Fic: Dean Winchester, Patron Saint: Going Legit... Sort Of
Title: Dean Winchester, Patron Saint: Going Legit… Sort of
Author: alexjanna91
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean, Det. Hart (OC)
Series: Apple Pie Life
Rating: PG
Genre: AU-Canon Divergent Post-S05
Word Count: 1,406
Warning: Disregard of gun control laws, reference to illegal activities
Summary: Det. Hart’s already working on an ulcer from discovering the supernatural. He doesn’t need Dean’s illegally concealed handgun peep show to give him another one.
A/N: Fic in Patron Saint arc of the Apple Pie Life verse.
*
Detective Jeffery Hart was no stranger to letting things slide. Minor infractions; a driver going thirty-four in a thirty zone, a kid filching a candy bar, the old man on his street that sits on his front porch taking pot-shots at squirrels with a BB gun. These things really weren’t worth the paperwork to pursue.
So yeah, he looked the other way when he caught a glimpse at the truly unsettlingly large armory in Dean Campbell’s trunk. He pointedly didn’t look too close at Dean’s ID. And he ignored the illegal extra seatbelts the man installed in his beast of a car; though, Hart had to be convinced of the effectiveness of using a “hex bag” to ward off injury in-case of a wreck before he agreed to let that one slide.
Yeah, he wasn’t thrilled about it, but he felt ten times safer having Dean squeeze as many kids as possible into his American made steel tank of a car than he did letting Justin and Emily take the bus. Truly it was amazing what one little monster kidnapping could do to your definition of safety.
Jeffrey liked to think of himself as a flexible guy overall. He wasn’t one of the stogy old-timers or the arrogant greenies that liked to write a ticket or slap on a misdemeanor for every little infraction. Flexible he was, however, blind he was not.
It made sense really, that Dean would be packing pretty much all the time. He assumed that when you fought the scary crap that Dean grew up fighting you got a might paranoid. Although it wasn’t really paranoia when there really were monsters that could jump out of nowhere and try to eat you. With that in mind, Jeffrey was not surprised at all that Dean carried a Colt .45 in addition to the innumerable knives he surely had stashed in various places on his person. He estimated that Dean spent about ninety percent of the time packing enough weaponry to take and occupy a government building. A scary thought that Jeffrey tried his damnedest to ignore.
Concealed handgun: not a surprise. Illegal unregistered concealed handgun: yeah, okay, legally dead suspected serial killer, made sense. Illegal unregistered concealed handgun shoved down the back of Dean’s pants that got flashed every time he moved…: not okay, very not okay.
Those little glimpses of engraved gunmetal and pearl grip were starting to give Jeffrey an ulcer; another one. Normally the frankly unsafe mode of carrying a weapon wouldn’t illicit more than annoyance, but the fact that they meet for beers at a local cop bar and Dean didn’t have the brains to leave the damned thing in the car was really going to be the last straw of his fraying nerves.
Something had to be done before Dean got arrested or Jeffrey got persistent chronic acid reflux.
*
“Okay, you’re going to have to repeat that because I could have sworn you just said I need to get a conceal-to-carry.”
They were standing on the porch watching the kids run around the yard and Dean was looking at him like Hart’s mental stability was in doubt. Hart doubted his own sanity too so he let it slide.
“You need to get a conceal-to-carry.” Maybe repeating it would make the rest of this conversation go smoother.
“Yeah, no. That doesn’t work for me.” Or not.
“Look, Dean. You can’t continue to run around with an illegal handgun shoved down the back of your pants. Eventually a cop is going to notice and a weapons charge is not something I can get waved just because we’re friends.” Dean’s eyes lit up for a split second when the word friends left his mouth but the expression was quickly schooled.
Jeffrey was saddened by the realization that Dean didn’t really have many friends. His kids and their parents didn’t count. He never socialized with anyone other than Jeffrey and sometimes Ashley.
Well, Jeffrey steeled himself, since he was Dean’s friend, friends didn’t let friends run around with illegally concealed weapons.
Dean’s mask of seriousness was back in place when he said, “I’m a dead suspected serial killer.”
Okay, yeah, that was a good point. “Doesn’t negate the fact that you need to be able to say you can legitimately carry if you get asked.”
Dean snorted dismissively. “Sure, alright. I’ll go print something up at Kinkos. Can’t be harder than an FBI badge.”
Wow, Jeffrey didn’t realize you could get heartburn from just one sentence. “I didn’t hear that. Those words did not just come out of your mouth and I did not hear them.”
An amused grin curled at Dean’s lips. “Seriously, Jeff, it’ll be fine. It’ll look totally legit.”
Oh god, the heartburn’s getting worse. “It can’t just look legit. You flash a cop a CHL and they will look up the ID number in the database. If you aren’t in it then you’re screwed.”
He got an eyebrow raise for snapping, but Jeffrey was determined not to walk away from this conversation without Dean’s acquiescence.
“Fine, then. Tell me how you plan on getting me a legal concealed handgun license when I’m, one: legally dead, two: a suspected serial killer with a rap sheet longer than your arm, and three: living under an alias.”
