Title: Sons and Brothers
Total Words: 46,572
Type: Supernatural/Sons of Anarchy Crossover (Gen)
Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to Kripke or Sutter….I'm just playing…for fun
Spoilers: None. Set pre season for both shows
Warnings: Rated for language, sexual references, adult themes, drug use, violence, and two incidents involving the physical discipline of minors.
Summary: Why are children disappearing in Charming? Why can't the Sons of Anarchy stop it happening? And who is the mysterious Vietnam veteran who just drove his classic car into town? When Jax Teller meets Dean and Sam Winchester he comes face to face with a scary, new world that he never even knew existed. Will the Sons of Anarchy run the Winchesters out of town or will they put their skepticism aside and join forces with them to fight off a vicious monster who's preying on the town's children?
Jax and Dean are fifteen, Sam is almost eleven.
A/N: Supernatural and Sons of Anarchy are two of my favourite shows…but you can't combine urban fantasy with gritty urban realism….can you? Well some people out there in LJ land did…although their stuff is a lot slashier than my contribution (!)….never-the-less, I was inspired! Reviews are loved.
Chapter One: Born a ramblin' man…
Sam Winchester emerges into the sunshine of a Californian late-winter afternoon, and makes his way down the concrete front steps of Lincoln Middle School.
It's warm for a February – 65 degrees or so by Sam's reckoning – and dressed as he is (long sleeved khaki tee-shirt, dark blue jeans, dark grey hoodie) the sunlight is starting to make Sam sweat a little.
"You're a freak, Winchester!" an anonymous voice yells from somewhere off to his right. Sam barely turns, but his hazel eyes slash lethally sideways from beneath his messy brown bangs, as he looks to see which one of his classmates wants his fist in their face. Whoever the culprit is, he prefers to hide inconspicuously amongst the herd and that's okay with Sam; it's too nice a day to get into another fight. Besides, John Winchester is hunting a rugaru in Sacramento this week and if Sam gets suspended while his Dad is out of town, the shit will really hit the fan, and not just in a you-won't-be-able-to-sit-down-for-a-week-once-I'm-through-with-you kind of a way. No, we're talking major league, life-altering, these-kids've-been left-alone-for-over-a-week-we'd-better-contact-children's-services kind of a way. He considers that for a moment and has to concede that it's almost tempting. Sam is a few months short of his eleventh birthday and he's been on the road his whole life; dragged continuously from town to town and school to school, his life little more than a series of post cards, trailer parks, two star motels and cheap diners. The closest thing he has to a home is his old man's black 1967 Chevy Impala.
The Winchesters arrived in this town during the Winter Break and Sam started at Lincoln Middle School as soon as the holidays were over. If he's still here for Washington's Birthday, it will not only be a miracle, it will be the longest he's ever spent at the one school.
Sam scowls. The other kids have got it right; he is a freak. Life on the road has left him with no idea what television shows are cool to watch, what music is topping the charts or what clothes and hair cuts are in style. But if you want to know how to kill a werewolf (silver bullet to the heart) or how to gank an angry spirit (standard salt and burn), then Sam Winchester is the kid to ask.
Sam frowns. Freak is actually too mild a word for him. He's a….a….super freak. The thing he wants most in his life is normality; but the life of the Winchesters is just about as far away from normal as it's possible to get. If it wasn't for his older brother Dean, Sam would've dropped a dime on his old man years ago.
Sam sighs and hitches his school bag higher on his shoulder. Dean has just turned fifteen, and in a lot of ways, he's just about the best older brother it would be possible for anyone to have. He's also ridiculously over-protective of his baby bro' and Sam sometimes feels smothered by him….and, great, now he feels guilty for having given rein to that particular thought. Dean is an awesome brother. End of. He practically raised Sam; is more of a father to him than their Dad is actually; and he's his best friend as well.
And thinking of Dean….there he is waiting for him at the school gate.
Dean is not hugely tall; a little above average perhaps, but he's broad, muscular and solid; not overweight, just solid, although Sam worries that he may run to fat when he's older, given the number of hamburgers he eats. Dean has hazel eyes like his brother, spiky brown hair and somehow always manages to look cool. He usually hooks up with the hottest girl in his year level within days of arriving in any new town, and Sam admires his self-confidence.
Sam grins at his brother, his guilt over his earlier uncharitable thoughts making him smile more enthusiastically than usual, and Dean's face lights up like a neon sign.
Sam winces. "Don't call me that!"
"Sorry, Sammy, I forgot."
Sam glares at his brother and then frowns.
"Where's your school bag?"
