Dean Winchester, Patron Saint: Panic! at the Picnic pt. 1
Title: Dean Winchester, Patron Saint: Panic! at the Picnic part. 1
Author: alexjanna91
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean, Bobby, kids, Nerdy Angels, OCs
Series: Apple Pie Life
Rating: PG13
Genre: Canon Divergance - Post Season 5
Word Count: 4,750
Warning: BAMF Dean, Powers Dean, Parental Dean, Angels, Suburbia, Kids
Summary: Being shanghaied into hosting a picnic in the park was a pain in his ass and Dean made sure everyone knew it. But one thing he wouldn’t ever complain about was a little brother in pain.
A/N: Some of the original characters mentioned in this story were introduced in the prequal arc Adventures in Babysitting. You might want to reread Napalm in the Morning and Rock Salt 101 to refresh your memory.
*
Bobby stared at the crumbling papyrus sheets before him. It had taken him weeks to track it down once he’d finally figured out what it was what he was looking for. The entire thing was written in Aramaic, the author was probably a highly educated man because the whole thing was almost illegible the calligraphy was so intricate. On a good day modern American English calligraphy was a pain in the ass to read. At three in the morning, on two thousand year old paper, in faded ink, in a three-thousand year old archaic language it was almost literally impossible to decipher.
Good thing Bobby had a knack for languages and could speak and-or read and write roughly twenty different dialects, modern and ancient included.
Still, the paper was delicate ancient papyrus, the ink was made of pigment and sulfate and iron salt, and the syntax wasn’t reader friendly. It was filled with all kinds of metaphors and flowery language. It was taking everything Bobby had not to just throw the priceless manuscript across the room in frustration.
Just giving it up as a bad job and quitting wasn’t an option though. He was putting himself through this torture for his boy; for Dean.
Ever since he’d spent that weekend with Dean getting bailed out of the clink, extorting a demon to get his soul back, and patching up a mauled angel, Bobby had been on the hunt for answers. Answers to what was going on with Dean. What new kind of trouble had the idjit gotten himself into now.
The sky was lightening to gray, dew was gathering on the ground, and somewhere someone’s rooster was making a nuisance of itself.
And Bobby had finally finished deciphering the text. Deciphered it and was duly incredulously horrified.
“Balls!” Only a Winchester, he thought beleaguered, only a Winchester would get himself into this kind of a mess.
He barely spared the two and a half minutes to pack a duffle, lock up the house, and slam the door closed on his Chevrolet before he peeled out of the driveway and made a beeline for Indiana.
*
Dean wasn’t quite sure how it happened but somewhere between Lisa casually mentioned it, Laurie Grant pinning him with that predatory grin, Madison Strait teasingly pleading, and Jenny Meyer’s shy encouragement, he’d been conned into organizing a neighborhood picnic.
And conned he was, because there was no way in Hell he would have willingly put himself through this voluntarily. He thought planning a little kid’s birthday was a pain in the ass. That had nothing on this shit.
Of course it didn’t help that Dean was actually stressed about everything going off without a hitch.
“You packed the veggie burgers in the cooler too, right? And the wine coolers? Cups! Shit, I forgot the fucking cups! Ben! Ben, run back home and get the cups!”
“Dean!” Lisa was trying and failing to hide her amusement at Dean’s pain. “You checked on the veggie burgers twice already, the wine coolers are in your hand, and the plastic cups are on the table over there.” She grinned at him and patted him on the shoulder. “You got this. Everything’s gonna be fine.”
Bewildered, Dean looked from the six pack of wine coolers in his hand to the jumbo pack of red cups on the picnic table then back to Lisa.
“I’ve gone native. Oh God. Lisa, I’m willingly holding fucking wine coolers.” He sounded a little hysterical even to himself. “Kill me, now. Put me out of my misery.”
Lisa rolled her eyes and pried the six pack from his white knuckled grip. “Stop being a drama queen. Go over there and play with Ben and Errol. Dana, Rosa and I will finish setting up. Everyone else will start arriving soon.”
Dean sighed and took a steadying breath then straightened, determined. He may have been half domesticated, but damned if he was going to let suburban life get the better of him. Nodding with resolve, he marched off toward where Ben and Errol were kicking a soccer ball back and forth.
“Hey! Room for one more?”
Shaking her head in amusement, Lisa made sure Dean was fully preoccupied with the boys then turned back to getting the grill set up.
Thirty minutes later it seemed like pretty much everyone Dean knew in this new life was milling around in the neighborhood park. All of them sipping on beer and wine coolers and munching on hotdogs, hamburgers, and veggie monstrosities. Dean had practically chugged his first beer to take the nervous edge off and was now nursing his second. He was relaxed and finishing off his first of many hotdogs while talking football with a few of his kids’ dads. Frank Grant, Carry and Hugh’s dad, Joshua Braunston, Michael and Daniel’s dad, and, surprisingly, Sunny’s dad, Sycamore Taurus Smith.
Dean had a hard time checking his expression when they’d been introduced. Dude matched Sunny’s mom perfectly; tie-dye t-shirt, well-worn Birkenstocks, and shaggy hair halfway down his shoulders. Dean could tell Frank and Joshua were having a hard time not staring at the guy’s flower earring too.
The picnic seemed to be a relative success. Everyone was fed, watered, and socializing comfortably. The kids were all switching between kicking the ball around and crowding around the chicken wire playpen holding Errol’s mini T-rex. The soccer was good exercise for them and watching Errol feed the T-rex was sort of educational.
Dean was taking a breather to get himself another beer, a handful of Lays and just watch the gathering with a measure of satisfaction. His people were safe and happy and enjoying themselves. He stopped trying to deny that he’d pretty much collected what seemed like half of Cicero into his list of people to protect. They, the kids and their parents, were his. His to protect, watch over, and, if need be, kill for.
Predictably, the first hitch of the day came when Dean’s angels suddenly showed up en-masse.
Alfie in his Weiner hut uniform, Hester in her business suit, Inias in his Rolling Stones t-shirt, and Rachel in her forbidding librarian frump.
Dean blinked and was blinded by their sky scraper sized true forms; wings like forces of nature, faces of God’s creatures, and burning gold rings in all. He blinked again and saw his nerdy angels once again. Resigned to his random episodes of freakiness, he just sighed, pinched his nose then shook off the lingering buzz in his blood he got every vision.
