Fic: Distant Relations (17/?)
Title: Distant Relations (17/?)
Author: sierraphoenix
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Supernatural.
Characters/Pairings: No pairings. Xander, Dean, Sam.
Summary: Xander learns the truth about his parentage and must decide whether or not to seek out his real father.
Previous chapters can be found at Twisting the Hellmouth, Supernaturally Twisted, or My Website.
Dean rose from the blackness of sleep with the patient slowness of a dawning sun, and with consciousness came a realization. There was a weight on his chest. It wasn't suffocating or unbearable, but it was noticeable. Even in the blurry moments between rest and wakefulness, Dean's hunter instincts were active and prepared, warning Dean to remain still and calm till more information could be gathered.
The weight on his chest shifted, inched closer toward where his head rested. Dean forced his breathing to remain steady and his muscles slack, careful not to give away his awakened state. Cautiously, he opened his eyes in narrow slits, just enough to peer down at the thing on his chest. It wasn't until that moment that Dean understood just how dire his situation was. He cursed his brothers, wherever they were now, for leaving him in a such a vulnerable state.
He tensed, prepared to move, but even as he did he knew he wouldn't be fast enough to stop what was about to happen. A wet tongue rasped across the bridge of his nose, leaving a wet, slobbery trail. Dean's face scrunched in disgust, and he pitched forward, causing the creature to slide back a few inches. "Damnit, you little mongrel!"
The creature, however, was not deterred and attacked Dean's face enthusiastically with puppy-kisses. His ears flopped about and his tail thumped rapidly on Dean's stomach.
Dean pushed gently at the puppy, wanting to dislodge it from his chest without harming it, but Spot was persistent and proved more than a match for Dean Winchester. It was then that the motel room door swung open and Xander and Sam were able to witness the spectacular battle being waged between hunter and puppy.
"Guess even Spot thinks you need a shower," Xander quipped.
Dean finally just grabbed the dog and held him out at arm's length. Even dangling as he was from Dean's hands and despite Dean's growling words, Spot's tail wagged and he craned his neck to continue licking at Dean's fingers. "Would you take this mutt of yours and get him off me," Dean said, giving Xander a pointed glare.
With a grin, Xander shuffled over to Dean's bed and plucked Spot out of his arms, cradling the puppy to his chest and petting him soothingly. "Don't worry, Spot. Dean didn't mean it."
"The hell I didn't," Dean muttered under his breath as he rolled out of bed and ran a hand over his face to wipe off the dog slobber. "I smell like dog-breath now."
"That might actually be an improvement," Sam threw in. He set a brown paper sack down on the night table and went about pulling out various items: hamburgers, fries, and a can of dog food. "We got lunch while we were out."
Sam popped open the can of dog food and set it on the floor before going to the bathroom to fill the motel room's ice bucket with water.
Xander placed Spot on the ground, and the puppy scampered toward the food.
Without Spot shielding Xander, Dean was able to see his brother's shirt, a gaudy, neon-green alien staring back at him with vacant black eyes, sporting the words "I was abducted. What's your excuse?"
Dean's face twisted in a disbelieving grimace. "You've got to be kidding me."
Xander looked at Dean's face, then down at his shirt, then back up again. "What?"
"We're hitting the laundromat after this. There's no way I'm going to be seen in public with you if you're wearing that shirt."
Xander heaved a frustrated sigh, throwing his arms up disgustedly and dropping them back down with a slap on his legs. "What is this? Harass-Xander Day?"
Sam came back out of the bathroom, putting the ice-bucket turned water-bowl in front of Spot, and Dean flicked a glance between the two, thinking his younger brothers must have had an argument while he'd been sleeping.
Xander saw his look and explained, "I forgot to call Willow last night, and she really let me have it this morning. My ears are still ringing."
Put at ease that all was still well with his family, Dean turned his attention to more pressing matters. "Did you get one with extra onions?" he asked, brining one of the tissue-wrapped burgers to his nose.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Unfortunately." He picked up one of the other burgers, swiped the one from Dean's hand, and replaced it with the other.
Dean sat down on one of the beds and tore into the burger with an appreciative moan, closing his eyes in blissful satisfaction. "This is fantastic," he said around a mouthful, bits of onion peeking out from under his lips.
"I think I understand now why Missouri gets so bent out of shape about talking with your mouth full," Xander said.
Dean opened his eyes to find his brothers staring at him with equally disgusted faces, their own hamburgers forgotten in their hands.
"Man, how can you eat that crap?" Sam asked.
Dean swallowed down the bite he'd been working on. "Don't knock it till you've tried it." And as if to prove a point, he took another huge bite, barely capable of fitting all of it in his mouth
Xander's lips curled upward. "That's just gross."
Dean stuck his tongue out at him, partially chewed food and all, and Xander tossed a French fry back.
Sam rolled his eyes heavenward and muttered something about brothers and maturity levels as he took a seat on the other bed. "I called Missouri and told her about the cleansing ritual we need to do for Xander, and she said she had most of the supplies and what she doesn't have, she can get by the time we'd get there. I think it'll be easier to just wait and do it there than to try and track down all the ingredients ourselves. Hopefully we won't run into anymore trouble between here and there. Oh, and by the way," Sam tagged on at the end, turning to Xander, "you can probably expect a lecture from Missouri when we get there about proper mystical protection or something."
Xander made an annoyed face, though with his mouth full of a food, cheeks puffed out, the expression came off looking more like an offended chipmunk than annoyed. "Wyd'I eben bovver geging ouda bed," he grumbled to himself around a mouthful of hamburger.
"Sounds like a plan," Dean commented to Sam. "But first things first, we do laundry. Xander may not know how to properly dress himself, but we can fix that." Dean smirked when Xander pulled the offended-chipmunk face again.
"Not everyone agrees with your fashion sense, Dean." The devious grin on Sam's face when he said that worried Dean a little. And Dean soon saw why as Sam gestured to the floor, pointing out the dog that was busy chewing on one of Dean's boots.
"Damnit! You little rat!" He lunged off the bed, swiping his boot up and tossing it onto the bed behind him while making a grab for Spot, who dodged and darted behind Sam's legs.
"Now, now," Sam scolded in a patronizing voice while effectively blocking Dean from getting at the puppy. "No violence in front of the children."
Dean glared up at Sam, who looked back down at him with a superior smirk. From behind Sam's legs, Spot stared back unrepentantly, panting and wagging his tail. Dean had a feeling that if dogs could blow raspberries, that's exactly what Spot would be doing right now.
Xander was of course laughing it up, spraying bits of hamburger everywhere.
Dean stood slowly, frowning first at the puppy then at his brothers. Damnit, he was the oldest, and he was the one that was supposed to do all the teasing. First the thing with the water hose yesterday and now this? Dean's frown melted into something more like resolve, a calculating look in his eyes. Payback was a bitch, and as far as Dean was concerned, his brothers had it coming. And like he'd said yesterday, they had no one to blame but themselves.
In a fit of pique, Dean huffed and sat back down. He began plotting while he continued eating his lunch, and by the time he'd finished off his burger, he felt he'd come up with an easy, yet worthy plan. He pulled on his boots, and when he'd finished tying the laces, he shot a resentful glance at Spot - only to find that the puppy had moved on to one of his t-shirts.
"Son of a-" A chase ensued, and eventually Xander got up to help Dean (or possibly Spot, Dean wasn't really sure), which somehow digressed into a wrestling match between youngest and oldest brother while Sam stood by with his hands on his hips, sighing and rolling his eyes and muttering about the benefits of being an only child.
Dean bested Xander fairly quickly, and, deciding that just wouldn't do if Xander had any intention of hunting, he gave Xander an impromptu lesson on some of the more useful self-defense moves that he knew. Xander caught on quick, and as they readied to leave, Dean couldn't help a slight, proud grin.
Or maybe that grin had more to do with the upcoming mischief that Dean was planning.
