5 Conversations Dean Winchester Will Never Have (Supernatural)
Title: 5 Conversations Dean Winchester Will Never Have
Author: Kate (deanscookie)
Rating: PG-13 for language
Category: Gen
Word Count: 1,713
Spoilers: None, AU.
Summary: 5 conversations that Dean Winchester could have had if his mother had never died.
Disclaimer: Kripke owns it all. Lucky bastard.
Notes: The idea from this fic actually stemmed from re-watching Nightshifter, when I was imagining the geeky little sidekick Ron could've become. I had this whole idea of writing a fic about Dean coming to visit him and Ron's become this goofy researcher/comrade to the hunter population. And then, with help from the Never prompt from spn13, I thought I could do other convos Dean would never have. And this was born. Oddly, I never did write that convo with Ron. :) Thanks to papered for being an awesome beta.
"5 CONVERSATIONS DEAN WINCHESTER WILL NEVER HAVE"
"Hey."
Dean stood in the doorway, hands slipped into the pockets of his fancy, black tuxedo as he surveyed the sight before him.
She looked beautiful. Her golden hair was curled, hanging down to the middle of her back and pulled away from her face. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed with excitement. She flashed him a nervous smile as she smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her wedding gown.
"Dean," she said, turning to face him. "What are you doing in here?"
Dean walked forward, stopping a few feet in front of her and continuing to stare. "You look beautiful," he told her softly.
"Thank you." She turned back to her reflection. "But you're really not supposed to be in here!"
The corner of Dean's mouth crooked up into a grin. "Hey, the rule is the groom can't see the bride before the wedding-there's nothing about the best man."
She laughed, shaking her head in exasperation. "You boys."
"Sam wanted me to check on you, make sure you're not too nervous. How are you feeling, Jessica, really?"
Jess met his eyes steadily. "I'm good, Dean. Really, really good." She closed her eyes, a peaceful smile on her face. "I'm ready."
Dean watched her closely for a moment before nodding slowly. "Yeah. You are." He cleared his throat, shifting his weight nervously. "Look, uh, there's something I need to talk to you about."
"Yes?" she asked curiously.
"You see, well, I've always, y'know, taken care of Sammy. Watched out for him and stuff. And he does the same for me," he added hurriedly. "We've always had each other's backs. Been each other's number one, you know?"
Jess nodded; the bond between the two brothers was obvious to everyone, but she knew the true depths of their love better than anyone.
"Anyway," Dean continued gruffly. "Now that he has you, he, uh-well, things will be different now, right? So I need you promise me. Promise me that you'll take care of my little brother."
"Oh, Dean-"
"Don't get all choked up now, Jess. I don't do that kind of thing. Just... promise me?"
She nodded, her eyes shining with tears. "Of course," she whispered. "Of course I will, Dean. I swear."
Dean nodded, his own eyes burning. "Okay. Thank you." His voice was rough with emotion, although he'd never admit it. "I'd better get back to Sammy now."
"Okay." She wiped her eyes carefully.
"See you in a few, sis." Dean winked at her before slipping out the door.
***
"Mom, can I ask you a question?"
Mary Winchester laid down the book she was reading and turned to face her son.
"Sure, Dean. What's up?" She patted the seat next to her and waited while he hesitantly approached and sat down.
"Well... it's this girl."
Mary smiled widely. She'd known this would be coming. Dean was thirteen, and his father's son, so it didn't surprise her that he was interested in the fairer sex.
"Yes, dear?"
"Well... she's really, kind of... cute. You know?"
"Yes, son, I think I know what you're saying."
Dean fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. "But she's also kind of..." He turned and looked his mother full in the face. "She's really mean, Mom."
Mary raised her eyebrows. "Mean?"
"Yeah! She's always hitting me or pinching me or calling me names or making up stupid little rhymes about how stupid I am or something." Dean said all of this in one great rush of breath.
Mary covered her mouth with one hand, beginning to chuckle. "Oh, Dean." She shook her head at him, sympathetic. "That means she likes you."
"What?" Dean looked completely confused.
