In Any Other World 2/?
Rating: PG for now
Summary: AU. What if monsters didn't exist? What if there were only human monsters? This is a story about two sons who take two different paths to rise up from tragedy. This is a story of losing yourself and finding each other. This is the story of the Winchester boys and the events in their lives that shaped them.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchester, just an unhealthy obsession...
A/N: I obviously suck at posting when I say I'm going to post since it's been a couple of months since I said I would write this. I'm a slacker no excuses. I have had more time to write lately and I've found it relaxing to write some and drink a margarita...sue me ;) <-That was my veiled excuse for any mistakes....I write drunk and don't edit sober...
1989
Five year old Sam sat in the lumpy arm chair watching ThuderCats. Daddy had told him to sit down and be quiet while he and Dean, who was much bigger and stronger at nine years old, unloaded their bags from the Impala. The Winchesters were in Fitchburg, Wisconsin- although Sam didn’t know why. He heard Daddy say something to Dean about ‘getting a lead’, but Sam didn’t know what that meant either…..
After the elder Winchesters finished bringing their bags in, John walked over to where Sam sat curled up in his chair.
“You be good and listen to your brother.” His dad said as he leaned down and brushed a kiss to Sam’s dark curls.
Sam nodded as he watched his Daddy walk to the door again, Dean following along close on his heels.
“Watch out for your brother.”
“Yes sir.”
Short and sweet with no questions- just how John had trained his boy to be. He squeezed Dean’s shoulder and then moved his hand to tip up his son’s chin, forcing Dean’s light green eyes to meet his own dark ones. John nodded seeing the resolve and strength he needed to see looking back at him- he quickly kissed his eldest on the head and swept out the door.
Dean stood and stared at the closed door for several long minutes. Sam sat on his knees in the chair watching his brother’s back. Dean’s thin shoulders slumped as he heaved a sigh before moving forward to lock both the deadbolt and the chain lock on the door.
Sam peeped at his brother through wide eyes. Sam slumped back in the chair when Dean turned around and went straight into the bathroom- shutting the door behind him. Sam wondered, sitting back forlornly to watch more TV, why their dad always left….
++++++++++
The next night Sam sat at the dining table swinging his chubby legs back and forth as he contemplated Dean’s back where he was cooking something at the stove.
“When's Daddy gonna get back?” Sam asked Dean’s back.
“Tomorrow.” Dean replied curtly.
“When tomorrow?” Sam asked in return.
“I dunno, he usually comes in late though. Now eat your dinner.” Dean said as he poured Spaghetti-O’s into the bowl setting in front of Sam.
Sam pulled a face, “I’m sick of skegeti-ohs.”
Dean growled, “You wanted them!”
“I want lucky charms!” Sam demanded.
“There's no more lucky charms.” Dean snapped, pushing Sam’s bowl of Spaghetti-O’s closer.
“Nuh-uh!” Sam shook his head, “I saw the box!”
“Okay, maybe there is but there's only enough for one bowl and I haven't had any yet.” Dean said, annoyed. Sam looked at Dean, his big blue-green eyes pleading. Dean huffed and grabbed up Sam’s bowl, dumping the contents into the garbage can in with a tomato-ey plop. Dean turned and grabbed the cereal box off the counter before slamming it down on the table in front of Sam.
Sam frowned thoughtfully before sticking his pudgy arm into the box. Sam pulled out the toy and holds it out for Dean.
“Want the prize?”
Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek before sighing, “Thanks, Sammy.”
++++++++++
Three nights later and John Winchester still hadn’t returned for his sons. Sam was curled up in the double bed he and Dean had been sharing while Dean sat and watched Saturday Night Live. It was the episode with Bruce Willis and Neil Young was performing and Dean had been wanting to see it after seeing the previews for it- having gotten a taste for Young’s music from his father and a love for Willis after watching “Die Hard” last year.
Dean was quietly lulling off to sleep when he was rudely pulled back to consciousness by the sound of a key in the lock. There was the sound of scraping metal before John Winchester stumbled into the room.
Dean scrunched his nose up at the smell coming off his dad; it was part coppery blood and part rancid alcohol- almost like rotting potatoes. John tripped over the carpet in front of the door and cursed loudly. Dean rubbed at his tired eyes and looked at his father. He had a bottle covered in a brown paper sack clutched tightly in on hand and a six pack of beer in the other. One of his eyes was bloody and swollen shut.
Dean swallowed loudly to clear his throat, “Daddy?” He asked quietly.
“Whu-sh are you doin’ outta bed?” John growled at his son.
“Nothin’, just watchin some TV….” Dean answered quietly.
John grunted as he ran into the kitchen table. “Fushhhhhhhhhck.” He mumbled as he eased himself into one of the chairs.