*****
Benji's Laundromat was near the tail end of Main Street, nestled between Harvey's Pawn Shop and Frank's Classic Antiques. The owners in question - Benji, Harvey, and Frank - were all men in their late sixties and were seated around a small picnic table in front of the laundromat when Sam and his brothers arrived. Each nursed a glass of iced tea, and a chessboard was laid out on the table between Benji and Harvey. Frank sat between the two, nearest the building and facing the street, and between sips of tea he offered (unwanted and mostly ignored) advice to both players, depending on whose turn it was.
"I'm telling you, Benji, you need to move that bishop," Frank was advising as Sam, Dean, and Xander climbed out of the Impala with their laundry bags and Spot in tow.
"Yeah, Benji," Harvey joined in, smirking, "why don't you move that bishop?"
"Don't encourage him, you old fool," Benji scolded Harvey, deliberately moving one of his knights instead.
"Ooo! Block him with that one right there, Harvey," Frank jumped in again, gesturing to one of the black chess pieces.
Harvey's previous smirk flipped to an annoyed frown. "Damnit, Frank. How many times do I have to tell you that the pawns can't move like that!"
Frank didn't pay him any attention, though. He had just spotted Sam and the others, and he perked up with interest, waving at the newcomers excitedly. "Howdy, boys!"
"Howdy?" Benji cut in with a quizzical look at his friend. "What are you now? A Texan?"
"Did you come to buy some antiques?" Frank continued on, ignoring his friend's jibes.
"Um…" Sam started, a little thrown off by the man's friendly enthusiasm. "Actually, we just came to wash some clothes."
"Oh." Frank's face fell a little, enthusiasm deflating. "Hmph. Well. My mistake."
Sam almost felt a little guilty for having gotten the man's hopes up and was about to apologize when one of the other men cut in.
"Do you have to try to peddle your dilapidated wares to every Tom, Dick, and Harry that has the misfortune to pass by?" Harvey asked, rolling his eyes and finally sliding one of his rooks to another square."
"I do not try to sell things to every Tom, Dick, and Harry, my wares are not dilapidated," Harvey interrupted with a derisive snort here, but Frank continued on, "and, besides, they looked like the type."
"What?" Harvey exclaimed like he thought Frank was making things up.
They both looked toward the three young men with critical eyes, and the brothers froze like deer in headlights, a little worried about what type they were or weren't being cast as.
"They do not," Harvey said finally, turning back to Frank.
"Oh, what do you know?" Frank argued. "Benji, tell him they look like antiquers."
"Oh, no," Benji protested. "You're not putting me in the middle of another one of your arguments. I swear, you two could disagree on the color of the sky so long as it would give you something to argue about."
Spot, who up till this point had been a passive observer watching the goings on from the crook of Xander's arm, gave a sharp, playful bark as if voicing his agreement.
Benji glanced over his shoulder at the dog and greeted, "Well, hello there little fella." Turning back to his friends, he said, "See. Even the dog thinks you two are a couple of loons." He turned his attention back to the game, moved one of his pawns, and leaned back in his chair, adding with a casual air, "By the way…checkmate."
Harvey looked down at the chessboard with a start, shock registering on his features. "What? Damnit!" He turned a glare on Frank.
"Well, don't look at me," Frank defended. "I don't know anything about checkers."
"Oh for God's sake," Harvey yelled, looking heavenward as if he might actually get some divine help. "We're playing chess, Frank - chess! Not checkers."
Benji turned aside to Sam, thumbing in the direction of the laundromat and advising with knowing tone, "You boys better get on inside before you get dragged into the fray. Trust me, it ain't pretty."
Sam got the feeling that Benji was accustomed to playing the role of referee - or at the very least, frustrated onlooker - when it came to the other two men. Thinking of Xander and Dean's recent childish antics, not unlike Frank and Harvey's, Sam thought he could commiserate with the old man.
"…we'll flip on it…" the argument continued in the background.
Sam and Benji shared a grin before the old man winked at him and jumped back between the ongoing argument with, "The last time I gave you two a quarter to settle an argument with, I never got my money back. You'll both just have to agree that chess is chess and checkers are checkers."
"Fine," the other two men huffed in unison.
Chuckling to himself, Sam motioned his brothers toward the laundromat, herding them through the door quickly before they got embroiled in another argument or were pegged as the pawn shop type.
Upon entering the establishment, the first thing Dean said was, "Sweet! They have a pool table! Hey, Xander, do you know how to play pool?"
"Of course," Xander said immediately. Then after further consideration, he added, "Well, I mean, I've played." Cough. "Once or twice."
Dean shook his head in dismay. "That won't do." Grabbing Xander's bag off his shoulder, he nodded his head toward the back of the laundromat where the pool table was situated and said, "You go get us set up. I'll put our clothes on to wash."
Xander moved off toward the back, carrying Spot with him, and Dean turned, reaching for one of Sam's bags, the one containing his laundry. Sam didn't let his bag go as easily as Xander had, though.
Dean looked up at Sam when his tugging didn't yield any results. "You go ahead, I'll get this."
Sam eyed his brother strangely, wondering where this domestic turn had come from. "Since when are you so head-up about laundry?"
Dean gave him an innocent, wide-eyed look. "What? I can't just do something helpful once in a while?"
That response left Sam feeling more than a little uneasy for some reason, and he returned disbelievingly, "Uh huh."
Dean rolled his eyes. "I just thought you said you wanted to get started on the translation for that spell." His tone held an underlying current that said Seriously, why are you making such a big deal out of this?
Sam considered the notes in his other bag and studied Dean, whose expression didn't seem to hint at any underlying motive. Something in Dean's demeanor still set Sam off, but he couldn't place exactly what it was that had him on edge; still, he relinquished his hold on the bag, shaking his head and adding, "All right. Thanks."
Dean flashed him a quick grin and took the bag, moving off toward a row of washers.
Sam wandered toward the back, claiming a row of three, bright-orange, leather-upholstered, cushion-seat chairs that were against the wall near the pool table, where Xander was currently getting things set up. Tossing his bag down in one the chairs, Sam sat in the next seat over and began pulling out the notes Xander's friend had given them for the cleansing ritual, readying to translate the incantation into Latin.
Xander had set Spot on the floor, and the dog scampered up to Sam, raising up on his hind legs and pawing at Sam's knees with his front legs. Sam's lips quirked in a smile and he petted Spot's head for a moment, the dog's tail waving back and forth through the air; then Sam pulled out a pen and turned his attention to translating.
Spot quickly lost interest and trotted off, finding more entertainment in pouncing after a stray cricket that he'd found.
Sam glanced up from his translating only briefly when Dean came up seconds later, rubbing his hands together like he had a lot of money riding on the game he and Xander were about to play. Sam continued writing down Latin words in his father's journal, vaguely listening to Xander and Dean in the background.
"Okay. I break first."
"Why?" Xander complained.
"Because I'm older," Dean answered, picking up one of the pool cues. He sank two solids on the break. Favoring Xander with a smug grin (to which Xander met with a glare), Dean moved around the table, getting ready to line up his next shot, but before he could, he stumbled, bumping into the pool table with his hip and only barely managing to remain upright.
Sam looked up from his notes in curious confusion and laughed at what he saw. Apparently Spot had tired of the cricket and was currently finding more amusement in Dean's jeans. The dog was dangling from the pant-leg cuff of Dean's upraised leg, growling and tugging and jerking for all he was worth, hind legs barely touching the floor.
"Damn you, you little mongrel," Dean cussed at him. "Xander, would you get your mutt off of me?"
Xander gave Dean a serves you right look but complied, reaching down to pick Spot up. It took a few tries to get the puppy to let go of his latest chew toy, but eventually Xander managed, bringing the dog in close to his chest. In turn, Spot wriggled and climbed his way up Xander's front in an attempt to lick at the young man's face. "You know, maybe if you weren't always calling him names all the time, he wouldn't chew on all of your stuff. If you keep calling him things like mongrel and mutt, he's going to think that's his name."
Dean grimaced. "Better than Spot, anyway. What kind of name is that? Other than an incredibly obvious one."
Xander frowned but didn't look otherwise offended at the slight to his naming abilities. "You know, maybe you're right."