With his second blink the angels had become visible and the kids spotted them almost immediately. The angels’ eyes were big and slightly panicked when they were bum rushed by all eighteen of Dean’s kids at once.
“Dean!” Ben yelled across the party garnering the attention of the rest of the adults milling around. “Hey, Dean, look! They came!”
Dean shook his head, both amused and long suffering. Waving off Lisa’s raised eyebrow, he made his way over to the angels and smiled genuinely at them.
“I didn’t think you guys would show up.”
Alfie patted Todd on the head kindly and turned his eager smile on Dean. “Heaven is at a stalemate and Castiel graced us leave to attend your celebration of communal nature reserves and cooked meat.”
Chuckling, Dean grinned. “It called a barbeque in the park. Or picnic if that’s too complicated for you.”
“Picnic.” Alfie tasted the word then nodded to himself, satisfied. Next to him Hester mouthed the word just as seriously, a wrinkle of concentration on her brow. “I shall remember that.”
“Don’t worry about.” Dean shrugged then gestured toward the food and drink tables. “Help yourselves. Mingle, talk to some of the adults, try to have some fun.”
Alfie, Inias, and Hester all wandered off into the crowd of curious people willingly, if a little apprehensively, following their self-appointed child tour guides. Except for Rachel who had gently but firmly shooed away the kids that tried to tug her along.
“Not gonna join in the fun?” Dean drawled, earning a mild glare. “I’m surprised you showed up.”
“Castiel ordered that I accompany my brothers and sister to this ‘picnic’. He has decided that I need more ‘human socialization’.” She pursed her lips like the words tasted bitter just coming out of her mouth.
Dean magnanimously decided not to needle her or comment on the implied finger quotes. “Well, since you’re here, let me introduce to one of my kids’ mom.” He ushered the sour faced angel toward a longhaired, Birkenstock clad, flowy skirt wearing Starshine Buttercup Smith, Sunny’s mom.
“Starshine, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine.” He smiled winningly at the fluttery woman and tugged a scowling Rachel forward. “Rachel, Starshine. Starshine, Rachel.”
Starshine smiled brightly and grabbed the angel’s stiff hand holding it gently and staring at Rachel in wonder. “I must say, dear, you have the most stunning aura. Almost as beautiful as my Sunflower’s.”
Rachel’s eyes widened and Dean grinned a little gleefully at the hint of fear flashing through them. “That might be because Rachel here is an Angel of the Lord.” Rachel darted a panicked look at Dean, but he just kept on grinning.
Starshine gasped and gripped Rachel’s hand tighter in excitement. “Oh! How wonderful! I’ve never met an angel before.”
“Rachel was just telling me how curious she was about the positive energies and auras here on Earth,” Dean said, mischievousness dripping from his tone. “You see, she doesn’t come down here very often and she’s never had the chance to really get a feel for them.”
Starshine looked positively aghast. Then her kind face melted into sympathy and determination. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Come with me. I will teach you all about them.”
The enthusiastic woman started towing the truly terrified angel off into the crowd. Rachel looked back at Dean her expression part pleading part death glare. Dean just smirked, chuckling to himself as he took a satisfied drink of his beer.
For the next twenty minutes Dean enjoyed himself observing the various reactions his parents had to his angels. The parents of his original afterschool kids seemed to be trying to roll with the weird uncomfortably earnest and curious people their kids were dragging around. The parents of his self-defense kids were a little more freaked out, but were taking their cues from the other adults. It seemed to reassure them that Lisa, Dean, Jeffery Hart, Ashley Boltz, and their kids were comfortable if awkward with the new arrivals.
Of course, because he was a Winchester and nothing in his life could be that simple, Dean didn’t get to enjoy it for very long because Shelly St. James came up to him with a handsome, young, well-built man just radiating law enforcement following along behind her.
A quick questioning look toward Jeff he got a frown and a shake of the head then Dean put his attention on the two coming to a stop in front of him.
“Hey, Shelly,” Dean smiled casually. “How ya’ liking the picnic so far?”
The woman gave him her usual stiff, but friendly smile. “It’s fun. You’ve done a surprisingly good job organizing a get together like this.”
Huffing in exasperation and mild fondness at the backhanded compliment, Dean just nodded magnanimously. “Thanks, I try.”
“I’m sure,” she returned, then gestured to the young man beside her. He’d been quiet up ‘til then, just observing their interaction. “This is my younger brother, Owen. I’ve wanted to introduce you two and he’s been curious to meet you after I told him about your self-defense class.”
Dean locked gazes with the brother, Owen. The brother that, if he wasn’t mistaken, worked for the freaking FBI. If Shelly wasn’t being completely genuine and innocent with her introduction, Dean would have cursed her silently and vehemently. But he knew Shelly actually liked him; was grateful to him for pulling her son out of his shell, for reminding her that it was okay to keep living despite fear for a loved one.
She had no idea she’d just introduced a dead suspected serial killer to her federal agent little brother.
Dean grinned and held his hand out for a shake. “Nice to meet you. Shelly’s mentioned you a couple of times.”
The brother, Owen, grasped his hand, squeezed, and held on, his gaze boring into Dean’s. “You too. Shelly’s told me quite a bit about you.” Something in his tone made the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand on end.
“All good things I hope.” Dean’s charming, harmless suburban smile was steady, unwavering. He’d had practice, after all, with lying to law enforcement.
Owen hummed noncommittally. He had yet to let go of Dean’s hand. “Nathan hasn’t stopped talking about you.”
Dean’s smiled turned more genuine with the mention of his kid. Nathan -quiet, serious Nathan- was awesome and Dean loved every minute with him.
“Nathan’s a good kid. He’s a joy to have around.”
Owen had started to squeeze Dean’s hand progressively harder, staring at him intently. Dean just knew he wasn’t going to like it when the guy opened his mouth again.
“You know, I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
Dean met his gaze head on and in the space of a breath knew Owen almost better than he knew himself.
He was in pain. Physical, emotional pain. Kept quiet, well hidden, but still very much filling him up inside.
