❰❰ ୧ ⋅ ˚ ₊ ·┊ೃ ' 🏹 014.
BOHEMIAN ✩ ‧ ₊ ૪
❛ you mishear everything! ━━ ❜

     "𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆?", katherine furrowed her dark eyebrows with her lips pinched together, her blue eyes narrowed into slits as she scanned the trunk of her car. She lifts her head up, eyes widening in confusion when she realized Bowie wasn't beside her like he was moments ago. He was standing on the steps with her group of friends, saying his goodbyes in his natural awkward fashion.

     Bowie raked his fingers through his loose curls, lips tugged up into a smile, "Thanks, Lia," He says, towering over the women as he carried the container of cookies in his other hand, "You didn't have to—"

     "Nonsense!" She waved away, her locs tightened into a bun as she pulled the older man into a hug. Bowie stiffened, then relaxed against her, patting her back lightly, "Keep in touch, yeah? Between fighting monsters," She winks, having no idea she was speaking the truth.

     The man chuckled, "I'll try," He paused, "I actually had a good time," He admits, "I think I needed a day away from. . .everything going on with my brothers, it was driving me insane."

"It's not going to kill you to wined down every once in a while, you know," She waved off, a beat of hesitance in her tone before saying, "The thing you said about your brother, Dean. Was it true? What he did?"

Bowie's face reddens, his gaze shifting down to his feet, "Um, yeah, yeah it is. But, I forgave him so it doesn't matter—"

"Forgave him?" Shelia repeats, looking disgusted at the thought, "Bow, that's not something you just up and give someone for. It clearly still bothers you, yeah?"

His chest tightened, "It's—, it's complicated. Look, I've pushed my childhood so far down my throat that thinking about it makes me physically sick," He admits, "If I told Dean how I really felt about it—, if I exploded on him, I'd never stop." He shook his head.

Shelia shrugged, "Maybe you need to explode. Tell them how it really is, can't let it consume you forever, right? Hell, if it were me, I'd have Dean Winchester begging on his knees for forgiveness," She winked.

He smirks a little, "You're awesome."

      Roger and Connor bustled out of the lake house, their girlfriends following behind them in deep conversation about something no one cared to hear. Bowie winched as they came over, Lora running forward and pulling him into a hug he didn't ask for, squeezing so tight he thought his ribs would snap. Maya gave a grin, one that seemed to make Shelia redden.

"You'll come back around right?" Lora asked eagerly, "My birthday is coming up," She winks.

Bowie frowned, "I have a thing that day."

Her mood dropped, "I didn't even tell you when it was—"

"I have a thing everyday," He responds.

Lora sighed in defeat, and followed Maya.

"You're not so bad," Roger nods firmly, arms crossed over his chest as he stood tall over Bowie's lean figure.

He raised an eyebrow, "Thanks," He paused, glancing behind him at a clueless Lora before leaning forward, "Look, one guy to another? You can do a lot better than Lora," He explains, "You have a lot going for you, man. Don't settle for someone who doesn't love you back."

Roger falters, and for a second Bowie thinks he overstepped until the blonde boy swallowed thickly and nodded, "Thanks, that uh, actually means a lot." He cleared his throat and walked away.

Katherine gave a whistle, having already said goodbye to her school companions and waved Bowie over. If they didn't get on the road soon, traffic will get heavy, and no one wants to see an angry Donovan behind the wheel. So, Bowie bid Shelia goodbye one last time, and slide himself into the drivers seat, turning around to rub Stevie by the ear.

The pair of hunters exchanged a soft smile, a warm feeling bubbling in their chest before putting their sunglasses on and driving down the road.

    When they pulled into the parking lot of the old apartment complex that Bowie once called home, the old weight of reality pressed against his chest. He sobered his intrusive thoughts, the ones that told him to stay with Katherine, to be normal, to leave his brothers in the dust and run away with his dog and the girl he liked.

     But, his morals had kicked in just as quick. So, he grabbed his things from the trunk of Katherine's car and threw it into the backseat of the one he hot-wired, whistling for Stevie to get into the passengers seat before slamming the door shut and leaning against it, rubbing his face with hesitation.