Dean looked surprised at the easy agreement. "I am?"
"Yeah," Xander continued. "I mean, Avery liked the name, and she was a demon, so what does that say about it? Plus, that whole thing was probably a traumatic experience for the poor little guy. We should give him a new name so he won't be reminded of it."
Dean made a face like he found the whole thing silly, a dog was a dog by any name, but gave his own opinion anyway. "Just don't make it something like Rover or Sparky."
Dean leaned over the table, lined up another shot, and sank another solid with ease. He was lining up his next shot when Xander interrupted him.
"Chester," the younger man mused aloud.
"Huh?" Dean glanced up at him.
Xander cleared his throat nervously like he hadn't really meant to say that out loud. "Um, we could call him Chester. You know…like…short for Winchester."
Sam stilled, looking up, and Dean glanced over at him. It was the simple naming of a pet, but suddenly it seemed much more weighted than that, like a petition to accept the puppy into the Winchester family - and maybe even someone else in addition to the dog.
Years of hunting together had made Sam an expert at reading Dean, and it only took a few seconds to gauge Dean's opinion on the matter. Sam answered for the both of them, "I'd say that sounds like a solid name."
Dean nodded his agreement.
"Chester it is," Xander stated with a grin, holding the dog out and looking him over as if expecting the new name to have changed the dog's appearance in some way. He set the dog back on the floor, giving him a vigorous rub on the back before returning his attention to the game at hand.
Seemingly worn out, Spot abandoned his efforts to chew a new hole in Dean's jeans and wandered over to Sam, curling up next to his feet. He stretched his mouth open in a wide yawn, rested his head on the toe of Sam's boot, and then shut his eyes, drifting easily into sleep. Sam rather envied him.
Despite having been thrown off balance by the newly-christened Chester, Dean still managed to sink another two solids before his next shot proved not enough to sink a sixth. He straightened, studying the layout, no taunting smile this time, and moved to stand next to Xander, who was alternating between glaring at Dean and staring at the table in dismay.
"Okay, most of mine are out of the way now," Dean said. "Let's see what you can do. Which shot are you going to take?"
Xander gave Dean a sidelong glance, like he was trying to decide whether or not the older man was honest about his offer to help or if he was just teasing Xander. Apparently deciding he was being sincere, Xander said, "I was thinking of going for the fourteen."
Dean nodded consideringly. "Okay."
Sam divided his attention between translating and watching his brothers play. Dean advised Xander to adjust his aim a little to the left, and then Xander took the shot, sending the cue ball down the length of the table and knocking the fourteen ball into the corner pocket. Unfortunately, the cue ball followed right after it.
Once the white ball finished rolling back down to the slot at the end of the table, Dean pulled it back out, carefully set it on the table, and gestured at Xander to have another go.
"But-" Xander protested only to have Dean wave him off.
"Don't worry about turns. Do the same thing as before with the ten, only this time hit a little lower on the cue ball."
Xander set up the shot, not needing any help with the aim this time, and did as Dean had instructed. The shot went the same as before, sinking the ten, only this time the cue ball stopped immediately after hitting the other ball.
They continued on like that, Dean and Xander exchanging shots, interspersed with advice from Dean. Eventually they got to more difficult plays: bank shots, jump shots, curve shots. Xander picked it all up rather quickly.
Despite Dean's initial attitude of keeping Xander at arm's length, the older man was steadily working on teaching Xander everything he needed to know in order to fit in with the Winchester lifestyle. He'd already given Xander tips on talking to women, he had brushed up on some of Xander's fighting techniques, right now he was teaching him the fine art of hustling pool, and next he'd probably be instructing him in the ways of credit card scams. Sam didn't think the older man realized it, but Dean really seemed to be taking Xander under his wing.
As Sam continued writing, eventually his curiosity got the best of him, and he had to ask, "Hey, Xander, where did your friend find this spell?"
Xander finished his shot, pocketing the eight ball with ease, then answered, "Probably from one of Giles's one thousand and one books of demons, magic, and assorted ooglie booglies."
That only seemed to raise more questions for Sam. "How did you even find out about this stuff? I mean, I know you said you grew up on the Hellmouth, but it's not exactly common knowledge."
"Yeah, I didn't actually learn about the darkside until my sophomore year of high school. My first close encounter with vampires was when my best friend Jesse was turned into one."
Sam and Dean both grimaced in sympathy; the death of a friend or loved one always made for a shitty introduction to the demonic underbelly of the world. Sam and Dean knew that better than anyone.
They were quiet till something Xander said finally caught up with Dean. "Wait a second, vampires are real?"
Xander's eyes widened in surprise, his expression clearly stating something along the lines of duh. "And how long have you guys been hunting demons?"
"We've been doing this since we were kids, but we've never seen any vampires." Sam confessed, a little put off by what appeared to be a glaring omission in their hunting knowledge.
"Yeah, well, vampires are definitely real. Also, my friend Buffy, she's the slayer, and Giles, he's her watcher, hence the thousand and one demon books."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean said, holding up his hands to halt him. "She's the who and he's a what?"
Sam answered for him, "The slayer, also short for vampire slayer which is why I thought she was, like the vampires, just a myth, is a girl blessed with superhuman powers and charged with protecting the world from demons and the like. And the watcher is the one who trains her, right?"
Xander nodded, and Sam added, "Guess I was wrong about slayers and vampires being myths."
"Wait, so you knew about that too?" Dean asked incredulously, fixing Sam with a peevish glare. "Why do I never know about this stuff?!"
"Well, you know, Dean, if you cracked a book once in a while, you might actually learn something," Sam commented helpfully.
"Hey, I read," Dean defended.
Sam gave a put-upon sigh. "Dean, the articles in Playboy don't count."
A reminiscent grin lit Dean's face, no doubt memories of pictures past. "Hey, there's some valuable information in there."
Sam snorted.
Carrying on in the same line of questioning, Xander said, "So you guys have been hunting since you were kids? How'd that happen?"
Sam paused in his writing, giving Xander his full attention. Dean abandoned lining up the shot he was about to take, straightened up, and rested the butt of the pool cue on the floor, leaning slightly on the stick.
"Something got to our mom," Dean said quietly, nodding his head toward Sam, "back when we were really little. Dad looked into some stuff, found out about what really goes bump in the night, and we've been looking for the thing ever since, killing anything else we come across while we're at it."
"What was it that got her?" Xander asked carefully.
Sam sighed. "We don't know. But whatever it was…it got Jess, too." Even after all these months, even a passing thought of Jess still packed a solid punch to the gut. Sam delved back into the translations, hoping to shove the memory back down with foreign words and phrases.
Dean went to move the clothes from washers to dryers, and when he came back, gleeful interest lighting up his face, he swung the conversation back around with, "I want to hear more about blowing up your school."
Trust Dean to fixate on the pyrotechnics, Sam thought in aggravation. "Dean, you really shouldn't encourage that sort of thing."
"Oh, come on, Sam. You're just being pissy because it was a school."
"Actually, it has more to do with Xander getting arrested for arson," Sam said, trying to remain the voice of reason.
"Well, it was for a good cause," Xander interjected. "The mayor became a giant snake demon. We were going to go with the volcano defense, but someone had already done that one. Never let it be said that we aren't original. Plan B was a humus offensive." At the crazy looks that got him, he added, "Which of course was why it was the fallback plan."
Dean shook head. "And we thought we ran into a bunch of crazy crap."
"You think that's bad," Xander said, with a wild, knowing look in his eyes that promised this was about to get even wackier, "you should be there when the Hellmouth actually opens."
Sam's eyes widened, eyebrows going up in alarm. "I thought that wasn't supposed to happen."
"Well, obviously it's not something you want to happen, but it can and does on occasion. Demons are really persistent about implementing that whole hell-on-earth thing. Guess they're just wacky like that. It started with The Master," Xander said, deciding to give his brothers a quick rundown on life atop the Hellmouth. "He was a really old vampire stuck underground, so for the most part he wasn't that bad, but just before the Spring Fling he broke lose and opened the Hellmouth. And can I just say there are some really ugly demons in Hell? This big, three-headed thing with tentacles and, well, let's just say it made Avery look like a fairy princess. Anyway, Buffy dusted The Master and closed the Hellmouth, thus leading to some saved-the-world celebrating at the Spring Fling.