Owen and his partner had been working on that case for months. Their informants hadn’t been panning out, their information had been faulty, and somewhere they just knew there was a leak. Months of all-nighters, crappy takeout, crappy all night stakeouts, reexamining the bodies and the evidence and knowing, just knowing, this asshole had done it, that he was the key to taking down the whole operation.
Finally, solid lead, solid intel, solid strategy for the take down. All their ducks were in a row. The tac team was ready, Owen and his partner were suited up and eager and so very proud of themselves.
It was a trap. The operation was a complete failure. The asshole and all his cohorts got away. Almost no one came out unscathed. They lost three agents. Owen’s partner from the moment they’d stepped out of training being one of them. Dead. Shot three times covering Owen’s bloody, injured retreat.
It hurt. Oh, it hurt so much. His partner, loved like a brother, gone. Guilt, holy hell, the guilt. It was hard to breathe through it. Feeling the utter failure for the shit case, sure. But missing his brother, wishing to trade places, guilty and in agony from losing him and being the reason. The jumping at shadows, crying out with nightmares, and split second flashbacks, were nothing. Nothing compared to the agony.
Dean blinked, back to himself in a heartbeat, and met Owen’s suspicion with a bland smile. “I just have one of those faces. You’d be surprised how often I get that.” I am not the criminal you are looking for.
A confused expression disrupted Owen’s perusal of Dean’s features and he finally released their handshake.
“Yeah,” Owen nodded and absently continued, “I guess that must be it.”
“Shelly said you wanted to ask me about the self-defense class,” Dean reminded him, keeping the conversation going, drawing attention somewhere else lest Owen can’t quite place Dean again.
“Nathan’s been showing me some of the moves you taught him. Gotta say, I’m impressed.”
Spinning tales and lies and half-truths, misdirecting attention by pulling shit out of his ass was something Dean could do in his sleep. Also something he could do while busy studying the agonized, gelatinous mess of trauma and toxic emotions clogging up Owen’s chest.
Effortlessly multitasking, Dean kept their conversation going while he looked at the shapeless jello mold inside Owen. It was deep shades of rusty red, spikey splotches of black, occasionally shot through with a bruised dark purple color. It flinched like it was being jabbed with a hot poker, quivered off and on like it was scared, and its entire form pulsed sluggishly and reluctantly in rhythm with Owen’s heartbeat.
Owen was a little brother, not Dean’s, but one all the same. Little brothers were one of his specialties. Even though his own little brother was far beyond his reach, that didn’t mean he could let anyone else’s suffer like this. If there was one thing in this world Dean knew better than hunting, it was little brothers. He’s got this. He knows exactly what to do.
For the first time since he’d noticed his freaky heaven powers, Dean reached inside himself, grabbed ahold, and directed them with his own will.
Dean distracted Owen with bullshit crafted on the fly while he wrapped his “magic” hands around the painful, messy blob choking the life out of him. He dug his fingers in, pulled the mess this way and that like toffy. The first thing his fingers massaged out of the sticky gelatinous knot of Owen’s pain was the bright, vivid, overwhelming memory of the firefight that started growing this mess.
There wasn’t any way to erase the memory and Dean wouldn’t anyway. He’d had people mess with his mind and memories before. He wasn’t doing that to anyone else. No, Dean just kneaded and folded and worked Owen’s play-doh lump of trauma until the memories were shadowy. Distant, dull memories; still there, still a part of him, but no longer a risk of waking him up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, of sending him into a flashback that leaves him shaking and shivering and crying.
Dean got Owen to talk about his interest in martial arts and his training at Quantico while he rolled the gelatin goop of pain into a ball between the warm palms of his “hands”. Over and over, Dean rolled the awkward, uneven, lumpy ball in rhythmic continuous motions slowly but smoothing out the stiff jagged edges of Owen’s guilt. Guilt at failing, guilt at letting the bad guy get away; massive, sharp, pointy chunks of guilt that his partner died protecting him. Over and over Dean rolled until the gelatin goop was smooth and perfectly round and Owen had accepted that it wasn’t his fault. That he may still feel the guilt, but it was a shade, easily dismissed with rational logic and acceptance.
Maybe, perhaps the most concentrated and involved bit yet, Dean was gearing up to deal with the sickly black-gray pervasive stain of grief covering the perfectly spherical jello-y sphere of emotion.
Dean had always worked on instinct and instinct had never steered him wrong.
“Owen,” Dean cradled the weight of the gelatinous sphere in his palms comfortingly. “You mentioned your buddy from the academy. He was your partner, right? What was he like?”
Shelly made a choked protesting sound in the back of her throat, but Dean was giving his whole attention to staring into Owen’s eyes and holding his fragile, but resilient emotions safely in his hands.
Owen didn’t want to talk about his partner, his friend, his almost-brother, but he needed to. He needed to and strangely enough he wanted to talk about him with Dean.
“Rob was the first guy I met at the academy. He was such an asshole, but after the first day I couldn’t get rid of him.” The words came fast and smooth after that. Owen talked, Dean listened, and the palms of his magic hands heated up hotter and hotter until the black stained gelatin sphere started melting. Owen kept talking and Dean’s hands continued heating until there was nothing left of Owen’s play-doh glob of painful emotions in them except gritty black clumpy granules sticking to Dean’s skin.
The jello had soaked back into Owen’s chest clean and healed and stable, settling into him smoothly; no longer clogging him up, no longer choking him ‘til he can’t breathe.
Wiping the grittiness from his palms onto his jeans, Dean smiled genuinely at Owen. “Sounds like he was a cool dude.”
Moving through the natural wave of emotion inside him, Owen didn’t feel like grief was going to drown him. He was able to smile and feel the love he had for Rob again. “Yeah, he was one of a kind.”
Dean was distantly aware of Shelly staring at her brother with amazed disbelieving tears in her eyes. Right before her, in the span of a five minute conversation, Dean had done what no one, FBI counselors, private therapists, their mother, or she herself had been unable to do. The pain and stress had fallen away from Owen right before her eyes and just like that she had her little brother back.
“Well, it was good talking to you, dude. We’ll have to discuss more ideas for another self-defense class later.” Dean grinned, satisfied and strangely at peace. And because he’s an overachiever, he clapped a friendly hand on Owen’s shoulder still aching from the gunshot wound and gave it a squeeze.