     Katherine stood there, arms crossed over her flanneled chest knowingly. Her perfectly plucked eyebrow raised high, "You don't owe these people anything, you know that right?"

     Bowie's lips pinched together at her words. Like always, Katherine was right. He didn't owe his brothers a single thing, he owed John even less, "I owe it to myself," He replies, "I think I deserve a little closure. I have to stop running from my past at some point, right? Pretending to be something I'm not doesn't change the fact that I am."

     "You're nothing like them," She reminds.

     Again, she was right. Bowie Winchester was so much worse. In the wrong hands, he was a ruthless, emotionless killing machine. Created by his obsessed step-father who's only goal was to find his wife's killer. It was burned into his blood.

     And the on-switch was getting faulty.

     "I'll come back for you," He responds.

     Once the vow left his mouth, Bowie opened the car door and slipped inside.

     He slammed it closed, knuckling the steering wheel to fight every urge telling him to turn back.

     But he didn't.

     Instead he turned the car on and skid out of the parking lot as fast as he could, leaving behind a girl, and what little left of his sanity behind.

𖤐┊

Sam and Dean Winchester were knocked cold when Bowie sneakily entered the motel room at three in the morning. He slowly placed his spare key on the table, dropping his duffle bag on the floor and dragging Stevie to the bottom of Dean's bed, smirking to himself when the blind dog rested his head on Dean's ankles, causing the man to stir.

He had shrugged his jacket halfway down his arms with Sam abruptly sat up, gasping for air. Bowie flinched at the sudden movement, causing Sam to jump at the sight of his brother.

"You okay?" Bowie whispered through the darkness, frozen still like a deer as he stared at him with wide eyes.

Sam blinked, "Yeah," He whispered back.

"Nightmare?" Bowie continued.

"Yeah," Sam confirms.

There was a pause.

"Do you want me to warm up some milk?"

Sam deadpans, "When did you get in?"

"Just now," Bowie responds, moving to sit at the edge of the bed as he kicked off his shoes.

Sam blinked away sleep, his eyes drifting around the room before freezing up, "Is that a dog?" He deadpans.

He smirked, "He's blind."

"Dean's gonna kill you."

"Like to see him try," Bowie whispers back.

Sam hesitates, "Thanks for coming back."

He rolled his eyes, fighting back a soft grin, "I don't blame you," He hesitated, standing up, "Try and get some sleep, alright? Need you sharp for tomorrow."

"Bow?" Sam calls in a whisper. The man in question turned back around, "Are you okay?"

They hadn't spoke about it. What happened on the Shifter case. It was like an unspoken agreement to push down and ignore the slip Bowie made, but Sam still couldn't help being concerned for him, fear aside.

Bowie forced a tight-lipped smile, "Yeah."

     With two hours of sleep under his belt, Bowie woke up to Dean throwing a pillow so hard against his face that he thought his nose broke.

     His eyes snapped open, reaching for his hearing aids in a panic as he scrambled up from the couch, Dean stood over him angrily.

     "What?" Bowie questioned groggily.

     "The dog is blind?" He snapped, "Couldn't have mentioned that before I woke up to it's ass in my face? I can't deal with two disables in my car, with your sensory bullshit—!"

     "Don't be ableist," He scolds, rounding his older brother and plopping down on the bed to where old Stevie laid, tongue out through his missing teeth. "He's an old boy, but he can hold his own, I promise."

     "No, not happening, take it back." Dean firms.

     Bowie tilts his head, his tone nonchalant, "I don't want to bring up the past but," He forced a deep sigh, eyes sunken, "Remember when you stole my job letter and ruined my career I spent four years working towards—"

     "Alright, alright!" Dean cuts in, face red.

     He smirks in triumph. Sam walks out of the bathroom looking red in the face, rubbing a damp towel against his wet hair as he made a bee-line to Bowie's dufflebag, rummaging through it without asking. The middle child made a noise of disagreement, but Sam had pulled out the sketchpad and a pen before he could voice his annoyance.

