Ch. 7: Past Emotions
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1983 - December 30th
JOHN WINCHESTER STARED AT THE MOTEL DOOR, his heart practically a battleground of conflicted emotions. He stood there, just a shell of a man at that point, still in denial of what took place only a month prior—the brutal murder of his beloved wife. The loss was a scorching wound in his soul, something that just got worse with every passing second. What only added to his struggle was the sudden responsibility of dealing with three children alone. There was no time to even mourn properly.
Sam and Dean were fine, obviously, he would be able to handle them no matter what. But he also found himself having to actually deal with the Bastard as well.
Milo.
He kept trying to remind himself that it was the Bastard's name, and Dean kept trying to remind him as well, but it was hard to even care about such a thing when everything he loved was ripped away from him in a matter of seconds. When things seemed to be falling apart around him and no amount of glue would ever be able to repair the brokenness inside of him.
He just couldn't bring himself to even pretend to care about the kid.
The Bastard played innocently on the motel floor, babbling away and oblivious to the turmoil brewing in John's mind.
Oblivious to the decision he was about to make.
The room was dimly lit, the flickering light of a small television casting a muted glow across the worn carpet and across Milo's chubby cheeks. Just outside, Dean was sat in the parked car, his young face etched with confusion and aching sorrow. Little Sammy was cradled in Dean's lap, the two Winchesters awaiting their father's return.
Even at only four years old, Dean knew that something important was happening, he could read it all over John's empty expression. But the true weight of the situation eluded him. Only years later when he thought back to that moment did he realize the gravity of what was happening.
Of what could've happened.
John's gaze shifted between the open doorway and the distant silhouette of his boys in the car. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his choices pressing down on him.
Because after a month of recuperating and telling himself he was crazy for what he saw, he's come to terms with it. Monsters were real, and one of them killed his wife. He needed to go after it, he needed to avenge her no matter what.
It was already dangerous enough with his two little boys with him, but one with no blood relation to him? One that he had no love for and will never have any love for?
But John's heart, wounded and scarred, also couldn't bear the thought of leaving the Bastard behind. He was an innocent baby, after all, whose second birthday was only a few hours from then. But the Bastard also represented something more than that—a part of Mary's love, her sacrifice, and the essence of her goodness. A visceral connection to her.
In the end, though, he turned to leave the room anyways. The weight of his grief and the burden of responsibility was just too much to bear, it threatened to consume him.
The sound of the Bastard's laughter reverberated through the room even then, echoing in John's ears. The Bastard was always such a happy and smiley baby, a haunting reminder of the love John had lost.
The thought of abandoning the baby, Mary's baby, stung.
But the thought of having to face the kid every day was even worse.
John's footsteps were heavy and slow as he shut the motel door behind him and made his way to the car. His gaze met Dean's inquisitive eyes, eyes that held a silent question, an unspoken understanding. Dean, too young to fathom the complexity of the situation, remained silent, refraining from asking about Milo's whereabouts even though he was curious.
John glanced back at the motel room, his mind filled with memories of Mary that were still so vivid in his mind, of the life they had once shared.
He thought he could do it, and he forgave Mary when she told him she was pregnant with the Bastard.
But maybe that stupid kid was the thing that ruined it all. Maybe that Bastard was just the beginning of the bad luck for them, like a dark omen. After all, ever since it was born, things were never really the same. He and Mary were never the same. Their family was never the same.
Without a word, John turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the motel parking lot.
The car moved one block away, then two, then three.
As they rounded the corner, the town's exit sign came into view, a beacon signalling their escape. All he had to do was get past it and then the invisible string tying him to the Bastard would be gone. He would be free.
They'd both be free.
John's heart raced within his chest, each beat like a heavy drum against his ribcage. His hands trembled on the steering wheel and before he knew it, he was slamming the brakes and turning the car around.
Dean cast a quizzical glance at their father, his youthful features a canvas of confusion, but John couldn't bring himself to meet that searching gaze.
They pulled back into the motel parking lot and John rushed back to the unlocked room, his heart pounding with both fear and guilt. A small part of him wished for the Bastard to be gone when he opened the door, already found by someone who was much kinder. But another part of him, a small place where he could almost hear Mary's soft voice whispering to him, prayed that the baby was still sitting there blissfully unaware of everything that just happened.
As the door swung open, sat in the same spot on the worn carpet was the Bastard baby with beautiful round, innocent eyes, and a smile lighting up his chubby face.
John took a few long steps towards him and scooped Milo into his arms, cradling him close for a moment. He could feel the warmth of the child against his chest, the soft tendrils of Milo's hair brushing against his face. With a heavy heart and unsteady steps, he returned to the waiting car.
Dean was silent as he watched his Dad shuck off his worn leather jacket and tuck Milo up into a small burrito before slipping back into the driver's seat.
With Milo in one arm, and his boys beside him, John Winchester pulled out of the parking lot.
