[JP] Cryptic
[Set in wayward_au. Dean = jstliketherifle, Alec = smart_alec494. Related to things that haven’t quite happened yet.]
Dean Winchester was a pacer. He had so much nervous energy at the moment that he was practically shaking with it as he watched from the observation room above the OR. House knew this was a normal paternal response to a very difficult situation. Usually they didn’t allow parents to sit in the observation area for things this serious for good reason-although, Dean seemed to be handling it rather well-but House was making an exception here. Alec was a special case, and they needed to have Dean close by in case he started panicking. A panicky genetically enhanced kid with his chest wide open wasn’t a good scenario, by any means. But that didn’t make the waiting any easier, and it led to Dean pacing slightly, not far enough where he would have to take his eyes from the doctors working below him, but enough so that he was at least doing something.
“This isn’t going to work,” he said after a minute, coming to a frustrated rest next to the window. “I’m not close enough-if he panics-”
“There’s a loud speaker next to the monitors,” House replied. He was sitting on the seats towards the back end of the room, half of his attention on the screens that were showing the surgery as they went-the injuries had been worse than House had thought, and he was amazed that Alec had been standing for as long as he had, even with the adrenaline, and his extra bonus features. “Hit the button, and he’ll be able to hear your voice. This isn’t like the surgery on his hands-there’s a lot more risk on this one.”
Dean seemed to take that for a moment, and House watched as he turned his eyes back to the window, Jinx coming to rest next to him and leaning into the man’s legs. Not hard-a dog of that weight would probably topple Dean with the force-but enough to let him know that he was there, and that Dean had some support. He didn’t move, just watched and waited, probably silently hoping that Chase had actually listened to what House had said about anesthesia, and that Alec wouldn’t have a violent awakening in the middle of the surgery. But that wasn’t the problem. Dean’s obvious paternal instincts were not the matter up for debate at this moment in time.
It was the fact that he was actually here.
He’d seen the look in Alec’s eyes when his father was mentioned the last time he was here. He knew that look-the ‘my father is dead’ look. He’d seen it in Chase’s eyes, and it looked the same whether the father was estranged, or, in Alec’s case, the father cared more than he had liberty to say. There was no doubt that Dean had been the one he’d been referring to in this situation. Just looking at the two of them, you could tell that they were father and son, and it was obvious in every move that Dean made that this was someone he would give the world for if he could. But the fact that Dean was standing there was completely impossible because Dean was supposed to be dead. It was a paradox that House was having trouble wrapping his mind around, so he resorted to just watching the man as he moved, until finally working up the nerve to actually say something about it.
“You look pretty healthy for a dead guy.”
Dean blinked for a minute, before turning back to House with a very confused look. “What?”
“Two months ago, you were dead and suddenly you’re back to life again?” House raised a skeptical eyebrow in the other man’s direction. “You should be entering a pretty messy stage of decomp in some hole in the ground somewhere, and yet-hear you are, healthy as a horse and watching some doctor put your kid back together. Something doesn’t track, so either you aren’t who you say you are, or you lied to him.”
“Do you really think that now is the time for this?”
“I think now is the perfect time,” House said, watching Dean’s face carefully for any sign of something he could use, something that would tell him whether or not he was right or wrong. It was harder than it looked, because the guy was good, he’d give him that, but there was always subtle little tells that gave away what he wanted to know. “Do you have anywhere else to be while your son is in surgery for God knows how long?”
Dean’s jaw clenched slightly, before he responded. “You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re obviously a zombie. But since we’re stuck with each other while the kid you refer to as your son is being cut open, you might as well indulge me.”
“I don’t just refer to him as my son. He is my son.”
“Biologically speaking, yes, there’s no denying that, but whether or not Alec would call you his father-that I’m not so sure I buy yet.”
Dean turned to the other man, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he went on the defensive. There was something he was hiding, but House couldn’t quite put his finger on what yet, and he had a feeling that was going to take some time. “And why is that so hard to believe? We’re biologically related-why wouldn’t he call me his father?”
“Blood does not a father make-at least not to someone who’s been raised the way Alec was.” House started bouncing his cane against the floor lightly. “Kids like Alec-blood doesn’t mean jack to them. You could say that you’re his blood father, and he’d acknowledge the fact, but he’d follow that up by asking where you were when he was learning to fire a high powered rifle at the age of six. For him to actually call you ‘Dad’, you’d have to make a pretty big impression on him-making him really feel like you were serious about being his parent. He had a man like that in his life-and that man was dead and gone when Alec and I met two months ago.”
Dean leaned back against the window, raising a skeptical eyebrow in the other man’s direction. “Alec said that his father was dead?”
“No,” House admitted. “Not in so many words.”
“My brother say something then? Or Ruby?”
“No. They were too busy playing Sick Boy and Naughty Nurse.”
Dean rolled his eyes before responding. “So how did you reach this conclusion that his father was taking a dirt nap?”
House paused for a moment before responding, knowing how crazy it was going to sound to someone with Dean’s apparent logic. “He had a look.”
