A/N: Takes place between 1.10 "Asylum" and 1.11 "Scarecrow". Spoilers, kinda.

Adam is 15. I was thinking about how Adam said, "He bought me my first beer when I was fifteen." Then I thought, 'that would've been in Season 1', and came up with this.

"If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179, he can help."

Buzzz. Buzzz.

The sound stopped for a second, and Sam Winchester groaned awake. His eyes cracked opened slightly, eyelids heavy and weighing them down. He didn't have to glance over his shoulder to know whose phone it was.

"Dean." Sam managed, voice strained. His attempt was met by a snore from his brother, who laid passed out in the bed a few feet away. Man, he wasn't lying when he'd said he'd been tired.

Buzz. Buzz.

Again. Yet another time, Sam groaned. Maybe slightly louder. Slightly more annoyed. He ran a hand across his face, feeling his hair as it stuck up in a weird directions. Preparing himself for the chill his un-blanketed arm would bring down his body, he sucked in a breath. Then quickly reached over, grabbing the cellphone from the bedside table and flipped it open.

"Hello?" He asked. There was no hiding the fact he'd just woken up in his voice. Beside him, Sam heard the ruffling of Dean's sheets, followed by a gurgled awakening.

Whoever occupied the other line took a second to reply. "Yeah, hey." It sounded like a younger man, seemingly early-twenties to mid-twenties, maybe. Somewhat polite, Sam noted. A little unsure of what he was doing. "This is..um.." There was a pause as if he'd forgotten the name, "Dean?"

Sam hesitated for a second. Being a hunter, the first thing you learn is not to give out personal information. At least not to just anyone. Names would be included. Things like this could bite you in your ass in the future, given to the wrong people that was. Despite this, the fact that someone knew Dean's name didn't mean anything. It could be any sort of trick. Some sort of creature was trying to pull on them. He didn't fall into traps that easily.

"No.." Sam didn't lie, he wasn't Dean. Though he made a point not a elaborate from there. By now, he was fully awake, and had sit up a bit on the bed as Dean rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

"Oh.." The line went silent again, this time for a little longer. "Would you happen to be of relation to a John Winchester?"

Suddenly, Sam could feel his heart beating in his ear. Call it jumping to conclusions, but this is just what Dean and himself had been talking about. Dad being dead. It wasn't impossible, at least to anyone but Dean (who seemed to still think the man was invincible).Was it happening now? At this moment? Was this the doctor calling for them to identify the body? Had John finally...no. Sam wasn't taking into account the other factors. If dad was dead, how could the doctor possibly know his last name? Dad never used his real last name. His ID probably said Bert Afraiham, or something like that. It couldn't be.

"Who is this?" Sam questioned, voice guarded. Slightly anxious now, though it wasn't too prevalent.

Before the other line could respond, Sam heard a muffled, "Who is it, Sammy?" coming from Dean's direction.

Ignoring Dean, it didn't take long for the guy on the other line to reply. "Sorry." He apologized, supposedly for not introducing himself sooner, "My name is Chris... I work for Child Protective Services in Windom, Minnesota. I'm calling to speak to a John Winchester. I couldn't reach him on his line. His voicemail said to call you.." He seemed slightly uncertain.

Sam let out a silent breath of relief. "Yeah." Before thinking it over, "He's out of town." Best possible response.

Dean was now sitting up, looking at Sam intently for some information of who he was chatting with. Not that Sam was going to say anything until the conversation was over, never-the-less give the phone to Dean.

"Oh." Chris replied. "Well, we've got his son here."

His heart beat picked up again. Though now, Sam was sure he couldn't feel his hand holding onto the phone anymore. His body was shock still. "I'm sorry- What do you mean?" Sam asked, unable to grasp what had just been said.

"Adam Milligan, his son." Chris continued, "His mother Kate Milligan recently passed. Legally we are required to give rights to the other parent, in this case the...uh, father, since Adam is under eighteen. I'd be happy to speak with John once he gets back, unless you could direct me to another number..?" As Sam stayed quiet, Chris continued, "If no one accepts custody, Adam will end up in the foster care system."

