[I know I am behaving badly, but I have every intention of behaving badly. As a matter of fact, this is exactly the kind of situation where one should behave badly--Thomas Fowler in The Quiet American]

“But Daddy says no mercy!” Mary is standing with her arms crossed over her chest with her jaw set in a way that is pure Winchester. She’s looking up at the instructor with an accusing glare that would make John proud were he still alive to see it. Next to her there’s a little boy—her sparring partner for the day—unconscious.

It’s the insolent, unforgiving, stubborn tone of Mary’s voice that makes Dean look up. Sam got him an iPhone and he still can’t figure the damn thing out so while Mary was pwning her class, he was—okay he was playing stick wars but throwing little stick figures up in the air so they smash on the ground is fun. He looks up to see the instructor lecturing Mary. He ambles over, taking his time and listening to what’s being said. It’s not until Mary’s posture changes and her eyes get teary that Dean picks up the pace.

“What’s wrong, Sweetheart?” Dean asks, ignoring the instructor and crouching down in front of Mary, his hands going to her shoulders. Her little bottom lip is quivering and her eyes are just beginning to stream tears.

“He says I can’t come back no more. Can’t help it if Uncle Cas takes longer to choke out.”

For the first time it occurs to Dean that perhaps letting Mary use Castiel as a sparring partner—and allowing her to choke him out—might have been a mistake. He stands up and puts on his ‘let’s negotiate’ face. This would be so much easier if Mary’s instructor was a woman.

“Come on, she made a mistake.”

“I’m sorry but as an instructor it’s my job to make certain that all of the students feel safe in here. He tapped her arm to be let loose and she ignored it. I can’t let that go.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, she’s a foot shorter than him!” And they don’t give Castiel a tap out option at home.

“That’s not the point Mr. Winchester. I’m sorry but Mary can’t come back.”

Mary’s tears are becoming sobs, the kind that hitch her breath and make her whole little body jerk. Dean can’t stand that; not since the day she was born which explains why she slept exclusively on his chest for the first two months of her life. It also explains the hard right punch to the instructor’s jaw.

It’s sort of like grade school after that. Everyone circles around them yelling fight! Fight! Fight! There’s a lot of rolling around and Dean is trying to play nice. He figures it’s not really fair. This guy fights five year olds on a regular basis, Dean fights demons but then the instructor has Dean on the ground and Mary is yelling ‘GET HIM DADDY!!!’

Playing nice is over rated. Dean slams the top of his head into the instructor’s face, blood gushes and the fight is over because one of them—not Dean—is too busy holding his teeth in to worry about fighting anymore.

“Come on, Mar,” Dean says, sweeping her up off her feet. “Let’s get out of here. We’ll find another school.”

Dean can already hear the sirens when he puts Mary into the Impala and peels out of the parking lot.
“You gots blood all over you, Daddy.”

“I know Baby Girl but it’s not mine,” he assures her with a grin. “Hey, you did good out there.”

“Didn’t mean to hurt Timmy but Uncle Cas is whole lot harder to make go sleep.”

“I know,” Dean nods sagely. “When we get home, I’m gonna let you do the talking.”

“Want me to give Momma a hug?” Mary asks. They’ve run this racket before.

“And a kiss. Tell her she’s pretty.”

“Kay…you bring flowers ‘cause you’re all bloody.”

“Mary…Sweetheart, I’m going to trade Sammy in for you.”

That results in Mary giggling a lot. “Aunt Samnantha will cry.”

“Yeah…you’re right. He’s a whiny little bitch. Alright, you’ll have to be my second partner in crime.”

“Kay,” Mary beams at him. He winks at her and pulls the Impala into the parking lot at the florist shop.

“Brooke’s angry?” the florist asks when Dean walks in. She’s already putting together a dozen pink roses.

“She’s gonna be,” Dean answers.

They’ve run this racket before too. It’s a pattern with Dean but if he were behaving, Brooke would think he was dying like the male leads in the chick movies she watches with Sam. He’s only thinking of her.

Dean Winchester best husband and father ever.

Canon Absolutely 100% canon. Probably not going to be a huge ton of these.

Brooke in all of Dean's verses is giveandforgive Sam is notantichrist, Bobby is ditchabledate and Castiel is learntofeel

I got Brooked Uhm...well here's the story thus far. When Dean was pulled out of Hell, turns out he was near Tree Hill, North Carolina. He wandered into Tree Hill, chased off the guy beating the hell out of this pretty brunette and had amnesia. Pretty Brunette took him home and a couple of months later Sam showed up, along with Dean's memory. She stays in Tree Hill most of the time. Dean and Sam go back and forth between hunting trips.


