More Little!Dean.
Another entry in the ongoing Under a Haystack alternate ending. Rated PG for one salty word; gen/het. Hope you enjoy! Here are the previous installments:
Eighth Birthday
Ninth Birthday
The snow falls thick and heavy, huge flakes and so many that Sam can barely see five feet in front of him. It’s quiet, magical, only the gentle hiss of wind and the squeak of his boots as he slogs up the hill.
He’s almost second-guessed himself by the time he sees Dean’s vague outline at the crest of the hill. Bright red jacket like a badge: I am here.
“Dean,” Sam calls, voice muffled by the snow. “Hey.”
Dean doesn’t look around. He’s dragging Melanie’s old sled, heading across the hilltop, and he says nothing while Sam pushes himself forward, panting.
“Jesus, Dean,” Sam manages, when he’s caught up to him. “What’s your hurry?”
“Wanna be the first one,” Dean says.
“You forgot your hat.”
Dean makes a face while Sam tugs the woolen watch cap over his ears, and shrugs. “It’s not that cold.”
“Are you kidding, it’s freezing out here. Come on, Mel made hot chocolate.”
“That’s okay,” Dean says quietly. He still hasn’t looked directly at Sam. “I’ll be in later.”
Sam jams his hands into his pockets, biting his lip and then saying, “You mad at me?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie, Dean.”
“I’m not mad!” Dean shouts, and starts trudging forward again.
“Come on. Let’s talk about this.”
“All you ever wanna do,” Dean mutters, barely audible. “Talk.”
Sam goes very still. For a moment he can’t see the boy in front of him, only the man he was and is no longer: tired green eyes, hoarse voice saying, “No chick-flick moments.” It’s been years, and remembering that Dean still feels like a knife thrust in his chest, quick and vicious and painful.
He clears his throat and says, “Come on, buddy. I know you’re pissed. Just - don’t take it out on Mel, okay? Two days ago you really liked her. Remember?”
Dean stops his forward trudge. “I said I’m not mad.”
“Is it because of your birthday? Because we’re going out to -“
“No.”
It’s the loneliest word Sam has heard in a long time, quiet and matter-of-fact, and it stops Sam cold. “Then what?” he breathes. “Dean -“
“You gonna send me away after?”
Sam stares at him, jaw sagging. “Send you away? Where did THAT come from?”
Dean shrugs. It’s not a gesture that fits an almost-ten-year-old boy; it’s another whiff of the old Dean, gruff and distant. The old Dean, growing closer with every passing day. “After you get married. I heard you talking. Mel said she wanted kids. Once you got your own -“
“You think I’d just - dispose of you? Jesus, Dean, I would -“ Sam exhales noisily, shaking his head. “No. Come here.”
Dean gives a token resistance, stiff in Sam’s arms, no help while Sam pulls him across the hill to the gazebo. It’s no warmer there, but solid wood under their feet instead of crunching snow, and Sam puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders and gazes at him. “No one - ever - is going to send you away, Dean,” he says fervently. “Is this what’s been eating you since Friday? It is, isn’t it?”
Dean’s cheeks look chapped with cold, and his eyes are furtive and difficult to read. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, it matters. It sure as hell matters to me. What put this idea in your head?”
“You love her.”
Sam nods slowly. “Yeah, I do. I love you, too, Dean. People don’t just abandon people they love.”
“Dad did.”
It’s hard to get a breath. His chest is tight. “Dean -“
“He didn’t want me.” Dean’s voice is still that too-adult monotone, as indifferent as if he were reporting news from another planet. He looks past Sam, eyes blank. “Now you got Melanie.”
“Dad -“ Sam swallows. “Dad knew,” he says carefully, “that he wasn’t abandoning you.” Oh Jesus, like walking through a minefield. “He knew that I was here, Dean. He knew there was someone who loved you just as much as he did, to take care of you. He would never have just - walked away.” He hopes, oh he hopes that’s right. It has to be right. For Dean’s sake it has to be.