"Then our junior year, Spike and Drusilla showed up - think Bonnie and Clyde, but with fangs. They were both vampires too. But then things got really bad when Angel went evil - also a vampire, but he was a good vampire up till that point…if you can ever call a vampire good. Instead of trying to unleash Hell on Earth, he took the road less traveled and tried to suck Earth into Hell, slight implementation variation, same basic hellish outcome."
By now, Sam and Dean were following along with consternated expressions, very little making sense and most of it going straight over their heads. They shared a couple of glances that seemed to say 'are you hearing the same thing I am?' and just generally tried to keep up.
"In the end, Buffy saved the day and Angel was the only one sucked into Hell, where he stayed till he came back the next year. Which brings us to my senior year of high school: a year full of zombies, high school bullies, hellhounds at the prom, a demonic politician, a slayer-turned-bad, and a needy ex-vengeance demon - not to mention a vicious ex-girlfriend, but I like to think we parted on good terms. After all, you know what they say: relationships forged in the heat of battle last forever. Or always fall apart, I can't remember which."
"Wait a second," Sam said, his mind trying to catch up with Xander's diatribe. "Did you say that your slayer friend, Buffy, turned bad?"
"No, not her, the other slayer, Faith. She went on a killing spree, and Buffy ended up putting her in a coma after she tried to kill Angel."
"So the theory that there can be only one at a time is just a myth?" Sam asked, not even bothering with trying to sort out what role the vampire Angel played in the whole thing.
"No, see, Buffy died our sophomore year. She drowned, I did CPR, and she came back. But apparently a temporary case of deadness was enough to trigger the next slayer, so Kendra was called. Then Drusilla killed Kendra, and Faith was called. Faith accidentally killed some guy, decided being bad was more fun, and went to work for the Mayor."
"Who was a demon," Sam pitched in, thinking he was finally catching on.
"Who became a demon," Xander corrected. "And not just any old demon, a pure demon. Which apparently meant becoming a snakelike creature the size of Moby Dick right in the middle of our commencement speech. Long story short, we blew him up. And that brings you up to date."
By now both Sam and Dean had given up on trying to make any sort of sense out of the craziness that was Xander's life. They stared at him with half-bewildered, half-horrified expressions.
"Dude, tell me again why it is you live in that town?" Dean asked.
Xander blinked in confusion. "Where else would I go?"
Dean floundered in astonishment and exclaimed, "Anywhere but there?"
"Sunnydale has its good points too," Xander shot back.
"Such as?" Dean asked pointedly, clearly expecting some elaboration.
"Well, it's…near the beach." Xander sighed and added resignedly, "Which, admittedly, is filled with sea monsters. Also the reason why I now shun team sports. Nothing like seeing your fellow teammates turn into Creatures from the Hellmouth Lagoon to make you dislike swimming. Needless to say, our school didn't win the championship that year."
It was too much to process. That last detail was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. Sam and Dean just stared at him with blank, uncomprehending faces.
Xander cleared his throat nervously. "Of course, I'm sure you guys have just as many crazy stories."
They both continued to stare at him a beat longer, then, thinking about some of the more well-known spirits they'd laid to rest, Sam said, "We ran into the Hook Man."
"Yeah, and Bloody Mary," Dean added helpfully.
"The Bloody Mary?" Xander asked, something like fear tingeing his voice. "You're saying she's real?"
Dean nodded. "You look in the mirror and say her name three times, and she shows up and basically makes your eyes explode."
Xander grimaced in disgust and fright. "So say some misguided individual, on a dare, said her name in front of a mirror twelve years ago at Benny Blake's birthday party…would, uh…would they still be in danger now?"
Sam grinned. "Actually, it's a bit more complicated than that, but I'm fairly certain that if the misguided individual has made it this far, he's probably in the clear."
"Not to mention we wasted that spirit," Dean concluded.
"Good to know," Xander said, looking relieved.
"There was also a woman in white that tried to rip Sam's heart out." Dean grinned cheekily at Sam.
Fielding his brother's glib look, Sam returned with a cheeky grin of his own, "And Dean faced his fear of airplanes."
"Man, why do you have to bring that one up?" Dean exclaimed, still not over the trauma.
Sam filled in the details for Xander, who hadn't been there. "We were hunting a phantom traveler, a demon who had possessed the body of a pilot and tried to crash the plane we were on at the time."
"I was possessed once by an evil hyena spirit," Xander chimed in.
Dean's face contorted in disbelief. "Man, now you're just making shit up."
A buzzer went off amidst Sam's laughter, and Dean looked back toward the dryers. Turning around with a cheerful grin and placing his cue back on the table, he said, "Looks like the clothes are done. You two go get folding, and I'll grab Spot."
Sam began packing away his notes and the finished translation while Dean scooped up the puppy in his arms. Eyeing his brother strangely as Dean once again did the opposite of what he'd expected, Sam asked, "Since when are you two bosom buddies?"
"Well, I figure it's only right if he's going to be a Winchester that we have a little bonding time," Dean said with a saccharine smile that only made Sam's frown deepen. Chester had started to stir by now and was climbing his way up Dean's chest, nearly on top of Dean's shoulder. "Besides," Dean paused, jerking his head to the side as Chester stuck a cold, wet nose in his ear. Flipping the dog round so that his paws were facing away from him, Dean continued, "I did the washing and drying, you guys get to do the folding."
It figured that Dean would stick them with the more tedious task, Sam thought. Sam handed his bag off to Dean, who shouldered it and followed Sam as he made his way toward the row of dryers.
Pulling out the warm clothes, Sam dumped them on a nearby table. As he started riffling through them, he noticed a startling trend. Whirling on his brother with a panicked expression, he shouted, "Dean! You turned all of our white clothes pink!"
Dean was completely untouched by his alarm, a wide, toothy grin stretching across his face. "No, I turned all of yours and Xander's clothes pink."
"What?" Xander squawked, coming behind Sam and digging frantically through the pile for his own clothes.
"Oh, what are you complaining about? It's probably an improvement in your case."
The dirty look Xander gave Dean suggested that he didn't find that to be the least bit funny.
Sam made like he was going to go after Dean, but Dean held Chester up in front of him, deliberately hiding behind an innocent face. "Ah, ah. We wouldn't want any violence in front of the children."
Sam looked at Chester, then at Dean, and then back at Chester again. He managed to restrain himself, but it was a near thing. Instead he said, "I hope he pees on you."
Laughter was Dean's only response, and Sam pursed his lips into a thin line and glared back, trying to muster up what little dignity he could while holding a pair of pink boxers.
When his laughter tapered off, Dean tucked Chester in close to his chest, rubbing a playful hand over the dog's head. Chester responded in kind, licking Dean's fingers and wagging his tail. "C'mon, Chester. Let's take you outside and leave these boys to their misery." He flashed them one last grin before turning and heading for the exit, chuckling the whole way.
"Man, you're a jerk," Sam called after him. He watched the older man go with no small amount of resentment. This prank crap was so immature, and it was always Dean who started it. Like being the older brother afforded him God-given rights to mercilessly tease his younger brother - brothers, now. Just once, he'd like to really stick it to Dean good.
Sam turned to Xander and, seeing the same feelings mirrored there, began to form a plan. Apparently it had never occurred to Dean that he was outnumbered now. Two against one were not great odds for the older man. A smile slowly began to appear on Sam's face, his eyes glinting with mischievous intent. If they wanted, they could make Dean really regret this.
Xander seemed to catch on to where Sam's thoughts were going and replied with a devious smile of his own that seemed to say let the prank-war begin. And Sam couldn't agree more.
*****
A/N: No offence intended to anyone with dogs named Spot, Sparky, or Rover. The Muse just said, "We're calling him Chester." And since she has a tendency to beat me up when I disagree, I said, "Okay."
