Supernatural Fan Fiction ❯ Out of the Mouths of Babes ❯ A Complication ( Chapter 1 )

Chapter 1

 

“Okay,” John said uncertainly to the air, after fifteen minutes of thinking. “I know you're still there, so I'll tell you what. I have some business here tonight, so I need to move your stuff. If you have a problem with that, tell me now.”

 

The wind whistled, dropping a branch on the ground nearby, but nothing human made a sound, so John slowly moved toward the front of the gravestone and moved the pile of now-damp blankets out of the way. He was tempted to look behind the marker but resisted, and picked up his shovel instead.

 

Within twenty minutes he'd taken care of what needed to be taken care of, and after shoveling the dirt back over the coffin of what was now ash, John straightened and looked around.

 

“Okay, kid,” he said again to the air. “I'm done digging up your bed now. But I don't think I like leaving you here, so I'll tell you what. I think you should come with me. It's cold out here—January being what it is and all—and your bed'll be soaked through by dawn. And unless you've got a convenience store hidden up your sleeve, you'll be pretty hungry by then, too. But me—I've got food, and blankets, and even a roof, and a couple of boys who'll talk your ear off. Just for tonight, maybe. Whaddya say?”

 

There was absolute no sound, and after about five or ten minutes John started to feel a little stupid.

 

“Uh…kid? I should probably warn you—I'm a patient man. At least when it comes to waiting someone out. And I'm prepared to sit here and wait all night if I have to. If you're afraid, don't be. I know burning a corpse isn't the sanest thing in the world, but…I won't hurt you,” John said, someone lamely.

 

Still nothing, and John was just about to sit down on the ground and see if he could, indeed, wait there all night, when he caught a small flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Startled, he looked—and a small person stepped out of the trees almost two hundred feet from the grave.

 

Every hunter's instinct John had screamed at him to examine the question of how the child had moved from the grave to that spot without being seen. But for the first time in five years, he ignored those instinct, simply because something about this kid compelled him to do something, no matter what.

 

Cautiously, the kid moved forward, until John could make out some features. They were pale, thin, almost delicate, but John was pretty sure he was looking at a boy—a very young boy.

 

“Well,” he said awkwardly, as the kid gathered up his blankets and stood up straight again, staring unabashedly at John. “Are you coming, then?”

 

All he got for his efforts was a steady look that he decided to take as a “yes.”

 

“Well,” he muttered as they headed back down the path. “This is gonna be a fun ride.”

 

If he'd been looking at exactly the right moment, and watched closely without blinking once, John might have caught the smallest and briefest of smiles on the boy's face.

 

XXX

 

Humans were…different than he'd expected. Ryuji watched the man out of the corner of his eye, committing details to memory. The features were broad, strong, and most of all, hairy. Ryuji believed they were called “beards” but he couldn't for the life of him understand the fascination human men had with them.

 

However, the human had an air of confidence about him that couldn't be questioned, and that helped a little to make up for the beard. Here was a man who knew his limits and yet wasn't afraid to push them. Here was a man of power.

 

He was also…rather amusing. He obviously felt very awkward in this situation, but that hadn't stopped him from making his unexpected offer. And his words—“this is gonna be a fun ride”—accompanied with the weary, irritated tone—well, it was rather funny.

 

“My name's John Winchester.”

 

Ryuji looked at him fully, debated giving his own name, decided against it, and simply nodded.

 

John Winchester sighed gustily, and that was rather funny, too.

 

XXX

 

John had never felt more awkward or idiotic in his life than he did during the fifteen-minute ride back to the motel room he shared with his boys. The boy didn't seem to have any care for conversation at all, simply leaning against the window and staring out into the night. John did notice that his fingers kept clenching and unclenching in his lap, as of they weren't holding something that ought to be there.

 

When he pulled up in front of the motel, John said, “Well, this is it. This is where I live. This week, anyway.” He shoved open his door, and the boy climbed out and followed him without a word.

 

It was then that John noticed that his shoes didn't make a sound on the concrete.

 

Dean was flipping channels when John opened the door, six-year-old Sam curled up next to him, quite obviously drowsing. Dean must have given into his pleas to stay up until Daddy got home, but John was too distracted to call him on it.

 

“Hey, Dad,” Dean said, and Sam sat up and rubbed his eyes. “You're late.”

 

“Yeah,” John said. “Things got…complicated.”

 

“You okay?” Dean asked in concern, and John felt a momentary pang that his ten-year-old son even knew such a tone.