The low level throbbing pain he’d been learning to live with was suddenly gone in a split second wash of heat. Owen blinked confused at Dean’s hand on his shoulder, but was quickly distracted by Dean’s exiting from the conversation.
“Uh, yeah. Totally. Sounds good.” Owen absently shook Dean’s hand again.
Dean flashed him one last grin and turned to leave.
“Hey, wait!” He paused and looked back at Owen’s call. “I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before. Are you sure we haven’t met?”
And because he liked to live dangerously, Dean smirked at the lightly frowning young FBI agent and shrugged. “Pretty sure, but if you remember let me know.”
Brother and sister watched Dean wander nonchalantly away. One with easily shrugged aside bewilderment, and the other with awed gratitude, respectfully.
Jeffery Hart, the moment he’d realized that Shelly St. James was towing her federal agent little brother over toward Dean Campbell had two reactions. One was irrepressible curiosity to see how Dean handled the situation; and the other was panic because the kid would recognize Dean then they were all in a world of trouble probably ending in jail or death.
As he watched the frankly odd (and that’s saying something, what with how his life’s been going lately) interaction between the young man and Dean, Jeffery’s panic was replaced by confusion. Though, like it always seemed to be with Dean, the curiosity was quickly overpowering it.
He was just close enough to hear their conversation and Jeffery’s heart almost stopped when it sounded like Owen was going to recognize Dean. Then he just stopped. Dean had looked into the kid’s eyes for a split second and the conversation was diverted with such smooth efficiency Jeffery wouldn’t have even noticed had he not been paying such close attention.
Then it got really strange.
Dean kept up a completely normal conversation with the young man, but suddenly Jeffery was having a hard time understanding what he was doing with his hands. He could see them; left hand holding a half empty beer bottle, right hand released from the hand shake and now sitting in the front pocket of his jeans. He could see Dean’s hands, but they were hard to focus on. Like looking at an optical illusion. Jeffery glanced at the other two to see if they were having the same problem, but Shelly and Owen, standing not five feet from Dean, seemed to not have picked up on the weirdness going on right in front of them.
Distracted from Dean’s hands for a moment, Jeffery got caught up in watching a barely noticeable change come over Owen. Earlier he’d vaguely observed that something painful had been weighing the young man down. Tense in his shoulders, pinched around the eyes, sleepless shadows across his face, polite but distant smile; now that each symptom was quickly disappearing one by one, they were glaring in their absence.
All the while, Dean’s hands still had that fuzzy after image look to them as every sign of Owen’s trauma and grief were steadily and thoroughly worked away. Just as abruptly as Jeffery had noticed it starting, whatever it was, it was over and Dean was wiping the palms of his hands -right and suddenly empty left- off on his jeans. Owen looked like a healthy, unburdened young man again.
Owen, it was obvious, could visibly feel the difference, but was not quite sure what had changed. Shelly on the other hand had watched the whole thing, and though not knowing how or what had happened, she knew that it was Dean that did it.
Jeffery watched the rest of the puzzling interaction, complete with what he could only assume was Dean healing an unseen injury that had Owen’s left shoulder losing that last bit of tension. He had to wonder just what Dean Winchester was.
Monster hunter, childcare provider, friend of angels, enemy of demons; though those last two Jeffery had yet to reluctantly fully acknowledge were actually a thing. He was all of those things, but Jeffery remembered back to all the little clues here and there that hinted at Dean being more than he let on.
Of course some of Jeffery’s deep contemplation was interrupted by exasperation, because obviously Dean had to be a cheeky little asshole and get in one last thinly veiled taunt at a federal agent.
Still, Jeffery was caught up watching Dean saunter back into the crowd and nearly jumped out of his skin when there was suddenly a presence beside him.
“Marvelous, isn’t he?”
Forcefully calming his racing heart, he looked over at the tall, impeccably dressed business woman with perfectly styled hair and a look of reverence on her beautiful face as she watched Dean walk away too.
“I’m sorry?” This was one of Dean’s mysterious friends he’d heard so much about from his kids, Emily and Justin. He hadn’t seen them show up, there had just suddenly been four extra strangely awkward people wandering around.
“Dean Winchester,” the woman answered, like that was obvious.
“Uh, yeah. But what do you mean?” Jeffery decided to not think about how she knew Dean’s real name. By then it should have been obvious to him that the four mysterious friends were pre-suburban retirement.
“Dean is selfless, giving, and so very kind,” she answered with no little hint of what could possibly, if it wasn’t on the face of a fully grown woman in a power suit, possibly be hero worship. “My brothers and sisters, and I have learned much of the goodness of humanity from Dean. He has had more patience, love, and concern for us than nearly all of the Host combined.”
Jeffery pointedly didn’t comment on the painful lack of discretion this woman -probably not an actual woman- was showing when talking about things people really shouldn’t be talking about when surrounded by blissfully ignorant civilians.
“Do you know, he doesn’t realize it,” she went on oblivious to Jeffery’s nervous glancing around for listeners.
“Realize what?” He was almost reluctant, and yet really curious, to ask.
“He doesn’t realize that he alone has the power to command us with unquestioning obedience,” she answered and the implications of that made Jeffery’s head swim a little. “He could command us, but we who have been in his presence, who have observed what and who Dean Winchester truly is, would follow him willingly, devotedly.”
It’s then that Jeffery realizes that this conversation is so far above his paygrade it’s above everyone on Earth’s paygrade combined.
“Why,” he croaked, “why are you telling me this?”
For the first time in their interaction, the woman turned her gaze on him and he saw something beautiful, ageless, and terrifying in her ordinary blue eyes.
“Haven’t you realized yet?” she asked, honestly puzzled. “You’re a Witness.”
Yeah… He has no idea what that means, all he knows is that it’s Witness with a capital “w” and Jeffery’s so lightheaded he’s going to fall down if he doesn’t sit down. Luckily, he’s standing next to the drinks table so he leans hard against it as he works on suppressing his dizzy spell.
“What exactly does that me-” he cuts off because when he looks back up at the woman - he’s not saying ang… nope not saying it- she’s gone. Disappeared as suddenly as she’d appeared and Jeffery’s pretty sure he’s ready to skip ulcer and move straight onto heart attack.
