A mari usque ad mare - Part 3 (4/14)
A mari usque ad mare - Part 3 (4/14)
1,069/28,777 of R rated Gen (with an edge of subtext) crack!fic in which Dean revisits his past in unexpected ways. (Rub-a-bub-bub)
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Epilogue
Part 3
Osmosis
He could still hear swearing coming from the bedroom. A lot of swearing. Damn, but his father was good. Dad. Oh fuck!
‘Hey, Dad. It’s me, Dean, back from the future, and by the way you don’t mind if I possess Mom while I’m visiting?’
No way was that going to work on anyone, let alone on John Winchester. It was like fucking with God. You just didn’t do it. Even thinking about it would get you killed. He, or rather his Mom was dead unless he …
Mom. Dean leant his head back against the cistern blessing the sudden silence. She wasn’t dead now. He was here, God knows how, and she was alive. He could …
There was a slight scritching behind him and the snick of the lock being released.
Dean spun around instinctively reaching for the weapon that wasn’t there where he needed it to be. It wasn’t his fault he got all caught up in his ruffles as he tried to struggle defensively to his feet.
‘M… Mary?’ John Winchester stood there in the doorway for an endless moment holding an unfolded paperclip in his hands. ‘Are you all right?’ He walked heedlessly through the glass shards in his bare feet.
Dean froze in his awkward crouch. Christ, Dad’s not much older than I am.
‘Are … are you okay?’ John whispered as if a loud voice would frighten him. He knelt down next to him; arms hesitantly outstretched before they tentatively began patting Dean on his back.
‘I,’ Dean couldn’t go on. There were no words for what he needed - had - to say. It was the third time in his life he didn’t have a voice, and the first that didn’t involve watching one of his family die. Where was Sam when he needed him?
‘Sssh,’ John crooned, carefully scooping him up, knocking the toilet lid shut, and settling onto the seat with his wife in his arms.
After that first moment of astonishment - his Dad hadn’t picked him up like that since he was a kid - Dean relaxed and turned into his father’s embrace. Make it better, Dad. It was an age before he could break the peace.
‘J… John?’
‘Hmm?’
No. Not tonight. He couldn’t do it. ‘I’m sorry, I broke …’
His father grinned down at him. ‘So, they fell,’ he shrugged, ‘cos’ that’s what gravity does.’
Dean just stared at him. Wow, how weird is that? But he couldn’t stop smiling back. His father smiling at him. That was worth everything. His father smiling at his wife. Shit, what do I do now? ‘I’ll clean everything up. You, uh, go back to bed.’
John gave him a look just like Sammy used to when he suggested them leaving the library before closing time. ‘Not a chance in hell that I’m doing that … Mary. You’re soaked through, and shaking, and there is glass everywhere. You have a hot shower and get warm and I’ll wipe down the crime scene, and we can go back to bed, okay?’
One part of Dean thought that was the best idea he’d heard since he’d woken up here. Oh, god. Home. Yeah, just wash his cares away for a few minutes, that’s the ticket. Another part said, ‘No way am I letting my mother get naked while I’m there … here … myself … naked.’ Oh, fuck. The few pieces of his brain that hadn’t hurt before were definitely coming down in sympathy now. Pussies.
He was so busy arguing with himself he didn’t feel his father move until he was eased down onto his feet in the shower stall.
‘I’ll just get you a dry nightgown then,’ John muttered gruffly, dragging the shower curtain tightly closed before crunching out the door.
Dean stood there shivering for a few seconds before peeling off his nightgown and shooting it over the railing. He turned the water on as hot as he could stand, and then two more notches, and stepped under the spray. He was totally going to keep his eyes focussed on that showerhead.
He heard his father trying to slide quietly back into the bathroom even before he stepped on more glass and swore. In Latin.
Dean snickered to himself before realising that his mother wouldn’t get it. ‘Is that you, John, honey?’ He stuffed a fist in his mouth before turning the shower off. It really wasn’t funny calling Dad that. But it so was.
‘Uh yeah … sweetie.’ A hand slid discretely around the edge of the curtain brandishing a towel - two towels. Mom had trained him well.
‘Thanks, hon,’ Dean chirped cheerfully as grabbed them from his father. If anyone could fake it in this situation he could. He just had to concentrate on his cover and work out a way to get back home to Sammy, but not before he’d put everything right.
He listened to his father sweeping up the mess as he rubbed himself dry. Awkward! He had to run through the various figures in the windows on Led Zeppelin’s Physical Graffiti album cover just to give himself something interesting to do. Just another day.
His father swore again. In good old Anglo-Saxon for a change. Way to go, Dad. You’re on a roll!
Dean bent over and twisted one towel in a turban around his head before straightening up and wrapping the other firmly around himself, only glancing down with eyes half closed at the last minute to check he had it well secured. He was good to go. But? There was something about the sudden silence in the room that was sending him all sorts of warning signals. He twitched the curtain back a fraction. His father was standing there staring at a label barely holding a few fragments together. What the hell could put that kind of look on his face?
Dean took a breath. And then a few more before pulling the shower curtain aside and stepping out onto his mom’s sunflower mat.
John looked over at him, a world of questions in his eyes.
Shit. No, it was okay. Whatever it was, he could handle it.
‘Mary? This is dated today. Promethazine? It says it’s for nausea. You’re pregnant?’
Dean braced one palm against the bathroom wall as the other crept to his stomach, and wished he’d never gotten out of that shower.