Author: sierraphoenix
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Supernatural.
Characters/Pairings: No pairings. Xander, Dean, Sam.
Summary: Xander learns the truth about his parentage and must decide whether or not to seek out his real father.
Previous chapters can be found at Twisting the Hellmouth, Supernaturally Twisted, or My Website.
Dean rose from the blackness of sleep with the patient slowness of a dawning sun, and with consciousness came a realization. There was a weight on his chest. It wasn't suffocating or unbearable, but it was noticeable. Even in the blurry moments between rest and wakefulness, Dean's hunter instincts were active and prepared, warning Dean to remain still and calm till more information could be gathered.
The weight on his chest shifted, inched closer toward where his head rested. Dean forced his breathing to remain steady and his muscles slack, careful not to give away his awakened state. Cautiously, he opened his eyes in narrow slits, just enough to peer down at the thing on his chest. It wasn't until that moment that Dean understood just how dire his situation was. He cursed his brothers, wherever they were now, for leaving him in a such a vulnerable state.
He tensed, prepared to move, but even as he did he knew he wouldn't be fast enough to stop what was about to happen. A wet tongue rasped across the bridge of his nose, leaving a wet, slobbery trail. Dean's face scrunched in disgust, and he pitched forward, causing the creature to slide back a few inches. "Damnit, you little mongrel!"
The creature, however, was not deterred and attacked Dean's face enthusiastically with puppy-kisses. His ears flopped about and his tail thumped rapidly on Dean's stomach.
Dean pushed gently at the puppy, wanting to dislodge it from his chest without harming it, but Spot was persistent and proved more than a match for Dean Winchester. It was then that the motel room door swung open and Xander and Sam were able to witness the spectacular battle being waged between hunter and puppy.
"Guess even Spot thinks you need a shower," Xander quipped.
Dean finally just grabbed the dog and held him out at arm's length. Even dangling as he was from Dean's hands and despite Dean's growling words, Spot's tail wagged and he craned his neck to continue licking at Dean's fingers. "Would you take this mutt of yours and get him off me," Dean said, giving Xander a pointed glare.
With a grin, Xander shuffled over to Dean's bed and plucked Spot out of his arms, cradling the puppy to his chest and petting him soothingly. "Don't worry, Spot. Dean didn't mean it."
"The hell I didn't," Dean muttered under his breath as he rolled out of bed and ran a hand over his face to wipe off the dog slobber. "I smell like dog-breath now."
"That might actually be an improvement," Sam threw in. He set a brown paper sack down on the night table and went about pulling out various items: hamburgers, fries, and a can of dog food. "We got lunch while we were out."
Sam popped open the can of dog food and set it on the floor before going to the bathroom to fill the motel room's ice bucket with water.
Xander placed Spot on the ground, and the puppy scampered toward the food.
Without Spot shielding Xander, Dean was able to see his brother's shirt, a gaudy, neon-green alien staring back at him with vacant black eyes, sporting the words "I was abducted. What's your excuse?"
Dean's face twisted in a disbelieving grimace. "You've got to be kidding me."
Xander looked at Dean's face, then down at his shirt, then back up again. "What?"
"We're hitting the laundromat after this. There's no way I'm going to be seen in public with you if you're wearing that shirt."
Xander heaved a frustrated sigh, throwing his arms up disgustedly and dropping them back down with a slap on his legs. "What is this? Harass-Xander Day?"
Sam came back out of the bathroom, putting the ice-bucket turned water-bowl in front of Spot, and Dean flicked a glance between the two, thinking his younger brothers must have had an argument while he'd been sleeping.
Xander saw his look and explained, "I forgot to call Willow last night, and she really let me have it this morning. My ears are still ringing."
Put at ease that all was still well with his family, Dean turned his attention to more pressing matters. "Did you get one with extra onions?" he asked, brining one of the tissue-wrapped burgers to his nose.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Unfortunately." He picked up one of the other burgers, swiped the one from Dean's hand, and replaced it with the other.
Dean sat down on one of the beds and tore into the burger with an appreciative moan, closing his eyes in blissful satisfaction. "This is fantastic," he said around a mouthful, bits of onion peeking out from under his lips.
"I think I understand now why Missouri gets so bent out of shape about talking with your mouth full," Xander said.
Dean opened his eyes to find his brothers staring at him with equally disgusted faces, their own hamburgers forgotten in their hands.
"Man, how can you eat that crap?" Sam asked.
Dean swallowed down the bite he'd been working on. "Don't knock it till you've tried it." And as if to prove a point, he took another huge bite, barely capable of fitting all of it in his mouth
Xander's lips curled upward. "That's just gross."
Dean stuck his tongue out at him, partially chewed food and all, and Xander tossed a French fry back.
Sam rolled his eyes heavenward and muttered something about brothers and maturity levels as he took a seat on the other bed. "I called Missouri and told her about the cleansing ritual we need to do for Xander, and she said she had most of the supplies and what she doesn't have, she can get by the time we'd get there. I think it'll be easier to just wait and do it there than to try and track down all the ingredients ourselves. Hopefully we won't run into anymore trouble between here and there. Oh, and by the way," Sam tagged on at the end, turning to Xander, "you can probably expect a lecture from Missouri when we get there about proper mystical protection or something."
Xander made an annoyed face, though with his mouth full of a food, cheeks puffed out, the expression came off looking more like an offended chipmunk than annoyed. "Wyd'I eben bovver geging ouda bed," he grumbled to himself around a mouthful of hamburger.
"Sounds like a plan," Dean commented to Sam. "But first things first, we do laundry. Xander may not know how to properly dress himself, but we can fix that." Dean smirked when Xander pulled the offended-chipmunk face again.
"Not everyone agrees with your fashion sense, Dean." The devious grin on Sam's face when he said that worried Dean a little. And Dean soon saw why as Sam gestured to the floor, pointing out the dog that was busy chewing on one of Dean's boots.
"Damnit! You little rat!" He lunged off the bed, swiping his boot up and tossing it onto the bed behind him while making a grab for Spot, who dodged and darted behind Sam's legs.
"Now, now," Sam scolded in a patronizing voice while effectively blocking Dean from getting at the puppy. "No violence in front of the children."
Dean glared up at Sam, who looked back down at him with a superior smirk. From behind Sam's legs, Spot stared back unrepentantly, panting and wagging his tail. Dean had a feeling that if dogs could blow raspberries, that's exactly what Spot would be doing right now.
Xander was of course laughing it up, spraying bits of hamburger everywhere.
Dean stood slowly, frowning first at the puppy then at his brothers. Damnit, he was the oldest, and he was the one that was supposed to do all the teasing. First the thing with the water hose yesterday and now this? Dean's frown melted into something more like resolve, a calculating look in his eyes. Payback was a bitch, and as far as Dean was concerned, his brothers had it coming. And like he'd said yesterday, they had no one to blame but themselves.
In a fit of pique, Dean huffed and sat back down. He began plotting while he continued eating his lunch, and by the time he'd finished off his burger, he felt he'd come up with an easy, yet worthy plan. He pulled on his boots, and when he'd finished tying the laces, he shot a resentful glance at Spot - only to find that the puppy had moved on to one of his t-shirts.
"Son of a-" A chase ensued, and eventually Xander got up to help Dean (or possibly Spot, Dean wasn't really sure), which somehow digressed into a wrestling match between youngest and oldest brother while Sam stood by with his hands on his hips, sighing and rolling his eyes and muttering about the benefits of being an only child.
Dean bested Xander fairly quickly, and, deciding that just wouldn't do if Xander had any intention of hunting, he gave Xander an impromptu lesson on some of the more useful self-defense moves that he knew. Xander caught on quick, and as they readied to leave, Dean couldn't help a slight, proud grin.
Or maybe that grin had more to do with the upcoming mischief that Dean was planning.