*
TBC… Part 2
Author: alexjanna91
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean, Bobby, kids, Nerdy Angels, OCs
Series: Apple Pie Life
Rating: PG13
Genre: Canon Divergance - Post Season 5
Word Count: 4,750
Warning: BAMF Dean, Powers Dean, Parental Dean, Angels, Suburbia, Kids
Summary: Being shanghaied into hosting a picnic in the park was a pain in his ass and Dean made sure everyone knew it. But one thing he wouldn’t ever complain about was a little brother in pain.
A/N: Some of the original characters mentioned in this story were introduced in the prequal arc Adventures in Babysitting. You might want to reread Napalm in the Morning and Rock Salt 101 to refresh your memory.
*
Bobby stared at the crumbling papyrus sheets before him. It had taken him weeks to track it down once he’d finally figured out what it was what he was looking for. The entire thing was written in Aramaic, the author was probably a highly educated man because the whole thing was almost illegible the calligraphy was so intricate. On a good day modern American English calligraphy was a pain in the ass to read. At three in the morning, on two thousand year old paper, in faded ink, in a three-thousand year old archaic language it was almost literally impossible to decipher.
Good thing Bobby had a knack for languages and could speak and-or read and write roughly twenty different dialects, modern and ancient included.
Still, the paper was delicate ancient papyrus, the ink was made of pigment and sulfate and iron salt, and the syntax wasn’t reader friendly. It was filled with all kinds of metaphors and flowery language. It was taking everything Bobby had not to just throw the priceless manuscript across the room in frustration.
Just giving it up as a bad job and quitting wasn’t an option though. He was putting himself through this torture for his boy; for Dean.
Ever since he’d spent that weekend with Dean getting bailed out of the clink, extorting a demon to get his soul back, and patching up a mauled angel, Bobby had been on the hunt for answers. Answers to what was going on with Dean. What new kind of trouble had the idjit gotten himself into now.
The sky was lightening to gray, dew was gathering on the ground, and somewhere someone’s rooster was making a nuisance of itself.
And Bobby had finally finished deciphering the text. Deciphered it and was duly incredulously horrified.
“Balls!” Only a Winchester, he thought beleaguered, only a Winchester would get himself into this kind of a mess.
He barely spared the two and a half minutes to pack a duffle, lock up the house, and slam the door closed on his Chevrolet before he peeled out of the driveway and made a beeline for Indiana.
*
Dean wasn’t quite sure how it happened but somewhere between Lisa casually mentioned it, Laurie Grant pinning him with that predatory grin, Madison Strait teasingly pleading, and Jenny Meyer’s shy encouragement, he’d been conned into organizing a neighborhood picnic.
And conned he was, because there was no way in Hell he would have willingly put himself through this voluntarily. He thought planning a little kid’s birthday was a pain in the ass. That had nothing on this shit.
Of course it didn’t help that Dean was actually stressed about everything going off without a hitch.
“You packed the veggie burgers in the cooler too, right? And the wine coolers? Cups! Shit, I forgot the fucking cups! Ben! Ben, run back home and get the cups!”
“Dean!” Lisa was trying and failing to hide her amusement at Dean’s pain. “You checked on the veggie burgers twice already, the wine coolers are in your hand, and the plastic cups are on the table over there.” She grinned at him and patted him on the shoulder. “You got this. Everything’s gonna be fine.”
Bewildered, Dean looked from the six pack of wine coolers in his hand to the jumbo pack of red cups on the picnic table then back to Lisa.
“I’ve gone native. Oh God. Lisa, I’m willingly holding fucking wine coolers.” He sounded a little hysterical even to himself. “Kill me, now. Put me out of my misery.”
Lisa rolled her eyes and pried the six pack from his white knuckled grip. “Stop being a drama queen. Go over there and play with Ben and Errol. Dana, Rosa and I will finish setting up. Everyone else will start arriving soon.”
Dean sighed and took a steadying breath then straightened, determined. He may have been half domesticated, but damned if he was going to let suburban life get the better of him. Nodding with resolve, he marched off toward where Ben and Errol were kicking a soccer ball back and forth.
“Hey! Room for one more?”
Shaking her head in amusement, Lisa made sure Dean was fully preoccupied with the boys then turned back to getting the grill set up.
Thirty minutes later it seemed like pretty much everyone Dean knew in this new life was milling around in the neighborhood park. All of them sipping on beer and wine coolers and munching on hotdogs, hamburgers, and veggie monstrosities. Dean had practically chugged his first beer to take the nervous edge off and was now nursing his second. He was relaxed and finishing off his first of many hotdogs while talking football with a few of his kids’ dads. Frank Grant, Carry and Hugh’s dad, Joshua Braunston, Michael and Daniel’s dad, and, surprisingly, Sunny’s dad, Sycamore Taurus Smith.
Dean had a hard time checking his expression when they’d been introduced. Dude matched Sunny’s mom perfectly; tie-dye t-shirt, well-worn Birkenstocks, and shaggy hair halfway down his shoulders. Dean could tell Frank and Joshua were having a hard time not staring at the guy’s flower earring too.
The picnic seemed to be a relative success. Everyone was fed, watered, and socializing comfortably. The kids were all switching between kicking the ball around and crowding around the chicken wire playpen holding Errol’s mini T-rex. The soccer was good exercise for them and watching Errol feed the T-rex was sort of educational.
Dean was taking a breather to get himself another beer, a handful of Lays and just watch the gathering with a measure of satisfaction. His people were safe and happy and enjoying themselves. He stopped trying to deny that he’d pretty much collected what seemed like half of Cicero into his list of people to protect. They, the kids and their parents, were his. His to protect, watch over, and, if need be, kill for.
Predictably, the first hitch of the day came when Dean’s angels suddenly showed up en-masse.
Alfie in his Weiner hut uniform, Hester in her business suit, Inias in his Rolling Stones t-shirt, and Rachel in her forbidding librarian frump.
Dean blinked and was blinded by their sky scraper sized true forms; wings like forces of nature, faces of God’s creatures, and burning gold rings in all. He blinked again and saw his nerdy angels once again. Resigned to his random episodes of freakiness, he just sighed, pinched his nose then shook off the lingering buzz in his blood he got every vision.