The road that would lead them to their destiny stretched out before them then. A road driven by grief, vengeance, and a fierce sense of duty.
---
2005 - November 11th
THE MUSIC WAS LOUD IN THE AIR, vibrating through the entire car even more prominently than the hum of the engine. It was to the point where Milo wanted to smash his head in from the sheer headache of having to endure it for the past couple of hours. But, at the end of the day, he would much rather this than a lecture he'd get from Dean about the greatness of rock if Milo even attempted to turn it down.
Sam, as if sensing his brothers' murderous thoughts, reached over and lowered the volume.
Milo, sprawled across the backseat with a jacket as a makeshift blanket and dark sunglasses shielding his eyes, let his hand escape his jacket blanket to extend a fist bump to Sam who reciprocated with a small laugh.
"You know, Dean, you won the bet but you never asked Milo your question," Sam suddenly said.
Milo groaned loudly, wishing he could retract the fistbump but it was already too late. Dean just grinned widely like a man who just won the lottery.
"Almost forgot about that, thanks, Sammy." He clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder. And then he made a big show of rubbing his chin as if pondering the biggest equation of his life.
Milo sat up and Sam glanced at him in the mirror, holding back a laugh at the sight of Milo. His posture was completely rigid and his face was all twisted up as if readying himself for a death sentence or something.
"Alright, Miles," Dean began his tone a blend of mock solemnity and devilish delight. "I'll start with an easy one since I already know I'm gonna be winning the next one as well."
Milo rolled his eyes at his confidence but he was also secretly relieved.
After making the bet, he'd been mentally going over all of the things Dean could ask him and all of them seemed like the exact things Milo would avoid. There was no way Dean would ask something normal like, what his favourite food was or which brother was his favourite because those were a cop-out compared to asking him why he left or what exactly he's been doing these past few years.
Milo let himself slouch a little, the tension leaving him like a balloon deflating.
"Miles, why did you leave? Why'd you walk away from us?"
Milo's mouth dropped open and Sam spluttered from the front seat, head whipping towards Dean all while the man himself seemed perfectly content.
"That is not going easy on me," Milo scoffed, but for some reason, a smile crept up his face. His eyes caught Dean's in the rearview mirror and after a single moment they both burst out laughing.
Sam stared at the scene, his bemusement shifting into laughter at the sight of his brother and Milo guffawing like a pair of schoolboys. "What the hell is wrong with you guys?"
Milo breathed out, holding his stomach. He took a couple of breaths to calm himself while Dean wiped his eyes, tears forming in the corner of his eyes from all the laughter. It wasn't funny at all but it was one of those moments where you just have to laugh. And considering Milo and Dean's inability to have a serious moment, especially with each other, it was basically comical in a twisted sort of way.
"Okay, okay." Milo took one last deep breath, his voice still tinged with the residue of his laughter, forcing himself to be serious just this once. He didn't look back at the mirror again lest he made eye contact with Dean and they both lose it all over again.
He shifted in his seat, shades pushed up to rest on top of his head. For a moment, the silence stretched between them, stale from the laughter and unspoken emotions.
"First things first, John sent me out on a solo hunt. So, I didn't just up and vanish without a cause," Milo began, his tone calm and collected. That was the easiest way to start and it was also something he's actually wanted to clarify ever since he first spoke to Dean back at the apartment.
Sam's brows furrowed at the revelation. It was weird, Dad sending Milo on a solo hunt so early on. It was careless and dangerous and something he'd never let Dean or himself do at Milo's age back then. But understanding the circumstances behind his departure was one thing, yet grasping why he never returned was an entirely different enigma. He voiced this, "But why didn't you come back afterwards, then?"
"Well," Milo paused, chuckling darkly. He met their gazes head-on, shrugging his shoulder. "The hunt John sent me on was nearly impossible. A vampire nest that had roots as deep as John's early hunting days. Other hunters were sent before but nobody was successful."
Sam's expression shifted, his brow furrowing as he pieced together the puzzle beneath Milo's words. It wasn't a direct answer, but it contained the essence of the truth they all recognized.
John had, in a way, sent Milo on a suicide mission.
Dean's emotions shuttered between empathy and frustration. He didn't really want to think about what that meant about John Winchester, so he filed it away for something to think about later alone. Instead, he focused on his own frustration. Of not being told all of this before. Of Milo not trusting him enough to tell him.
His eyes held a calculated intensity, his voice edged with the familiar coldness Milo's been waiting to hear the entire trip, that he only got to see during the confrontation at the bridge. "Even if that's the case, it doesn't explain why you couldn't have at least called us. Me or Sam. We would've told Dad off."
Milo scoffed, "Would you have?" The car was silent, the music that was so overbearingly loud before reduced to just a whisper beneath the tension. "Let's just be honest, there's no need to pretend like we were the best of buddies back then. We hated each other, Dean."
Dean's jaw clenched and Sam turned to look out the window.
