Chasin Picket Fences (and there's always hell to pay) Chapter 4/?
Chasin Picket Fences (and there's always hell to pay) Chapter 4/?
Beta: Blazon Paradox
Category: Supernatural Preseries AU, Deancentric
Pairing: Dean/OFC
Characters: Dean Winchester, John Winchester, Bobby Singer, OMCs, OFCs
Rating: PG-13 because there is some cursing
Warning: THIS IS NOT SLASH! This is a het. fic. I know I know. But you'll find no slash here. Also, the first few chapters are sad/depressing. You have been warned.
Disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural, sadly.
Word Count: 1,467
Summary: Dean has been leading a double life for four years: The life of a hunter and one he kept secret from his family. But in less than a month, both lives are torn apart as the walls come crashing down around him and his secret is exposed.
A/N: Sorry for the delay in posting. I’ve been very uninspired as of late. I’ll try to post more quickly in the future.
A/N 2: The section in Italics is, of course, a flashback.
A/N 3: Bold italic is a newspaper clipping.
Chris and Steve were in the kitchen cleaning up the dishes from dinner. Dean and his daughter were laying down in the bedroom upstairs. Bobby was in his den reading, a half empty bottle of scotch beside him on the desk. It had been a trying and horrible day for this little, make-shift family.
Dean stood over the coffin, looking at his wife. The curls of her auburn hair gently framing her face, her once tanned skin pale. She was lying there so peaceful looking in her lavender blouse and dark blue jeans. The couple had always said that it really didn’t matter what outfit they had on for their funeral since they were going to be cremated anyway. Besides, the coffin was only half open so she was only visible from her waist up. The blouse was long enough so that the jeans were not visible, but Dean knew they were there. As he stood there, his eyes raking longingly over her body, an anger began to swell within him. “I just don’t understand,” he said softly. “I told you to get in the panic room. You were tired, you were sick…why the hell didn’t you listen to me? You knew I would have called Bobby. You obviously called the cops if they got there just after him. Why the hell weren’t you in that room? What the fuck was going through your head? You were supposed to protect our children. BOTH of them! You shouldn’t have tried to fight. You were too weak! You told me so when we talked! You couldn’t even keep up with Alex, how the hell did you expect to fend off an intruder?” The hunter did not notice the fact that he was now screaming, his face red, his body shaking with uncontrolled anger. “How could you do this to us!?” He shouted as he lifted a chair and threw it across the room. “How could you leave us like this? How could you!?!”
Dean continued to shout at the body, asking how she could leave him, how she could risk their baby as he threw and smashed the chairs in the room. He was so consumed with his rage he didn’t even notice Bobby enter the room. The old hunter rushed over to the boy and quickly pulled him into his arms. Dean struggled for a moment before the fight vanished and he slumped into the arms of the hunter. The two fell to the floor, each holding the other tightly as Bobby gently rocked the boy he had known his whole life. “Why did she do this Bobby?” Dean asked, his voice hoarse. “I can’t…it hurts so much. It hurts so much,” he whispered as sobs wracked his body. The old man just held him tighter. “I know son. I know. We’ll get through this. I promise.”
When the young hunter had no tears left to cry, he felt empty and exhausted. He could no longer feel his body, nor hear the others entering the room. Chris and Steve stood in the doorway, Alex in between them. She reluctantly released their hands and walked over to her father. “It’s my fault daddy,” she whispered. “Mommy pulled me out of bed and we hurried to the hidden room. She-the door was still open when the bad man came into the room. She picked up a knife and ran out. She said-she said she loved me and to tell you she was sorry but she had to save me. Then the door closed. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” Tears fell quickly from her young eyes. This confession pulled Dean from his stupor and he opened his arms and pulled her onto his lap, holding her tight. “Oh baby. I want you to listen to me Alexandria Lily. What happened was not your fault.”
“But-”
“No. I don’t blame you baby. And you shouldn’t blame yourself. She wouldn’t want that. She saved you. I will always be grateful for that. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you both. I love you so much baby girl.”
“I love-you-too dad-dy,” she hiccupped. Her father pulled a hankerchief from his pocket and gently wiped off her face. He stood up, with Bobby’s help, Alex held tightly in his arms. “I think it’s time to go,” The old hunter suggested softly. Dean nodded and walked swiftly from the room, not looking back once.
When they got back to Bobby’s house, the father and daughter retreated to the bedroom, where they layed together, recovering from their grief and assuring themselves the other was still there. They only moved when it was time for dinner. Alex went downstairs to eat with her uncles and grandfather, but once she was done, returned to her father who had not moved.
The peace of the night was shattered by the loud banging of the door. Bobby put down his book and opened the door. “What the hell is this Singer?” John Winchester demanded, shoving a newspaper at the hunter as he barged into the house. John was so enraged he didn’t even notice the two men standing in the kitchen, or when one of them slunk away up the back stairs.
“What are you on about?” Bobby asked, looking down at the crumpled paper. On Wednesday, September 8, 2001, convicted serial killer Michael Saunders escaped. Saunders was being transferred to a federal, maximum security prison after his sentencing hearing. The van transporting him was sideswiped by a garbage truck, causing it to flip several times before finally landing upside down in a ditch. The guards were wounded badly, while Saunders, having been protected by the seats, avoided serious injury. He easily overpowered the barely conscious guards, stealing their keys to free himself from his shackles. He quickly fled the scene and disappeared. The police were out in force as soon as possible to track the prisoner, but sadly, he was able to claim one final victim before meeting his end in a small, South Dakota town.
Late Wednesday night, he broke into the home of local artist Melissa Winchester. The woman bravely fought back, managing to kill Saunders, but not before she was gravely injured. She was rushed to the hospital where she died soon after. Mrs. Winchester was a gifted artist, who quickly rose through the ranks of the art world in the four short years she was on the scene. She was extremely popular all across the country and was scheduled to have her first European show early next year. This loss is a great tragedy for the art world, as it is for her family. Not only has she left behind magnificent works of art that will be cherished for years to come, but her husband Dean and their beautiful daughter as well. …
‘Well shit,’ the old hunter thought to himself.
“Tell me that doesn’t say what I think it does,” John demanded angrily. “Tell me my son didn’t get married behind my back. Tell me he doesn’t have a kid.”
“I’m afraid he can’t do that dad. It’s all true,” Dean said as he walked into the room.
“How the hell could you have been so careless? Ya know if you could just keep it in your pants none of this would have happened! So who’s the mother? Some waitress you fucked in a diner’s bathroom or was it some slut in an alley behind a bar? How do you know this whore’s kid is even yours?!”
Before anyone could react, Chris had John pinned against the wall, and arm pressing hard across his throat. Chris was a good six inches and hundred pounds smaller then the hunter, but John could not break free of the long haired man’s grip. “Don’t you DARE talk about Melissa like that! And how dare you talk about your son like that you bastard!”
“Who the fuck are you?” John demanded, sneering at the man holding him.
“I’m the big brother Dean never had. And if I hear you insulting him, his wife, or his daughter again, make no mistake, I will shoot you!”
The hunter was too shocked to respond, seeing the cold determination and hatred in Chris’ eyes. Chris only released John when he heard Bobby clear his throat. Bobby motioned his eyes to the stairs, letting Chris know where Dean vanished to. “Dean just lost his wife. Maybe you can remember how that felt; ya know back when you had a heart,” Chris said before he took off after his friend.
Bobby pulled out a bottle of whiskey and sat down heavily at the kitchen table. “We need to talk Johnny. And if you say one word against Dean’s family I’ll shoot you myself.”