The other man almost laughed. “You assumed that he was dead because of a look?”
“You’d be surprised what you can learn from a look.”
“So, what, the subject of fathers came up and he got a sad look on his face? That could have meant anything! We could have had a fight, I could have been held up at a job he didn’t agree with.”
“It wasn’t that kind of look.” House sighed slightly, frustrated. “Look, if there had been a fight or about a job, there would have been just disappointment, regret, anger-something, whatever it was. This was mostly grief with a twinge of everything else. A person gets a different kind of look when they’re dealing with someone important to them who died.”
“That’s still not proof.”
“You want proof? Fine. He always referred to his father in the past tense. As if what that person was doing for them wasn’t still happening. He never spoke of him currently, every time the subject came up he avoided it and moved on to something else.”
“That’s still not-”
“The sixty-seven Chevy Impala. The one sitting in the parking lot.”
Dean blinked for a second, confused at what he thought was a sudden change of subject, and he shook his head for a minute before looking back at House again. “What about it?”
“Who’s car is it?”
“It’s mine,” Dean said, straightening slightly.
“So you got it as a gift, then? You certainly don’t look old enough to have been around in sixty-seven.”
“Yeah, I did,” Dean replied, crossing his arms in front of his chest tightly. “From my father when I turned sixteen-what does it matter?”
“It obviously means something to you.”
“Yeah,” Dean said slowly. “She’s my baby.”
“So it’s not the kind of car you’d just give to someone after you’ve fought with them, or you would leave with someone else while you had to go on a job, or generally would let someone else drive without you if you were still living.”
Dean started to say something in response to that, before his eyes dropped down and to the side. House watched him carefully, forcing him to choose his words carefully because Dean had to know at this point that everything he said was going to be analyzed. He looked up, meeting the man’s stare for a moment before responding.
“So what? What does it matter if he thought I was dead or not? How does that change anything?”
“It changes things because you abandoned him. It changes things because regardless of that abandonment, he still trusts you, which makes me think that either you’re a bigger king of bullshit than the guy who actually got the government to give them the go ahead to have him built, or that you have a damn good story that you’re not sharing with the class.” House looked over at Dean, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “So are you going to share, or are you going to bullshit at me some more?”
Dean’s jaw set again and he turned away from him, looking back out the window again. “I don’t have to justify myself to you.”
“You’re right. You don’t.” House smirked slightly as he watched. “I’m just curious as hell as to how you justified yourself to him.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“And yet I seem to find these things out anyway.”
“Go to hell.”
House just snorted, considering the subject dropped. “If I had a nickel for every time someone told me that-”
1739 words
Dean Winchester was a pacer. He had so much nervous energy at the moment that he was practically shaking with it as he watched from the observation room above the OR. House knew this was a normal paternal response to a very difficult situation. Usually they didn’t allow parents to sit in the observation area for things this serious for good reason-although, Dean seemed to be handling it rather well-but House was making an exception here. Alec was a special case, and they needed to have Dean close by in case he started panicking. A panicky genetically enhanced kid with his chest wide open wasn’t a good scenario, by any means. But that didn’t make the waiting any easier, and it led to Dean pacing slightly, not far enough where he would have to take his eyes from the doctors working below him, but enough so that he was at least doing something.
“This isn’t going to work,” he said after a minute, coming to a frustrated rest next to the window. “I’m not close enough-if he panics-”
“There’s a loud speaker next to the monitors,” House replied. He was sitting on the seats towards the back end of the room, half of his attention on the screens that were showing the surgery as they went-the injuries had been worse than House had thought, and he was amazed that Alec had been standing for as long as he had, even with the adrenaline, and his extra bonus features. “Hit the button, and he’ll be able to hear your voice. This isn’t like the surgery on his hands-there’s a lot more risk on this one.”
Dean seemed to take that for a moment, and House watched as he turned his eyes back to the window, Jinx coming to rest next to him and leaning into the man’s legs. Not hard-a dog of that weight would probably topple Dean with the force-but enough to let him know that he was there, and that Dean had some support. He didn’t move, just watched and waited, probably silently hoping that Chase had actually listened to what House had said about anesthesia, and that Alec wouldn’t have a violent awakening in the middle of the surgery. But that wasn’t the problem. Dean’s obvious paternal instincts were not the matter up for debate at this moment in time.
It was the fact that he was actually here.
He’d seen the look in Alec’s eyes when his father was mentioned the last time he was here. He knew that look-the ‘my father is dead’ look. He’d seen it in Chase’s eyes, and it looked the same whether the father was estranged, or, in Alec’s case, the father cared more than he had liberty to say. There was no doubt that Dean had been the one he’d been referring to in this situation. Just looking at the two of them, you could tell that they were father and son, and it was obvious in every move that Dean made that this was someone he would give the world for if he could. But the fact that Dean was standing there was completely impossible because Dean was supposed to be dead. It was a paradox that House was having trouble wrapping his mind around, so he resorted to just watching the man as he moved, until finally working up the nerve to actually say something about it.
“You look pretty healthy for a dead guy.”
