That's Not What Happened (Dean, PG-13)
TItle: That's Not What Happened (aka I Like My Version Better) 1/1
Words: 2617
Raiting: PG-13 for language. F-bomb dropped a few times.
Genre: General, humor, preseries
Characters: Dean centric with Sam and John
Warnings: Adult language, vague sexual content (very vague)
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my imagination
Author's Note: Dean's 16 for reference sake. I didn't go into detail much. If I did, this thing would be so damn long and I just didn't plan on this. So... enjoy! I hope. Oh, and the ending's lame. LOL Originally posted on November 5, 2009.
Summary: Dean catches a stomach virus and gets a little loose lipped.
He tried not to tremble. If he thought about it hard enough, he could almost succeed. As long as no one else noticed, he could pretend it was all in his imagination because he was not sick or even getting there. Getting sick meant canceling his date with Mary Patterson. Like fuck that was going to happen. He'd been dreaming of shoving his face in her tits all week, among other things, and there was no way in hell he was going to miss that. They weren't staying in this shit town long enough for him to afford a few days of puking. Getting sick also meant staying home and feeling useless. If there was one thing Dean hated more than anything, it was feeling useless.
He blamed it all on that bitch, Jacob Smith. Dean was stuck sitting in front of him in chem. and all the kid did was spread his stupid ass germs all over him the last few days. Now he was out with a stomach bug and Dean wanted to pound him for being so damn generous.
But he refused to admit defeat. So what if it was the middle of September in Georgia and he was freezing his ass off?
The final bell rang and Dean was surprised to find his body had stiffened up on him since the beginning of class. He slowly unfolded himself from the desk and bit back a groan. Where the hell had that invisible pack of bricks on his back come from? He grabbed his book and swiped a hand across his forehead, not at all surprised to find it sweaty. But that was a good thing, right? He should be more worried if he wasn't sweating.
Christ, he felt like shit.
Gravity was doing a number on his legs and he wondered if he looked as pathetic as he felt. If the wide berth everyone was giving him in the halls was anything to go by, he guessed a big fat yahtzee. Whatever. He saw Mary at her locker and knew he had to bite the bullet on this one. There would be other girls. Her friend nodded in his direction and Mary turned, her face scrunching in apprehension. Fuck, maybe he should check himself in the mirror. He was pretty sure he looked fine this morning.
"Hey, Dean. Um, you okay?" It was a stupid question and said in a way that no reply was really needed.
"Yeah, I'm swell." Okay, so that was a little more sarcastic than he meant it to be. "Look, I don't think tonight's such a good idea."
"Yeah, no problem. Some other time." She agreed to that a little too quickly. Dean didn't have time to ponder it much before he felt his stomach start to turn.
"Yeah, some other time." He parroted. He clenched his jaw and hoped he made it outside and away from anyone who could see before he horked.
He was going to kick Jacob Smith's ass.
----------
Dad was late picking him up. Apparently, Sam was late getting out of class. Figured. Sometimes, Dean wished he had his own damn car. Not that it would've mattered today because he was pretty sure driving was out of the question when he could barely keep his head up.
He didn't look up when he walked to the car. Sam was in the front seat looking rather triumphant at having shotgun. If Dean wasn't feeling so shitty, he'd bitch about that. But the backseat was looking mighty inviting at the moment so he ignored his runt brother and his dad's raised eyebrows. John didn't say anything but Sam caught on quick that something was wrong when Dean didn't complain about being forced to take the backseat.
"What's wrong with you?"
He didn't want to answer. He was afraid if he opened his mouth he would spew all over the car. So he kept his lips clamped together and concentrated on breathing. He let his eyes drift shut and stupidly prayed the drive didn't make him feel worse.
"Dad, something's wrong with Dean."
Shut up, Sam. I'm fine. At least he wanted to say that. His stomach rolled dangerously again and he tried to breathe through it; short, harsh breaths in and out his nose.
"Dean, you gonna puke?" No.
"He looks like he's gonna." Shut up, both of you!
Before he realized it, John had pulled the car over and had Dean's door open. He moved so fast John barely had enough time to get out of the way. And then Dean was on his hands and knees, retching miserably on the side of the road.
