How it Should Have Been
Title: How It Should Have Been
Summary: Dean finds himself celebrating a pleasant 50th birthday with his family, but as inconsistencies in his memory start multiplying, he's forced to confront a much less idyllic reality.
Word count:< 1,700
Rated: pg-13 (language and sexuality)
Notes: Set S5; Spoilers through "Abandon all Hope"
Warnings: Cannon character death
Genre: Angst, Het
Characters: Jo/Dean, Sam, OFC
Beta by: The lovely geckoholic, to whom I owe many thanks. She's been very patient with my neuroses and questionable tense choices, and without her this fic would probably be confusing and choppy.
Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters belongs to WB/The CW, I own nothing and make no money.
***
Dean never thought he'd make it to his fortieth birthday, much less his fiftieth. But here he is, surprisingly well preserved baring some stiff joints and new scars. And Jo's here too, equally surprising, because when he'd assumed he wouldn't see fifty, he'd also planned on being single if he did. It feels right, though, standing with her up on the ridge near their property, enjoying the view without worrying about what might be lurking in the shadows. There's nothing evil here, not for miles.
"That was my mom," Jo says, closing her phone. "Bobby just got in, so I'm supposed to bring you back 'round to the house." She's just as pretty as when they met, even -especially- with some new fine lines in the same places as Ellen, and twenty years of hunting callusing the hand she slipped in his.
"Aren't you spoiling the surprise?" he asks, pulling her close. She fits snugly under his arm, a familiar weight against his side. They've been together for practically a lifetime, but he still has to fight the temptation to slide his fingers a little further and cup her breast.
Jo smiles at him, as if she can tell exactly what's on his mind. "You hate surprises. And it'd kind of spoil the mood if you accidentally capped Sam in the face when he jumped out." Dean laughs. It's been decades since that awful time when fratricide had been a real possibility. "Come on, old man," Jo teases. "I hear some rumblings that there's going to be desert."
"Better be pie," Dean says.
"Of course pie. I think Alice even picked up fresh berries on her way back from that thing in Wyoming with Sam."
"She's still too young to be hunting," he grumbles, on principle. Twenty-two isn't actually that young, especially by Winchester standards.
"Don't I know it," Jo replies, mostly swallowing a pleased smile. Underneath the parental worry, they're both proud of the hunter they raised.
***
Only a few minutes of walking and the house comes into view. It's old and constantly needing something leveled or recaulked, which Dean pretends to resent. Really, he likes putting his own craft into the house. Couldn't ask for a better location, either: lots of trees and no neighbors. It was a good place to get old, a good place to have lived your life.
Alice comes wheeling around the corner, all elbows and knees. Gawky pre-teen limbs non-withstanding, she's quick as a whip. A damn good shot, too, with a solid right hook: taking to training like she was born to it. Which, come to think of it, she pretty much was. Not that that stops Dean bragging about her every chance he gets.
"Mommy's a Rawhead!" his daughter squeals, dashing past them. Jo obligingly chases her a few laps around the house, until Alice takes a sharp turn for the woods. A second later Jo is pulling up in front of him, one hand pressed under her left rib and breathing hard. "That kid's gonna be the death of me," she pants.
"Look at her run," Dean says as the girl disappears up the trail. "I think she got your legs."
"Maybe I can ask for them back," Jo complains. "God, my side."
"Tell me about it," Sam chimes in, coming out of the house with a beer. As the one in charge of training her, he knows a thing or two about taking the brunt of youthful exuberance. At the moment, he's sporting a bruised shin and two sprained fingers.
"Maybe you're just getting sloppy," Dean jokes. "You always did suck at hand-to-hand."
Sam rolls his eyes, but instead of retorting, he runs his thumb thoughtfully over the bottle in his hands. "You know, in a few years she might be ready to come with me on a hunt, " he ventures. "I could show her the ropes first hand. Let her help with some of the leg-work." Despite the obvious deference in Sam's tone, Jo's expression darkens.
"More like ten years, Sammy," Dean answers for both of them.
"No, you take her when she's ready," Jo corrects. "Heaven knows I understand now why my mom tried to stop me, but I promised myself I'd never do that if my kid wanted to hunt. Just be goddamn careful about it is all I'm asking."
Sam nods seriously, as if anyone could doubt that he'd protect his niece with the last breath in his body. Dean knows how careful his brother is with Alice, trusts him completely- that isn't what's rubbing him the wrong way about this conversation. It isn't Jo's decision to let Alice hunt, either. He and Jo reach that conclusion every time they talk about it, as if they can choose when to let their girl go, rather that bow to the inevitable. What's bugging Dean, he decides, is how they're all talking about Alice as if she was a kid. Which is stupid, because she is.
