That Sweet Fall Into Sin

Title: Not the Golden Child: John Remix
Author: Jinni (jinni.tth@gmail.com)
Rated: Pg13
Disclaimer: All things SPN belong to Eric Kripke, et al. All things Dark Angel belong to Fox, et al.
Notes: For my 50 Missing Scenes spree – someone asked to see Not the Golden Child from John’s PoV. Ask and I shall deliver.
Summary: He couldn’t believe it when Bobby passed along word that Dean had been arrested.


~*~*~

The paperwork took entirely too long for John Winchester’s comfort, but he forced himself not to show it. His face was a mask of calm anger that he felt was entirely justified and understandable given where he was and for what purpose. The officer behind the desk looked over the documents one last time, pushing them forward for John’s signature. He barely contained the relieved sigh that threatened to push past his lips if he gave it even a moment’s chance. The bail order was falsified. The money that was being used to pay the bail wasn’t his. In fact, the only thing that was real about this entire situation was the driver’s license that he’d handed over to prove his identity as the father of the man that was currently being held in this fine town’s jail.

He hadn’t been able to believe it when he’d gotten word from Bobby that, over the scanner, he’d heard that one of his boys had been arrested. Dean. Of course it was Dean. Sammy was too damn smart to get busted like that for anything. Not wanting to jump right in the middle of something his youngest son could no doubt get Dean out of, he’d waited a day and tried calling Sam to find out what the hell was going on. But Sam’s phone wasn’t on.

Well, hell.

The next day he’d started the three hour drive to the quaint little town in the middle of nowhere that Dean had deemed appropriate for getting busted in. What John hadn’t been able to figure out was what the boys were even doing in this state, let alone this part of this state. It was nowhere near the job that he’d given them coordinates for just two days’ past.

In less than twenty-four hours’ time he had a plan to get Dean out of there, suddenly very worried about what had gone wrong that would split up his boys like this.

And now, here he was, just waiting for this asshole of a cop to lead him back to Dean. He resisted the desire to sneer openly in the man’s face, knowing that it wouldn’t help him in the least and might only make things more difficult in the long run. This guy was the kind that gave small town cops a bad name, though, and John just itched with the desire to take him out back and thrash him when he started talking shit about how much of a cocky, rude sonofabitch Dean was.

That was all true – but he was the only one that got to talk crap about his boys. Certainly no hick cop from Backwoods, USA.

They passed through the bars and into the back. The other cells were empty, save for a drunk that was obviously sleeping it off. They hadn’t even bothered to lock that cell, but John was sure as hell that Dean was all locked up tight. They wouldn’t want to take a risk, after all. And his boys were nothing if not risky.

“Officer,” John heard his son’s low, arrogant drawl as they neared the cell he was in.

The closer they got, the harder it was for John to keep a straight face. That boy in there looked an awful lot like Dean. Down to the fingerprint, if he understood the story the officer had told him out front.

But that kid wasn’t Dean. He was too young. The mannerisms were all wrong. Then there was the way that this kid didn’t even flinch when he saw John. Dean would have. Hell, Dean would have at least had the good grace to look like he knew he was going to get an ass chewing for getting himself thrown in a cell.

This kid didn’t look any of those things. Oh, he had the same careless arrogance that his son had perfected over the years, but the way he held himself was off compared to his son’s habits.

Now he understood the part in the officer’s tale of his son’s arrest where his ‘son’ had sworn up and down that he wasn’t Dean Winchester.

“Your daddy arranged bail,” the officer announced, his stress on the word ‘daddy’ enough to give John a chill up his arm. Or maybe that was because he was looking at someone that had his son’s face but wasn’t his son? He saw a flicker of comprehension go through the kid’s face, realized that he was going to play along for now even if it only meant he was getting out of jail, and John decided to just go with it, too.

Fine. He didn’t know what was going on, but leaving him sitting in there wasn’t going to get any answers.

“I still say it’s a mistake letting you out,” the officer continued coldly.

“Officer Jamison,” John said through his teeth. “I believe I can handle things from here. I’ll make sure Dean shows up for his court date.”

“You do that, Mr. Winchester,” the officer practically sneered.

Would it be wrong of him to find something supernatural to haunt this station just to make the good officer squirm, John wondered.

“Let’s go,” he ordered the kid, firmly, walking ahead of him out of the cell area. He saw the kid grab his things from the front desk on his way out, wondered if this was when the kid was going to bail on him. It was interesting to see how long this could play out and to what end. “Dean. Truck. Now.”

“Sir,” the kid snapped back, face going carefully blank. It was the kind of response that came automatically. One he would have expected of his boys. So – what was this kid, then? Military? This just kept getting more and more interesting.

And worrisome. John felt a cool trickle of apprehension work its way up his spine as he got in the truck, slamming the door shut behind him.