Dean quietly got up and shuffled on socked feet to John’s side. “Are you ok, Dad?”
“Bastardssss at…” He paused to let out a quiet belch. “The bar. Beat ‘em fair an’ squares at pool- didn’ like that too muuuuch.” Dean nodded.
“Why were you gone so long? Sam and me didn’t know when you would be back…” Dean trailed off biting his lip.
“Got a lead. Gotta find ‘im make that bastard pay!” John shouted and pounded his fist on the table making Dean jump. Dean heard a quiet sniffling behind him and he glanced at the door of the bedroom to see his brother’s face peeking out at him. Dean motioned with his hand behind his back for Sam to get back in the bed.
“Ok Dad….” Dean replied quietly and sadly as he started backing up towards the bedroom. John continued to mumble to himself as he took another swig from the bottle of liquor in his hand.
Once Dean reached the bedroom he shut the door behind him, blocking out his father’s rambling.
Sam sat in the middle of the bed- his hair a wild mess of dark curls and his eyes were big in his pale face.
“Is Daddy ok, Dean?” Sam asked, his voice wavering a little with tears.
“Yea, Sammy, everything’s OK.” Dean said as he crawled onto the bed beside his brother and
began to stroke his hair. Sam snuggled into his brother’s side and Dean moved his hand down to rub Sam’s back soothingly.
“I’m scared, De…” Sam said, sticking his thumb in his mouth- a nervous gesture Dean and John were trying to break him of.
“It’s ok, I’m here, Sammy….I’m here.” Dean whispered and rested his face on the top of his little brother’s head.
++++++++++
1991
Eight year old Sam sat in another no-name hotel in another no-name city….Hell of a way to spend another Christmas.
He idly flipped through a comic book while he waited for his twelve year old brother to get back from the convenience store. He wanted Dean to come back soon because Sam had some questions. He’d found a newspaper clipping in the trunk of the Impala….an article that talked about the death of Mary Winchester.
Sam wanted to know what happened, the article said she was murdered, but Dean told him she died in a fire that burned down their house when he was still only a baby. He wondered if the article had something to do with them moving all the time- and why their dad would disappear for days on end without telling them where he was going or when he’d come back, just that he was ‘following a lead’.
The door opened and Dean waltzed in, a half-eaten candy bar in his mouth and a plastic bag dangling from one wrist.
“Got you dinner.” Dean said tossing the plastic bag on Sam’s lap after he pulled his own can of soda out on it- graciously leaving his brother’s inside so not only does it get shook up but the heavy can knocks hard onto Sam’s groin. Sam half huffed-half groaned in annoyance.
Dean jumped onto the bed and popped the tab on his soda, taking a long swig before grabbing a car magazine from the night stand.
Sam looked at Dean for a second before joining him on the bed. Dean sent Sam a fleeting look before going back to his magazine.
Dean sat ignoring Sam for several long minutes while Sam contemplated how to ask his brother his questions.
Dean huffed, “What Sam?”
“How did mom die?”
Dean sucked in a harsh breath, “In a fire.” He replied, his voice strangled.
Sam frowned, “How did mom really die, Dean?”
“I don’t know what you mean Sammy.” Dean said, jumping off the bed and flipping the television on to try to drown out his brother. Sam was not dismayed.
“Why do we move so much?”
“Dad’s job.” Dean huffed, turning the television up louder.
“What, exactly, is dad’s job?”
“He’s a mechanic.”
“Uh-huh…” Sam responded skeptically.
Dean turned hard green eyes on his little brother. “What do you want me to say Sam!”
“The truth, Dean!” Sam shouted back.
“Fine!” Dean roared in return. Sam sat back shocked- in all the times he’d irritated his brother, stolen his candy, and whined until Dean said his ears would bleed, Dean had never yelled at Sam. Sam’s eyes began to water and he retreated quickly to his bed, curling up on his side so he was faced away from Dean.
Dean huffed, “Oh Sammy.” Sam felt the bed dip behind him with his brother’s weight. Sam could feel his brother’s warmth on his back, but Dean didn’t touch him.
“Was mom murdered?” Sam whispered.
“Yea,” Dean’s voice cracked with puberty or emotion, he cleared his throat and said it again, stronger. “Yea, Sammy….”
Sam drew in a shuddering breath and nodded.
“Dad travels looking for leads on the bastard who killed her.” Sam ignored Dean’s cursing.
Sam pressed his lips together; the newspaper clipping he read said her killer had been caught…
“He wasn’t caught?” Sam ventured to ask Dean.
Dean heaved a big sigh, “Go to sleep Sam…it’ll be better in the morning.” Dean told him, and Sam thought he’d never heard Dean’s voice sound so sad and tired as it did then.
Sam cried himself to sleep that night. Dean stayed up and watched over him.