Sam could feel his wide eyes, words lost in his throat. He didn't know what to say. What to feel. How to say it or feel it. It was something he never would've thought could happen. A moment the twenty-two year old couldn't have predicted. Was he angry? Upset? Confused? Sad? Shocked? None. It kind of felt like his mind had gone blank.

That was until Dean snatched the phone, finally fed up with being ignored. Leaving Sam still frozen, hand that had previously held the cellphone slowly dropping to his lap. "Who is this?" He questioned, even more guarded than Sam before him. Noticeably less friendly.

Sam turned, watching as Dean's face dropped from frustrated to pale white. He could only hear one side of the conversation, but Sam could knew what was being said. Could easily guess what was going through Dean's head.

Two hours later, they were speeding down a highway. Minnesota was a big back track...not that they had any other options. They'd tried dad, again. Oh so many times they'd tried. Dean leaving overly frustrated voicemails that Sam only caught half of. Though desperately they both just wanted to talk to him.

Sam didn't know what they were expecting to hear. Maybe Dad come out and tell them that it was all a set up. That this Adam character was a monster, and he had it all figured out.

It didn't happen though. No explanation, just silence and a cold realization. John had dropped off the face of the earth, and he had another kid. It was enough to make Sam pissed. And boy, did it. Not as much as Dean, though. The older Winchester hadn't said a word since his last angry voicemail. Knuckles white as they gripped the steering wheel, eyes straight ahead at the dark road. Sam wanted to say it made sense, because it did. At the same time though, it didn't. So he didn't say anything.

It was after they realized John wasn't picking up that they'd both thrown there stuff into the trunk of the Impala and ditched the motel. No other real options besides heading straight to Windom. At least not for Dean. To Dean, it could go two ways. This was either the same son-of-a-bitch monster using this as a trap to get to Sam and Dean and bait Dad. That, of course, would mean both Sam and Dean have to go and kill whatever mother was trying to pull that off. Or, the other option. This in fact was their brother...a word that felt weird, even in Sam's head, refering to someone else. If that was the case, well, they couldn't just leave him...


The road was bumpy and uneven. Luckily, this late at night there were barley any cars, meaning no traffic. Though there was no way Sam was getting any sleep. His eyes were wide open, and it wasn't because every minute his head slammed into the window. Sam kind of wished he could fall asleep. Forever, maybe. At least long enough until this was over. At this point the tension in the car was so thick it made Sam's ears want to explode. They didn't. He just wished Dean would turn on some music.

Jesus, that was a first. Sam shook his head.

Their Dad was a widow, not a monk. It wasn't like he was bound to their Mom forever. The fact that a kid had been the product of that was what got Sam the most. He hated the hunting life, God knows he did. Growing up was a nightmare. Bringing another kid into it was just...cruel. Though in Dean's eyes, Sam could see something else. Dean was hard to read sometimes. When he got really angry, he had this extremely focused, emotionless sort of expression. The last time Sam had seen that look was 10th grade, when Toby Jameson had ripped Sam a new one in the parking lot. Despite this, knowing Dean all these years it was easy to tell what he was most pissed about.

The kid, sure. That probably got Dean's blood flowing a bit, to be honest. The thought that there could be another child of John Winchester. A child who they hadn't known about, apparently for years. Though Sam could tell that wasn't the worst of it. The worst part for Dean was the thought that John could ever be unfaithful to Mary. As if she was still alive. As if that was something liable for John to be unfaithful to.

Still, Sam didn't say anything. It was better not to. Both of them stared at the dark drifting road as the car sped, waiting for the other to make a sound.

Dean drove through all of the next day, never switching off the wheel to Sam. About four hours into the trip Sam had lamely suggested they stop and take a break, just to cool the air and try Dad again. Dean hadn't responded. They'd kept driving. By now it was 4:50 in the morning. Still dark outside, and absent of cars. They'd made it to Windom, which was small and overly freezing this time of year. Fortunetly there wasn't any snow.