Dean blinked for a minute, before turning back to House with a very confused look. “What?”
“Two months ago, you were dead and suddenly you’re back to life again?” House raised a skeptical eyebrow in the other man’s direction. “You should be entering a pretty messy stage of decomp in some hole in the ground somewhere, and yet-hear you are, healthy as a horse and watching some doctor put your kid back together. Something doesn’t track, so either you aren’t who you say you are, or you lied to him.”
“Do you really think that now is the time for this?”
“I think now is the perfect time,” House said, watching Dean’s face carefully for any sign of something he could use, something that would tell him whether or not he was right or wrong. It was harder than it looked, because the guy was good, he’d give him that, but there was always subtle little tells that gave away what he wanted to know. “Do you have anywhere else to be while your son is in surgery for God knows how long?”
Dean’s jaw clenched slightly, before he responded. “You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re obviously a zombie. But since we’re stuck with each other while the kid you refer to as your son is being cut open, you might as well indulge me.”
“I don’t just refer to him as my son. He is my son.”
“Biologically speaking, yes, there’s no denying that, but whether or not Alec would call you his father-that I’m not so sure I buy yet.”
Dean turned to the other man, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he went on the defensive. There was something he was hiding, but House couldn’t quite put his finger on what yet, and he had a feeling that was going to take some time. “And why is that so hard to believe? We’re biologically related-why wouldn’t he call me his father?”
“Blood does not a father make-at least not to someone who’s been raised the way Alec was.” House started bouncing his cane against the floor lightly. “Kids like Alec-blood doesn’t mean jack to them. You could say that you’re his blood father, and he’d acknowledge the fact, but he’d follow that up by asking where you were when he was learning to fire a high powered rifle at the age of six. For him to actually call you ‘Dad’, you’d have to make a pretty big impression on him-making him really feel like you were serious about being his parent. He had a man like that in his life-and that man was dead and gone when Alec and I met two months ago.”
Dean leaned back against the window, raising a skeptical eyebrow in the other man’s direction. “Alec said that his father was dead?”
“No,” House admitted. “Not in so many words.”
“My brother say something then? Or Ruby?”
“No. They were too busy playing Sick Boy and Naughty Nurse.”
Dean rolled his eyes before responding. “So how did you reach this conclusion that his father was taking a dirt nap?”
House paused for a moment before responding, knowing how crazy it was going to sound to someone with Dean’s apparent logic. “He had a look.”
The other man almost laughed. “You assumed that he was dead because of a look?”
“You’d be surprised what you can learn from a look.”
“So, what, the subject of fathers came up and he got a sad look on his face? That could have meant anything! We could have had a fight, I could have been held up at a job he didn’t agree with.”
“It wasn’t that kind of look.” House sighed slightly, frustrated. “Look, if there had been a fight or about a job, there would have been just disappointment, regret, anger-something, whatever it was. This was mostly grief with a twinge of everything else. A person gets a different kind of look when they’re dealing with someone important to them who died.”
“That’s still not proof.”
“You want proof? Fine. He always referred to his father in the past tense. As if what that person was doing for them wasn’t still happening. He never spoke of him currently, every time the subject came up he avoided it and moved on to something else.”
“That’s still not-”
“The sixty-seven Chevy Impala. The one sitting in the parking lot.”
Dean blinked for a second, confused at what he thought was a sudden change of subject, and he shook his head for a minute before looking back at House again. “What about it?”
“Who’s car is it?”
“It’s mine,” Dean said, straightening slightly.
“So you got it as a gift, then? You certainly don’t look old enough to have been around in sixty-seven.”
“Yeah, I did,” Dean replied, crossing his arms in front of his chest tightly. “From my father when I turned sixteen-what does it matter?”
“It obviously means something to you.”
“Yeah,” Dean said slowly. “She’s my baby.”
“So it’s not the kind of car you’d just give to someone after you’ve fought with them, or you would leave with someone else while you had to go on a job, or generally would let someone else drive without you if you were still living.”
Dean started to say something in response to that, before his eyes dropped down and to the side. House watched him carefully, forcing him to choose his words carefully because Dean had to know at this point that everything he said was going to be analyzed. He looked up, meeting the man’s stare for a moment before responding.
“So what? What does it matter if he thought I was dead or not? How does that change anything?”
“It changes things because you abandoned him. It changes things because regardless of that abandonment, he still trusts you, which makes me think that either you’re a bigger king of bullshit than the guy who actually got the government to give them the go ahead to have him built, or that you have a damn good story that you’re not sharing with the class.” House looked over at Dean, leaning back in the chair and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “So are you going to share, or are you going to bullshit at me some more?”
Dean’s jaw set again and he turned away from him, looking back out the window again. “I don’t have to justify myself to you.”
“You’re right. You don’t.” House smirked slightly as he watched. “I’m just curious as hell as to how you justified yourself to him.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“And yet I seem to find these things out anyway.”
“Go to hell.”
House just snorted, considering the subject dropped. “If I had a nickel for every time someone told me that-”
1739 words