"When a girl teases a boy like that, it means she actually likes him." Mary explained patiently.
"That's... that's retarded."
Mary laughed again. "Yes," she agreed. "It really is." She glanced at Dean surreptitiously. "Do you like her?"
"What? No!" Dean flushed. "Well... I dunno. I mean, now that I know she doesn't actually hate my guts or anything-" Dean stopped, picking at a loose thread in his jeans. "I dunno."
Mary waited.
Dean looked up at her, eyes wide. "Yeah," he said softly. "I think I do like her."
Mary smiled encouragingly.
"I mean," Dean continued, enthusiasm growing. "Sometimes when I see her I just want to hit her-"
"Dean Winchester, you never, ever hit a girl! You hear me, young man?"
"Oh, I wouldn't actually do it, Mom! Come on!" Dean rolled his eyes. "I just really want to, sometimes. But other times..."
"Yes?" Mary prodded gently.
"I...Ikindawannakissheryouknow?"
Mary bit her lip to keep from laughing again. "You want to kiss her, Dean?"
"Yeah," he replied. He looked up at her. "Is that okay?"
Mary's heart ached with the love she felt for her little boy right then. "Yes, Dean, that's okay. It's completely normal. But you must promise me one thing."
"Yeah?"
"Promise me that no matter how many girls you meet that you want to kiss-"
"Mom. It's not like I want to kiss the entire 8th grade, or something."
"Listen to me. Promise that no matter how many girls there are, you will always treat them with respect."
Dean furrowed his brow. "Respect? Like the way you tell us to respect Nana?"
Mary smoothed Dean's hair. "Not exactly. Ask your father to teach you how to respect a woman. He's very good at it."
Dean wrinkled his nose, disgusted-as always-at the thought of affection between his parents.
"Okay, Mom, I promise."
***
"Here's to you, old man!" Dean tossed the shot of tequila back quickly.
John laughed and did the same, coughing slightly.
"Damn, I feel old now," he said, pounding a fist against his chest. "Can't even drink one damn shot of tequila."
Dean chuckled, pouring them each another shot. "You're just out of practice, that's all. Come on, one more."
John frowned at his son. "Your mother doesn't like me to drink too much, Dean, you know that."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Come on! It's your birthday, live a little!" He raised his glass, wiggling his eyebrows at his father.
John laughed again. "Fine. Just one more."
They tossed the shots back in unison, this time without incident.
"See, what'd I tell ya? Practice." Dean grinned. "C'mon, Dad, one more..."
"No."
"Oh, come on, it's your-"
"Dean. No." But John was laughing and reaching for his glass anyway.
The third shot went down even smoother than the second. John slammed his glass down on the table.
"Goddamn."
"Yup," Dean agreed cheerfully, leaning back in his chair. "So, Dad, sixty-five. How's it feel?"
John considered. "It feels like winning, son."
"Winning at what?" Dean smiled at his father.
"Life, son. I mean, look at me!" John gestured to himself. "I've had a good life. I have an incredible wife who-God only knows why-seems to love me. I have two beautiful boys-"
"Aw, shucks, Dad," Dean waved at his father in mock humility.
"-one who's about to take over my business and another who's about to become a big-shot lawyer!"
"Sorry to destroy your all-American dream there, Daddy-O, but I don't think Sam is gonna be much of a big-shot. You know he's planning to do public defense-even pro bono." Dean rolled his eyes again. Sam was a goddamn genius, but he was gonna waste it all.
"Yeah, I know," John answered, smiling contentedly. "He'll still be a big-shot to me."
"John Winchester, you've turned into a big ol' teddy bear," Dean laughed.
John winked at his eldest son, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Must be the old age getting to me."
***
"That's not what I meant!"
She glared at him, hands on her hips. "Oh, really? What exactly did you mean then, Dean?"
He scowled back, his own hands curled into fists at his sides. "Well, if you'll just calm down for one goddamned second, I'll tell you!"
She sneered and crossed her arms. "Fine, whatever." She looked away, feigning disinterest.
"Sonuvabitch," Dean swore. Then he dropped to his knees quickly, hard enough to bruise.
She raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. "You going to beg for forgiveness, Winchester?"
Dean didn't answer, eyes still blazing, and yanked the small, velvet box out of his jeans.
"Will you marry me?" The words were snarled angrily as he flashed the diamond at her.
Her mouth dropped open in shock. She looked from the ring, to him, and back to the ring. Then she straightened her shoulders, refusing to admit defeat.
"Fine." Her voice was lofty, like it was no big deal.
"Fine," he growled back, rising to his feet.
She held her left hand out with a long-suffering sigh and he slid the ring onto her finger. He stepped back, snapping the box shut again and putting it back into his pocket.
"So..."
"Yeah?" She looked down her nose at him.
Dean grinned suddenly. "Damn, I love you, woman." He pulled her into a tight embrace, kissing her passionately.
He felt her lips curl into a smile against his.
***
"Well? What do you have to say for yourself, young man?"
Dean regarded the boy before him with a stern expression. The boy said nothing, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the ground.
"Answer me, son. Why'd you hit him?"
His son sighed dramatically, raising his eyes to Dean's.
"He called me a fag, Dad. And right in front of Lisa Potter, too. So, I did what I had to do. Sorry."
But he clearly wasn't sorry, and Dean had a hard time keeping his lips from curling up into a grin.
"You shouldn't have done that, son. Especially at school! Violence is never the answer."
"Oh, right. That's not what you said to Uncle Sam last weekend." The snide remark was mumbled.
Dean frowned. "Your Uncle Sammy is an entirely different matter. He needs sense beat into him."
"Uh huh. Right, Dad."
"Besides," Dean continued. "There are other ways of getting back at people."
"Other ways?"
Dean smirked. "You take P.E. with this guy, right?"
"Yeah..."
"Well, then I think it's time I showed you my itching powder collection, son."
A surprised but delighted expression came over his child's face. "Really?"
Dean chuckled. "Really."
The boy lurched forward, wrapping his arms around Dean's waist. "I love you, Dad."
Dean smoothed his son's messy hair. "I love you, too, kid."
FINIS.
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Author: Kate (deanscookie)
Rating: PG-13 for language
Category: Gen
Word Count: 1,713
Spoilers: None, AU.
Summary: 5 conversations that Dean Winchester could have had if his mother had never died.
Disclaimer: Kripke owns it all. Lucky bastard.
Notes: The idea from this fic actually stemmed from re-watching Nightshifter, when I was imagining the geeky little sidekick Ron could've become. I had this whole idea of writing a fic about Dean coming to visit him and Ron's become this goofy researcher/comrade to the hunter population. And then, with help from the Never prompt from spn13, I thought I could do other convos Dean would never have. And this was born. Oddly, I never did write that convo with Ron. :) Thanks to papered for being an awesome beta.
"5 CONVERSATIONS DEAN WINCHESTER WILL NEVER HAVE"
"Hey."
Dean stood in the doorway, hands slipped into the pockets of his fancy, black tuxedo as he surveyed the sight before him.
She looked beautiful. Her golden hair was curled, hanging down to the middle of her back and pulled away from her face. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed with excitement. She flashed him a nervous smile as she smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of her wedding gown.
"Dean," she said, turning to face him. "What are you doing in here?"
Dean walked forward, stopping a few feet in front of her and continuing to stare. "You look beautiful," he told her softly.
"Thank you." She turned back to her reflection. "But you're really not supposed to be in here!"
The corner of Dean's mouth crooked up into a grin. "Hey, the rule is the groom can't see the bride before the wedding-there's nothing about the best man."
She laughed, shaking her head in exasperation. "You boys."
"Sam wanted me to check on you, make sure you're not too nervous. How are you feeling, Jessica, really?"
Jess met his eyes steadily. "I'm good, Dean. Really, really good." She closed her eyes, a peaceful smile on her face. "I'm ready."
Dean watched her closely for a moment before nodding slowly. "Yeah. You are." He cleared his throat, shifting his weight nervously. "Look, uh, there's something I need to talk to you about."
"Yes?" she asked curiously.