 

“Yeah, I'm fine. It's just…”

 

And then the kid stepped forward, and Dean saw the “complication” quite clearly.

 

“Who are you?” Sam asked, not in a rude or hostile way, but simply in that frank way that all children have of addressing each other.

 

The kid simply stared at him.

 

“My name's Sam.”

 

Silence.

 

“Don't you talk?” Sam asked, undaunted by the lack of reaction.

 

And for the first time, the kid responded, even with only with a simple nod.

 

“But you don't want to, do you?”

 

This time, the boy shook his head.

 

“Are you going to stay here?”

 

A nod. Yes.

 

“Forever?”

 

No.

 

“But for tonight?”

 

Yes.

 

“Longer?”

 

A shrug, this time. I'm not sure.

 

“Well, if you did, you could sleep in my bed. You could even hold my bear. I think you're nice.”

 

Still standing near the door, John watched in fascination as Sam wheeled and wormed and dug straight to the heart of this strange, silent boy, gaining an entire conversation where John had only seen silence.

 

And then he was struck entirely dumb, because the boy smiled—a truly beautiful, if brief, smile—and nodded acceptance.

 

XXX

 

“But how are we gonna find out who he is?” Dean asked quietly, looking over to where Sam and the stranger slept, curled like cats in Sam's bed, the boy clutching Sam's huge, one-eyed stuffed bear Rollo as if he'd found his best friend.

 

John sighed. “I don't have a clue. He won't talk. Won't even take his hoodie off.” After a moment he shook his head. “Look, why don't you go to bed? We can figure this out in the morning.”

 

Dean's face set rebelliously, but he did as he was told and went to his own bed.

 

John, though, didn't go to sleep until after midnight, but stayed awake, watching the strange boy, his thoughts troubled.

 

XXX

 

The numbers on the humans' clock read 2:30 before Ryuji was absolutely certain he was the only one awake. He rolled over carefully, so as not to wake the sleeping—and admittedly adorable—little boy next to him, and slipped out of the bed. Unconsciously, he pulled his hood tighter around his head, his instincts warning him not to let his guard down, and walked toward the dresser, stepping around the man asleep on the floor.

 

He didn't make a sound. No one detected Ryuji's presence unless he wished it so.

 

Silently, he pulled open a drawer in the dresser—he didn't know precisely what he was looking for, only that it would tell him something about the people he'd ended up with, and that he would know it when he saw it.

 

And he did—he felt the thrill of right as soon as he saw the book, and he pulled it out, sat down on the floor, and opened it.

 

The pages were full of strange, cramped writing, and pictures, and the first line was…intriguing.

 

I went t Missouri, and I learned the truth.

 

Some humans were terribly concerned with the truth, Ryuji knew, and apparently this John Winchester was one of them. That was good. Truth was important. Without it, there was pain.

 

Ryuji flipped through the pages slowly, patiently looking for deeper meaning in each one of the carefully-kept entries about all manner of creatures that most humans weren't supposed to know about, until at last he found what he sought.

 

Ryuji silently read through the sparse notes about a yellow-eyed demon whose name John Winchester couldn't know. He read until he'd committed the page to memory, even though ti hurt him badly to do so.

 

When his work was finally finished, Ryuji carefully replaced the journal exactly as he'd found it, and crept from the room.

 

XXX

 

“So you didn't wake up at all?” John asked his son incredulously.

 

Sam shook his head sadly and hugged Rollo. “Nuh-uh.

“But you wake up if Dean or I even go to the bathroom!”

 

“I know, but I didn't this time. Daddy, are you gonna go find my friend?”

 

“He's not your friend, Sammy, you don't even know him,” John said absently.

 

“I know, but he's nice. So he's my friend.”

 

John couldn't even spare a smile at the simplicity of the six-year-old mind, though normally he would have laughed right along. His mind was focused on one question only.

 

Who is that boy?

 

XXX

 

Ryuji had been in the tree for about five hours now, unnoticed by the park's early-morning joggers and whatnot. He'd been attempting to straighten out everything in his mind and come to a decision about what to do now, and he'd finally succeeded.

 

Of course, he didn't really notice the length of time. A few hours meant almost nothing to him. But the humans would see it differently—he should probably go back now. It was time, anyway—time to tell the truth, and…see what came of it.

 

XXX

 

The Winchesters were still discussing what to do about his disappearance when he walked back into the motel room. Ignoring their surprise and confusion, Ryuji walked straight to John Winchester and deliberately pushed back his hood to reveal his pointed ears.

 

“My name is Ryuji, and I know what it is you're searching for.”