Milo sighed, he glanced between the two Winchesters for a moment. There was no point in being angry or resentful now, it was hypocritical to blame them when the root of the problem was just himself.
His voice, though quiet, carried a weight that neither brother could ignore. "Sometimes... sometimes it's easier to run away than to face all the problems we had head-on. I thought leaving was the only way to make things easier for myself, for all of us. And even though it might have sucked, or still sucks, I don't regret it."
The words hung in the air afterwards.
Dean had expected a stupid excuse or a deflection that pointed a finger back at John or at them specifically, but he was taken aback by Milo's candid confession.
Although, he did think that Milo seemed to focus more on the bad than the good. Sure, hunting was a rough path to tread along, but it was worth it in the end. They made a difference and that was what the family business was all about.
But Dean had also already, very painstakingly might he add, come to terms with the idea that maybe hunting was harder for others to deal with outside of the bubble that was himself. That his brothers were always a little more soft around the edges than he was. Because Sam was the same as Milo after all when he left to go to college.
Dean wasn't particularly happy about the way Sam and Milo painted their lives to be so bad, but he could accept it. They weren't just gonna wake up one day and change their opinions all of a sudden. He could deal with it. He had to deal with it or their little road trip together wouldn't be able to happen.
Sam, on the other hand, although he remembered the pain and the feeling of abandonment when Milo disappeared from their lives without a word, could actually understand it on a personal level. After all, he was never the favourite son either and more often than not, especially without Milo to intervene, he went head-to-head with John more times than he'd like to remember.
Milo didn't want to leave, per se, but he was given the chance one day and he took it.
There was also just something in Milo's answer that the Winchester brothers couldn't shake. It was the truth of human fragility, the fragility that extended even to Milo, who was always the epitome of strength and resilience growing up. Beneath his steadfast exterior, Milo also had vulnerabilities, just as they all did. His facade of strength, built to withstand life's blows, held cracks that let through glimpses of something more human.
They exchanged a knowing glance then. Both of them, although unhappy, could understand what Milo was saying to a certain extent.
Meanwhile, Milo's personal walls rose with every silent second, ready for the familiar backlash—the fighting and the arguments that seemed as natural as breathing.
He braced himself for the impact.
"Okay," Dean said instead of cursing him out like Milo expected. Accepting Milo's own reasonings but not extending any type of remorse or apology. Sam nodded along.
And Milo wasn't going to expect anything more than that, and he didn't want anything more either. It wasn't really any of their faults that they grew up as opposites to one another, pitted against each other. It was a circumstance of the life they lived as hunters who were made to grow up quickly.
"Let's get some grub," Dean said shortly, acting normal.
He pulled off at the next exit, coming to a halt in front of The Lynnwood Inn.
Milo looked at the brothers, "I'm gonna catch some more Z's". He adjusted himself, reclining once again and shielding his eyes with sunglasses. "Bring me back a little something, will ya?"
"Dude," Dean said, poking his head over the seats to peer down at Milo's sad state. He felt a little awkward all of a sudden, not really knowing what exactly to say or how to act. "All you do is sleep." He said lightly instead.
Sam clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder, because of the three of them, he was much more healthy in the emotions department. He recognized that Milo needed a little recovery time for the small amount of vulnerability he showed. "I guess some things never change." He joked instead, intending to lighten the mood.
It worked, and the Winchesters shared a small smile at that. Because back in the day, even through all of the tough times, if Milo had any free time to spare all he would do is sleep. It used to drive John crazy, saying that whenever he came back on a solo hunt for a few weeks, Milo looked just about as thin as a stick. All of the gruelling muscle and stamina progress they had made while training before lost due to his inactivity.
It just meant that Milo had to train harder afterwards but that didn't deter him at all. The cycle would repeat.
Sam thought it was funny, and Dean thought it was a nice break from having Milo yapping in his ear twenty-four-seven.
Well, that was until John stopped coming back annoyed and started coming back angry.
But they tried not to think about that part.
"We'll fetch you a classic breakfast," Sam confirmed, his voice soothing like a balm. The door shut behind him, his footsteps carrying him away from the car and towards the building.
Dean lingered for a moment though, a contemplative look cast upon the figure of Milo, so familiar yet somewhat alien after all these years. He sighed, a mixture of emotions tugging at his thoughts. With a resigned exhale, he shucked off his well-worn leather jacket. It was a simple, almost casual gesture—placing it carefully over the portion of Milo that was uncovered.
And to him, that was like extending an imaginary olive branch in a way.
---
MILO'S EYES REMAINED FIXED ON THE SCENERY PASSING BY as he leisurely took a bite of his bacon. The houses, the fluttering white sheets hanging on clotheslines, and the carefree children playing around. The Impala crossed over a bridge and he spotted an elderly man casting a fishing line into the water below.
It was a normal town, something Milo always found fascinating to see outside of movies. People living a relaxed life, unknowing of the horrors that lurked in the shadows.
