Mind Heist
The Falling Kind
They grew up in a household where the alcohol was better cherished than the children. They weren’t children anymore, though. They hadn’t been for years, and even when they were much younger, they couldn’t afford to have a childhood because they were too busy raising each other and playing parent.
It was a silent agreement, a bond between brothers. Dean would take care of Sammy (now called Sam, because Sammy was the name for a chubby little toddler with dirt and worms in his hair) and teach him how to do things like use the microwave and clean the bathroom and fix the computer when it was on the fritz. Sam would, in turn, teach Adam how to tie his shoes and ride a two-wheeler and make his own bed in the morning. And Adam didn’t take care of anybody, because there was no one left and Dean had always been adamant about the fact that he could take care of himself, thank you very much.
With Sam and Dean’s mother long dead, their father John Winchester had remarried Kate Milligan, Adam’s mom, before Adam was conceived. Half brothers, by blood, full brothers by bond. They were, as far as anyone knew, inseparable.
When Kate died (Adam was only seven), the brothers were old enough to know the difference between being reared by a loving, devoted mother and ruled over by a less-than-caring father. Adam was nineteen, having put off going to college for a year so he could stay home and keep an eye on John. Lord knows the man needed a little babysitting every now and then; he was about as responsible with alcohol as a pyromaniac would be with a lit match.
Sam, who was six years older, was going through college at a snail’s pace, taking only a couple credits’ worth of classes a semester so he could help Adam any way he could. Meaning: he was twenty-six and still in college. It didn’t bother him, just as it didn’t bother Adam to have one of his big brothers around the house.
Dean, on the other hand, was long gone, living on his own in an apartment he could afford after getting a job as a car mechanic downtown. He only visited on holidays and for emergencies, like the afternoon John chased Adam around the house with a hammer, or the morning when John shoved Adam down a flight of stairs.
Or the night when Adam stabbed John in the shoulder when the old man started chasing him again.
Sam had come rushing home from his night class that time, called to his little brother’s side by a panicked text message. Dean was already there by the time Sam arrived, restraining an injured but clearly infuriated John Winchester from having a go at Adam, who’d locked himself in his room. Sam helped Dean trap their angry father in his bathroom before deciding to call the police.
It’s a shame, really, that John was able to manipulate the story to better suit his needs by saying that Adam had attacked him unprovoked, and that Sam and Dean had been his accomplices. Then maybe the three of them wouldn’t have been arrested and recommended to Inferi Institution, Adam for “violence towards himself and others” and Sam and Dean for “encouraging said violence and, in some cases, assisting.”
But then, if they hadn’t been sent to the institution, there would be no story to tell.
It was a silent agreement, a bond between brothers. Dean would take care of Sammy (now called Sam, because Sammy was the name for a chubby little toddler with dirt and worms in his hair) and teach him how to do things like use the microwave and clean the bathroom and fix the computer when it was on the fritz. Sam would, in turn, teach Adam how to tie his shoes and ride a two-wheeler and make his own bed in the morning. And Adam didn’t take care of anybody, because there was no one left and Dean had always been adamant about the fact that he could take care of himself, thank you very much.
With Sam and Dean’s mother long dead, their father John Winchester had remarried Kate Milligan, Adam’s mom, before Adam was conceived. Half brothers, by blood, full brothers by bond. They were, as far as anyone knew, inseparable.
When Kate died (Adam was only seven), the brothers were old enough to know the difference between being reared by a loving, devoted mother and ruled over by a less-than-caring father. Adam was nineteen, having put off going to college for a year so he could stay home and keep an eye on John. Lord knows the man needed a little babysitting every now and then; he was about as responsible with alcohol as a pyromaniac would be with a lit match.
Sam, who was six years older, was going through college at a snail’s pace, taking only a couple credits’ worth of classes a semester so he could help Adam any way he could. Meaning: he was twenty-six and still in college. It didn’t bother him, just as it didn’t bother Adam to have one of his big brothers around the house.
Dean, on the other hand, was long gone, living on his own in an apartment he could afford after getting a job as a car mechanic downtown. He only visited on holidays and for emergencies, like the afternoon John chased Adam around the house with a hammer, or the morning when John shoved Adam down a flight of stairs.
Or the night when Adam stabbed John in the shoulder when the old man started chasing him again.
Sam had come rushing home from his night class that time, called to his little brother’s side by a panicked text message. Dean was already there by the time Sam arrived, restraining an injured but clearly infuriated John Winchester from having a go at Adam, who’d locked himself in his room. Sam helped Dean trap their angry father in his bathroom before deciding to call the police.
It’s a shame, really, that John was able to manipulate the story to better suit his needs by saying that Adam had attacked him unprovoked, and that Sam and Dean had been his accomplices. Then maybe the three of them wouldn’t have been arrested and recommended to Inferi Institution, Adam for “violence towards himself and others” and Sam and Dean for “encouraging said violence and, in some cases, assisting.”
But then, if they hadn’t been sent to the institution, there would be no story to tell.