"You see, well, I've always, y'know, taken care of Sammy. Watched out for him and stuff. And he does the same for me," he added hurriedly. "We've always had each other's backs. Been each other's number one, you know?"
Jess nodded; the bond between the two brothers was obvious to everyone, but she knew the true depths of their love better than anyone.
"Anyway," Dean continued gruffly. "Now that he has you, he, uh-well, things will be different now, right? So I need you promise me. Promise me that you'll take care of my little brother."
"Oh, Dean-"
"Don't get all choked up now, Jess. I don't do that kind of thing. Just... promise me?"
She nodded, her eyes shining with tears. "Of course," she whispered. "Of course I will, Dean. I swear."
Dean nodded, his own eyes burning. "Okay. Thank you." His voice was rough with emotion, although he'd never admit it. "I'd better get back to Sammy now."
"Okay." She wiped her eyes carefully.
"See you in a few, sis." Dean winked at her before slipping out the door.
***
"Mom, can I ask you a question?"
Mary Winchester laid down the book she was reading and turned to face her son.
"Sure, Dean. What's up?" She patted the seat next to her and waited while he hesitantly approached and sat down.
"Well... it's this girl."
Mary smiled widely. She'd known this would be coming. Dean was thirteen, and his father's son, so it didn't surprise her that he was interested in the fairer sex.
"Yes, dear?"
"Well... she's really, kind of... cute. You know?"
"Yes, son, I think I know what you're saying."
Dean fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. "But she's also kind of..." He turned and looked his mother full in the face. "She's really mean, Mom."
Mary raised her eyebrows. "Mean?"
"Yeah! She's always hitting me or pinching me or calling me names or making up stupid little rhymes about how stupid I am or something." Dean said all of this in one great rush of breath.
Mary covered her mouth with one hand, beginning to chuckle. "Oh, Dean." She shook her head at him, sympathetic. "That means she likes you."
"What?" Dean looked completely confused.
"When a girl teases a boy like that, it means she actually likes him." Mary explained patiently.
"That's... that's retarded."
Mary laughed again. "Yes," she agreed. "It really is." She glanced at Dean surreptitiously. "Do you like her?"
"What? No!" Dean flushed. "Well... I dunno. I mean, now that I know she doesn't actually hate my guts or anything-" Dean stopped, picking at a loose thread in his jeans. "I dunno."
Mary waited.
Dean looked up at her, eyes wide. "Yeah," he said softly. "I think I do like her."
Mary smiled encouragingly.
"I mean," Dean continued, enthusiasm growing. "Sometimes when I see her I just want to hit her-"
"Dean Winchester, you never, ever hit a girl! You hear me, young man?"
"Oh, I wouldn't actually do it, Mom! Come on!" Dean rolled his eyes. "I just really want to, sometimes. But other times..."
"Yes?" Mary prodded gently.
"I...Ikindawannakissheryouknow?"
Mary bit her lip to keep from laughing again. "You want to kiss her, Dean?"
"Yeah," he replied. He looked up at her. "Is that okay?"
Mary's heart ached with the love she felt for her little boy right then. "Yes, Dean, that's okay. It's completely normal. But you must promise me one thing."
"Yeah?"
"Promise me that no matter how many girls you meet that you want to kiss-"
"Mom. It's not like I want to kiss the entire 8th grade, or something."
"Listen to me. Promise that no matter how many girls there are, you will always treat them with respect."
Dean furrowed his brow. "Respect? Like the way you tell us to respect Nana?"
Mary smoothed Dean's hair. "Not exactly. Ask your father to teach you how to respect a woman. He's very good at it."
Dean wrinkled his nose, disgusted-as always-at the thought of affection between his parents.
"Okay, Mom, I promise."
***
"Here's to you, old man!" Dean tossed the shot of tequila back quickly.
John laughed and did the same, coughing slightly.
"Damn, I feel old now," he said, pounding a fist against his chest. "Can't even drink one damn shot of tequila."
Dean chuckled, pouring them each another shot. "You're just out of practice, that's all. Come on, one more."
