
Milo rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, turning away from the windows and the pool to face John stood before them, his tall figure exuding an unwavering air of authority. He dropped a bag beside him and crouched down, unzipping it in one long motion.
Milo tried to seem tough, standing straight with his chest puffed out. But the effect of his posturing just looked funny coming from a lanky ten-year-old with a mop of unruly hair dressed in a hand-me-down T-shirt two sizes too big. He exchanged a quick uncertain glance with Dean, who, at twelve, had a calmness about him that often made him appear far wiser and stronger for his age—at least, that was how Milo saw it. Just off the side behind John, Sam sat on the cold bleacher nearby, his wide eyes flickering with a blend of excitement at being allowed to watch them train and apprehension about what exactly they were doing at a pool in the middle of the night.