He put the truck in gear and tore out of the station’s parking lot, the tires kicking up a cloud of dust from the rough gravel. A mile passed before he spoke, voice tight.

“I thought you and Sammy were working a job in Mississippi,” he bit out, playing the role of angry father to the hilt. It would be funny, if nothing else, to hear this kid try to come up with an excuse to a situation he knew nothing about. “So, imagine my surprise when I get a call from Bobby. Says he heard on the police scanner two cops boasting that they’d picked up someone for speeding that turned out to be Dean Winchester. How in the hell did that happen?”

John paused, waiting for the kid to speak. To say a word. When it was obvious he wasn’t going to, John rolled his eyes and decided to just go in for the kill. With his right hand on the wheel, he casually slid his left down next to his seat, grabbing hold of the gun that he had stashed there. This kid didn’t seem particularly threatening. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t.

“And where the hell is your brother?” he snapped out the question.

“Brother?” the kid asked, a flicker of something sort of like apprehension crossing his features when he realized what he’d done.

“Yeah – you remember your brother, Tim, right?” John slid easily into the lie, watching the kid’s face for any reaction. The momentary panic melted away, though. Whoever this kid was, he was good at playing along.

“Right,” the kid said with a nod. “Sorry, I’m a little tired. Couldn’t sleep much in there. Tim is fine.”

Not the question he’d asked, but John let it slide.

“Right,” he drawled. Time to add another nail to the coffin. “And your sister.”

“She’s good, too.”

Enough.

John slammed the truck to a sudden stop, veering off to the shoulder of the road. He pulled his gun as the kid braced himself to keep from slamming forward into the dash, leveling the gun at the head of his son’s double.

“What the fuck?” the double snapped. When he turned and saw the gun drawn, he went still, eyes wide. John almost laughed. “Um, Dad?”

“Cristo,” John said, watching for any sign of pain or discomfort. Any indication that this person in front of him was something that he should be killing and not trying to figure out.

“What?” the kid asked.

“Cristo,” John repeated again. Nothing. He frowned. To be honest, he hadn’t been expecting anything. Still. “Huh, you say it.”

“What is your problem? Cristo. Happy now?” the kid snapped, eyes going back and forth between the gun and John’s face.

John glared at the imposter. “No. Not nearly. You’re not Dean, so who are you and where’s my son?”

The kid sighed. “Don’t know. Never met the guy, but when you see him, could you tell him that I don’t fucking appreciate getting arrested for his crimes? Seriously! My name is Ale,c and I don’t know who the hell your son is, who you are, et-fucking-cetera. Got it, tough guy?”

“Are you a shapeshifter?” John asked, wondering why he bothered. It wasn’t like evil things really actually admitted they were evil most of the time. Maybe it was more to see this kid’s reaction than anything.

“A what?!?” the kid rolled his eyes. “I can tell your family is a barrel full of fun. Is my look-alike a psycho like you?”

That settled it. Despite every reason why he shouldn’t, he honestly though this kid was telling the truth. John sighed. “You… don’t have a clue what I’m talking about.” The gun lowered, but the wariness remained. “Do you?”

“Oh, I got the part where you’re crazy – and I’m pretty sure I’ve figured out why I share your son’s face. Oh, and I’m really grateful that you bailed me out. I’ll repay the money.”

Okay. Not something evil and not anyone that had anything to do with Dean, either, from the feeling John was getting off of this entire conversation. That still didn’t explain things, though.

“Don’t worry about it. Was a faked court order anyway and someone else’s credit card,” John said, twisting in his seat to stare at the kid. He gave him a good once over now that they were close enough for more than just a casual inspection. What he saw confirmed his suspicions. “You’re too young to be Dean,” he finally muttered. “And you’re missing the scar he has at his hairline.”

A frustrated sigh came from the kid. “Stay with me – I. Am. Not. Your. Son. Don’t know where he is or what he’s doing. Does he have a phone you can call or something, just to get this paranoia out of your system?”

Calling Dean. Now there was an idea that had merit. He hadn’t done that to begin with because he’d thought Dean was in jail. That meant that his cell phone would have been confiscated. John made a mental note to call and check on his eldest just as soon as he figured out what the hell was going on.

John narrowed his eyes at his son’s apparent genetic double, eyebrows rising. “I want to know who you are. You said you have a theory?”

The kid seemed to be weighing his options. When he spoke, it was with a glance over his shoulder in the direction they’d just come from. “Can we get a little further away from that shithole back there, just in case they figure out you weren’t on the up and up?”

John considered the request. He made a good point. Last thing he wanted was for the cops back there to realize that they’d been duped. They were less than three miles from the police station. Not nearly far enough away in John’s book. He had every intention of getting them back on the road once he believed that Alec would talk.

“Talk,” he demanded again, unrelenting.

“Drive,” Alec countered. “Or I’m not saying anything.”

With a smirk, John pulled off the side of the road.

He sort of liked this kid already.

END