With his second blink the angels had become visible and the kids spotted them almost immediately. The angels’ eyes were big and slightly panicked when they were bum rushed by all eighteen of Dean’s kids at once.
“Dean!” Ben yelled across the party garnering the attention of the rest of the adults milling around. “Hey, Dean, look! They came!”
Dean shook his head, both amused and long suffering. Waving off Lisa’s raised eyebrow, he made his way over to the angels and smiled genuinely at them.
“I didn’t think you guys would show up.”
Alfie patted Todd on the head kindly and turned his eager smile on Dean. “Heaven is at a stalemate and Castiel graced us leave to attend your celebration of communal nature reserves and cooked meat.”
Chuckling, Dean grinned. “It called a barbeque in the park. Or picnic if that’s too complicated for you.”
“Picnic.” Alfie tasted the word then nodded to himself, satisfied. Next to him Hester mouthed the word just as seriously, a wrinkle of concentration on her brow. “I shall remember that.”
“Don’t worry about.” Dean shrugged then gestured toward the food and drink tables. “Help yourselves. Mingle, talk to some of the adults, try to have some fun.”
Alfie, Inias, and Hester all wandered off into the crowd of curious people willingly, if a little apprehensively, following their self-appointed child tour guides. Except for Rachel who had gently but firmly shooed away the kids that tried to tug her along.
“Not gonna join in the fun?” Dean drawled, earning a mild glare. “I’m surprised you showed up.”
“Castiel ordered that I accompany my brothers and sister to this ‘picnic’. He has decided that I need more ‘human socialization’.” She pursed her lips like the words tasted bitter just coming out of her mouth.
Dean magnanimously decided not to needle her or comment on the implied finger quotes. “Well, since you’re here, let me introduce to one of my kids’ mom.” He ushered the sour faced angel toward a longhaired, Birkenstock clad, flowy skirt wearing Starshine Buttercup Smith, Sunny’s mom.
“Starshine, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine.” He smiled winningly at the fluttery woman and tugged a scowling Rachel forward. “Rachel, Starshine. Starshine, Rachel.”
Starshine smiled brightly and grabbed the angel’s stiff hand holding it gently and staring at Rachel in wonder. “I must say, dear, you have the most stunning aura. Almost as beautiful as my Sunflower’s.”
Rachel’s eyes widened and Dean grinned a little gleefully at the hint of fear flashing through them. “That might be because Rachel here is an Angel of the Lord.” Rachel darted a panicked look at Dean, but he just kept on grinning.
Starshine gasped and gripped Rachel’s hand tighter in excitement. “Oh! How wonderful! I’ve never met an angel before.”
“Rachel was just telling me how curious she was about the positive energies and auras here on Earth,” Dean said, mischievousness dripping from his tone. “You see, she doesn’t come down here very often and she’s never had the chance to really get a feel for them.”
Starshine looked positively aghast. Then her kind face melted into sympathy and determination. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Come with me. I will teach you all about them.”
The enthusiastic woman started towing the truly terrified angel off into the crowd. Rachel looked back at Dean her expression part pleading part death glare. Dean just smirked, chuckling to himself as he took a satisfied drink of his beer.
For the next twenty minutes Dean enjoyed himself observing the various reactions his parents had to his angels. The parents of his original afterschool kids seemed to be trying to roll with the weird uncomfortably earnest and curious people their kids were dragging around. The parents of his self-defense kids were a little more freaked out, but were taking their cues from the other adults. It seemed to reassure them that Lisa, Dean, Jeffery Hart, Ashley Boltz, and their kids were comfortable if awkward with the new arrivals.
Of course, because he was a Winchester and nothing in his life could be that simple, Dean didn’t get to enjoy it for very long because Shelly St. James came up to him with a handsome, young, well-built man just radiating law enforcement following along behind her.
A quick questioning look toward Jeff he got a frown and a shake of the head then Dean put his attention on the two coming to a stop in front of him.
“Hey, Shelly,” Dean smiled casually. “How ya’ liking the picnic so far?”
The woman gave him her usual stiff, but friendly smile. “It’s fun. You’ve done a surprisingly good job organizing a get together like this.”
Huffing in exasperation and mild fondness at the backhanded compliment, Dean just nodded magnanimously. “Thanks, I try.”
“I’m sure,” she returned, then gestured to the young man beside her. He’d been quiet up ‘til then, just observing their interaction. “This is my younger brother, Owen. I’ve wanted to introduce you two and he’s been curious to meet you after I told him about your self-defense class.”
Dean locked gazes with the brother, Owen. The brother that, if he wasn’t mistaken, worked for the freaking FBI. If Shelly wasn’t being completely genuine and innocent with her introduction, Dean would have cursed her silently and vehemently. But he knew Shelly actually liked him; was grateful to him for pulling her son out of his shell, for reminding her that it was okay to keep living despite fear for a loved one.
She had no idea she’d just introduced a dead suspected serial killer to her federal agent little brother.
Dean grinned and held his hand out for a shake. “Nice to meet you. Shelly’s mentioned you a couple of times.”
The brother, Owen, grasped his hand, squeezed, and held on, his gaze boring into Dean’s. “You too. Shelly’s told me quite a bit about you.” Something in his tone made the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stand on end.
“All good things I hope.” Dean’s charming, harmless suburban smile was steady, unwavering. He’d had practice, after all, with lying to law enforcement.
Owen hummed noncommittally. He had yet to let go of Dean’s hand. “Nathan hasn’t stopped talking about you.”
Dean’s smiled turned more genuine with the mention of his kid. Nathan -quiet, serious Nathan- was awesome and Dean loved every minute with him.
“Nathan’s a good kid. He’s a joy to have around.”
Owen had started to squeeze Dean’s hand progressively harder, staring at him intently. Dean just knew he wasn’t going to like it when the guy opened his mouth again.
“You know, I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
Dean met his gaze head on and in the space of a breath knew Owen almost better than he knew himself.
He was in pain. Physical, emotional pain. Kept quiet, well hidden, but still very much filling him up inside.