He wondered for a moment if this was what life would've been like if Mary never died. If they got to grow up normally.
But there was no point in thinking about something that would never happen.
They passed by a sign that read Welcome to Lake Manitoc WI before pulling up to the Carlton house.
It was where Sophie Carlton, a beloved daughter, had passed in a 'tragic swimming accident' as the reports said. The girl had walked into the lake and never walked back out. Authorities dragged the water but found nothing. Sophie Carlton was the third Lake Manitoc drowning this year. None of the other bodies were found either.
And as if the sudden bad luck had cast a dark veil over the once vibrant town, The Carlton house and its surroundings seemed visibly more forlorn as they pulled up to it. Milo stepped out of the car first, his senses heightened, as if he could practically taste the heavy emotions lingering in the air. It was a stark contrast to the usual happiness that radiated from the other parts of the town.
Dean, wearing his familiar confident facade, led the trio toward the front door and knocked. Will Carlton, a middle-aged man with worry lines permanently etched into his face, opened the door.
"Will Carlton?" Dean inquired, his voice steady and authoritative.
Will looked between the three of them cautiously, his posture slightly guarded. "Yeah, that's right."
Dean flashed a badge, "I'm Agent Ford. This is Agent Hamill," gesturing to Sam on his right, "and Fisher," he finished, nodding to his left where Milo stood. "We're with the US Wildlife Service."
Will nodded softly at them, understanding why they were there without needing to be told. He gestured for them to follow him as he made his way to the backyard and to the lake.
The trio walked along the shore of the lake, the water stretching out before them. Milo couldn't help but notice the heaviness in the air that only seemed to grow more thick and overbearing the closer they walked.
He adjusted his collar, feeling suffocated all of a sudden.
Bill Carlton sat alone on a weathered bench, his gaze fixed on the vast expanse of the water before him. Will guided them toward his father, the wooden dock creaking under their cautious steps.
"She was about a hundred yards out," Will began, his voice tinged with sadness as he recounted the incident. "That's where she got dragged down," he added, his voice trailing off.
Milo's brow furrowed as he gazed at the seemingly tranquil yet ominously dark water. "And you're sure there was some type of other involvement? That she didn't just drown?" he asked carefully, not wanting to come across as belittling.
Will's response was swift and resolute. "Yeah. She was a varsity swimmer. She practically grew up in that lake. She was as safe out there as in her own bathtub."
"So no splashing? No signs of distress?"
Will shook his head, his frustration rising with each question. "No, that's what I'm telling you."
Milo took the man's frustration in stride, looking over at Sam and Dean so they could try instead. Because while the questions may be intrusive, they needed any clue they could get that could shed light on what was happening.
"Did you see any shadows in the water? Maybe some dark shape breach the surface?" Sam pressed further.
Will's brow furrowed, his expression now puzzled at the change in the direction of the questions to something else entirely. "No. Again, she was really far out there."
Dean interjected next, "You ever see any strange tracks by the shoreline?"
"No, never. Why? Why, what do you think's out there?"
"We'll let you know as soon as we do." And with that, Dean turned to make his way back to the car, nodding his head at Milo and Sam to follow him. But they both lingered for a moment, thinking the same thing as their gazes locked on Bill Carlton who was still sitting silently looking out at the water.
"What about your father?" Milo asked after a moment, taking in the faraway look the old man had. As if he'd seen something or knew something more about everything happening but wasn't sure if words would be able to describe them. "Can we talk to him?"
Dean stopped and turned back to them.
Will hesitated, his eyes flickering between his father and the brothers. "Look, if you don't mind, I mean...he didn't see anything and he's kind of been through a lot."
Both Sam and Milo bowed their heads respectfully. "We understand." Sam nodded solemnly.
As Sam and Dean made their way back to the car, Milo couldn't shake the feeling that something more was lurking beneath the surface of Bill. Something he, nor his son, were saying.
Milo turned to Will, "Just in case something comes up, here's my number." Will's expression seemed to soften just a little as the small show of compassion and he nodded, passing over his phone so Milo could input the digits.
Milo handed the phone back after a moment with a small smile before following his brothers' path to the car where they were waiting, curious about the exchange they watched.
"Did you just give your number to a dude?" Dean asked as soon as they settled in the car. He glanced at Milo in the rearview mirror with a raised brow.
Milo just laughed, "Wouldn't you like to know," he smirked.
Dean spluttered and Sam laughed out loud, turning the dial on the volume to raise the music louder than Dean's noises.
Their drive to the police station was short but entertaining with Milo making small playful jabs at Dean, keeping the air of animosity while Dean pouted.
But soon enough, they stood in the dimly lit police station as Sheriff Jake Devins, a weathered yet determined man, regarded them with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.
"Now, I'm sorry, but why does the Wildlife Service care about an accidental drowning?"
Sam took the skepticism in stride, "You sure it's accidental? Will Carlton saw something grab his sister?"