Dean's wattage dims a little.
"It's at home," he says softly, "Dad picked me up at lunchtime; told them we had a family emergency."
Sam's stomach drops. So much for making it to Washington's Birthday.
"When?" he asks tightly.
Dean is a long time answering.
"Straight away," he says finally, "Dad was gonna yank you outta school too but I persuaded him to let you finish your last day. I know how much that kinda shit means to you, Geekboy," he punches Sam lightly on the arm, then offers him a smile, "I even packed all your stuff up for you."
Sam appreciates Dean's thoughtfulness, but that doesn't stop the fury that's building up inside of him. For once in his life he'd like to stay somewhere longer than two months; that isn't too much to ask…is it?
When they arrive back at the trailer park, John Winchester is settling up their final account with the park's superintendent over the hood of the Impala. He glances up at his sons as they approach, his heavy-set, lightly bearded face betraying no emotion.
"Dean," he says, "do a final walk through. Sam, make sure Dean packed up all your stuff and then go and use the bathroom. I want you in the car in ten minutes; we've got a long drive ahead of us."
"Yes, sir," Dean says promptly.
"I'm hungry," Sam complains, "why can't I have something to eat first?"
John's hooded eyes become slits and his body tenses as if Sam is getting on his very last nerve.
Dean puts his hands on Sam's shoulders and gives him a gentle nudge.
"Go," he says, "I packed snacks for us already. We'll eat in the car, okay?"
Sam glares at their father, which does nothing to improve the man's temper, and then allows Dean to propel him into the trailer.
"Are you insane?" Dean whispers, as soon as they are inside, "Can't you see the mood he's in?"
"What happened?" Sam asks snidely, "the rugaru take a bite out of his ass or something?"
Dean gives him a measured look.
"Dad put it down just fine," he hesitates, then adds, "turns out the thing was married. Turns out the wife was pregnant."
Sam's throat constricts.
Dean shakes his head.
"Couldn't bring himself to do it. He tried to talk her into an abortion but…." Dean shrugs, "Guess she couldn't bring herself to believe her husband wasn't really human; came up with some 'rational explanation'," Dean marks these words with air quotes, "for why he turned into a monster," he shakes his head incredulously at this fairly standard civilian response. "She wouldn't accept her baby could be affected either," Dean looks away, "Dad made a note in his journal. Says we'll have to go back when the thing's ready to turn, put it down then," his eyes slide back to Sam's, "He hit the bottle pretty hard last night and he's got the mother of all hangovers today, so be nice, alright? And try not to piss him off."
Sam sighs his acquiescence and heads out to the tiny annex room that he and Dean have been sleeping in for the past seven weeks.
"Father of the frigging year," he mutters to himself as he sweeps quickly through the annex, making sure that Dean has gathered up all his stuff, "drags his sons outta school so he can drive 'em across state with a raging hangover. Never mind the Goddamn ghosts and monsters; he's gonna kill us on the frigging road."
"You ready to go?"
Dean has already finished his final sweep through the trailer and he's standing at the door to the annex, looking worriedly at Sam.
Sam understands why he's concerned. The mood John's in; the mood Sam's in, there's going to be trouble. And whenever there's trouble, Dean's the bunny in the middle. He's taken the heat for Sam on more than one occasion and Sam doesn't want that to happen again.
Sam draws a deep breath and meets his brother's eyes.
"Sorry Dean," he says quietly, "I won't poke the bear, I promise."
Half an hour later they're cruising down Highway 299, stuffing on potato chips, Twinkies and Coke. Usually, Metallica, Led Zeppelin or Black Sabbath is blaring out of the car speakers but today they're riding in silence, in deference to John's pounding head.
"So where are we headed?" Sam asks his brother, licking salt and grease from his fingers.
"Some pissant little town called Charming," Dean replies, "Wanna bet it's anything but?"
Sam grins. "How far away is it?"
Dean shrugs and slides his eyes to the rear view mirror. John meets his questioning look.
"'Bout fifty miles past Sacramento," he mutters, voice hoarse.
"What's the job?" Sam asks, but his father's eyes just slide back to the road.
"Something about kids going missing," Dean answers, "I don't know the details."
"Dad?" Sam probes.
Their father sighs, voice thick with irritation. "Shut up and let me drive, Sam."
Sam opens his mouth, ready to protest the injustice of his Dad's response, and Dean elbows him in the side.
"No poking the bear," he whispers.
Sam subsides in sullen silence. He scowls out of the window and watches the world pass him by. At some point he obviously falls asleep because suddenly Dean is shaking him awake.