Owen and his partner had been working on that case for months. Their informants hadn’t been panning out, their information had been faulty, and somewhere they just knew there was a leak. Months of all-nighters, crappy takeout, crappy all night stakeouts, reexamining the bodies and the evidence and knowing, just knowing, this asshole had done it, that he was the key to taking down the whole operation.
Finally, solid lead, solid intel, solid strategy for the take down. All their ducks were in a row. The tac team was ready, Owen and his partner were suited up and eager and so very proud of themselves.
It was a trap. The operation was a complete failure. The asshole and all his cohorts got away. Almost no one came out unscathed. They lost three agents. Owen’s partner from the moment they’d stepped out of training being one of them. Dead. Shot three times covering Owen’s bloody, injured retreat.
It hurt. Oh, it hurt so much. His partner, loved like a brother, gone. Guilt, holy hell, the guilt. It was hard to breathe through it. Feeling the utter failure for the shit case, sure. But missing his brother, wishing to trade places, guilty and in agony from losing him and being the reason. The jumping at shadows, crying out with nightmares, and split second flashbacks, were nothing. Nothing compared to the agony.
Dean blinked, back to himself in a heartbeat, and met Owen’s suspicion with a bland smile. “I just have one of those faces. You’d be surprised how often I get that.” I am not the criminal you are looking for.
A confused expression disrupted Owen’s perusal of Dean’s features and he finally released their handshake.
“Yeah,” Owen nodded and absently continued, “I guess that must be it.”
“Shelly said you wanted to ask me about the self-defense class,” Dean reminded him, keeping the conversation going, drawing attention somewhere else lest Owen can’t quite place Dean again.
“Nathan’s been showing me some of the moves you taught him. Gotta say, I’m impressed.”
Spinning tales and lies and half-truths, misdirecting attention by pulling shit out of his ass was something Dean could do in his sleep. Also something he could do while busy studying the agonized, gelatinous mess of trauma and toxic emotions clogging up Owen’s chest.
Effortlessly multitasking, Dean kept their conversation going while he looked at the shapeless jello mold inside Owen. It was deep shades of rusty red, spikey splotches of black, occasionally shot through with a bruised dark purple color. It flinched like it was being jabbed with a hot poker, quivered off and on like it was scared, and its entire form pulsed sluggishly and reluctantly in rhythm with Owen’s heartbeat.
Owen was a little brother, not Dean’s, but one all the same. Little brothers were one of his specialties. Even though his own little brother was far beyond his reach, that didn’t mean he could let anyone else’s suffer like this. If there was one thing in this world Dean knew better than hunting, it was little brothers. He’s got this. He knows exactly what to do.
For the first time since he’d noticed his freaky heaven powers, Dean reached inside himself, grabbed ahold, and directed them with his own will.
Dean distracted Owen with bullshit crafted on the fly while he wrapped his “magic” hands around the painful, messy blob choking the life out of him. He dug his fingers in, pulled the mess this way and that like toffy. The first thing his fingers massaged out of the sticky gelatinous knot of Owen’s pain was the bright, vivid, overwhelming memory of the firefight that started growing this mess.
There wasn’t any way to erase the memory and Dean wouldn’t anyway. He’d had people mess with his mind and memories before. He wasn’t doing that to anyone else. No, Dean just kneaded and folded and worked Owen’s play-doh lump of trauma until the memories were shadowy. Distant, dull memories; still there, still a part of him, but no longer a risk of waking him up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, of sending him into a flashback that leaves him shaking and shivering and crying.
Dean got Owen to talk about his interest in martial arts and his training at Quantico while he rolled the gelatin goop of pain into a ball between the warm palms of his “hands”. Over and over, Dean rolled the awkward, uneven, lumpy ball in rhythmic continuous motions slowly but smoothing out the stiff jagged edges of Owen’s guilt. Guilt at failing, guilt at letting the bad guy get away; massive, sharp, pointy chunks of guilt that his partner died protecting him. Over and over Dean rolled until the gelatin goop was smooth and perfectly round and Owen had accepted that it wasn’t his fault. That he may still feel the guilt, but it was a shade, easily dismissed with rational logic and acceptance.
Maybe, perhaps the most concentrated and involved bit yet, Dean was gearing up to deal with the sickly black-gray pervasive stain of grief covering the perfectly spherical jello-y sphere of emotion.
Dean had always worked on instinct and instinct had never steered him wrong.
“Owen,” Dean cradled the weight of the gelatinous sphere in his palms comfortingly. “You mentioned your buddy from the academy. He was your partner, right? What was he like?”
Shelly made a choked protesting sound in the back of her throat, but Dean was giving his whole attention to staring into Owen’s eyes and holding his fragile, but resilient emotions safely in his hands.
Owen didn’t want to talk about his partner, his friend, his almost-brother, but he needed to. He needed to and strangely enough he wanted to talk about him with Dean.
“Rob was the first guy I met at the academy. He was such an asshole, but after the first day I couldn’t get rid of him.” The words came fast and smooth after that. Owen talked, Dean listened, and the palms of his magic hands heated up hotter and hotter until the black stained gelatin sphere started melting. Owen kept talking and Dean’s hands continued heating until there was nothing left of Owen’s play-doh glob of painful emotions in them except gritty black clumpy granules sticking to Dean’s skin.
The jello had soaked back into Owen’s chest clean and healed and stable, settling into him smoothly; no longer clogging him up, no longer choking him ‘til he can’t breathe.
Wiping the grittiness from his palms onto his jeans, Dean smiled genuinely at Owen. “Sounds like he was a cool dude.”
Moving through the natural wave of emotion inside him, Owen didn’t feel like grief was going to drown him. He was able to smile and feel the love he had for Rob again. “Yeah, he was one of a kind.”
Dean was distantly aware of Shelly staring at her brother with amazed disbelieving tears in her eyes. Right before her, in the span of a five minute conversation, Dean had done what no one, FBI counselors, private therapists, their mother, or she herself had been unable to do. The pain and stress had fallen away from Owen right before her eyes and just like that she had her little brother back.
“Well, it was good talking to you, dude. We’ll have to discuss more ideas for another self-defense class later.” Dean grinned, satisfied and strangely at peace. And because he’s an overachiever, he clapped a friendly hand on Owen’s shoulder still aching from the gunshot wound and gave it a squeeze.