John frowned at his son. "Your mother doesn't like me to drink too much, Dean, you know that."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Come on! It's your birthday, live a little!" He raised his glass, wiggling his eyebrows at his father.
John laughed again. "Fine. Just one more."
They tossed the shots back in unison, this time without incident.
"See, what'd I tell ya? Practice." Dean grinned. "C'mon, Dad, one more..."
"No."
"Oh, come on, it's your-"
"Dean. No." But John was laughing and reaching for his glass anyway.
The third shot went down even smoother than the second. John slammed his glass down on the table.
"Goddamn."
"Yup," Dean agreed cheerfully, leaning back in his chair. "So, Dad, sixty-five. How's it feel?"
John considered. "It feels like winning, son."
"Winning at what?" Dean smiled at his father.
"Life, son. I mean, look at me!" John gestured to himself. "I've had a good life. I have an incredible wife who-God only knows why-seems to love me. I have two beautiful boys-"
"Aw, shucks, Dad," Dean waved at his father in mock humility.
"-one who's about to take over my business and another who's about to become a big-shot lawyer!"
"Sorry to destroy your all-American dream there, Daddy-O, but I don't think Sam is gonna be much of a big-shot. You know he's planning to do public defense-even pro bono." Dean rolled his eyes again. Sam was a goddamn genius, but he was gonna waste it all.
"Yeah, I know," John answered, smiling contentedly. "He'll still be a big-shot to me."
"John Winchester, you've turned into a big ol' teddy bear," Dean laughed.
John winked at his eldest son, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Must be the old age getting to me."
***
"That's not what I meant!"
She glared at him, hands on her hips. "Oh, really? What exactly did you mean then, Dean?"
He scowled back, his own hands curled into fists at his sides. "Well, if you'll just calm down for one goddamned second, I'll tell you!"
She sneered and crossed her arms. "Fine, whatever." She looked away, feigning disinterest.
"Sonuvabitch," Dean swore. Then he dropped to his knees quickly, hard enough to bruise.
She raised her eyebrows, unimpressed. "You going to beg for forgiveness, Winchester?"
Dean didn't answer, eyes still blazing, and yanked the small, velvet box out of his jeans.
"Will you marry me?" The words were snarled angrily as he flashed the diamond at her.
Her mouth dropped open in shock. She looked from the ring, to him, and back to the ring. Then she straightened her shoulders, refusing to admit defeat.
"Fine." Her voice was lofty, like it was no big deal.
"Fine," he growled back, rising to his feet.
She held her left hand out with a long-suffering sigh and he slid the ring onto her finger. He stepped back, snapping the box shut again and putting it back into his pocket.
"So..."
"Yeah?" She looked down her nose at him.
Dean grinned suddenly. "Damn, I love you, woman." He pulled her into a tight embrace, kissing her passionately.
He felt her lips curl into a smile against his.
***
"Well? What do you have to say for yourself, young man?"
Dean regarded the boy before him with a stern expression. The boy said nothing, scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the ground.
"Answer me, son. Why'd you hit him?"
His son sighed dramatically, raising his eyes to Dean's.
"He called me a fag, Dad. And right in front of Lisa Potter, too. So, I did what I had to do. Sorry."
But he clearly wasn't sorry, and Dean had a hard time keeping his lips from curling up into a grin.
"You shouldn't have done that, son. Especially at school! Violence is never the answer."
"Oh, right. That's not what you said to Uncle Sam last weekend." The snide remark was mumbled.
Dean frowned. "Your Uncle Sammy is an entirely different matter. He needs sense beat into him."
"Uh huh. Right, Dad."
"Besides," Dean continued. "There are other ways of getting back at people."
"Other ways?"
Dean smirked. "You take P.E. with this guy, right?"
"Yeah..."
"Well, then I think it's time I showed you my itching powder collection, son."
A surprised but delighted expression came over his child's face. "Really?"
Dean chuckled. "Really."
The boy lurched forward, wrapping his arms around Dean's waist. "I love you, Dad."
Dean smoothed his son's messy hair. "I love you, too, kid."
FINIS.
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