"C'mon Sammy, we're there. Gotta get up."
Sam opens his eyes blearily, feeling sleep drunk and out of sorts. It's too dark to see much, but they seem to have stopped outside a log cabin. Dean puts a pack on Sam's back, hands him a couple of duffle bags and propels him towards the cabin. He flicks on lights and opens doors until he finds a bedroom; shoves Sam inside.
"Go to sleep, Sammy," he says softly and Sam doesn't argue, just pulls back the blankets and hits the mattress.
He wakes up to bright sunlight and for a minute he can't remember where he is; doesn't take long for the events of the previous evening to come flooding back though. He wonders where Dean is and climbs out of bed. He's still wearing the same clothes he wore to school yesterday, although Dean seems to have pulled off his boots. The cabin – it is a log cabin – is the nicest place they've stayed in a while and Sam is delighted to find that it has three bedrooms. Dean is sound asleep in a different one of them. Sweet! His own room for a change!
Their Dad is cleaning his guns at the kitchen table.
John Winchester inclines his head.
"There's cereal, but no milk," he says, "I'll get Dean to go into town when he wakes up, bring us in some fresh supplies."
Sam helps himself to a bowl of dry cornflakes.
"How's your headache?" he ventures.
John grunts. "The Sacramento gig was tough. The look in that woman's eyes when….." he shudders and picks up another gun.
Sam figures that's as much of an apology as they're likely to get. He finishes his breakfast in silence and John clearly isn't looking to talk. The unspoken tension between John Winchester and his youngest son is so thick you'd need a chainsaw to cut through it. It dissipates somewhat when Dean gets up. He handles his father and brother like ticking time bombs and there's a deftness and surety about the way he jokes and jollies them along which speaks of long practice.
"Thought we'd head in to town," John says when they're all ready, "I've got some questions to ask. You two can hit the convenience store," he hands Dean four fifty dollar bills, "Stock up."
Dean grins at the money and looks a question at John. Their Dad smiles.
"Found a back room poker game in Sacramento," he says, answering Dean's unasked query, "made a very tidy profit."
Hunting's strictly a not-for-profit kind of business. Poker games, pool hustling, and credit card fraud are how the Winchesters put food on the table. Occasionally they save the ass of someone who expresses gratitude with greenbacks, but not often.
Charming is not a big town; less than twenty five square miles in all and the look and structure of the main drag is classic Americana.
"Isn't it charming," Sam says sardonically, "like the town time forgot."
"Not a lotta chain stores," Dean remarks as the Impala tours main street.
"Yeah it's mostly independent Mom and Pop businesses," John agrees approvingly, "plus a coupla town big wigs: There's the Oswald family who own a lot of the industry and then there's The Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club. They own Teller-Morrow Automotives, and rumor has it they run the town."
"We got bikers?" Dean asks incredulously, "in Charming?"
As if to illustrate the point, a deep, rumbling sound announces the approach of a convoy of motor cycles. The Winchester boys stare as half a dozen Harleys stream past, riding in formation. One or two of the riders give the Impala an approving once over as they pass.
"Yep," says Dean, "We got bikers."
John snorts and hands him the car keys.
"Special Agent John Scully of the FBI will be questioning the townsfolk about missing kids. You boys do the shopping then head on home. I'll meet you back at the cabin."
"Yes, sir." Dean says reflexively.
Then he grins manically and pulls out the fake ID that says he's seventeen and therefore old enough to drive.
"Don't bruise my baby," John says, stroking the Impala's steering wheel lovingly, "or I'll bruise you."
John heads off to do his FBI impersonation and the boys hit the convenience store and stock up on food and toiletries. Shopping done, they explore main street a little and then head back to the cabin, Dean driving like a granny when they pass PD Central, but the good ol' boys barely spare them a glance.
They unpack the shopping first, then Dean makes them hot dogs. After lunch they explore the cabin. It's nice, in a rustic kind of way, spacious with an open fire place in the lounge and a separate utility room with both a washer and a drier out back.
"I hope we can stay here a while," Sam remarks wistfully.
Dean nods. "This place can't be cheap. Dad must've really scored at that poker game."
They take a walk outside – the yard is big and it backs onto a wooded area. Dean decides he's going to explore the woods – maybe even chop some timber for the fire - so Sam figures he'll go back inside and read for a while. He's curled up on the sofa drinking cocoa, his head wrapped up in Adventures of Huckleberry Finn when John Winchester walks through the front door. Sam looks up.
"How'd it go Dad?"