     "Can you draw me something?" He asked his brother, flopping down on the bed beside him so close that Bowie had to shift for comfort, "I had a dream last night, and I can't get something off my mind."

     Bowie furrowed his brow, taking the sketch pad and flipping it open to a clean page. Dean huffed, sitting down at the small table and opening the laptop Sam had brought, his eyes narrowed on the blind dog near him.

     "Alright," Bowie clicked the pen, "Go."

     For the next ten minutes, Bowie sketched out a very detailed tree, which looked straight out of a TV screen. He listened to the small details Sam rambled about, every stretch of bark and fallen leaf. Bowie seemed to still when he stared at the tree long enough. He opened a new page, and sketched again, the tree over and over again.

     It looked familiar.

     "Wait..." Bowie mutters, eyes narrowing.

     "What?" Sam asked eagerly, "What is it?"

     "This tree—"

     "Alright, I've been cruising some websites,"
Dean voiced, "Think I found a few candidates for our next gig. A fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali, it's crew vanished. And uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas—"

     "Dean, shut the fuck up a sec," Bowie says casually, flipping through the pages intensely.

     "Oh, I'm sorry Van Gogh, am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?" Dean deadpans.

     "If cutting off my left ear will get you to hush, then sure, call me Van Gogh," He smiled back.

     "Bowie. Tree," Sam snaps his fingers in front of his face.

     Bowie swats it, getting to his feet and grabbing John's journal from Dean's bag. He flips it open to the leather front, sorting through a stack of papers before pulling out a photo. It was old, and folded more times to count but the people on the print was clear.

     Mary Winchester, holding her three boys tightly in her arms, all under the age of five. She was smiling, a smile that mirrored a two year olds in the middle with loose brown curls. The picture was beautiful but Bowie's attention had shifted to the tree in the back. A tree that stood in the front of their childhood home.

     He remembered the tree so clearly because John had built a tire swing for them. Mary wanted to wait until they got older but there was no time like the present for the Winchester's. Bowie almost threw up when Dean spun the tire so fast.

     "What are you doing?" Dean frowned.

     The middle child flung the photo and the sketch pad at Sam, who caught it in his hands with wide eyes, "I know where we have to go next."

     "Where?" He pressed.

     "Back home. Back to Kansas," He firmed.

     To that, Bowie stiffened. Home? That place was more like a lucid memory to him. The night of the fire so shoved behind his subconscious he couldn't remember it. Dean looked just as reluctant— hell almost scared if you stared at him long enough.

     Sam didn't get it, he was just a newborn. At least for Dean and Bowie, they had some memory of that house outside of the fire.

     Now, all bittersweet thoughts.

     "Okay, random," Dean scoffs, "Where's that come from?"

     "Alright, um," Sam changes the subject, "This photo was taken in front of our old house right? The house where mom died?"

     "Yeah," Dean replied numbly. His green eyes shift to Bowie, who stood biting his thumb in deep thought, no words.

     "It didn't burn down completely. They rebuilt it, right?" Sam continued, "Okay, look. This is gonna sound crazy, but the people who live in our old house. I think they might be in danger."

     Bowie shifts, "What makes you think that?"

     "Uh, just um—, you gotta trust me on this, okay?" Sam stammers, avoiding their eyes.

     Bowie nods, "Okay."

     "Woah, woah. Trust you?" Dean repeats, he turned towards the second eldest, "Come on, BJ, you're going to go off just on that? Sam, you gotta give us a little more information—"

     Sam scrambled to pack up their things, "I can't really explain it all."

     "Well, tough. I'm not going anywhere until you do," Dean firmed.

     Sam clenched his jaw, "Fine. Me and Bowie will go. Right, Bow?" He rounded on him.

     Bowie scratched anxiously behind the hearing aid on his left ear, "Erm, well—"

     Sam sighed in defeat, "I. . .I have these nightmares."

     "We've noticed," Dean responds.

     "Let him finish," Bowie mutters.

     "And sometimes they come true."

     Bowie reels back, "Did i mishear—"

     "You're deaf, you mishear everything."