Summary: AU. What if monsters didn't exist? What if there were only human monsters? This is a story about two sons who take two different paths to rise up from tragedy. This is a story of losing yourself and finding each other. This is the story of the Winchester boys and the events in their lives that shaped them.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchester, just an unhealthy obsession...
A/N: I obviously suck at posting when I say I'm going to post since it's been a couple of months since I said I would write this. I'm a slacker no excuses. I have had more time to write lately and I've found it relaxing to write some and drink a margarita...sue me ;) <-That was my veiled excuse for any mistakes....I write drunk and don't edit sober...
1989
Five year old Sam sat in the lumpy arm chair watching ThuderCats. Daddy had told him to sit down and be quiet while he and Dean, who was much bigger and stronger at nine years old, unloaded their bags from the Impala. The Winchesters were in Fitchburg, Wisconsin- although Sam didn’t know why. He heard Daddy say something to Dean about ‘getting a lead’, but Sam didn’t know what that meant either…..
After the elder Winchesters finished bringing their bags in, John walked over to where Sam sat curled up in his chair.
“You be good and listen to your brother.” His dad said as he leaned down and brushed a kiss to Sam’s dark curls.
Sam nodded as he watched his Daddy walk to the door again, Dean following along close on his heels.
“Watch out for your brother.”
“Yes sir.”
Short and sweet with no questions- just how John had trained his boy to be. He squeezed Dean’s shoulder and then moved his hand to tip up his son’s chin, forcing Dean’s light green eyes to meet his own dark ones. John nodded seeing the resolve and strength he needed to see looking back at him- he quickly kissed his eldest on the head and swept out the door.
Dean stood and stared at the closed door for several long minutes. Sam sat on his knees in the chair watching his brother’s back. Dean’s thin shoulders slumped as he heaved a sigh before moving forward to lock both the deadbolt and the chain lock on the door.
Sam peeped at his brother through wide eyes. Sam slumped back in the chair when Dean turned around and went straight into the bathroom- shutting the door behind him. Sam wondered, sitting back forlornly to watch more TV, why their dad always left….
++++++++++
The next night Sam sat at the dining table swinging his chubby legs back and forth as he contemplated Dean’s back where he was cooking something at the stove.
“When's Daddy gonna get back?” Sam asked Dean’s back.
“Tomorrow.” Dean replied curtly.
“When tomorrow?” Sam asked in return.
“I dunno, he usually comes in late though. Now eat your dinner.” Dean said as he poured Spaghetti-O’s into the bowl setting in front of Sam.
Sam pulled a face, “I’m sick of skegeti-ohs.”
Dean growled, “You wanted them!”
“I want lucky charms!” Sam demanded.
“There's no more lucky charms.” Dean snapped, pushing Sam’s bowl of Spaghetti-O’s closer.
“Nuh-uh!” Sam shook his head, “I saw the box!”
“Okay, maybe there is but there's only enough for one bowl and I haven't had any yet.” Dean said, annoyed. Sam looked at Dean, his big blue-green eyes pleading. Dean huffed and grabbed up Sam’s bowl, dumping the contents into the garbage can in with a tomato-ey plop. Dean turned and grabbed the cereal box off the counter before slamming it down on the table in front of Sam.
Sam frowned thoughtfully before sticking his pudgy arm into the box. Sam pulled out the toy and holds it out for Dean.
“Want the prize?”
Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek before sighing, “Thanks, Sammy.”
++++++++++
Three nights later and John Winchester still hadn’t returned for his sons. Sam was curled up in the double bed he and Dean had been sharing while Dean sat and watched Saturday Night Live. It was the episode with Bruce Willis and Neil Young was performing and Dean had been wanting to see it after seeing the previews for it- having gotten a taste for Young’s music from his father and a love for Willis after watching “Die Hard” last year.
Dean was quietly lulling off to sleep when he was rudely pulled back to consciousness by the sound of a key in the lock. There was the sound of scraping metal before John Winchester stumbled into the room.
Dean scrunched his nose up at the smell coming off his dad; it was part coppery blood and part rancid alcohol- almost like rotting potatoes. John tripped over the carpet in front of the door and cursed loudly. Dean rubbed at his tired eyes and looked at his father. He had a bottle covered in a brown paper sack clutched tightly in on hand and a six pack of beer in the other. One of his eyes was bloody and swollen shut.
Dean swallowed loudly to clear his throat, “Daddy?” He asked quietly.
“Whu-sh are you doin’ outta bed?” John growled at his son.
“Nothin’, just watchin some TV….” Dean answered quietly.
John grunted as he ran into the kitchen table. “Fushhhhhhhhhck.” He mumbled as he eased himself into one of the chairs.
