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The Winchesters

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"We found him in a car," she says.

Yeah, my fucking car, if they've touched Baby, I'll kill them with my bare hands—

"Someone, just left him there?" a man's voice asks.

"Yes, and we think we interrupted them mid-modification. He's still changing, he's not even had time to adjust yet. But we think it's better he goes straight to a home if he can. He's been here for three days. When he got here, he looked the age his driver's license says: Twenty-eight."

Someone gives an appraising low whistle. "Wow, there's no way he looks a day over nineteen, now." The voice is low and gravely.

"We had to give him sedatives, to stop the twitching, they gave him too much too soon and they've somehow made the process move a lot quicker than with what we use."

"How old will he shrink? To?"

"Hard to say. Never seen it quite like this before. We know they used a type of Modlenol, and that's all we know on the drug side of things. We were able to garner more info about him."

How did they get information on me, exactly? I make it so I'm not found.

"So he'll be a moddler?" a gentle voice asks.

A moddler? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Talk about a hunt gone wrong.

"Is that all right with you and your husband? Your adoption application didn't specify."

"No. I mean, that's fine," the gentle voice says, almost desperate. "It doesn't matter to us, he's perfect; we're more worried about him."

Can't argue with that. I am pretty perfect.

"Well sir, he hasn't got much choice in the matter now. Even though he didn't choose to become a moddler, as many do, he is now, and therefore requires at least one legal guardian. If you two don't take him, I've got to find someone else. Dean's biological parents are dead you see."

"No—" the other one, the gravely one, cuts in. "We want him. We'd like to take Dean home and as soon as possible."

Wait. What? Take him home? Legal guardian?

I try moving again, but can't. It feels like when you wake up paralyzed in the middle of the night—I can hear everything they're saying clearly, but I can't move enough to open my eyes and damn if my nose isn't itchy. Must be the 'sedatives', though I doubt they're any regular sedatives. I thought sedatives were supposed to make you sleepy? I don't feel fucking sleeepy.

"We're a pretty packed agency—especially with moddlers these day, second chance at life and all—we like to get the kids out immediately. All I have to do is get our med staff to wake him up. There's some pretty potent stuff in that drip going in his arm—he's out like a light. Can't hear a word we're saying."

No shit there's potent stuff going in me, and nice try, but I can hear what you're saying, so you might as well let me the fuck up.

"You mean we can take him home today? Cas did you hear that?"

"I did Baby," 'Cas' answers. I hear them kiss.

Oh God. This lady is giving me to the gay equivalent of June and Ward Cleaver.

"I'll send in the team to wake him, then. In the mean time, we'll set you up with another social worker who will tell you what you need to know about this stage—while he's still changing—to make his transition is smooth and get him into the mindset. As you can imagine, it may be more challenging with Dean since this was not his choice."

Shit. I have to get out of this and fast. Is there anyway to reverse the effects of Modlenol?

"As you know, once someone's been injected with Modlenol, their only way out is to grow up again."

At least she's answering my questions.

"Okay. Thanks Sabrina, really. We're just surprised this could happen so fast. We were told we may have to wait a long time for a boy," the man I recognize as 'Cas' says.

"You two were my best application," she says, her distantly professional voice a little warmer. "When he came in, I thought you two would be perfect for him."

"Sam, did you hear that, Baby? We're finally going to be parents."

"Yeah, I'm just in shock."

Someone's moving closer to me and I can't fucking move away. It's Sam. "Dean," Sam says. "I like that. Dean…"