By the time he was done, his was as white as a sheet and shaky and sweating through his clothes, despite the fact that he felt like he was freezing. He didn't even register his dad's hand on his back.
"You done?" His dad grunted. Wow, totally feeling the warm and fuzzies, dad. And no, thanks, I think I'd like to just die right here.
None of that was said, though, and he ended up nodding an affirmative even though he wasn't so sure. Not that anything was left in his stomach after that.
He was helped to his feet and steadied by his dad when he swayed a little too far forward.
"Easy." Dean really wished it was but his head was swimming and his mouth tasted like shit and he couldn't stop shaking. He felt like a total wuss.
He eased himself back into the backseat and let his head fall back, closing his eyes. His head was pounding by this point like Lars Ulrich was doing a drum solo on his skull. He felt like he went 10 rounds with a fugly and lost.
"You look like crap." Sam told him. Still look better than you.
"Still look better than you." Oh hey, he actually said that one out loud. Go him.
"Buttwipe."
"Ass licker."
"Fart sniffer."
"Shit eater."
"Enough." Dean cracked his eyes open, forgetting they were still in the car. His dad had yet to pull back onto the road and was staring at him. He squirmed under the scrutiny. "How long have you felt like this?"
Like this? The puking and the wanting to die? That was new. But he was pretty sure his dad was asking him how long had he felt sick, in general.
"Noticed it around 5th period. Just a stomach bug. I'm fine." It would've sounded more convincing if he hadn't mumbled it like a drunken pansy. Shit, when did it get so hard to talk?
"You've got a fever."
"M'fine." His body screamed 'liar'. He tried telling it to shut up but that only made it angry. You won't like me when I'm angry. Dean giggled. Wait, that wasn't right. Dean Winchester doesn't giggle. But he did and he had a lazy, stupid smile on his face to boot.
"Is he okay?" Sam's eyes were wide and he looked perturbed. Dean giggled again.
"He's fine." But John didn't sound so sure. "Just need to get him home and cooled down."
Cooled down? Didn't they know he was already cold? He wanted to tell them that but instead he felt himself drift off.
----------
Dean pretended he didn't yelp like a girl when John placed a freezing ice pack on his bare chest, but dammit, it was cold. He'd only gotten his t-shirt off before he was assaulted. He jumped so much the second it made contact that he almost fell off the bed. He heard Sam snort out a huff of laughter and had the brief urge to chuck the ice pack at his head.
"Sit still."
"It's friggin' cold! You couldn't have wrapped it in a towel or something?" At least he was a little more alert now, but all the movement wasn't doing anything for his still queasy stomach.
"Your temps up to 103. It's either this or a cold shower." John said, getting ready to add another ice pack to the mix.
Dean thought about it, he really did. The shower would probably be quicker. Either way, this sucked major ass.
"Shower."
"You sure about that?"
No. "Yeah."
He was down to his boxers and sitting in the middle of the tub before he even realized he'd gotten out of bed. He tried to think of other things; anything to keep his mind off the cold. His body shuddered relentlessly and that was before the water was even turned on.
His vision kept blurring in and out and he wondered if he should tell his dad that. Then the water hit him and he couldn't think about anything anymore.
----------
The next time Dean awoke, it was dark outside. His eyelids felt crusty and heavy and his lips were dryer than the Sahara. The inside of his mouth tasted like something died and he tried not to move his tongue too much. He need to brush his teeth and badly.
"You slept the whole day." Sam's voice broke through the silence like a bullhorn in his ear and he groaned.
"Whole day?" It was barely a whisper and he was surprised to find his voice so hoarse. He tried to clear his throat only to feel a twinge of pain.
"It's Saturday. Night actually."
Dean mumbled and groaned some more.
"Hungry?"
He ignored Sam and stumbled out of bed; almost falling when the sheets tangled up in his feet.
"Dean?"
"Gotta piss." And brush his teeth and wake up and just fucking come back to the living.
Once he flushed, he took a good look at himself in the mirror. Christ, he looked like death. His skin was too gray and he had a bunch of red lines on his neck and face. What the hell? Must've blown some blood vessels throwing up.
He splashed cold water and tried to rub the tiredness away. No such luck but he didn't feel quite as nasty. Teeth brushed, he left the bathroom and almost ran straight into Sam.
"Geez, cling much?"