*****
Benji's Laundromat was near the tail end of Main Street, nestled between Harvey's Pawn Shop and Frank's Classic Antiques. The owners in question - Benji, Harvey, and Frank - were all men in their late sixties and were seated around a small picnic table in front of the laundromat when Sam and his brothers arrived. Each nursed a glass of iced tea, and a chessboard was laid out on the table between Benji and Harvey. Frank sat between the two, nearest the building and facing the street, and between sips of tea he offered (unwanted and mostly ignored) advice to both players, depending on whose turn it was.
"I'm telling you, Benji, you need to move that bishop," Frank was advising as Sam, Dean, and Xander climbed out of the Impala with their laundry bags and Spot in tow.
"Yeah, Benji," Harvey joined in, smirking, "why don't you move that bishop?"
"Don't encourage him, you old fool," Benji scolded Harvey, deliberately moving one of his knights instead.
"Ooo! Block him with that one right there, Harvey," Frank jumped in again, gesturing to one of the black chess pieces.
Harvey's previous smirk flipped to an annoyed frown. "Damnit, Frank. How many times do I have to tell you that the pawns can't move like that!"
Frank didn't pay him any attention, though. He had just spotted Sam and the others, and he perked up with interest, waving at the newcomers excitedly. "Howdy, boys!"
"Howdy?" Benji cut in with a quizzical look at his friend. "What are you now? A Texan?"
"Did you come to buy some antiques?" Frank continued on, ignoring his friend's jibes.
"Um…" Sam started, a little thrown off by the man's friendly enthusiasm. "Actually, we just came to wash some clothes."
"Oh." Frank's face fell a little, enthusiasm deflating. "Hmph. Well. My mistake."
Sam almost felt a little guilty for having gotten the man's hopes up and was about to apologize when one of the other men cut in.
"Do you have to try to peddle your dilapidated wares to every Tom, Dick, and Harry that has the misfortune to pass by?" Harvey asked, rolling his eyes and finally sliding one of his rooks to another square."
"I do not try to sell things to every Tom, Dick, and Harry, my wares are not dilapidated," Harvey interrupted with a derisive snort here, but Frank continued on, "and, besides, they looked like the type."
"What?" Harvey exclaimed like he thought Frank was making things up.
They both looked toward the three young men with critical eyes, and the brothers froze like deer in headlights, a little worried about what type they were or weren't being cast as.
"They do not," Harvey said finally, turning back to Frank.
"Oh, what do you know?" Frank argued. "Benji, tell him they look like antiquers."
"Oh, no," Benji protested. "You're not putting me in the middle of another one of your arguments. I swear, you two could disagree on the color of the sky so long as it would give you something to argue about."
Spot, who up till this point had been a passive observer watching the goings on from the crook of Xander's arm, gave a sharp, playful bark as if voicing his agreement.
Benji glanced over his shoulder at the dog and greeted, "Well, hello there little fella." Turning back to his friends, he said, "See. Even the dog thinks you two are a couple of loons." He turned his attention back to the game, moved one of his pawns, and leaned back in his chair, adding with a casual air, "By the way…checkmate."
Harvey looked down at the chessboard with a start, shock registering on his features. "What? Damnit!" He turned a glare on Frank.
"Well, don't look at me," Frank defended. "I don't know anything about checkers."
"Oh for God's sake," Harvey yelled, looking heavenward as if he might actually get some divine help. "We're playing chess, Frank - chess! Not checkers."
Benji turned aside to Sam, thumbing in the direction of the laundromat and advising with knowing tone, "You boys better get on inside before you get dragged into the fray. Trust me, it ain't pretty."
Sam got the feeling that Benji was accustomed to playing the role of referee - or at the very least, frustrated onlooker - when it came to the other two men. Thinking of Xander and Dean's recent childish antics, not unlike Frank and Harvey's, Sam thought he could commiserate with the old man.
"…we'll flip on it…" the argument continued in the background.
Sam and Benji shared a grin before the old man winked at him and jumped back between the ongoing argument with, "The last time I gave you two a quarter to settle an argument with, I never got my money back. You'll both just have to agree that chess is chess and checkers are checkers."
"Fine," the other two men huffed in unison.
Chuckling to himself, Sam motioned his brothers toward the laundromat, herding them through the door quickly before they got embroiled in another argument or were pegged as the pawn shop type.
Upon entering the establishment, the first thing Dean said was, "Sweet! They have a pool table! Hey, Xander, do you know how to play pool?"
"Of course," Xander said immediately. Then after further consideration, he added, "Well, I mean, I've played." Cough. "Once or twice."
Dean shook his head in dismay. "That won't do." Grabbing Xander's bag off his shoulder, he nodded his head toward the back of the laundromat where the pool table was situated and said, "You go get us set up. I'll put our clothes on to wash."
Xander moved off toward the back, carrying Spot with him, and Dean turned, reaching for one of Sam's bags, the one containing his laundry. Sam didn't let his bag go as easily as Xander had, though.
Dean looked up at Sam when his tugging didn't yield any results. "You go ahead, I'll get this."
Sam eyed his brother strangely, wondering where this domestic turn had come from. "Since when are you so head-up about laundry?"
Dean gave him an innocent, wide-eyed look. "What? I can't just do something helpful once in a while?"
That response left Sam feeling more than a little uneasy for some reason, and he returned disbelievingly, "Uh huh."
Dean rolled his eyes. "I just thought you said you wanted to get started on the translation for that spell." His tone held an underlying current that said Seriously, why are you making such a big deal out of this?
Sam considered the notes in his other bag and studied Dean, whose expression didn't seem to hint at any underlying motive. Something in Dean's demeanor still set Sam off, but he couldn't place exactly what it was that had him on edge; still, he relinquished his hold on the bag, shaking his head and adding, "All right. Thanks."
Dean flashed him a quick grin and took the bag, moving off toward a row of washers.
Sam wandered toward the back, claiming a row of three, bright-orange, leather-upholstered, cushion-seat chairs that were against the wall near the pool table, where Xander was currently getting things set up. Tossing his bag down in one the chairs, Sam sat in the next seat over and began pulling out the notes Xander's friend had given them for the cleansing ritual, readying to translate the incantation into Latin.
Xander had set Spot on the floor, and the dog scampered up to Sam, raising up on his hind legs and pawing at Sam's knees with his front legs. Sam's lips quirked in a smile and he petted Spot's head for a moment, the dog's tail waving back and forth through the air; then Sam pulled out a pen and turned his attention to translating.
Spot quickly lost interest and trotted off, finding more entertainment in pouncing after a stray cricket that he'd found.
Sam glanced up from his translating only briefly when Dean came up seconds later, rubbing his hands together like he had a lot of money riding on the game he and Xander were about to play. Sam continued writing down Latin words in his father's journal, vaguely listening to Xander and Dean in the background.
"Okay. I break first."
"Why?" Xander complained.
"Because I'm older," Dean answered, picking up one of the pool cues. He sank two solids on the break. Favoring Xander with a smug grin (to which Xander met with a glare), Dean moved around the table, getting ready to line up his next shot, but before he could, he stumbled, bumping into the pool table with his hip and only barely managing to remain upright.
Sam looked up from his notes in curious confusion and laughed at what he saw. Apparently Spot had tired of the cricket and was currently finding more amusement in Dean's jeans. The dog was dangling from the pant-leg cuff of Dean's upraised leg, growling and tugging and jerking for all he was worth, hind legs barely touching the floor.
"Damn you, you little mongrel," Dean cussed at him. "Xander, would you get your mutt off of me?"
Xander gave Dean a serves you right look but complied, reaching down to pick Spot up. It took a few tries to get the puppy to let go of his latest chew toy, but eventually Xander managed, bringing the dog in close to his chest. In turn, Spot wriggled and climbed his way up Xander's front in an attempt to lick at the young man's face. "You know, maybe if you weren't always calling him names all the time, he wouldn't chew on all of your stuff. If you keep calling him things like mongrel and mutt, he's going to think that's his name."
Dean grimaced. "Better than Spot, anyway. What kind of name is that? Other than an incredibly obvious one."
Xander frowned but didn't look otherwise offended at the slight to his naming abilities. "You know, maybe you're right."