Alright, so Dean sounded a little peeved. Jeffrey ignored the fact that his fight or flight instincts were starting to tingle. He is a decorated detective; he has arrested murders, rapists, and drug dealers. He is not intimidated by a thirty-something daycare provider.
A thirty-something daycare provider with an arsenal in the trunk of his muscle car, extensive hand to hand combat training, and kills actual monsters for a living.
Jeffrey straightened his shoulders and refused to be intimidated. “I know an instructor that owes me a favor. He won’t ask any questions, but you’re going to have to make your identity as solid as possible.” That would be the hard part. Forged documents weren’t really in Jeffrey’s jurisdiction. He’ll have to owe someone a favor.
“They’ll wave your fingerprint scans if they’re unreadable up to four times and your background check is clear. Mable, the tech, likes me. I vouch for you and she’ll wave your prints if I give her a box of her favorite French chocolates.”
This time Dean’s eyebrow raise seemed mildly impressed and he pressed a fluttering hand to his chest. “Why, Detective Hart, who knew you were such a criminal mastermind.”
Jeffrey glared at him. He was not amused, but Dean sure was. His grin just got bigger.
With a huff, Jeffrey moved on to the real problem they had. “Your identity has to be near flawless. I don’t know the kind of people that can pull that off. I can ask around if anyone’s CI-”
“Don’t worry about that.” Dean interrupted. “I know somebody that can get it done. It’ll be rock solid.”
And Dean just keeps on getting more and more interesting, and not the good kind. Jeffrey just nodded having grown used to being willfully deaf when Dean’s less than kosher job requirements came up.
He pasted a stern no arguments expression on his face. It worked on his kids so hopefully it would work on Dean too. “You’ll take the written and practical tests on Monday at ten. I’ll give you a gun for the practical, so don’t being your Colt. The instructor won’t take you unless I’m there so I’ll meet you there at nine forty-five.”
Jeffrey finished his instructions and was met with that darkly amused curl again. He refused to be uneasy or give ground. Dean had to do this if he was going to keep living in normal society.
“Since you’ve already got it all planned out, I guess I’ll see you then, Jeff.”
Dean yelled for Justin and Emily and they hurried over. They’d been engrossed in a game of tag with the other kids in Dean’s after school group.
Ten minutes later goodbyes were said and Jeffrey was walking his kids to his car. He got three text messages before he made it to the driver’s door.
not cool man giving me orders.
ur lucky i like u. last dick 2 try that got a sword 2 the head
c u monday! :)
Jeffrey didn’t know what was more terrifying; the implied threat of death or the smiley face.
Yep, definitely the smiley face.
*
End.
Author: alexjanna91
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean, Det. Hart (OC)
Series: Apple Pie Life
Rating: PG
Genre: AU-Canon Divergent Post-S05
Word Count: 1,406
Warning: Disregard of gun control laws, reference to illegal activities
Summary: Det. Hart’s already working on an ulcer from discovering the supernatural. He doesn’t need Dean’s illegally concealed handgun peep show to give him another one.
A/N: Fic in Patron Saint arc of the Apple Pie Life verse.
*
Detective Jeffery Hart was no stranger to letting things slide. Minor infractions; a driver going thirty-four in a thirty zone, a kid filching a candy bar, the old man on his street that sits on his front porch taking pot-shots at squirrels with a BB gun. These things really weren’t worth the paperwork to pursue.
So yeah, he looked the other way when he caught a glimpse at the truly unsettlingly large armory in Dean Campbell’s trunk. He pointedly didn’t look too close at Dean’s ID. And he ignored the illegal extra seatbelts the man installed in his beast of a car; though, Hart had to be convinced of the effectiveness of using a “hex bag” to ward off injury in-case of a wreck before he agreed to let that one slide.
Yeah, he wasn’t thrilled about it, but he felt ten times safer having Dean squeeze as many kids as possible into his American made steel tank of a car than he did letting Justin and Emily take the bus. Truly it was amazing what one little monster kidnapping could do to your definition of safety.
Jeffrey liked to think of himself as a flexible guy overall. He wasn’t one of the stogy old-timers or the arrogant greenies that liked to write a ticket or slap on a misdemeanor for every little infraction. Flexible he was, however, blind he was not.
It made sense really, that Dean would be packing pretty much all the time. He assumed that when you fought the scary crap that Dean grew up fighting you got a might paranoid. Although it wasn’t really paranoia when there really were monsters that could jump out of nowhere and try to eat you. With that in mind, Jeffrey was not surprised at all that Dean carried a Colt .45 in addition to the innumerable knives he surely had stashed in various places on his person. He estimated that Dean spent about ninety percent of the time packing enough weaponry to take and occupy a government building. A scary thought that Jeffrey tried his damnedest to ignore.
Concealed handgun: not a surprise. Illegal unregistered concealed handgun: yeah, okay, legally dead suspected serial killer, made sense. Illegal unregistered concealed handgun shoved down the back of Dean’s pants that got flashed every time he moved…: not okay, very not okay.