The low level throbbing pain he’d been learning to live with was suddenly gone in a split second wash of heat. Owen blinked confused at Dean’s hand on his shoulder, but was quickly distracted by Dean’s exiting from the conversation.
“Uh, yeah. Totally. Sounds good.” Owen absently shook Dean’s hand again.
Dean flashed him one last grin and turned to leave.
“Hey, wait!” He paused and looked back at Owen’s call. “I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before. Are you sure we haven’t met?”
And because he liked to live dangerously, Dean smirked at the lightly frowning young FBI agent and shrugged. “Pretty sure, but if you remember let me know.”
Brother and sister watched Dean wander nonchalantly away. One with easily shrugged aside bewilderment, and the other with awed gratitude, respectfully.
Jeffery Hart, the moment he’d realized that Shelly St. James was towing her federal agent little brother over toward Dean Campbell had two reactions. One was irrepressible curiosity to see how Dean handled the situation; and the other was panic because the kid would recognize Dean then they were all in a world of trouble probably ending in jail or death.
As he watched the frankly odd (and that’s saying something, what with how his life’s been going lately) interaction between the young man and Dean, Jeffery’s panic was replaced by confusion. Though, like it always seemed to be with Dean, the curiosity was quickly overpowering it.
He was just close enough to hear their conversation and Jeffery’s heart almost stopped when it sounded like Owen was going to recognize Dean. Then he just stopped. Dean had looked into the kid’s eyes for a split second and the conversation was diverted with such smooth efficiency Jeffery wouldn’t have even noticed had he not been paying such close attention.
Then it got really strange.
Dean kept up a completely normal conversation with the young man, but suddenly Jeffery was having a hard time understanding what he was doing with his hands. He could see them; left hand holding a half empty beer bottle, right hand released from the hand shake and now sitting in the front pocket of his jeans. He could see Dean’s hands, but they were hard to focus on. Like looking at an optical illusion. Jeffery glanced at the other two to see if they were having the same problem, but Shelly and Owen, standing not five feet from Dean, seemed to not have picked up on the weirdness going on right in front of them.
Distracted from Dean’s hands for a moment, Jeffery got caught up in watching a barely noticeable change come over Owen. Earlier he’d vaguely observed that something painful had been weighing the young man down. Tense in his shoulders, pinched around the eyes, sleepless shadows across his face, polite but distant smile; now that each symptom was quickly disappearing one by one, they were glaring in their absence.
All the while, Dean’s hands still had that fuzzy after image look to them as every sign of Owen’s trauma and grief were steadily and thoroughly worked away. Just as abruptly as Jeffery had noticed it starting, whatever it was, it was over and Dean was wiping the palms of his hands -right and suddenly empty left- off on his jeans. Owen looked like a healthy, unburdened young man again.
Owen, it was obvious, could visibly feel the difference, but was not quite sure what had changed. Shelly on the other hand had watched the whole thing, and though not knowing how or what had happened, she knew that it was Dean that did it.
Jeffery watched the rest of the puzzling interaction, complete with what he could only assume was Dean healing an unseen injury that had Owen’s left shoulder losing that last bit of tension. He had to wonder just what Dean Winchester was.
Monster hunter, childcare provider, friend of angels, enemy of demons; though those last two Jeffery had yet to reluctantly fully acknowledge were actually a thing. He was all of those things, but Jeffery remembered back to all the little clues here and there that hinted at Dean being more than he let on.
Of course some of Jeffery’s deep contemplation was interrupted by exasperation, because obviously Dean had to be a cheeky little asshole and get in one last thinly veiled taunt at a federal agent.
Still, Jeffery was caught up watching Dean saunter back into the crowd and nearly jumped out of his skin when there was suddenly a presence beside him.
“Marvelous, isn’t he?”
Forcefully calming his racing heart, he looked over at the tall, impeccably dressed business woman with perfectly styled hair and a look of reverence on her beautiful face as she watched Dean walk away too.
“I’m sorry?” This was one of Dean’s mysterious friends he’d heard so much about from his kids, Emily and Justin. He hadn’t seen them show up, there had just suddenly been four extra strangely awkward people wandering around.
“Dean Winchester,” the woman answered, like that was obvious.
“Uh, yeah. But what do you mean?” Jeffery decided to not think about how she knew Dean’s real name. By then it should have been obvious to him that the four mysterious friends were pre-suburban retirement.
“Dean is selfless, giving, and so very kind,” she answered with no little hint of what could possibly, if it wasn’t on the face of a fully grown woman in a power suit, possibly be hero worship. “My brothers and sisters, and I have learned much of the goodness of humanity from Dean. He has had more patience, love, and concern for us than nearly all of the Host combined.”
Jeffery pointedly didn’t comment on the painful lack of discretion this woman -probably not an actual woman- was showing when talking about things people really shouldn’t be talking about when surrounded by blissfully ignorant civilians.
“Do you know, he doesn’t realize it,” she went on oblivious to Jeffery’s nervous glancing around for listeners.
“Realize what?” He was almost reluctant, and yet really curious, to ask.
“He doesn’t realize that he alone has the power to command us with unquestioning obedience,” she answered and the implications of that made Jeffery’s head swim a little. “He could command us, but we who have been in his presence, who have observed what and who Dean Winchester truly is, would follow him willingly, devotedly.”
It’s then that Jeffery realizes that this conversation is so far above his paygrade it’s above everyone on Earth’s paygrade combined.
“Why,” he croaked, “why are you telling me this?”
For the first time in their interaction, the woman turned her gaze on him and he saw something beautiful, ageless, and terrifying in her ordinary blue eyes.
“Haven’t you realized yet?” she asked, honestly puzzled. “You’re a Witness.”
Yeah… He has no idea what that means, all he knows is that it’s Witness with a capital “w” and Jeffery’s so lightheaded he’s going to fall down if he doesn’t sit down. Luckily, he’s standing next to the drinks table so he leans hard against it as he works on suppressing his dizzy spell.
“What exactly does that me-” he cuts off because when he looks back up at the woman - he’s not saying ang… nope not saying it- she’s gone. Disappeared as suddenly as she’d appeared and Jeffery’s pretty sure he’s ready to skip ulcer and move straight onto heart attack.
*
TBC… Part 2