Sheriff Devins motioned for them to follow him into his office, sensing that the conversation would be longer than he anticipated as well as not for everyone else to hear. The room was adorned with accolades and reminders of the Sheriff's duty to protect his town, something Milo found a little gaudy and tacky but nonetheless he sat down without complaint.
Milo examined the room further, looking for anything of note aside from the accolades but there was nothing else to clue them into who the man was behind closed doors.
"There are no indigenous carnivores in that lake." Sheriff Devins began like that was a common theory. "There's nothing even big enough to pull down a person unless it was the Loch Ness Monster." He remarked with a hint of amusement.
"Yeah," Dean chuckled along for a moment but exchanged a secret look with Milo and Sam at the mention of the 'make belief' creature. "Right."
Sheriff Devins leaned back in his chair, the weight of his responsibilities etched on his face. "Will Carlton was traumatized, and sometimes the mind plays tricks. Still—" He let his words hang in the air unnecessarily long as if inviting the speculation, and Milo wanted to roll his eyes. "We dragged that entire lake. We even ran a sonar sweep, just to be sure, and there was nothing down there."
Dean's eyes narrowed, "That's weird, though, I mean, that's, that's the third missing body this year."
Sheriff Devins sighed heavily, his shoulders sagging under the weight of grief and responsibility. It was the first time that he seemed to show any type of real emotion about the tragedy. "I know. These are people from my town. These are people I care about."
"I know."
The sheriff's gaze shifted, his eyes betraying a glimmer of hopelessness. "Anyway... all this... it won't be a problem much longer."
Sam leaned forward, "What do you mean?"
A sense of resignation settled over Sheriff Devins as he spoke, his voice tinged with a blend of sadness and acceptance. "Well, the dam, of course."
Dean's brow rose but he quickly nodded along, "Of course, the dam. It's, uh, it sprung a leak."
Milo stifled a laugh and Sam mentally facepalmed.
"It's falling apart, and the feds won't give us the grant to repair it, so they've opened the spillway. In another six months, there won't be much of a lake. There won't be much of a town, either. But as Federal Wildlife, you already knew that."
"Exactly," Dean agreed easily, shaking his head and sighing along.
As if on cue, to stop Dean from over agreeing and ruining the act, a young woman tapped on the office door. The four men turned their attention toward her.
"Sorry, am I interrupting?" The woman questioned with her hand still up in a knocking position, her voice laced with hesitation. She looked between all of the men. "I can come back later."
The sheriff nodded to her, "Gentlemen, this is my daughter."
The brothers rose from their seats, acknowledging her presence. Dean extended a friendly hand, his charismatic charm on full display. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Dean."
Milo and Sam observed the scene unfolding before them, gaze shifting from Dean and the woman as she reciprocated the handshake but seemed to hold on, her gaze locked with Dean's holding a mix of curiosity and caution. "Andrea Barr. Hi."
Dean's usual charm faltered for a moment, caught off guard by the intensity. "Hi," he managed to reply, his voice slightly unsteady.
Suppressing his laughter, Milo watched the exchange with amusement and Sam nudged him discreetly.
Sheriff Devins, also watching the exchange but with something other than amusement, intervened quickly, breaking the tension in the room. "They're from the Wildlife Service. About the lake."
"Oh." Andrea let go.
A young boy peaked his head out from beside Andrea, his demeanour holding a heaviness no kid should have, hinting at the burdens he carried.
Dean's attention shifted to the boy, "Oh, hey there. What's your name?"
Without uttering a word, the boy silently retreated, leaving Andrea to follow suit. They watch through the window of the office as he sat silently and Andrea pulled out some crayons for him.
"His name is Lucas," The Sheriff said morosely.
Curiosity tugged at Milo, there was something about that boy that reminded him of Bill back at the pier. They both held this unsaid weight on their shoulders. "Is he okay?" He asked softly.
Sheriff Devins sighed, weariness etched into every line on his face. "My grandson's been through a lot. We all have."
As the Sherrif stood and headed toward the office door, Milo observed the profound weight carried by the sheriff and his family. There was something connecting the family to whatever was going on it seemed.
Well, if there's anything else I can do for you, please let me know," Jake offered, his voice laden with a mix of exhaustion and genuine concern.
"Thanks again," Sam expressed his gratitude, a hint of appreciation in his tone. Milo nodded along.
Dean's curiosity, however, wasn't quenched just yet. He turned to Andrea as they exited the office, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "You know, now that you mentioned it, could you point us in the direction of a reasonably priced motel?"
Andrea chuckled her laughter music to Milo's ears. "Lakefront Motel. Go around the corner. It's about two blocks south."
Dean's charm was impossible to resist as he flashed a charismatic smile. "Two—would you mind showing us?"
Andrea's laughter continued, filling the room with a lightheartedness that contrasted the weight of their investigation. "You want me to walk you two blocks?"
Dean's mischievous grin just grew wider. "Not if it's any trouble."