Dean quietly got up and shuffled on socked feet to John’s side. “Are you ok, Dad?”
“Bastardssss at…” He paused to let out a quiet belch. “The bar. Beat ‘em fair an’ squares at pool- didn’ like that too muuuuch.” Dean nodded.
“Why were you gone so long? Sam and me didn’t know when you would be back…” Dean trailed off biting his lip.
“Got a lead. Gotta find ‘im make that bastard pay!” John shouted and pounded his fist on the table making Dean jump. Dean heard a quiet sniffling behind him and he glanced at the door of the bedroom to see his brother’s face peeking out at him. Dean motioned with his hand behind his back for Sam to get back in the bed.
“Ok Dad….” Dean replied quietly and sadly as he started backing up towards the bedroom. John continued to mumble to himself as he took another swig from the bottle of liquor in his hand.
Once Dean reached the bedroom he shut the door behind him, blocking out his father’s rambling.
Sam sat in the middle of the bed- his hair a wild mess of dark curls and his eyes were big in his pale face.
“Is Daddy ok, Dean?” Sam asked, his voice wavering a little with tears.
“Yea, Sammy, everything’s OK.” Dean said as he crawled onto the bed beside his brother and
began to stroke his hair. Sam snuggled into his brother’s side and Dean moved his hand down to rub Sam’s back soothingly.
“I’m scared, De…” Sam said, sticking his thumb in his mouth- a nervous gesture Dean and John were trying to break him of.
“It’s ok, I’m here, Sammy….I’m here.” Dean whispered and rested his face on the top of his little brother’s head.
++++++++++
1991
Eight year old Sam sat in another no-name hotel in another no-name city….Hell of a way to spend another Christmas.
He idly flipped through a comic book while he waited for his twelve year old brother to get back from the convenience store. He wanted Dean to come back soon because Sam had some questions. He’d found a newspaper clipping in the trunk of the Impala….an article that talked about the death of Mary Winchester.
Sam wanted to know what happened, the article said she was murdered, but Dean told him she died in a fire that burned down their house when he was still only a baby. He wondered if the article had something to do with them moving all the time- and why their dad would disappear for days on end without telling them where he was going or when he’d come back, just that he was ‘following a lead’.
The door opened and Dean waltzed in, a half-eaten candy bar in his mouth and a plastic bag dangling from one wrist.
“Got you dinner.” Dean said tossing the plastic bag on Sam’s lap after he pulled his own can of soda out on it- graciously leaving his brother’s inside so not only does it get shook up but the heavy can knocks hard onto Sam’s groin. Sam half huffed-half groaned in annoyance.
Dean jumped onto the bed and popped the tab on his soda, taking a long swig before grabbing a car magazine from the night stand.
Sam looked at Dean for a second before joining him on the bed. Dean sent Sam a fleeting look before going back to his magazine.
Dean sat ignoring Sam for several long minutes while Sam contemplated how to ask his brother his questions.
Dean huffed, “What Sam?”
“How did mom die?”
Dean sucked in a harsh breath, “In a fire.” He replied, his voice strangled.
Sam frowned, “How did mom really die, Dean?”
“I don’t know what you mean Sammy.” Dean said, jumping off the bed and flipping the television on to try to drown out his brother. Sam was not dismayed.
“Why do we move so much?”
“Dad’s job.” Dean huffed, turning the television up louder.
“What, exactly, is dad’s job?”
“He’s a mechanic.”
“Uh-huh…” Sam responded skeptically.
Dean turned hard green eyes on his little brother. “What do you want me to say Sam!”
“The truth, Dean!” Sam shouted back.
“Fine!” Dean roared in return. Sam sat back shocked- in all the times he’d irritated his brother, stolen his candy, and whined until Dean said his ears would bleed, Dean had never yelled at Sam. Sam’s eyes began to water and he retreated quickly to his bed, curling up on his side so he was faced away from Dean.
Dean huffed, “Oh Sammy.” Sam felt the bed dip behind him with his brother’s weight. Sam could feel his brother’s warmth on his back, but Dean didn’t touch him.
“Was mom murdered?” Sam whispered.
“Yea,” Dean’s voice cracked with puberty or emotion, he cleared his throat and said it again, stronger. “Yea, Sammy….”
Sam drew in a shuddering breath and nodded.
“Dad travels looking for leads on the bastard who killed her.” Sam ignored Dean’s cursing.
Sam pressed his lips together; the newspaper clipping he read said her killer had been caught…
“He wasn’t caught?” Sam ventured to ask Dean.
Dean heaved a big sigh, “Go to sleep Sam…it’ll be better in the morning.” Dean told him, and Sam thought he’d never heard Dean’s voice sound so sad and tired as it did then.
Sam cried himself to sleep that night. Dean stayed up and watched over him.