"Feel better?"
"What? Yeah. I feel fine." Sam didn't look like he believed him.
"You should eat something."
"Are you 12 or 40? Where's dad?"
"Working. He left after your fever broke this morning." At least he waited that long.
"Then we should start getting our shit together."
"What? Dean. Dad doesn't plan on leaving until tomorrow."
"Why? If he's gonna gank that bitch tonight then that means we're leaving when it's finished. Dad said he wanted to be on the road as soon as possible."
Sam just kept shaking his head at him and Dean couldn't figure out what he was missing.
"Dean, you just spent the entire night puking your guts out and Dad almost thought he'd have to take you to the hospital. He said he wanted to make sure you were all right before we hit the road."
Dean stared at him for a moment. He didn't remember puking that much. Hell, he didn't even remember feeling that bad yesterday after they got back. Sam must've seen the confusion on his face because he started to worry his bottom lip.
"Dude, do you even remember last night."
"Of course I do. We got back, I took a cold shower, which sucked, and then I went to bed."
Sam laughed in disbelief and Dean was getting at little annoyed at this point. Apparently, there was a joke here that he wasn't in on.
"What?"
"Dude, you couldn't even get out of the car. Dad had to practically carry you."
"There is no way that happened. You're so full of it."
"Hate to break it to you, bro, but that's the least embarrassing thing that happened."
Dean stared at him, nervous.
"Whatever, Sam, I know what did and did not happen."
"Would you rather ask dad what really happened or spare yourself the humiliation?"
Dean really thought about that. Sam could very well be pulling his leg but the more he thought about the night before, the blurrier it became. He thought he remembered but now it wasn't so sure.
"If you're bullshitting me I swear to God I will make your life worse than hell." Sam rolled his eyes and Dean glowered at him.
So Sam told him what happened from the moment they got home until Dean finally passed out. Half of it wasn't that bad but he'd been pretty delirious, apparently. He'd been ranting about the pros and cons of every weapon imaginable. Dean smirked at that. That probably pleased the hell out of dad. That was about as normal as it got though. At some point he'd gone into more graphic subjects, most of which pertained to sex. He'd gotten so graphic at one point that dad made Sam leave the room. Dean thought that was pretty funny actually. That is until Sam told him some of what he said made even dad's face turn bright red in embarrassment. Dean inwardly cringed. It was one thing to talk about sex with your kid, but he doubted his dad wanted to know what his favorite positions were and why.
God, Sam was right. How the hell was he supposed to look dad in the face after that?
"I think I like my version better."
"Trust me, you're not the only one."
Dean looked at him wearily. "Anything else?"
"You cried like a little girl when dad tried to leave the room." Sam's eyes had a certain glint to them and Dean hoped that he was pulling his leg.
"You sure that wasn't you just not being ready for the birds and the bees?" Sam rolled his eyes and turned to leave the room.
"I'm ordering pizza."
"You did learn something right? Don't ever say I never taught you anything, Sammy!" Dean laughed to try to cover up any residual embarrassment. It wasn't really working and he dropped his face in his hands. Maybe he could sleep through the next, oh, ten years.
----------
When dad came home later that night, Dean steadfastly avoided him unless he was asked a direct question, which wasn't often. His dad asked him if he felt better, he said yeah, and that was the end of it. The situation would've been funny if it wasn't happening to Dean, himself. Sam, the little bitch, snickered at every awkward moment and Dean almost decided to sleep out in the car. He hoped to God that his dad didn't decide to later have a talk with him about it. They all just needed to move on and never mention it ever again.
When they finally were ready to hit the road early Sunday afternoon, Dean was feeling a hell of a lot better. He still felt like dog shit on a hot day but at least the thought of food didn't make him want to hurl anymore. That alone was awesome. He wasn't exactly looking forward to being stuck sitting across from his dad for the next 10 plus hours but he could deflect like the best of them. Turn the radio up and just drown everything else out.
Dean checked his duffel one last time to make sure he didn't forget anything. Hidden underneath a pair of jeans was a brand new box of condoms and Dean gaped it at for a second before realization dawned on him and he shoved back in. He stared at the open bag in horror before his face lit up and he couldn't help it; he laughed. It was a short, hysterical bubble that explode from his throat and ended a few seconds later with a sigh of relief.