     "Dean, shut up."

     "Look, guys," Sam began, "I dreamt about Jessica's death for days before it happened," He admits, his voice shaking.

     "Sam, people have weird dreams," Dean brushed off, "I'm sure it's just a coincidence."

     "No," Sam firmed, his chest heaving with slight panic. "I dreamt about the blood dripping. Her on the ceiling, the fire. Everything. And I didn't do anything 'cause I didn't believe it. And now I'm dreaming about that tree, about our house and some women inside screaming for help. I mean, that's where it all started. This has to mean something, right? Bowie please."

     Sam's voice was so raw Bowie could feel it rattle his chest. The youngest looked towards him with plea, begging him to believe him. Of course he can't blame his brothers for being concerned but it wasn't like he was crazy.

     Sam hoped.

     "I believe you," Bowie nods lightly, trying to sound calm and nonchalant as possible, "You don't have to convince me, okay? You're not crazy, Sam. I promise."

     Sam's shoulders sagged in relief. If Bowie says wasn't crazy, then he believed it.

     "I don't know..." Dean muttered, rubbing behind Stevie's ear to calm his anxious hands.

     "What do you mean you don't know, Dean?" Sam pressed, "This—, This women might be in danger. I mean, this might even been the thing that killed mom and Jessica."

     Stevie's fur through his fingers didn't seem to do the trick. Dean stood up abruptly, shaking his head to rid the panic, "Alright, just slow down, would you?!" He swallowed thickly, "I mean, first you're telling us that you got the shining, and then you're telling me I've got to go back home? Especially, when..."

     "When what?" Sam pressed.

     "When we swore to ourselves that we'd never go back there," Dean answered.

     "We have to check this out," Sam firmed, "Just to make sure."

     Bowie swallowed thickly, thinking back, "It makes sense," He mutters to Dean, removing his thumb from between his teeth, "The photo I got of John. He was outside of Lawrence. He could've tracked it back to the start. It all fits together," He turns to Sam, "If Sam thinks we should go. We should go."

Dean reared his head, giving a firm nod.

"I know we do."

𖤐┊

NOVEMBER 2ND
— 1983

     In a neighborhood somewhere in Lawrence, Kansas, stood a two story house painted a light green. The grass was freshly cut, a few toys scattered on the porch, and a flipped over bike dropped near a tall tree. The home seemed to showcased a little perfect family with their little perfect life.

John and Mary, husband and wife, spoke to their neighbors daily and upkeep their garden. They lived together with their three young boys, all under the age of five and cute as a button. The youngest — Sam — being recent addition to the family. You wouldn't guess they weren't normal upstanding citizens.

Because the only person who knew they weren't normal was the tired blonde running a hand through her messy hair as she walked down the hallway from her room into the bathroom with a light yawn.

The young mother smiling softly at her son, who played in the tub with three rubber ducks and a dinosaur.

"Mian, time to get out." Mary announced, turning the water off and grabbing the dinosaur themed towel off the rack, "Come on, mommy still has to put Sammy to bed."

Two-year-old Bowie Winchester tilts his head, doe brown eyes staring back with a soft pout on his lips as he stared at his ducks in a row.

He wants to keep playing.

"Bohemian, I won't ask again," She faked a firm voice, but the tease in her tone shined through and her lips tugged back up into a smile.

Bowie was too much of a momma's boy to go against her, so he stood up in the tub and kicked away the toys, shaking the water out of his soft curls like a dog.

Mary fought back another yawn as she plucked her son out of the tub and wrapped him in a towel, lifting him up from the ground and walking him out of the bathroom.

Bowie tiredly rested his head on her shoulder, flicking his bottom lip without a word as they entered Dean and Bowie's shared room.

The four-year-old was jumping on his bed, floppy blonde hair covering Dean's expression as he continued to bounce. The second he saw his mother, however, he dropped back down on his bed like nothing happened, smiling cheekily at his mother.

"Hi, mommy!" He greets, the smile widening when he saw his little brother, "Hi, Mian!"