Dean looked surprised at the easy agreement. "I am?"
"Yeah," Xander continued. "I mean, Avery liked the name, and she was a demon, so what does that say about it? Plus, that whole thing was probably a traumatic experience for the poor little guy. We should give him a new name so he won't be reminded of it."
Dean made a face like he found the whole thing silly, a dog was a dog by any name, but gave his own opinion anyway. "Just don't make it something like Rover or Sparky."
Dean leaned over the table, lined up another shot, and sank another solid with ease. He was lining up his next shot when Xander interrupted him.
"Chester," the younger man mused aloud.
"Huh?" Dean glanced up at him.
Xander cleared his throat nervously like he hadn't really meant to say that out loud. "Um, we could call him Chester. You know…like…short for Winchester."
Sam stilled, looking up, and Dean glanced over at him. It was the simple naming of a pet, but suddenly it seemed much more weighted than that, like a petition to accept the puppy into the Winchester family - and maybe even someone else in addition to the dog.
Years of hunting together had made Sam an expert at reading Dean, and it only took a few seconds to gauge Dean's opinion on the matter. Sam answered for the both of them, "I'd say that sounds like a solid name."
Dean nodded his agreement.
"Chester it is," Xander stated with a grin, holding the dog out and looking him over as if expecting the new name to have changed the dog's appearance in some way. He set the dog back on the floor, giving him a vigorous rub on the back before returning his attention to the game at hand.
Seemingly worn out, Spot abandoned his efforts to chew a new hole in Dean's jeans and wandered over to Sam, curling up next to his feet. He stretched his mouth open in a wide yawn, rested his head on the toe of Sam's boot, and then shut his eyes, drifting easily into sleep. Sam rather envied him.
Despite having been thrown off balance by the newly-christened Chester, Dean still managed to sink another two solids before his next shot proved not enough to sink a sixth. He straightened, studying the layout, no taunting smile this time, and moved to stand next to Xander, who was alternating between glaring at Dean and staring at the table in dismay.
"Okay, most of mine are out of the way now," Dean said. "Let's see what you can do. Which shot are you going to take?"
Xander gave Dean a sidelong glance, like he was trying to decide whether or not the older man was honest about his offer to help or if he was just teasing Xander. Apparently deciding he was being sincere, Xander said, "I was thinking of going for the fourteen."
Dean nodded consideringly. "Okay."
Sam divided his attention between translating and watching his brothers play. Dean advised Xander to adjust his aim a little to the left, and then Xander took the shot, sending the cue ball down the length of the table and knocking the fourteen ball into the corner pocket. Unfortunately, the cue ball followed right after it.
Once the white ball finished rolling back down to the slot at the end of the table, Dean pulled it back out, carefully set it on the table, and gestured at Xander to have another go.
"But-" Xander protested only to have Dean wave him off.
"Don't worry about turns. Do the same thing as before with the ten, only this time hit a little lower on the cue ball."
Xander set up the shot, not needing any help with the aim this time, and did as Dean had instructed. The shot went the same as before, sinking the ten, only this time the cue ball stopped immediately after hitting the other ball.
They continued on like that, Dean and Xander exchanging shots, interspersed with advice from Dean. Eventually they got to more difficult plays: bank shots, jump shots, curve shots. Xander picked it all up rather quickly.
Despite Dean's initial attitude of keeping Xander at arm's length, the older man was steadily working on teaching Xander everything he needed to know in order to fit in with the Winchester lifestyle. He'd already given Xander tips on talking to women, he had brushed up on some of Xander's fighting techniques, right now he was teaching him the fine art of hustling pool, and next he'd probably be instructing him in the ways of credit card scams. Sam didn't think the older man realized it, but Dean really seemed to be taking Xander under his wing.
As Sam continued writing, eventually his curiosity got the best of him, and he had to ask, "Hey, Xander, where did your friend find this spell?"
Xander finished his shot, pocketing the eight ball with ease, then answered, "Probably from one of Giles's one thousand and one books of demons, magic, and assorted ooglie booglies."
That only seemed to raise more questions for Sam. "How did you even find out about this stuff? I mean, I know you said you grew up on the Hellmouth, but it's not exactly common knowledge."
"Yeah, I didn't actually learn about the darkside until my sophomore year of high school. My first close encounter with vampires was when my best friend Jesse was turned into one."
Sam and Dean both grimaced in sympathy; the death of a friend or loved one always made for a shitty introduction to the demonic underbelly of the world. Sam and Dean knew that better than anyone.
They were quiet till something Xander said finally caught up with Dean. "Wait a second, vampires are real?"
Xander's eyes widened in surprise, his expression clearly stating something along the lines of duh. "And how long have you guys been hunting demons?"
"We've been doing this since we were kids, but we've never seen any vampires." Sam confessed, a little put off by what appeared to be a glaring omission in their hunting knowledge.
"Yeah, well, vampires are definitely real. Also, my friend Buffy, she's the slayer, and Giles, he's her watcher, hence the thousand and one demon books."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean said, holding up his hands to halt him. "She's the who and he's a what?"
Sam answered for him, "The slayer, also short for vampire slayer which is why I thought she was, like the vampires, just a myth, is a girl blessed with superhuman powers and charged with protecting the world from demons and the like. And the watcher is the one who trains her, right?"
Xander nodded, and Sam added, "Guess I was wrong about slayers and vampires being myths."
"Wait, so you knew about that too?" Dean asked incredulously, fixing Sam with a peevish glare. "Why do I never know about this stuff?!"
"Well, you know, Dean, if you cracked a book once in a while, you might actually learn something," Sam commented helpfully.
"Hey, I read," Dean defended.
Sam gave a put-upon sigh. "Dean, the articles in Playboy don't count."
A reminiscent grin lit Dean's face, no doubt memories of pictures past. "Hey, there's some valuable information in there."
Sam snorted.
Carrying on in the same line of questioning, Xander said, "So you guys have been hunting since you were kids? How'd that happen?"
Sam paused in his writing, giving Xander his full attention. Dean abandoned lining up the shot he was about to take, straightened up, and rested the butt of the pool cue on the floor, leaning slightly on the stick.
"Something got to our mom," Dean said quietly, nodding his head toward Sam, "back when we were really little. Dad looked into some stuff, found out about what really goes bump in the night, and we've been looking for the thing ever since, killing anything else we come across while we're at it."
"What was it that got her?" Xander asked carefully.
Sam sighed. "We don't know. But whatever it was…it got Jess, too." Even after all these months, even a passing thought of Jess still packed a solid punch to the gut. Sam delved back into the translations, hoping to shove the memory back down with foreign words and phrases.
Dean went to move the clothes from washers to dryers, and when he came back, gleeful interest lighting up his face, he swung the conversation back around with, "I want to hear more about blowing up your school."
Trust Dean to fixate on the pyrotechnics, Sam thought in aggravation. "Dean, you really shouldn't encourage that sort of thing."
"Oh, come on, Sam. You're just being pissy because it was a school."
"Actually, it has more to do with Xander getting arrested for arson," Sam said, trying to remain the voice of reason.
"Well, it was for a good cause," Xander interjected. "The mayor became a giant snake demon. We were going to go with the volcano defense, but someone had already done that one. Never let it be said that we aren't original. Plan B was a humus offensive." At the crazy looks that got him, he added, "Which of course was why it was the fallback plan."
Dean shook head. "And we thought we ran into a bunch of crazy crap."
"You think that's bad," Xander said, with a wild, knowing look in his eyes that promised this was about to get even wackier, "you should be there when the Hellmouth actually opens."
Sam's eyes widened, eyebrows going up in alarm. "I thought that wasn't supposed to happen."
"Well, obviously it's not something you want to happen, but it can and does on occasion. Demons are really persistent about implementing that whole hell-on-earth thing. Guess they're just wacky like that. It started with The Master," Xander said, deciding to give his brothers a quick rundown on life atop the Hellmouth. "He was a really old vampire stuck underground, so for the most part he wasn't that bad, but just before the Spring Fling he broke lose and opened the Hellmouth. And can I just say there are some really ugly demons in Hell? This big, three-headed thing with tentacles and, well, let's just say it made Avery look like a fairy princess. Anyway, Buffy dusted The Master and closed the Hellmouth, thus leading to some saved-the-world celebrating at the Spring Fling.