“Okay.” It’s meaningless, as empty as anything Sam has ever heard, and it feels like claws ripping the skin off his back.
He sits down hard, butt on the freezing-cold planks, and pulls Dean with him, clutching him until Dean has no choice but to sprawl in his lap. “Never think,” Sam says thickly, “that I would let anything happen to you. NEVER. You got that? You are the most important person in the world to me.”
He can’t see Dean’s face, but he feels the stiffness in Dean’s body, the tension. “But you’re gonna marry HER.”
“Yeah, I am. But just because I love her doesn’t mean I stopped loving you, man. Never.”
Dean doesn’t say anything. Under Sam’s anxious arms the tension slowly eases, enough that Sam nods against Dean’s wooly cap and whispers, “People can love more than one person, honey. You love some other people, right? Not just me?”
“Not like you,” Dean says against Sam’s chest.
Sam nods. “But you got a big heart, Dean. There’s room in there for more than just one person. And just because Mel and I are getting married doesn’t mean there’s no room for you in mine. I swear. There’s a room in there just for you, and you know something?”
A long pause, and Dean mumbles, “What?”
“It’s a really, really big room. Your room. Huge.”
Dean doesn’t say anything, but after a moment he sighs quietly. “He’s an asshole,” he whispers.
“Who?”
“Dad.”
“Dean, Dad loves you. He’s -- He had some tough choices to make, but he knew that I’d be here. He trusted me.”
In a small voice Dean says, “I hate him.”
Sam closes his eyes. He doesn’t know how to deal with the changes that have started the past few months, the awkward shifts from boyhood to - not manhood, not anytime soon, but something in between, something he’s starting to very much fear is puberty. Handling Dean is like trying to juggle a handful of cactuses. “Hate’s a really strong word. Sometimes when I was growing up I thought I hated him, too.”
“I wish I were big again.”
“Dean. Come on.”
It’s so quiet, he can hear the crunching before he sees Melanie’s bright lime-green coat, her hair hidden beneath that stupid striped hat. “Sam?”
Dean goes tense against him, and Sam lifts his head. “Over here.”
Dean pushes away, scrambling to his feet, and Sam tries not to feel it like rejection. Mel shades her eyes as she squints in the snow glare. Her boots squeak on the gazebo steps. “Thought you guys might be out here.” She smiles at Dean first; it makes Sam’s chest feel tight all over again, with love and relief and some kind of inarticulate fear he’s afraid to examine too closely. “You go sledding?”
Dean busies himself with the sled. “Not yet.”
“I see.” Her eyes are careful, looking at Sam. “Want some company?”
“Dean -“ Sam starts.
But he’s already clomping down the steps, slowing when he sinks in the snow and then pushing forward, headed back up the hill. Sam lets his breath out in a sigh, watches the plume of vapor while Mel walks over and leans against him.
“Did I interrupt something?”
Still watching Dean’s retreating figure, Sam wraps an arm over her shoulders, pulling her closer. “It’s kind of an adjustment for him,” he says quietly. “He’ll be okay. Just gotta give him some time.”
“Sam, we can put off the wedding. Dean -- I know how much he means to you.”
Do you? he wants to ask. Do you really understand? I don’t think you do. I don’t think I want you to.
“No. It’s months away. He’ll be all right.” He manufactures a smile. “Man, it’s freezing out here. Come on, let’s go back.”
Her hand catches his wrist, and he meets her steady gaze reluctantly. “I love him too, you know,” she says levelly. “He’s a great kid.”
Sam swallows and nods. “I know you do.”
“Should I talk to him?”
“Nah. Just - give him some time.”
She watches him carefully, and after a moment she nods. “There’s hot chocolate.”
“Sounds great.”