Bowie ducked his head into Mary's shoulder, giving a soft wave back.

Mary yawned, "Dean, honey, can you get your brother dressed, Sammy's being fussy in the other room."

     On cue, six month old Sam cries.

John wasn't home yet, taking a later shift at work in hopes to scrap together extra money for Halloween costumes this year, Dean wanted to be a cowboy, Bowie wanted to be a dinosaur.

The brothers always clashing together.

"Okay, mommy!" Dean agreed long before Mary could finish her sentence, sliding off the bed and rushing over to a towel-covered Bowie, "Come on, Mian, I got the perfect thing!"

Mary chuckled, exiting the room in.

Dean worked in silence as he helped Bowie into a dinosaur themed onesie, being patient as his little brother fussed over his wet hair making his neck itchy.

So, Dean grabbed the brush and copied the movements he watched his mother do with his own hair, brushing Bowie's curls back against his head and drying it as best as he could with a towel.

The four year old smiled widely when he was done, leaning down to give the two year old a kiss on the forehead just like their mother always did.

Little Bowie smiled, silent and always calm.

There had been a point where Mary and John thought he was mute, but the boy was just observant, cautious for a two year old.

Mary often compared him to a little man, finding it odd how — well, how odd Bowie was.

"Mommy!" The little boy drags loudly, grabbing Bowie by the sleeve and trudging the two year old down the hallway, into the nursery, "I'm done!"

Mary pressed a finger to her lips, "Come say goodnight to your brother."

Bowie rushed forward first, Mary lifting him up into the crib. He leans forward, brushing his small finger against the bridge of his brother's nose, analyzing him as he stirred in the blanket, wide away.

Bowie smiled widely, "I love you, Sammy!" He says, "Night!"

"Goodnight, Sam," Dean repeats, leaning over the crib and giving him a small kiss on the forehead.

"Hey, boys.."

The jiggling of keys was familiar, indicating John Winchester coming home after a long day as he leaned against the doorframe with a bright smile. Dean ran up to the man, throwing his arms around his neck as John lifted him up from the ground with a small grunt.

"Daddy!" Little Dean bellowed.

Bowie happily followed with a skip, hair still flopping around as he raised his arms up. John sweeps him into his other arm, "Dad!"

John smiled warmly, "What do you two think? Think Sammy's ready to toss around a football yet?"

Bowie shook his head, "Nooo," The little boy dragged the word out, soft and slow, his soft freckles scrunching on his nose as he rested his head against John's shoulder.

     "You got them?" Mary asked.

     "I got them," He confirms, "Sweet dreams, Sam," John flicks the light off, and walks into the room down the hallway.

Tucked safely in his dinosaur sheets, little Bowie tiredly smiled as he waited for a goodnight. John kissed Dean on the forehead, flicking off the lamplight before rounding to the next bed, plopped down at the corner of Bowie's bed.

     Like routine, John gives him a kiss between his curls before reaching over and turning off Bowie's lamplight, a frown tugging on his face when he noticed another light shinning through the sheet.

     "What you got in there?" John mutters. The two year old grimaced at behind caught, pulling the sheet back to reveal a small Stegosaurus shaped night-light in his hands, "What you need that for?"

     Bowie reddens, looking up at his father through his eyelashes, "Bedtime is scary."

     John gave a throaty chuckle, "Ain't nothing to be scared of, Mian. You know momma and I will protect you, alright?" The little boy nods, still looking reluctant. He sighed, "But I'm sure Mr. Stegosaurus can do the trick for tonight."

     To that, Bowie grinned wide.

     "Goodnight, boys."

     There was a chorus of goodnights exchanged between the brothers before John closed the door a crack and moved down the stairs to the living room.

     Little Bowie got comfortable between his sheets, hugging the night-light close to his chest.

     It was half past two when Bowie woke up again, feeling a pang of fear in his chest when the timer on the night-light had gone out and he was left in the darkness, the sound of Dean's light shores followed. The two year old swallowed thickly, scattering the sheets for his little light that he had lost.

He flicks the sheets up, and the night-light skids across the bedroom floor towards the door.