Nice talk, dad.
End.
Words: 2617
Raiting: PG-13 for language. F-bomb dropped a few times.
Genre: General, humor, preseries
Characters: Dean centric with Sam and John
Warnings: Adult language, vague sexual content (very vague)
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I own nothing but my imagination
Author's Note: Dean's 16 for reference sake. I didn't go into detail much. If I did, this thing would be so damn long and I just didn't plan on this. So... enjoy! I hope. Oh, and the ending's lame. LOL Originally posted on November 5, 2009.
Summary: Dean catches a stomach virus and gets a little loose lipped.
He tried not to tremble. If he thought about it hard enough, he could almost succeed. As long as no one else noticed, he could pretend it was all in his imagination because he was not sick or even getting there. Getting sick meant canceling his date with Mary Patterson. Like fuck that was going to happen. He'd been dreaming of shoving his face in her tits all week, among other things, and there was no way in hell he was going to miss that. They weren't staying in this shit town long enough for him to afford a few days of puking. Getting sick also meant staying home and feeling useless. If there was one thing Dean hated more than anything, it was feeling useless.
He blamed it all on that bitch, Jacob Smith. Dean was stuck sitting in front of him in chem. and all the kid did was spread his stupid ass germs all over him the last few days. Now he was out with a stomach bug and Dean wanted to pound him for being so damn generous.
But he refused to admit defeat. So what if it was the middle of September in Georgia and he was freezing his ass off?
The final bell rang and Dean was surprised to find his body had stiffened up on him since the beginning of class. He slowly unfolded himself from the desk and bit back a groan. Where the hell had that invisible pack of bricks on his back come from? He grabbed his book and swiped a hand across his forehead, not at all surprised to find it sweaty. But that was a good thing, right? He should be more worried if he wasn't sweating.
Christ, he felt like shit.
Gravity was doing a number on his legs and he wondered if he looked as pathetic as he felt. If the wide berth everyone was giving him in the halls was anything to go by, he guessed a big fat yahtzee. Whatever. He saw Mary at her locker and knew he had to bite the bullet on this one. There would be other girls. Her friend nodded in his direction and Mary turned, her face scrunching in apprehension. Fuck, maybe he should check himself in the mirror. He was pretty sure he looked fine this morning.
"Hey, Dean. Um, you okay?" It was a stupid question and said in a way that no reply was really needed.
"Yeah, I'm swell." Okay, so that was a little more sarcastic than he meant it to be. "Look, I don't think tonight's such a good idea."
"Yeah, no problem. Some other time." She agreed to that a little too quickly. Dean didn't have time to ponder it much before he felt his stomach start to turn.
"Yeah, some other time." He parroted. He clenched his jaw and hoped he made it outside and away from anyone who could see before he horked.
He was going to kick Jacob Smith's ass.
----------
Dad was late picking him up. Apparently, Sam was late getting out of class. Figured. Sometimes, Dean wished he had his own damn car. Not that it would've mattered today because he was pretty sure driving was out of the question when he could barely keep his head up.
He didn't look up when he walked to the car. Sam was in the front seat looking rather triumphant at having shotgun. If Dean wasn't feeling so shitty, he'd bitch about that. But the backseat was looking mighty inviting at the moment so he ignored his runt brother and his dad's raised eyebrows. John didn't say anything but Sam caught on quick that something was wrong when Dean didn't complain about being forced to take the backseat.
"What's wrong with you?"
He didn't want to answer. He was afraid if he opened his mouth he would spew all over the car. So he kept his lips clamped together and concentrated on breathing. He let his eyes drift shut and stupidly prayed the drive didn't make him feel worse.
"Dad, something's wrong with Dean."
Shut up, Sam. I'm fine. At least he wanted to say that. His stomach rolled dangerously again and he tried to breathe through it; short, harsh breaths in and out his nose.
"Dean, you gonna puke?" No.
"He looks like he's gonna." Shut up, both of you!
Before he realized it, John had pulled the car over and had Dean's door open. He moved so fast John barely had enough time to get out of the way. And then Dean was on his hands and knees, retching miserably on the side of the road.
By the time he was done, his was as white as a sheet and shaky and sweating through his clothes, despite the fact that he felt like he was freezing. He didn't even register his dad's hand on his back.