"Then our junior year, Spike and Drusilla showed up - think Bonnie and Clyde, but with fangs. They were both vampires too. But then things got really bad when Angel went evil - also a vampire, but he was a good vampire up till that point…if you can ever call a vampire good. Instead of trying to unleash Hell on Earth, he took the road less traveled and tried to suck Earth into Hell, slight implementation variation, same basic hellish outcome."
By now, Sam and Dean were following along with consternated expressions, very little making sense and most of it going straight over their heads. They shared a couple of glances that seemed to say 'are you hearing the same thing I am?' and just generally tried to keep up.
"In the end, Buffy saved the day and Angel was the only one sucked into Hell, where he stayed till he came back the next year. Which brings us to my senior year of high school: a year full of zombies, high school bullies, hellhounds at the prom, a demonic politician, a slayer-turned-bad, and a needy ex-vengeance demon - not to mention a vicious ex-girlfriend, but I like to think we parted on good terms. After all, you know what they say: relationships forged in the heat of battle last forever. Or always fall apart, I can't remember which."
"Wait a second," Sam said, his mind trying to catch up with Xander's diatribe. "Did you say that your slayer friend, Buffy, turned bad?"
"No, not her, the other slayer, Faith. She went on a killing spree, and Buffy ended up putting her in a coma after she tried to kill Angel."
"So the theory that there can be only one at a time is just a myth?" Sam asked, not even bothering with trying to sort out what role the vampire Angel played in the whole thing.
"No, see, Buffy died our sophomore year. She drowned, I did CPR, and she came back. But apparently a temporary case of deadness was enough to trigger the next slayer, so Kendra was called. Then Drusilla killed Kendra, and Faith was called. Faith accidentally killed some guy, decided being bad was more fun, and went to work for the Mayor."
"Who was a demon," Sam pitched in, thinking he was finally catching on.
"Who became a demon," Xander corrected. "And not just any old demon, a pure demon. Which apparently meant becoming a snakelike creature the size of Moby Dick right in the middle of our commencement speech. Long story short, we blew him up. And that brings you up to date."
By now both Sam and Dean had given up on trying to make any sort of sense out of the craziness that was Xander's life. They stared at him with half-bewildered, half-horrified expressions.
"Dude, tell me again why it is you live in that town?" Dean asked.
Xander blinked in confusion. "Where else would I go?"
Dean floundered in astonishment and exclaimed, "Anywhere but there?"
"Sunnydale has its good points too," Xander shot back.
"Such as?" Dean asked pointedly, clearly expecting some elaboration.
"Well, it's…near the beach." Xander sighed and added resignedly, "Which, admittedly, is filled with sea monsters. Also the reason why I now shun team sports. Nothing like seeing your fellow teammates turn into Creatures from the Hellmouth Lagoon to make you dislike swimming. Needless to say, our school didn't win the championship that year."
It was too much to process. That last detail was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. Sam and Dean just stared at him with blank, uncomprehending faces.
Xander cleared his throat nervously. "Of course, I'm sure you guys have just as many crazy stories."
They both continued to stare at him a beat longer, then, thinking about some of the more well-known spirits they'd laid to rest, Sam said, "We ran into the Hook Man."
"Yeah, and Bloody Mary," Dean added helpfully.
"The Bloody Mary?" Xander asked, something like fear tingeing his voice. "You're saying she's real?"
Dean nodded. "You look in the mirror and say her name three times, and she shows up and basically makes your eyes explode."
Xander grimaced in disgust and fright. "So say some misguided individual, on a dare, said her name in front of a mirror twelve years ago at Benny Blake's birthday party…would, uh…would they still be in danger now?"
Sam grinned. "Actually, it's a bit more complicated than that, but I'm fairly certain that if the misguided individual has made it this far, he's probably in the clear."
"Not to mention we wasted that spirit," Dean concluded.
"Good to know," Xander said, looking relieved.
"There was also a woman in white that tried to rip Sam's heart out." Dean grinned cheekily at Sam.
Fielding his brother's glib look, Sam returned with a cheeky grin of his own, "And Dean faced his fear of airplanes."
"Man, why do you have to bring that one up?" Dean exclaimed, still not over the trauma.
Sam filled in the details for Xander, who hadn't been there. "We were hunting a phantom traveler, a demon who had possessed the body of a pilot and tried to crash the plane we were on at the time."
"I was possessed once by an evil hyena spirit," Xander chimed in.
Dean's face contorted in disbelief. "Man, now you're just making shit up."
A buzzer went off amidst Sam's laughter, and Dean looked back toward the dryers. Turning around with a cheerful grin and placing his cue back on the table, he said, "Looks like the clothes are done. You two go get folding, and I'll grab Spot."
Sam began packing away his notes and the finished translation while Dean scooped up the puppy in his arms. Eyeing his brother strangely as Dean once again did the opposite of what he'd expected, Sam asked, "Since when are you two bosom buddies?"
"Well, I figure it's only right if he's going to be a Winchester that we have a little bonding time," Dean said with a saccharine smile that only made Sam's frown deepen. Chester had started to stir by now and was climbing his way up Dean's chest, nearly on top of Dean's shoulder. "Besides," Dean paused, jerking his head to the side as Chester stuck a cold, wet nose in his ear. Flipping the dog round so that his paws were facing away from him, Dean continued, "I did the washing and drying, you guys get to do the folding."
It figured that Dean would stick them with the more tedious task, Sam thought. Sam handed his bag off to Dean, who shouldered it and followed Sam as he made his way toward the row of dryers.
Pulling out the warm clothes, Sam dumped them on a nearby table. As he started riffling through them, he noticed a startling trend. Whirling on his brother with a panicked expression, he shouted, "Dean! You turned all of our white clothes pink!"
Dean was completely untouched by his alarm, a wide, toothy grin stretching across his face. "No, I turned all of yours and Xander's clothes pink."
"What?" Xander squawked, coming behind Sam and digging frantically through the pile for his own clothes.
"Oh, what are you complaining about? It's probably an improvement in your case."
The dirty look Xander gave Dean suggested that he didn't find that to be the least bit funny.
Sam made like he was going to go after Dean, but Dean held Chester up in front of him, deliberately hiding behind an innocent face. "Ah, ah. We wouldn't want any violence in front of the children."
Sam looked at Chester, then at Dean, and then back at Chester again. He managed to restrain himself, but it was a near thing. Instead he said, "I hope he pees on you."
Laughter was Dean's only response, and Sam pursed his lips into a thin line and glared back, trying to muster up what little dignity he could while holding a pair of pink boxers.
When his laughter tapered off, Dean tucked Chester in close to his chest, rubbing a playful hand over the dog's head. Chester responded in kind, licking Dean's fingers and wagging his tail. "C'mon, Chester. Let's take you outside and leave these boys to their misery." He flashed them one last grin before turning and heading for the exit, chuckling the whole way.
"Man, you're a jerk," Sam called after him. He watched the older man go with no small amount of resentment. This prank crap was so immature, and it was always Dean who started it. Like being the older brother afforded him God-given rights to mercilessly tease his younger brother - brothers, now. Just once, he'd like to really stick it to Dean good.
Sam turned to Xander and, seeing the same feelings mirrored there, began to form a plan. Apparently it had never occurred to Dean that he was outnumbered now. Two against one were not great odds for the older man. A smile slowly began to appear on Sam's face, his eyes glinting with mischievous intent. If they wanted, they could make Dean really regret this.
Xander seemed to catch on to where Sam's thoughts were going and replied with a devious smile of his own that seemed to say let the prank-war begin. And Sam couldn't agree more.
*****
A/N: No offence intended to anyone with dogs named Spot, Sparky, or Rover. The Muse just said, "We're calling him Chester." And since she has a tendency to beat me up when I disagree, I said, "Okay."