She laughs when he stumbles in the snow, and the sound is so sweet he has to laugh, too. And on the hill Dean gives a startled cry of delight, zooming belly-down on the sled, and for a moment Sam feels nothing but joy.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Eighth Birthday
Ninth Birthday
The snow falls thick and heavy, huge flakes and so many that Sam can barely see five feet in front of him. It’s quiet, magical, only the gentle hiss of wind and the squeak of his boots as he slogs up the hill.
He’s almost second-guessed himself by the time he sees Dean’s vague outline at the crest of the hill. Bright red jacket like a badge: I am here.
“Dean,” Sam calls, voice muffled by the snow. “Hey.”
Dean doesn’t look around. He’s dragging Melanie’s old sled, heading across the hilltop, and he says nothing while Sam pushes himself forward, panting.
“Jesus, Dean,” Sam manages, when he’s caught up to him. “What’s your hurry?”
“Wanna be the first one,” Dean says.
“You forgot your hat.”
Dean makes a face while Sam tugs the woolen watch cap over his ears, and shrugs. “It’s not that cold.”
“Are you kidding, it’s freezing out here. Come on, Mel made hot chocolate.”
“That’s okay,” Dean says quietly. He still hasn’t looked directly at Sam. “I’ll be in later.”
Sam jams his hands into his pockets, biting his lip and then saying, “You mad at me?”
“No.”
“Don’t lie, Dean.”
“I’m not mad!” Dean shouts, and starts trudging forward again.
“Come on. Let’s talk about this.”
“All you ever wanna do,” Dean mutters, barely audible. “Talk.”
Sam goes very still. For a moment he can’t see the boy in front of him, only the man he was and is no longer: tired green eyes, hoarse voice saying, “No chick-flick moments.” It’s been years, and remembering that Dean still feels like a knife thrust in his chest, quick and vicious and painful.
He clears his throat and says, “Come on, buddy. I know you’re pissed. Just - don’t take it out on Mel, okay? Two days ago you really liked her. Remember?”
Dean stops his forward trudge. “I said I’m not mad.”
“Is it because of your birthday? Because we’re going out to -“
“No.”
It’s the loneliest word Sam has heard in a long time, quiet and matter-of-fact, and it stops Sam cold. “Then what?” he breathes. “Dean -“
“You gonna send me away after?”
Sam stares at him, jaw sagging. “Send you away? Where did THAT come from?”
Dean shrugs. It’s not a gesture that fits an almost-ten-year-old boy; it’s another whiff of the old Dean, gruff and distant. The old Dean, growing closer with every passing day. “After you get married. I heard you talking. Mel said she wanted kids. Once you got your own -“
“You think I’d just - dispose of you? Jesus, Dean, I would -“ Sam exhales noisily, shaking his head. “No. Come here.”
Dean gives a token resistance, stiff in Sam’s arms, no help while Sam pulls him across the hill to the gazebo. It’s no warmer there, but solid wood under their feet instead of crunching snow, and Sam puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders and gazes at him. “No one - ever - is going to send you away, Dean,” he says fervently. “Is this what’s been eating you since Friday? It is, isn’t it?”
Dean’s cheeks look chapped with cold, and his eyes are furtive and difficult to read. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, it matters. It sure as hell matters to me. What put this idea in your head?”
“You love her.”
Sam nods slowly. “Yeah, I do. I love you, too, Dean. People don’t just abandon people they love.”
“Dad did.”
It’s hard to get a breath. His chest is tight. “Dean -“
“He didn’t want me.” Dean’s voice is still that too-adult monotone, as indifferent as if he were reporting news from another planet. He looks past Sam, eyes blank. “Now you got Melanie.”
“Dad -“ Sam swallows. “Dad knew,” he says carefully, “that he wasn’t abandoning you.” Oh Jesus, like walking through a minefield. “He knew that I was here, Dean. He knew there was someone who loved you just as much as he did, to take care of you. He would never have just - walked away.” He hopes, oh he hopes that’s right. It has to be right. For Dean’s sake it has to be.