"You done?" His dad grunted. Wow, totally feeling the warm and fuzzies, dad. And no, thanks, I think I'd like to just die right here.
None of that was said, though, and he ended up nodding an affirmative even though he wasn't so sure. Not that anything was left in his stomach after that.
He was helped to his feet and steadied by his dad when he swayed a little too far forward.
"Easy." Dean really wished it was but his head was swimming and his mouth tasted like shit and he couldn't stop shaking. He felt like a total wuss.
He eased himself back into the backseat and let his head fall back, closing his eyes. His head was pounding by this point like Lars Ulrich was doing a drum solo on his skull. He felt like he went 10 rounds with a fugly and lost.
"You look like crap." Sam told him. Still look better than you.
"Still look better than you." Oh hey, he actually said that one out loud. Go him.
"Buttwipe."
"Ass licker."
"Fart sniffer."
"Shit eater."
"Enough." Dean cracked his eyes open, forgetting they were still in the car. His dad had yet to pull back onto the road and was staring at him. He squirmed under the scrutiny. "How long have you felt like this?"
Like this? The puking and the wanting to die? That was new. But he was pretty sure his dad was asking him how long had he felt sick, in general.
"Noticed it around 5th period. Just a stomach bug. I'm fine." It would've sounded more convincing if he hadn't mumbled it like a drunken pansy. Shit, when did it get so hard to talk?
"You've got a fever."
"M'fine." His body screamed 'liar'. He tried telling it to shut up but that only made it angry. You won't like me when I'm angry. Dean giggled. Wait, that wasn't right. Dean Winchester doesn't giggle. But he did and he had a lazy, stupid smile on his face to boot.
"Is he okay?" Sam's eyes were wide and he looked perturbed. Dean giggled again.
"He's fine." But John didn't sound so sure. "Just need to get him home and cooled down."
Cooled down? Didn't they know he was already cold? He wanted to tell them that but instead he felt himself drift off.
----------
Dean pretended he didn't yelp like a girl when John placed a freezing ice pack on his bare chest, but dammit, it was cold. He'd only gotten his t-shirt off before he was assaulted. He jumped so much the second it made contact that he almost fell off the bed. He heard Sam snort out a huff of laughter and had the brief urge to chuck the ice pack at his head.
"Sit still."
"It's friggin' cold! You couldn't have wrapped it in a towel or something?" At least he was a little more alert now, but all the movement wasn't doing anything for his still queasy stomach.
"Your temps up to 103. It's either this or a cold shower." John said, getting ready to add another ice pack to the mix.
Dean thought about it, he really did. The shower would probably be quicker. Either way, this sucked major ass.
"Shower."
"You sure about that?"
No. "Yeah."
He was down to his boxers and sitting in the middle of the tub before he even realized he'd gotten out of bed. He tried to think of other things; anything to keep his mind off the cold. His body shuddered relentlessly and that was before the water was even turned on.
His vision kept blurring in and out and he wondered if he should tell his dad that. Then the water hit him and he couldn't think about anything anymore.
----------
The next time Dean awoke, it was dark outside. His eyelids felt crusty and heavy and his lips were dryer than the Sahara. The inside of his mouth tasted like something died and he tried not to move his tongue too much. He need to brush his teeth and badly.
"You slept the whole day." Sam's voice broke through the silence like a bullhorn in his ear and he groaned.
"Whole day?" It was barely a whisper and he was surprised to find his voice so hoarse. He tried to clear his throat only to feel a twinge of pain.
"It's Saturday. Night actually."
Dean mumbled and groaned some more.
"Hungry?"
He ignored Sam and stumbled out of bed; almost falling when the sheets tangled up in his feet.
"Dean?"
"Gotta piss." And brush his teeth and wake up and just fucking come back to the living.
Once he flushed, he took a good look at himself in the mirror. Christ, he looked like death. His skin was too gray and he had a bunch of red lines on his neck and face. What the hell? Must've blown some blood vessels throwing up.
He splashed cold water and tried to rub the tiredness away. No such luck but he didn't feel quite as nasty. Teeth brushed, he left the bathroom and almost ran straight into Sam.
"Geez, cling much?"
"Feel better?"
"What? Yeah. I feel fine." Sam didn't look like he believed him.