The address Chris had given them for his office was scribbled messily on a scrap peice of paper. It sat on the center console. Every once in a while Dean'd slow down, glance at what was written, and check out their surroundings. This went on for about a few minutes, though before Sam could comment on the fact that they'd gone in two circles, Dean pulled up to the small office. Lucky too. Dean didn't seem in the mood to deal with Sam's smartass mouth.

"Common." Dean grounded, eyes on the two story office building as he kicked open the Impala door and pushed himself out.

Sam followed closely behind. He could tell his brother had a gun stuck in the back of his jeans, hidden by the leather jacket he wore. Sam had one himself.

They walked inside to step onto carpet. Sam was just surprised the building was open this early. It was a small reception room, with a little desk which was neatly placed with files. An archway halfway behind the desk led to an unseen bigger room, which was aligned with offices. Another office, accompanied by a low hanging screen in the door's window stood near the entrance. This one had a plaque on it, obviously belonging to some manager. It smelled like old Halloween candy and a cheap heater.

A lady sat at the front desk, re-positioning a small stuffed animal bear and framed photo (seemingly of her family) next to the many files.

"May I help you?" The lady asked, glancing up as she spotted them walking in. She was in her mid-thirties with dark brown hair and rosey cheeks. Kind, that's one word that someone could describe the voice.

Dean wasn't in the mood. "We're here for John Winchester." He anwsered shortly, half glancing around the archway, as if to check if there was anything hiding back in some of the offices. Then, when he spotted nothing, walked over to the desk and finally made eye contact with the woman. Full attention.

She cleared her throat lightly, "Right. Adam Milligan?" She asked it like a question. Neither of them responded, so she continued, "I'll just need to see one of your I.D.s."

Shoving a hand into his jacket pocket, Dean pulled out his wallet and began quickly shuffling around in it (over the many fake I.D.s him and dad got every year.) This went on about a minute, before he came up with nothing and opened his mouth. Though before Dean could say something exasperated, that they'd both regret, Sam cut in, "I've got mine."

He himself pulled out his wallet, and quicker than Dean had found his real I.D., handing it to the receptionist with a slight smile. "Sorry." He apologized, though he wasn't quiet sure what it was for.

She shook her head, as if to say 'no need', and gave a quick look at Sam and the card a couple times over. "Looks good." She handed it back to him, with a smile. "I'll call down for you."

She picked up the office phone, clicking a button and began, "Hey Meghan, I've got two men here to pick Adam Milligan up." She glanced at them for a second, "Yes, they both check out. If you could send him down that'd be great. Thanks, hun." With that she placed the phone back where it was, hanging up. Sam and Dean didn't move from where they stood. As the receptionist began typing on her computer, she paused and looked up at them, "Um, it might be a second." Followed by a half laugh.

Sam awkwardly laughed back, making his way over to the sofa on the other wall. Dean hadn't been listening. Mainly he was too busy staring intently at the archway. Though when he saw Sam moving in the other direction, followed him, and sat down.

It didn't take a second. It took ten. They both sat, Dean tapping his foot up and down at the carpet as his knee bounced. Nodding his head slightly every once and a while as he kept his eyes trained throughout the room. That was until Sam nudged him to stop, utterly annoyed by the constant tapping. Sam himself sat on the edge of the sofa, ready to leave. Both his elbows rested on either knee, hands togethor twisting as he watched the floor. So, they waited.

Finally, they heard footsteps. Simultaneously both Sam and Dean glanced up to see...young Dean. Or what came so close to looking like a fifteen year old version of Dean Winchester that Sam almost got deja vu.