♒
Part 4
1,069/28,777 of R rated Gen (with an edge of subtext) crack!fic in which Dean revisits his past in unexpected ways. (Rub-a-bub-bub)
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Epilogue
Part 3
Osmosis
He could still hear swearing coming from the bedroom. A lot of swearing. Damn, but his father was good. Dad. Oh fuck!
‘Hey, Dad. It’s me, Dean, back from the future, and by the way you don’t mind if I possess Mom while I’m visiting?’
No way was that going to work on anyone, let alone on John Winchester. It was like fucking with God. You just didn’t do it. Even thinking about it would get you killed. He, or rather his Mom was dead unless he …
Mom. Dean leant his head back against the cistern blessing the sudden silence. She wasn’t dead now. He was here, God knows how, and she was alive. He could …
There was a slight scritching behind him and the snick of the lock being released.
Dean spun around instinctively reaching for the weapon that wasn’t there where he needed it to be. It wasn’t his fault he got all caught up in his ruffles as he tried to struggle defensively to his feet.
‘M… Mary?’ John Winchester stood there in the doorway for an endless moment holding an unfolded paperclip in his hands. ‘Are you all right?’ He walked heedlessly through the glass shards in his bare feet.
Dean froze in his awkward crouch. Christ, Dad’s not much older than I am.
‘Are … are you okay?’ John whispered as if a loud voice would frighten him. He knelt down next to him; arms hesitantly outstretched before they tentatively began patting Dean on his back.
‘I,’ Dean couldn’t go on. There were no words for what he needed - had - to say. It was the third time in his life he didn’t have a voice, and the first that didn’t involve watching one of his family die. Where was Sam when he needed him?
‘Sssh,’ John crooned, carefully scooping him up, knocking the toilet lid shut, and settling onto the seat with his wife in his arms.
After that first moment of astonishment - his Dad hadn’t picked him up like that since he was a kid - Dean relaxed and turned into his father’s embrace. Make it better, Dad. It was an age before he could break the peace.
‘J… John?’
‘Hmm?’
No. Not tonight. He couldn’t do it. ‘I’m sorry, I broke …’
His father grinned down at him. ‘So, they fell,’ he shrugged, ‘cos’ that’s what gravity does.’
Dean just stared at him. Wow, how weird is that? But he couldn’t stop smiling back. His father smiling at him. That was worth everything. His father smiling at his wife. Shit, what do I do now? ‘I’ll clean everything up. You, uh, go back to bed.’
John gave him a look just like Sammy used to when he suggested them leaving the library before closing time. ‘Not a chance in hell that I’m doing that … Mary. You’re soaked through, and shaking, and there is glass everywhere. You have a hot shower and get warm and I’ll wipe down the crime scene, and we can go back to bed, okay?’
One part of Dean thought that was the best idea he’d heard since he’d woken up here. Oh, god. Home. Yeah, just wash his cares away for a few minutes, that’s the ticket. Another part said, ‘No way am I letting my mother get naked while I’m there … here … myself … naked.’ Oh, fuck. The few pieces of his brain that hadn’t hurt before were definitely coming down in sympathy now. Pussies.
He was so busy arguing with himself he didn’t feel his father move until he was eased down onto his feet in the shower stall.
‘I’ll just get you a dry nightgown then,’ John muttered gruffly, dragging the shower curtain tightly closed before crunching out the door.
Dean stood there shivering for a few seconds before peeling off his nightgown and shooting it over the railing. He turned the water on as hot as he could stand, and then two more notches, and stepped under the spray. He was totally going to keep his eyes focussed on that showerhead.
He heard his father trying to slide quietly back into the bathroom even before he stepped on more glass and swore. In Latin.
Dean snickered to himself before realising that his mother wouldn’t get it. ‘Is that you, John, honey?’ He stuffed a fist in his mouth before turning the shower off. It really wasn’t funny calling Dad that. But it so was.
‘Uh yeah … sweetie.’ A hand slid discretely around the edge of the curtain brandishing a towel - two towels. Mom had trained him well.
‘Thanks, hon,’ Dean chirped cheerfully as grabbed them from his father. If anyone could fake it in this situation he could. He just had to concentrate on his cover and work out a way to get back home to Sammy, but not before he’d put everything right.
He listened to his father sweeping up the mess as he rubbed himself dry. Awkward! He had to run through the various figures in the windows on Led Zeppelin’s Physical Graffiti album cover just to give himself something interesting to do. Just another day.
His father swore again. In good old Anglo-Saxon for a change. Way to go, Dad. You’re on a roll!
Dean bent over and twisted one towel in a turban around his head before straightening up and wrapping the other firmly around himself, only glancing down with eyes half closed at the last minute to check he had it well secured. He was good to go. But? There was something about the sudden silence in the room that was sending him all sorts of warning signals. He twitched the curtain back a fraction. His father was standing there staring at a label barely holding a few fragments together. What the hell could put that kind of look on his face?
Dean took a breath. And then a few more before pulling the shower curtain aside and stepping out onto his mom’s sunflower mat.
John looked over at him, a world of questions in his eyes.
Shit. No, it was okay. Whatever it was, he could handle it.
‘Mary? This is dated today. Promethazine? It says it’s for nausea. You’re pregnant?’
Dean braced one palm against the bathroom wall as the other crept to his stomach, and wished he’d never gotten out of that shower.
♒
Part 4