"I'll go find her," Sam says, interrupting Dean's train of thought. He steps down off the porch with a longsuffering sigh and a baleful glance at the ridge. "Hopefully she hasn't taken that covering-your-tracks lesson from last week to heart."
"Thank you, Sam," Jo sings politely in response, which earns her a smile.
As Sam lopes up the trail, Dean feels a warm rush of affection for his little brother, his wife, and his daughter. For this whole life he never thought he'd have.
"She'll be one hell of a hunter," he says.
"She could have been," Jo agrees.
"Could have?" Dean turns to his wife, only to be surprised by her youthful face grinning up at him. She doesn't look a day over thirty.
She doesn't answer his question, either. "Come on, I want to show you the inside!" Jo says. She takes his hand and pulls him towards the house, past a sun-bleached for sale sign. Caught up in her excitement, Dean puts aside the niggling feeling that something is wrong.
***
Inside, the empty rooms are a little dusty, but they're large and Dean can tell they get good light. The kitchen looks outdated, but then neither of them really cooks. Settling down wouldn't be so terrible, here. He can imagine growing old with Jo in this house, maybe even making fifty… Again, Dean has the sense that he's missing a key piece of information, that something about this situation should worry him. Jo leads him to the living room and he worries about faulty wiring and insulation instead.
"There're enough rooms downstairs for Sam or anyone passing through to stay over, and we could build a ramp for Bobby. I think it's perfect." Jo turns to him, a bit shy. "Two more rooms in the attic, you know. Big enough place to start a family."
"What about Alice?" Dean asks, remembering the girl who was just running outside.
Jo lights up with a huge smile, doesn't quite catch his confusion. "I think Alice would be a great name for a baby girl. And speaking of making babies, why don't we go take a look at the master bedroom?" She tugs him towards her by his belt, he catches her around the waist, and they trip down the hall fumbling at each other like teenagers.
The bedroom is already furnished. Dean wonders why, but the welcoming bed renders anything but Jo immaterial. She pulls him onto it while they're still shedding layers, fumbling with buttons and clasps. Every caress and kiss sends a shiver of pleasure through him, makes him want her more. She's taunt and flexible, refuses to just lay back and enjoy herself, insists on arching up against him with one hand in his hair and her mouth at his neck. Her breasts rub against his chest and her tongue is doing something amazing, pressing just at his pulse point… But his hands on her skin feel detached and remote. No matter how he tries to focus, every sensation is muted, and all the building desire pushes at him without any release. He rests his forehead on her clavicle with a growl of frustration.
"Shh!" Jo hisses. "My mom is like, right outside that door."
"What?" Dean asks, but at the same time he hears Ellen's voice, mingling with Castiel's and the clink of shot glasses.
"I said, my mom is just down the hall. Didn't you say you were scared of her?" It's meant to be a flip joke at his expense, but Jo can't quite pull it off. Her face is flushed and nervous, framed by faded wallpaper that Dean recognizes from Bobby's house.
Dean lets his eyes slip closed as he crashes into the realization of where -when- they are. "It wasn't your mom I was scared of." He nuzzles into the side of her neck, trying to pull her close enough, trying to breath in enough of the clean smell of her hair. He wants to stay. Instead, his fingers slip into a hot, slick opening where there shouldn't be one, and he can't help but look at the jagged-edged wound in her side, where the hellhound's claw tore into her flesh. A wound meant for him.
When his eyes find her face again, it's chalky grey, scared and young. "I can't move my legs," she says, just like last time. Her eyes are barely focusing on his face as she swallows convulsively. "We have everything we need."
"Jo, no." He hates that he's begging, but the words come out anyways. This isn't everything he needs, not even close.
"This might literally be your last chance," she says. Whichever way he presses his hands to her stomach, the blood just pours through his fingers. That isn't the way it should be. He should be able to rewind, go back, change everything. He should be able to stay with her.
But the smell of stale motel is in his nostrils, and Sam's deep, steady breathing is the only noise in the dark room, and Jo died two weeks ago. Dean crosses his arms over his chest as tightly as he can, presses his face into the starchy pillow. He grits his teeth and waits, because that's all you can do until it passes.
***
A/N: Thanks for reading my fic! It's the first I've posted for mass consumption, so I hope you enjoyed it… Though maybe I owe you an apology for the cliché "it was all just a dream!!" sucker-punch. If so, let me know- I love comments like Dean loves pie ;)
Summary: Dean finds himself celebrating a pleasant 50th birthday with his family, but as inconsistencies in his memory start multiplying, he's forced to confront a much less idyllic reality.