"You should eat something."
"Are you 12 or 40? Where's dad?"
"Working. He left after your fever broke this morning." At least he waited that long.
"Then we should start getting our shit together."
"What? Dean. Dad doesn't plan on leaving until tomorrow."
"Why? If he's gonna gank that bitch tonight then that means we're leaving when it's finished. Dad said he wanted to be on the road as soon as possible."
Sam just kept shaking his head at him and Dean couldn't figure out what he was missing.
"Dean, you just spent the entire night puking your guts out and Dad almost thought he'd have to take you to the hospital. He said he wanted to make sure you were all right before we hit the road."
Dean stared at him for a moment. He didn't remember puking that much. Hell, he didn't even remember feeling that bad yesterday after they got back. Sam must've seen the confusion on his face because he started to worry his bottom lip.
"Dude, do you even remember last night."
"Of course I do. We got back, I took a cold shower, which sucked, and then I went to bed."
Sam laughed in disbelief and Dean was getting at little annoyed at this point. Apparently, there was a joke here that he wasn't in on.
"What?"
"Dude, you couldn't even get out of the car. Dad had to practically carry you."
"There is no way that happened. You're so full of it."
"Hate to break it to you, bro, but that's the least embarrassing thing that happened."
Dean stared at him, nervous.
"Whatever, Sam, I know what did and did not happen."
"Would you rather ask dad what really happened or spare yourself the humiliation?"
Dean really thought about that. Sam could very well be pulling his leg but the more he thought about the night before, the blurrier it became. He thought he remembered but now it wasn't so sure.
"If you're bullshitting me I swear to God I will make your life worse than hell." Sam rolled his eyes and Dean glowered at him.
So Sam told him what happened from the moment they got home until Dean finally passed out. Half of it wasn't that bad but he'd been pretty delirious, apparently. He'd been ranting about the pros and cons of every weapon imaginable. Dean smirked at that. That probably pleased the hell out of dad. That was about as normal as it got though. At some point he'd gone into more graphic subjects, most of which pertained to sex. He'd gotten so graphic at one point that dad made Sam leave the room. Dean thought that was pretty funny actually. That is until Sam told him some of what he said made even dad's face turn bright red in embarrassment. Dean inwardly cringed. It was one thing to talk about sex with your kid, but he doubted his dad wanted to know what his favorite positions were and why.
God, Sam was right. How the hell was he supposed to look dad in the face after that?
"I think I like my version better."
"Trust me, you're not the only one."
Dean looked at him wearily. "Anything else?"
"You cried like a little girl when dad tried to leave the room." Sam's eyes had a certain glint to them and Dean hoped that he was pulling his leg.
"You sure that wasn't you just not being ready for the birds and the bees?" Sam rolled his eyes and turned to leave the room.
"I'm ordering pizza."
"You did learn something right? Don't ever say I never taught you anything, Sammy!" Dean laughed to try to cover up any residual embarrassment. It wasn't really working and he dropped his face in his hands. Maybe he could sleep through the next, oh, ten years.
----------
When dad came home later that night, Dean steadfastly avoided him unless he was asked a direct question, which wasn't often. His dad asked him if he felt better, he said yeah, and that was the end of it. The situation would've been funny if it wasn't happening to Dean, himself. Sam, the little bitch, snickered at every awkward moment and Dean almost decided to sleep out in the car. He hoped to God that his dad didn't decide to later have a talk with him about it. They all just needed to move on and never mention it ever again.
When they finally were ready to hit the road early Sunday afternoon, Dean was feeling a hell of a lot better. He still felt like dog shit on a hot day but at least the thought of food didn't make him want to hurl anymore. That alone was awesome. He wasn't exactly looking forward to being stuck sitting across from his dad for the next 10 plus hours but he could deflect like the best of them. Turn the radio up and just drown everything else out.
Dean checked his duffel one last time to make sure he didn't forget anything. Hidden underneath a pair of jeans was a brand new box of condoms and Dean gaped it at for a second before realization dawned on him and he shoved back in. He stared at the open bag in horror before his face lit up and he couldn't help it; he laughed. It was a short, hysterical bubble that explode from his throat and ended a few seconds later with a sigh of relief.
Nice talk, dad.
End.