"I'm headed that way anyway," She finally gave in. She turned to her father, "I'll be back to pick up Lucas at three." She turned to Lucas next, "We'll go to the park, okay, sweetie?" she assured him, placing a gentle kiss on his head.
A wave of tenderness washed over Milo as he witnessed the interaction between Andrea and Lucas. A deep affection emanated from Andrea's every action towards the boy.
He couldn't help but wonder if this was what it felt like to have a mother—someone who loved unconditionally.
Dean waved at the Sheriff as they departed, and the man just shook his head.
Milo walked alongside Sam while Dean was just in front of them with Andrea, their footsteps echoing on the quiet street.
Dean, always one to find solace in light-hearted banter, or as Milo would say, always one to shoot his shot with a pretty lady, couldn't help but comment on Andrea's son. "So, cute kid."
Andrea smiles a tad awkwardly at him, "Thanks."
They crossed a street, now more awkward than comfortable like before.
"Kids are the best, huh?" Dean tried again, much to Sam and Milo's amusement. While it was embarrassing to watch, it was also equally entertaining.
Andrea glanced at him for a fleeting moment, obviously choosing to ignore his remark. They continued their journey in silence and once they reached their destination, a building adorned with the sign "Lakefront Motel," Andrea came to a halt.
"There it is. Like I said, two blocks," she stated matter-of-factly.
Milo stepped up, "Thanks." He smiled at her.
Andrea looked at Dean, taking the opportunity to respond to his insatiable flirting. "Must be hard, with your sense of direction, never being able to find your way to a decent pickup line."
And just like that, she turned to leave, a faint smile playing on her lips as she called back over her shoulder, "Enjoy your stay!"
Milo and Sam exchanged a single look before both knocking Dean in the shoulder. "'Kids are the best'? You don't even like kids." Sam laughed.
"I love kids," he defended, pushing them back even harder.
"Name three children you actually know," Milo scoffed.
Dean huffed, but in a brief moment, he's smiling again like he's already won the argument. "You and Sam," he retorted with a triumphant grin. Milo groaned and shoved him again, while Sam rolled his eyes, used to forever being called the baby of the family. Dean lets himself be pushed now, laughing loudly. "C'mon, Miles. Don't pout, we'll get ice cream when we finish up the hunt, how does that sound?" he cooed.
Milo swung a fist, aiming for Dean, but his blow was easily intercepted by Dean's maneuver. Dean's forearm pushed Milo's fist and wrestled him away. Milo tried again to trip him, but Dean just pushed him.
He was gonna try another time but the playful exchange seemed to have caught the attention of several onlookers in the parking lot. They were watching them, looking scandalized as if it was a real full-on brawl. And Milo's awareness of their presence tempered his playfulness completely, uncomfortable under other people's eyes.
"You're lucky we're still in public," he growled, his voice laced with warning. He subtly nodded towards the watching eyes, a silent gesture. Dean's head turned to look at them and he just laughed, making direct eye contact with the people until they were uncomfortable enough to look away.
Sam took the lead then, getting them the motel room and ushering them around like a weary mother with her two rascal kids.
Soon, they found themselves inside the motel room. Sam immediately delved into his laptop, looking into the details of the drownings, while Dean went through his clothes.
Milo quickly excused himself to the washroom, standing in front of the mirror with a pencil in his mouth and John's leather-bound journal balanced on the edge of the sink. The page was open to the second code they had found along with the coordinates back during the woman in white case, the jumble of seemingly random letters that Sam had tried but failed to decode.
It had been a while until Milo could get his hands on the journal again since it was usually kept tucked inside Dean's jacket on his person at all times, only given to him or Sam when he could watch them. But after Dean left the jacket on Milo while he and Sam went for breakfast, it was the perfect opportunity to quickly snatch it.
And just when he was about to put pencil to paper, a loud bang on the door jolted him. The tip of the pencil scratched a harsh line of lead across the page instead.
"Miles, we don't have time for you to reapply your sunscreen every four hours!" Dean's gruff voice called loudly from the other side of the door, the handle jerking as he incessantly tried to open the door. "Sam found a lead."
Milo just sighed, resigned to the fact that he would have to wait even longer to actually do anything away from the overbearing shadow that was Dean.
It was like the roles were reversed now.
Before, Milo was the shadow that followed Dean around, observing his every move tactically. Now, he couldn't care less what Dean was doing but the older always seemed to be breathing down his neck.
He shoved the journal under his shirt, clicked the lock, and swung the door open.
"Wait!" Milo called out before Sam or Dean could fill him in, "Let me guess first."
Sam rolled his eyes, but Dean grinned, "I've got a question prepared for when you're wrong," he quipped. Milo rolled his eyes but carried on.
"Okay, walk with me," Milo said pacing the small room, dodging the weird motel stains as he did so. He thought back on what they knew so far, listing each point with his fingers. "Consecutive drownings in the same area, the sheriff making a big commentary about how everyone knows everyone, Bill Carlton who was weirdly silent at the dock, the kid that was just as silent at Bill."