Word count:< 1,700
Rated: pg-13 (language and sexuality)
Notes: Set S5; Spoilers through "Abandon all Hope"
Warnings: Cannon character death
Genre: Angst, Het
Characters: Jo/Dean, Sam, OFC
Beta by: The lovely geckoholic, to whom I owe many thanks. She's been very patient with my neuroses and questionable tense choices, and without her this fic would probably be confusing and choppy.
Disclaimer: Supernatural and it's characters belongs to WB/The CW, I own nothing and make no money.
***
Dean never thought he'd make it to his fortieth birthday, much less his fiftieth. But here he is, surprisingly well preserved baring some stiff joints and new scars. And Jo's here too, equally surprising, because when he'd assumed he wouldn't see fifty, he'd also planned on being single if he did. It feels right, though, standing with her up on the ridge near their property, enjoying the view without worrying about what might be lurking in the shadows. There's nothing evil here, not for miles.
"That was my mom," Jo says, closing her phone. "Bobby just got in, so I'm supposed to bring you back 'round to the house." She's just as pretty as when they met, even -especially- with some new fine lines in the same places as Ellen, and twenty years of hunting callusing the hand she slipped in his.
"Aren't you spoiling the surprise?" he asks, pulling her close. She fits snugly under his arm, a familiar weight against his side. They've been together for practically a lifetime, but he still has to fight the temptation to slide his fingers a little further and cup her breast.
Jo smiles at him, as if she can tell exactly what's on his mind. "You hate surprises. And it'd kind of spoil the mood if you accidentally capped Sam in the face when he jumped out." Dean laughs. It's been decades since that awful time when fratricide had been a real possibility. "Come on, old man," Jo teases. "I hear some rumblings that there's going to be desert."
"Better be pie," Dean says.
"Of course pie. I think Alice even picked up fresh berries on her way back from that thing in Wyoming with Sam."
"She's still too young to be hunting," he grumbles, on principle. Twenty-two isn't actually that young, especially by Winchester standards.
"Don't I know it," Jo replies, mostly swallowing a pleased smile. Underneath the parental worry, they're both proud of the hunter they raised.
***
Only a few minutes of walking and the house comes into view. It's old and constantly needing something leveled or recaulked, which Dean pretends to resent. Really, he likes putting his own craft into the house. Couldn't ask for a better location, either: lots of trees and no neighbors. It was a good place to get old, a good place to have lived your life.
Alice comes wheeling around the corner, all elbows and knees. Gawky pre-teen limbs non-withstanding, she's quick as a whip. A damn good shot, too, with a solid right hook: taking to training like she was born to it. Which, come to think of it, she pretty much was. Not that that stops Dean bragging about her every chance he gets.
"Mommy's a Rawhead!" his daughter squeals, dashing past them. Jo obligingly chases her a few laps around the house, until Alice takes a sharp turn for the woods. A second later Jo is pulling up in front of him, one hand pressed under her left rib and breathing hard. "That kid's gonna be the death of me," she pants.
"Look at her run," Dean says as the girl disappears up the trail. "I think she got your legs."
"Maybe I can ask for them back," Jo complains. "God, my side."
"Tell me about it," Sam chimes in, coming out of the house with a beer. As the one in charge of training her, he knows a thing or two about taking the brunt of youthful exuberance. At the moment, he's sporting a bruised shin and two sprained fingers.
"Maybe you're just getting sloppy," Dean jokes. "You always did suck at hand-to-hand."
Sam rolls his eyes, but instead of retorting, he runs his thumb thoughtfully over the bottle in his hands. "You know, in a few years she might be ready to come with me on a hunt, " he ventures. "I could show her the ropes first hand. Let her help with some of the leg-work." Despite the obvious deference in Sam's tone, Jo's expression darkens.
"More like ten years, Sammy," Dean answers for both of them.
"No, you take her when she's ready," Jo corrects. "Heaven knows I understand now why my mom tried to stop me, but I promised myself I'd never do that if my kid wanted to hunt. Just be goddamn careful about it is all I'm asking."
Sam nods seriously, as if anyone could doubt that he'd protect his niece with the last breath in his body. Dean knows how careful his brother is with Alice, trusts him completely- that isn't what's rubbing him the wrong way about this conversation. It isn't Jo's decision to let Alice hunt, either. He and Jo reach that conclusion every time they talk about it, as if they can choose when to let their girl go, rather that bow to the inevitable. What's bugging Dean, he decides, is how they're all talking about Alice as if she was a kid. Which is stupid, because she is.