“Okay.” It’s meaningless, as empty as anything Sam has ever heard, and it feels like claws ripping the skin off his back.
He sits down hard, butt on the freezing-cold planks, and pulls Dean with him, clutching him until Dean has no choice but to sprawl in his lap. “Never think,” Sam says thickly, “that I would let anything happen to you. NEVER. You got that? You are the most important person in the world to me.”
He can’t see Dean’s face, but he feels the stiffness in Dean’s body, the tension. “But you’re gonna marry HER.”
“Yeah, I am. But just because I love her doesn’t mean I stopped loving you, man. Never.”
Dean doesn’t say anything. Under Sam’s anxious arms the tension slowly eases, enough that Sam nods against Dean’s wooly cap and whispers, “People can love more than one person, honey. You love some other people, right? Not just me?”
“Not like you,” Dean says against Sam’s chest.
Sam nods. “But you got a big heart, Dean. There’s room in there for more than just one person. And just because Mel and I are getting married doesn’t mean there’s no room for you in mine. I swear. There’s a room in there just for you, and you know something?”
A long pause, and Dean mumbles, “What?”
“It’s a really, really big room. Your room. Huge.”
Dean doesn’t say anything, but after a moment he sighs quietly. “He’s an asshole,” he whispers.
“Who?”
“Dad.”
“Dean, Dad loves you. He’s -- He had some tough choices to make, but he knew that I’d be here. He trusted me.”
In a small voice Dean says, “I hate him.”
Sam closes his eyes. He doesn’t know how to deal with the changes that have started the past few months, the awkward shifts from boyhood to - not manhood, not anytime soon, but something in between, something he’s starting to very much fear is puberty. Handling Dean is like trying to juggle a handful of cactuses. “Hate’s a really strong word. Sometimes when I was growing up I thought I hated him, too.”
“I wish I were big again.”
“Dean. Come on.”
It’s so quiet, he can hear the crunching before he sees Melanie’s bright lime-green coat, her hair hidden beneath that stupid striped hat. “Sam?”
Dean goes tense against him, and Sam lifts his head. “Over here.”
Dean pushes away, scrambling to his feet, and Sam tries not to feel it like rejection. Mel shades her eyes as she squints in the snow glare. Her boots squeak on the gazebo steps. “Thought you guys might be out here.” She smiles at Dean first; it makes Sam’s chest feel tight all over again, with love and relief and some kind of inarticulate fear he’s afraid to examine too closely. “You go sledding?”
Dean busies himself with the sled. “Not yet.”
“I see.” Her eyes are careful, looking at Sam. “Want some company?”
“Dean -“ Sam starts.
But he’s already clomping down the steps, slowing when he sinks in the snow and then pushing forward, headed back up the hill. Sam lets his breath out in a sigh, watches the plume of vapor while Mel walks over and leans against him.
“Did I interrupt something?”
Still watching Dean’s retreating figure, Sam wraps an arm over her shoulders, pulling her closer. “It’s kind of an adjustment for him,” he says quietly. “He’ll be okay. Just gotta give him some time.”
“Sam, we can put off the wedding. Dean -- I know how much he means to you.”
Do you? he wants to ask. Do you really understand? I don’t think you do. I don’t think I want you to.
“No. It’s months away. He’ll be all right.” He manufactures a smile. “Man, it’s freezing out here. Come on, let’s go back.”
Her hand catches his wrist, and he meets her steady gaze reluctantly. “I love him too, you know,” she says levelly. “He’s a great kid.”
Sam swallows and nods. “I know you do.”
“Should I talk to him?”
“Nah. Just - give him some time.”
She watches him carefully, and after a moment she nods. “There’s hot chocolate.”
“Sounds great.”
She laughs when he stumbles in the snow, and the sound is so sweet he has to laugh, too. And on the hill Dean gives a startled cry of delight, zooming belly-down on the sled, and for a moment Sam feels nothing but joy.
~~~~~~~~~~~