His hair was the same. At least, in style. Pushed up, though maybe a bit longer, a bit messier. Too blonde to be Dean's hair, but close. In some parts, it was darker. Others sported bright highlighted streaks. The type that people always said the sun caused. His skin was slightly tanner than it should be for someone who lives in Minnesota, something Sam guessed was possibly genetic. Though it lacked any real color. As if he hadn't been in the actual sun in a while. His eyes were a bright blue, mixed in with a little bit of the green that most of all three Winchester men wore. Lanky and tall, all arms and legs like Sam'd been. His eye brows were darker than his hair, and slightly creased. Jawline the same as Dean and Sam's, except somehow a little bit softer and thinner. Maybe slightly longer. And right on his upper lip there was a small white scar. Sam couldn't help but wonder what that was from.

His clothing was nothing out of the ordinary. A faded light red sweatshirt with no hood, a bit big on his body. It had grey logo in the front, probably for some college that Sam didn't recognize. His choice of pants were unconventional for the weather, being black basketball shorts that stopped just a bit above his knee. Sam wondered if the kid played basketball. His white socks were scrunched up, and hanging low. And finally worn looking Nike shoes, a faded and worn black color.

Dean slowly stood, then Sam who realized Dean had stood and followed. Both expressions were different. Sam's heartfelt, understanding, maybe a little sentimental in back of the awe on how much the kid looked like...well, John's kid. Dean was different. Guarded, tightly held, and frowning deeper than he had been before. Sam could see the recognition in his eyes, but Dean wouldn't acknowledge that. At least not now. He was too busy with his 'sizing up' sort of offset.

"Where's my dad?" Adam asked, first person to speak after a long moment of silence. His voice was raspy. Half of that was probably from the length of this night and lack of water intake. The other was just puberty. Though the undertone of his words sounded slightly anxious, maybe even desperate. He didn't look at Sam or Dean when he said this. Instead the lady standing next to him, who'd been following closely behind when he walked into view.

The Child Services lady opened her mouth, ready to respond (probably with some non-answer), but Dean cut her off firmly. "He couldn't make it today."

Adam's eyes shifted to Dean. They stared for a second or two, Dean's eyes still hard and unwavering. Adam's seemingly trying to match that, and only slightly failing. He was a kid, after all. "Who're you?" It didn't seem exactly friendly.

The tensions in the room were high. Even the Child Services workers were shifting feet. So Sam stepped in, with a consoling voice. On neither side, he spoke in a nicer tone, "Uh, Adam, right?" The boy didn't respond, so Sam cleared his throat, "I'm Sam, this is my brother Dean." Dean didn't move, "We're John Winchester's sons."

A mix of emotions ran across the fifteen-year-old's face. Some of which Sam didn't catch. Others looking desperate to hang on to something, after the loss of his mother. "...I've got brothers?" His tone was hopeful, words almost choked.

Dean snorted, voice lost in his own throat. Though he didn't have any intention of replying. Not while the CPS was in the room.

"Alright, Adam!" The lady announced, trying for a wide smile and cheerful voice. She was attempting to lighten the mood, Sam suspected. Be happy about the new realization for Adam. It didn't seem to be working. "Got all your stuff ready?"

Instead of anwsering, Adam pulled the strap of his black backpack tighter against his palm.

Dean's eyes finally dropped from Adam's gaze, and with a quick look at Sam he muttered, "I'll be in the car." The small bell on the door jingled as it slid shut. Again, silence.

Sam, caught himself clearing his throat. This time more to gain everyone's attention. Though there was another factor, the slight fear that if he didn't he'd trip up on his words entirely. "The car's outside.." He suggested, as if to announce that they could leave at any moment, and Adam was not bound to this one room. He still seemed hesitant.

The Social Services lady grabbed his sleeve lightly, causing Adam to turn and face her. "Hey," She said, slightly softer. She'd dropped the overly cheerful facade. "If you need anything, or something happens.." She gave Sam a half glance, which she probably didn't mean for him to notice, but he did. "...call us, okay?" With that she handed him a business card.

Adam glanced down at it, shoving the thing into a pocket in his shorts Sam hadn't seen until now.

With that, he began making his way towards the door.