Fearfully, the little boy slides out of bed and clambered after it. His fingers curling around the light, his shoulders eased.

A shadowy figure slips past the crack of the door in the hallway.

Bowie furrowed his bushy little brows, opening the door just enough to pop his head through it, just as the figure slipped into the nursery.

His little stomach tightened. Sammy.

The worry for his little brother started at a young age and never stopped. So, Bowie held the night-light close to his chest and walked worriedly down the hallway. Into the nursery.

In hopes to be eased by one of his parents, baby Sam was being towered over a dark figure. Bowie didn't need for it to turn around to feel it's evil aura in his bones. In a panic, the little boy stepped back, in doing so, causing the bright light to flicker on.

The creature turned around, it's haunting yellow eyes staring back at the boy. A smile curling on its lips as he pressed his finger against them, warning Bowie to keep quiet.

The child slumped against the closet door, just out of sight when Mary Winchester hovered at the entrance, a tired yawn falling from her lips as she said, "John? John, is he hungry?"

Again, the creature softly shushed.

"Okay," The woman mutters, walking away.

Bowie shook his head, "Go," He whispers to the creature.

"Don't worry," The yellow eyed man says, "I'll come back for you too, alright?" He smiled.

Charging footsteps slammed against the hallway floor, and with a blink from Bowie the man was gone. For a second, he wondered if he imagined the whole thing, but when his mother had busted her way through the door, and looked around in horror, he knew deep down he hadn't.

Because before he could speak about the yellow eyed man, and his vow and what he had done to Sam, Mary had let out a horrible scream. It was so loud and so piercing that Bowie had dropped to his knees, the night-light dropping from his fingers as he clamped his hands over his ears and closed his eyes.

He didn't see the way his mother raised from the floor to the ceiling, or the fear in her eyes when she noticed him there.

In fact, it wasn't until John had entered the room, screaming his wife's name did Bowie's eyes open. Everything was quiet. There was no man, no mother, no yellow eyes. Just a worried John Winchester and his son.

"Bow? Bow, what are you doing? What's wrong?" John panicked, crouching down and wrapping his hands over the boy, "You sleep walking now?" He mutters.

Bowie looked around, releasing a heaving breath as he threw his arms around John and cried. It was all a bad dream. That's what he chalked it up to, a bad dream. But John was there and Bowie was fine, everything was okay in the little boy's heart.

"Alright, I got you." John sighed, patting his back. He stood up, arms still wrapped around the two year old as he reached over the crib and checked on a wide-awake Sam, "Hey, Sammy. Okay? Bow was just a little worried about you, right Bow?"

The little boy nods, feeling eased.

John's expression shifted when he noticed a drop of red on Sam's sheets. He reached forward and touched it, flinching when another drop of blood landed on his hand, then another.

In unison, John and Bowie's eyes lift up to the ceiling. The little boys heart leaped at the sight. His mother, Mary, pressed firm against the ceiling, blood seeping through her slashed stomach and eyes wide. Still alive.

This all had to be a nightmare.

The little boy had already registered it before John was pulling him out of the room, shoving baby Sam into a panicked Dean's arms.

"Take your brothers outside as fast as you can!" John orders, "Don't look back. Now, Dean! Go!"

And he did. Dean's other hand curled into Bowie's sleeve, and with a swift tug they were running down the stairs and outside into the night. The two year old could've sworn he saw flashes of yellow when he looked back, the fire so intense his little eyes watered.

"It's okay, Bow!" Dean tried to comfort.

And when it was over. . .when the side of the house exploded into flames and John was holding his boys in his arms. No Mary, no night-light, no man with yellow eyes. Bowie had sat there against the Impala, watching the firemen work, with a sour expression.

It was a bad dream. He concluded. It was a bad dream, all of it. It was what Bowie believed the moment they left Lawrence. And it's what his brain twisted into as he got older, blocking the memories out.

     For all he knew, one minute he was up, the next he was outside. Just like that. Nothing else.

Nothing else.

[ little bowie 🤝 dinosaurs ]
watching an explosion