"I'll go find her," Sam says, interrupting Dean's train of thought. He steps down off the porch with a longsuffering sigh and a baleful glance at the ridge. "Hopefully she hasn't taken that covering-your-tracks lesson from last week to heart."
"Thank you, Sam," Jo sings politely in response, which earns her a smile.
As Sam lopes up the trail, Dean feels a warm rush of affection for his little brother, his wife, and his daughter. For this whole life he never thought he'd have.
"She'll be one hell of a hunter," he says.
"She could have been," Jo agrees.
"Could have?" Dean turns to his wife, only to be surprised by her youthful face grinning up at him. She doesn't look a day over thirty.
She doesn't answer his question, either. "Come on, I want to show you the inside!" Jo says. She takes his hand and pulls him towards the house, past a sun-bleached for sale sign. Caught up in her excitement, Dean puts aside the niggling feeling that something is wrong.
***
Inside, the empty rooms are a little dusty, but they're large and Dean can tell they get good light. The kitchen looks outdated, but then neither of them really cooks. Settling down wouldn't be so terrible, here. He can imagine growing old with Jo in this house, maybe even making fifty… Again, Dean has the sense that he's missing a key piece of information, that something about this situation should worry him. Jo leads him to the living room and he worries about faulty wiring and insulation instead.
"There're enough rooms downstairs for Sam or anyone passing through to stay over, and we could build a ramp for Bobby. I think it's perfect." Jo turns to him, a bit shy. "Two more rooms in the attic, you know. Big enough place to start a family."
"What about Alice?" Dean asks, remembering the girl who was just running outside.
Jo lights up with a huge smile, doesn't quite catch his confusion. "I think Alice would be a great name for a baby girl. And speaking of making babies, why don't we go take a look at the master bedroom?" She tugs him towards her by his belt, he catches her around the waist, and they trip down the hall fumbling at each other like teenagers.
The bedroom is already furnished. Dean wonders why, but the welcoming bed renders anything but Jo immaterial. She pulls him onto it while they're still shedding layers, fumbling with buttons and clasps. Every caress and kiss sends a shiver of pleasure through him, makes him want her more. She's taunt and flexible, refuses to just lay back and enjoy herself, insists on arching up against him with one hand in his hair and her mouth at his neck. Her breasts rub against his chest and her tongue is doing something amazing, pressing just at his pulse point… But his hands on her skin feel detached and remote. No matter how he tries to focus, every sensation is muted, and all the building desire pushes at him without any release. He rests his forehead on her clavicle with a growl of frustration.
"Shh!" Jo hisses. "My mom is like, right outside that door."
"What?" Dean asks, but at the same time he hears Ellen's voice, mingling with Castiel's and the clink of shot glasses.
"I said, my mom is just down the hall. Didn't you say you were scared of her?" It's meant to be a flip joke at his expense, but Jo can't quite pull it off. Her face is flushed and nervous, framed by faded wallpaper that Dean recognizes from Bobby's house.
Dean lets his eyes slip closed as he crashes into the realization of where -when- they are. "It wasn't your mom I was scared of." He nuzzles into the side of her neck, trying to pull her close enough, trying to breath in enough of the clean smell of her hair. He wants to stay. Instead, his fingers slip into a hot, slick opening where there shouldn't be one, and he can't help but look at the jagged-edged wound in her side, where the hellhound's claw tore into her flesh. A wound meant for him.
When his eyes find her face again, it's chalky grey, scared and young. "I can't move my legs," she says, just like last time. Her eyes are barely focusing on his face as she swallows convulsively. "We have everything we need."
"Jo, no." He hates that he's begging, but the words come out anyways. This isn't everything he needs, not even close.
"This might literally be your last chance," she says. Whichever way he presses his hands to her stomach, the blood just pours through his fingers. That isn't the way it should be. He should be able to rewind, go back, change everything. He should be able to stay with her.
But the smell of stale motel is in his nostrils, and Sam's deep, steady breathing is the only noise in the dark room, and Jo died two weeks ago. Dean crosses his arms over his chest as tightly as he can, presses his face into the starchy pillow. He grits his teeth and waits, because that's all you can do until it passes.
***
A/N: Thanks for reading my fic! It's the first I've posted for mass consumption, so I hope you enjoyed it… Though maybe I owe you an apology for the cliché "it was all just a dream!!" sucker-punch. If so, let me know- I love comments like Dean loves pie ;)