John pulls a face. "Couldn't get anything out of anyone. People here…they don't talk to strangers, even if they've got a badge. The most anyone would say was that if I want answers in this town I gotta talk to Sam Crow. But no-one'll tell me who he is or where I can find him."
He flops down on the sofa next to his son.
"So what's the job?" Sam asks.
John's quiet a moment then says, "Missing kids."
Sam frowns and wonders why his Dad is so determined to keep him in the dark on this one.
"Dean told me that yesterday," he says impatiently, "What makes you think it's our sort of thing?"
"It's cyclic," John says grudgingly, clearly keen to get off the topic.
"And it's only going after kids, right?" Sam persists.
His father doesn't respond and Sam feels a familiar helpless fury rising within him. Out of the three of them, Sam is for sure the smartest and he's sick of the way his Dad treats him like an idiot, always trying to keep him in the dark. It's not his fault he hasn't grown up yet.
"So what're we talking here, Dad? Changelings? Rawhead? Or are we thinking some kind of ghost?"
"Did you get any beer?" John says, getting up from the couch.
"No Dad," Sam's reply is heavy with sarcasm, "We're eleven and fifteen, remember? You have to be twenty-one to buy beer."
"You watch your tone with me, boy!"
John's looking at him the way he looks at evil creatures just before he rips their heads off, and Sam knows what that look means, but he's too frustrated to play nice.
"Why won't you talk to me about this hunt?" he snarls.
"That's enough, Sam!" his father growls, "why can't you just….." he trails off.
Sam gets to his feet, his fists bunched in anger.
"What can't I what? Be a normal kid? Go play with my toys? Oh gee, Dad, I don't know. Maybe it's got something to do with the way you keep dragging me around the country killing monsters! Yanking me outta school all the time, never letting me live anywhere long enough to make friends. It's not fair! It's not my fault Mom died! I was just a baby; you're the one couldn't protect her!"
John Winchester moves snake-strike fast, bunching his fist in a handful of Sam's shirt and jerking him forwards. Before Sam's had time to really register what's happening he's bent over the arm of the sofa and John is pulling Sam's jeans down. Sam goes a little crazy then, kicking, screaming and thrashing about desperately; not that it does him any good. John reaches back with his right arm, winds it right back at the shoulder, and then slams it down, hard and fast, his hand held rigid.
It really hurts and Sam is already crying by the time the second blow lands. It's not fair! Wham! His life sucks! Wham! And he really, Wham!, really , Wham!, hates his father. Wham! There's a sudden loud, scary clatter and Sam sees a small log roll across the floor.
"Dad! No! Stop it," he hears Dean yell. He turns his head and sees a scattered pile of chopped wood which Dean has dropped hastily near the door.
"Stop it!" Dean yells again, as he charges forward and grabs John's hand. John turns on Dean and Sam scrambles out from under, yanks his jeans up and runs. He pauses at the front door and looks back over his shoulder at his brother. Dad's got Dean bailed up against the wall now and Sam knows he's got to do something; got to help Dean like Dean helped him. But he's still too small; too young and there's nothing he can do.
Dean motions at him with his hand, waving him away. Sam hesitates and then flinches when Dad gets right in Dean's face and shouts loudly and angrily at him. Dean waves Sam away again, more frantically this time and Sam turns and runs. And he keeps running; through the yard and deep into the woods. He stops eventually and rests his hands on his knees, breathing hard. Whatever his Dad is hunting, he sure hopes it doesn't do its thing in these woods. He looks around and spots a solid looking overhanging branch. Sam climbs up and then crawls out along the limb. He lies face down with his legs hanging either side of the branch, folds his arms in front of him and rests his chin on the crook of his arms. His ass still feels blistered, but that's a minor pain compared to the one in his chest. He promised Dean he wouldn't poke the bear, but when it comes to his Dad he just can't seem to help mouthing off. And now Dean's having to deal with the fallout from Sam's mistake. Again. Sam both loves him and hates him for that. Sam sighs and wipes at his tear-stained face. Sometimes he feels like one of those cartoon characters with an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. Sam knows that his brother would literally die for him, and although that knowledge makes him feel loved and grateful, it also pisses him off. He wants them to be equals; to do stuff together; help each other. If all he's going to do is drag Dean down with him; if he's just a burden that Dean is forced to bear, then his brother is better off without him.
A slight crunching in the undergrowth tells Sam that someone is approaching, moving slowly and casually from somewhere off to his right. He sighs, figuring it's Dean come to take him home. From his vantage point in the tree, Sam watches quietly in the direction of the noise, and when he eventually gets a visual he's surprised.
It's not Dean.