Those little glimpses of engraved gunmetal and pearl grip were starting to give Jeffrey an ulcer; another one. Normally the frankly unsafe mode of carrying a weapon wouldn’t illicit more than annoyance, but the fact that they meet for beers at a local cop bar and Dean didn’t have the brains to leave the damned thing in the car was really going to be the last straw of his fraying nerves.
Something had to be done before Dean got arrested or Jeffrey got persistent chronic acid reflux.
*
“Okay, you’re going to have to repeat that because I could have sworn you just said I need to get a conceal-to-carry.”
They were standing on the porch watching the kids run around the yard and Dean was looking at him like Hart’s mental stability was in doubt. Hart doubted his own sanity too so he let it slide.
“You need to get a conceal-to-carry.” Maybe repeating it would make the rest of this conversation go smoother.
“Yeah, no. That doesn’t work for me.” Or not.
“Look, Dean. You can’t continue to run around with an illegal handgun shoved down the back of your pants. Eventually a cop is going to notice and a weapons charge is not something I can get waved just because we’re friends.” Dean’s eyes lit up for a split second when the word friends left his mouth but the expression was quickly schooled.
Jeffrey was saddened by the realization that Dean didn’t really have many friends. His kids and their parents didn’t count. He never socialized with anyone other than Jeffrey and sometimes Ashley.
Well, Jeffrey steeled himself, since he was Dean’s friend, friends didn’t let friends run around with illegally concealed weapons.
Dean’s mask of seriousness was back in place when he said, “I’m a dead suspected serial killer.”
Okay, yeah, that was a good point. “Doesn’t negate the fact that you need to be able to say you can legitimately carry if you get asked.”
Dean snorted dismissively. “Sure, alright. I’ll go print something up at Kinkos. Can’t be harder than an FBI badge.”
Wow, Jeffrey didn’t realize you could get heartburn from just one sentence. “I didn’t hear that. Those words did not just come out of your mouth and I did not hear them.”
An amused grin curled at Dean’s lips. “Seriously, Jeff, it’ll be fine. It’ll look totally legit.”
Oh god, the heartburn’s getting worse. “It can’t just look legit. You flash a cop a CHL and they will look up the ID number in the database. If you aren’t in it then you’re screwed.”
He got an eyebrow raise for snapping, but Jeffrey was determined not to walk away from this conversation without Dean’s acquiescence.
“Fine, then. Tell me how you plan on getting me a legal concealed handgun license when I’m, one: legally dead, two: a suspected serial killer with a rap sheet longer than your arm, and three: living under an alias.”
Alright, so Dean sounded a little peeved. Jeffrey ignored the fact that his fight or flight instincts were starting to tingle. He is a decorated detective; he has arrested murders, rapists, and drug dealers. He is not intimidated by a thirty-something daycare provider.
A thirty-something daycare provider with an arsenal in the trunk of his muscle car, extensive hand to hand combat training, and kills actual monsters for a living.
Jeffrey straightened his shoulders and refused to be intimidated. “I know an instructor that owes me a favor. He won’t ask any questions, but you’re going to have to make your identity as solid as possible.” That would be the hard part. Forged documents weren’t really in Jeffrey’s jurisdiction. He’ll have to owe someone a favor.
“They’ll wave your fingerprint scans if they’re unreadable up to four times and your background check is clear. Mable, the tech, likes me. I vouch for you and she’ll wave your prints if I give her a box of her favorite French chocolates.”
This time Dean’s eyebrow raise seemed mildly impressed and he pressed a fluttering hand to his chest. “Why, Detective Hart, who knew you were such a criminal mastermind.”
Jeffrey glared at him. He was not amused, but Dean sure was. His grin just got bigger.
With a huff, Jeffrey moved on to the real problem they had. “Your identity has to be near flawless. I don’t know the kind of people that can pull that off. I can ask around if anyone’s CI-”
“Don’t worry about that.” Dean interrupted. “I know somebody that can get it done. It’ll be rock solid.”
And Dean just keeps on getting more and more interesting, and not the good kind. Jeffrey just nodded having grown used to being willfully deaf when Dean’s less than kosher job requirements came up.
He pasted a stern no arguments expression on his face. It worked on his kids so hopefully it would work on Dean too. “You’ll take the written and practical tests on Monday at ten. I’ll give you a gun for the practical, so don’t being your Colt. The instructor won’t take you unless I’m there so I’ll meet you there at nine forty-five.”
Jeffrey finished his instructions and was met with that darkly amused curl again. He refused to be uneasy or give ground. Dean had to do this if he was going to keep living in normal society.
“Since you’ve already got it all planned out, I guess I’ll see you then, Jeff.”
Dean yelled for Justin and Emily and they hurried over. They’d been engrossed in a game of tag with the other kids in Dean’s after school group.
Ten minutes later goodbyes were said and Jeffrey was walking his kids to his car. He got three text messages before he made it to the driver’s door.
not cool man giving me orders.
ur lucky i like u. last dick 2 try that got a sword 2 the head
c u monday! :)
Jeffrey didn’t know what was more terrifying; the implied threat of death or the smiley face.
Yep, definitely the smiley face.
*
End.