The forgotten brother Milo "Miles" Campbell has always lived a life in the shadows, haunted by the knowledge that he was despised by their father, John Winchester, simply because he was his wife's biggest mistake. Feeling rejected and neglected, Mil...
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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.