He stopped and waved in an exaggerated gesture. "It's a spirit! And Bill knows who it is but isn't saying anything out of guilt. The kid is silent out of fear since he's the only other one that's seen the spirit. You know, with kids being more supernaturally perceptive."
Sam and Dean exchanged glances, nodding at the plausible theory. "You know, that actually makes sense," Sam admitted, his laughter echoing Milo's celebratory fist pump. "I guess Dean's losing this time."
Milo laughed right in Dean's face, "Aha!"
"Don't celebrate yet," Dean frowned.
The two Winchesters let Milo gloat for a moment before steering him back to the information found. "Okay, so there were six more drownings before the three this year. Over the past thirty-five years, that is."
"Not that weird," Milo hummed, leaning against the table with his arms crossed.
"Well, the weird part is that none of the bodies were recovered."
"So, what, we got a lake monster on a binge?" Dean mused, trying to piece together something other than a spirit.
Milo moved closer to Sam. He leaned casually behind him, hands on the back of his chair as he peered at the computer screen. His eyes scanned the comment section pulled up on the article. A name caught his eye. "Wait, 'Bar'," he hummed, "Christopher Bar, why does that sound familiar?"
"Christopher Barr, the victim in May," Sam mumbled to himself, clicking on the hyperlink Milo pointed out. He's taken to another article. LOCAL MAN IN TRAGIC ACCIDENT. The page was accompanied by a photograph of a police officer with the same silent little boy they saw earlier, Lucas, wrapped up in a blanket and soaked to the bone.
"Christopher Barr was Andrea's husband, Lucas's father," Sam read aloud. "Apparently, he took Lucas out swimming. Lucas was on a floating wooden platform when Chris drowned. Two hours before the kid got rescued."
Sam clicked the picture for a better look, then scratched his head. Milo looked away and backed up again, uncomfortable seeing such haunted eyes on such a young kid.
"Maybe we have an eyewitness after all." Sam mused sadly.
"No wonder that kid was so freaked out." Dean mused. "Watching one of your parents die isn't something you just get over."
"Well," Milo caught the time on the alarm clock positioned on one of the bedside tables. "It's three o'clock now," he noted aloud. "Andrea mentioned they'd be at the park around this time."
It was easy enough for them to locate the right park, the one closest to the police station since that was the area where the family would probably frequent a lot.
As they approached, the air was filled with laughter and the joyful sounds of children playing. Andrea sat gracefully on a bench, her attention focused on Lucas, who was deeply engrossed in colouring and orchestrating intricate scenarios with his toy soldiers nearby.
The brothers approached slowly, their presence acknowledged by Andrea's gaze lifting from her son.
"Can we join you?" Sam's voice carried a gentle sincerity.
"I'm here with my son," Andrea replied, obviously a little upset about them trying to question her during such a time.
Milo's attention shifted towards Lucas, "Oh. Mind if I say hi?" he asked her with a well-meaning smile.
Andrea nodded softly and Milo and Dean went over to the boy, leaving Sam with Andrea. Out of the three of them, he was always the best at not stepping on any toes.
"Can you at least manage a smile?" Milo whispered under his breath, his own half-smile tugging at his lips.
"I am smiling," Dean muttered through his big clenched teeth grin.
"Yeah, but dial it down a bit. You look like a maniac," Milo shot back before turning his attention to Lucas. He approached with caution, taking a seat beside the young boy, careful not to disturb the carefully laid out array of paper and crayons. Little green toy soldiers were neatly lined up between them, forming a defensive formation around Lucas as if protecting him. Milo smiled softly, "Hello, Lucas. I'm Milo, but you can call me Miles." Lucas kept his eyes on his drawing but his crayon paused for a moment. "This is my brother, Dean. Is it alright if we sit here with you?" Milo spoke softly, allowing the boy to warm up at his own pace.
"I used to love these things," Dean mused, reaching over Milo's lap to pick up one of the toy soldiers. Milo tried, and failed, to hold back a cringe as Dean began to imitate explosions and gunfire but Lucas didn't show any reaction. In fact, the crayon in the boy's hand just seemed to press down harder on the paper. "So crayons are more your thing? That's cool. Chicks dig artists," Dean commented instead.
The kid didn't react and Milo shook his head at Dean's poor attempt.
"Mind if we draw together?" He asked instead, making sure to try and exude as much warmth and open comfort as possible. Lucas didn't look up, but his eyes flicked to some of the blank sheets of paper next to him. Milo carefully swiped two along with two crayons and handed one of each over to Dean who took a seat adjacent to them.
In comfortable silence, they began to draw, easing Lucas into their presence.
A stack of Lucas's drawings caught their eye though. The top drawing depicted a swirling pattern, followed by an image of a red bicycle.
"These are pretty good." Dean complimented, "I only wish I could be that good as well," he laughed softly.
Seated side by side in a more comfortable way, Milo seized the opportunity. "You know, I'm thinking you can hear us, you just don't want to talk." He began, his voice gentle and non-threatening. He continued to draw, sketching a picture that had been lingering in his head. "I might not know exactly what happened to your dad, but I understand it was something very difficult. And I think we can relate to how you feel." Milo gently tapped Dean's foot beneath the table to continue just in case Lucas felt uncomfortable with him.
"When I was your age, I saw something," Dean shared, his voice carrying the weight of understanding.
A moment of silence hung in the air, allowing the words to sink in. Milo's eyes, however, stayed focused on the paper before him and the lines he's drawn.
Dean continued, "Anyway, well, maybe you don't think anyone will listen to you or believe you. I want you to know that we will." Dean pressed his lips together and his eyes lifted to Lucas. "You don't even have to say anything," He carefully added, looking down at the drawings the three of them have made. "You could draw me a picture of what you saw that day, with your dad, on the lake. Okay, no problem. This is for you," Dean explained, extending the stick figure drawing he created.
"This is my family," Dean pointed at each crudely sketched figure, introducing them one by one. "That's my dad. That's my mom. That's my other geek brother, that's Miles, and that's me," Dean's grin was evident in his voice as he affectionately labelled each figure, his eyes eventually shifting towards Milo.
Milo slid his own drawing next to Dean's, the lines forming a recognizable but slightly skewed image. Three stick figures stood in front of a car, and if one squinted just right, the resemblance to the Impala was unmistakable.
It was the picture that John always held on to, the one he had left at the motel room back in Jericho.
"And this is just a picture of a good memory," Milo began, his voice carrying a mixture of warmth and hesitation. His gaze shifted to the ground for a split second before he continued, "That's Dean, that's our geek brother, and that's—" Milo hesitated briefly, wondering what the appropriate way to refer to John would be. He ended up going for something neutral though, something that Lucas would understand. "And that's our Dad," he concluded, the word carrying a certain weight he couldn't completely hide in his expression.
It wasn't true, but how do you break it to a kid that you're actually a bastard child that grew up with a guardian that wasn't even related to you?
With an awkward sense of finality, Milo finished, pointedly ignoring Dean's sharp gaze. "Well, we might not be the best artists, but we gave it a shot. See you later, Lucas," he smiled before getting up and dusting his pants off with Dean a step behind him, leaving the young boy with his thoughts and the drawings he had received.
Neither Dean nor Milo said anything as they walked back toward Sam and Andrea.
But before the silence grew too heavy, Dean's voice cut through the air in a hushed tone. "Why didn't you draw one of yourself?"
Milo halted mid-step, turning to face Dean. His lips curled into a wry smile as he retorted, "I thought the sentiment behind that picture was more important. Besides, we don't exactly have a collection of photos featuring me." His own brows furrowed then as his lips pressed into a thin line, turning his own question back on Dean. "You drew me in your version of a happy family. Why?"
It had taken literal years for Dean to even call Milo a brother, only doing so the year before Milo left them.
Dean frowned at him, but even he recognized the slightly weird second-guessing feeling he had while drawing Milo into his picture-perfect happy family drawing. It wasn't an unconscious decision, and if Milo hadn't been sitting right next to him he probably would've only drawn John, Mary, and Sam with him.
"Well, I guess it wasn't your fault any of this happened," Dean said instead, choosing to take the nicer approach for the first time ever. And the statement, though seemingly simple, held layers of meaning. Not only was it referring to their estranged relationship, but it also referenced the unresolved tension that had lingered since their confrontation on the bridge.
Milo wondered if it was an admission or an apology, but he didn't have time to ask because a gentle pull on his jacket directed his gaze down to Lucas instead, who held out a piece of coloured paper.
"Oh," An almost instinctive smile crossed Milo's face, the tension in his shoulders instantly sliding off as he crouched down to take the drawing from him. "Thanks, Lucas."
Dean smiled at the kid as well, "Thank you."
Before they could say anything else, Lucas turned and retreated back to his drawings and soldiers.
Milo and Dean were still for a moment, watching the young boy as he immersed himself once again in his world of imagination. Their gazes then shifted to the drawing Lucas had handed them.
It was of the Carlton House.
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A/N
Well, a lot more emotions in this one which inevitably extended the chapter by a lot (I'm sorry). But hopefully, the length of my chapters will tide you guys over for however long it takes me to update next. I tried to write it subtly since I think both Dean and Milo are characters that steer away from any and all emotions, but put enough for us to get a grasp on things.
I hope you guys enjoyed the little flashback in the beginning as well. I don't know where to insert them just yet but I'm thinking maybe one every chapter or so. It's just a little something to help establish Milo a little more as well as the dynamics between everyone. Later on, the flashbacks will tie more into the plot. But hopefully, it's good so far.
And as always, please vote and comment if you enjoyed this because it truly means a lot!