Zeppelin Sucks (formerly go brooke yourself) Remember the episode with Lisa and Ben? Right. Okay well insert Brooke and a little boy named Matthew (who happens to be played by the same kid who plays Jamie. He's cute) Matthew IS Dean's and Dean just found out. Basically the Winchester boys are going to do a home base type thing, place they go between jobs and when things slow down so that Dean can play daddy. Matthew is dude_imawesome This is where most of Dean's prompts come from.


Guns And Dolls AKA Brooke's pregnant again?? Basically about four years in the future. Brooke and Dean are just married. They've got a daughter who is three named Mary. She's possibly the most spoiled child in history being a Winchester girl. Claire and Sam are married (and have been for a few years) and Claire is pregnant with their first baby. This is a new verse but I just did a prompt in it so a new verse post was required.

[When did you know you were in love?]

He’s in Las Vegas and her name is Dani. She’s a blonde—natural she swears—with legs up to her neck and the most perfect pair of tits money can buy. She’s also currently tied to headboard clothed in only a thong, a pair of high heels and bedroom eyes that leave no doubt to her willingness. The bed sinks under his weight, both knees first and then his hands. He’s still wearing his jeans but he has no damn idea why. It’s not until he’s inches from her mouth, poised above her that he realizes why.

“You alright, Gorgeous?” Dani asks, her leg hooking around his waist, pulling him closer.

“Yeah,” Dean answers but he doesn’t sound or look convinced. The kiss is half hearted and Dani can tell. She’s doing a fantastic job of ignoring it. Dean finally pulls away with an actual sigh. He sits back on his heels, scrubbing his hands over his face.

Dani is confused; it’s written all over her face. “There’s a bottle of pills in the nightstand,” she nods toward the left of the bed. “Everyone has problems sometimes.”

It takes a minute for Dean to catch onto what she’s suggesting but when he does, his eyes get big and he shakes his head. “No, no. no,” he insists. “I am not having problems…with the rise and shine. I-dammit,” he curses.

“I’ve gotta…get-Jesus fucking Christ on a stick…home. I gotta get home.”

Walking out the door, leaving Double D Dani pouting in her bed, it hits him. He’s not leaving because he’s got to get home or because Sam will bitch or because Dani isn’t completely amazing looking. He’s leaving because like it or not, he’s in love with Brooke Davis.

“Well fuck…”

I am aware of accusations that this journal, by completing this prompt may have copied a response that another Dean writer made a year and a half ago, for a different prompt while a member of the makeyourlist community.

I had several verses with that Dean at the time, and admired that writer's portrayal of the character. However, that prompt was written a year and a half ago, and I have not interacted with fullonobiwan in months. I completed the list at the suggestion of another writer, fitting it into Dean's "Zeppelin Sucks" verse, therefore tweaking his season four canon as needed, and including Brooke Davis. I also spent some time trying to remember canon names and places that Dean mentioned. I couldn't possibly get them all, but I did make the effort.

I did not remember fullonobiwan's response when I wrote mine, and I never thought that writing a list of women who Dean has had sex with - when Dean is such a proud manwhore in canon - would be considered copying anyone other than Kripke and the other writers of Supernatural. I also did not know that I was the Dean in question until someone brought it to my attention. I have credited fullonobiwan's writer in the past for things inspired by her characters, and would have done so in this instance, had her list been on my mind.

I apologize for any confusion, and would like to take this time to thank the players who have been supportive of my portrayal of Dean Winchester. I love this character and all of the interaction that I've been given on Livejournal. I plan to continue to play him to the best of my ability with nothing but respect and admiration for all of the other Dean Winchesters and associated Supernatural roleplayers, which is all that I've been trying to do since I first picked him up.

This is all that I care to say about the matter.

[A list of chicks I’ve “dated”]

Sara- Omaha, NE
Carrie- Popular Bluff, MI
Candy- Mobile AL
Jenny- Delta, LA
Allie and Andrea- Lucky, LA (so aptly named)
Pilar- Austin, TX
Tess- Roswell, NM
Gina- Santa Fe, NM
Leah- Rough Rock, AZ
Porsche and Mercedes- Silver Peak, NV (I’m pretty sure those were their stage names)
Beth- Diablo, CA
Jane- Mad River, CA
Mary- Mosier, OR ( felt dirty for about five seconds)
Diana- Twin Falls, ID
Rachael- Elmo, UT (Mormons are kinky)
Bambi- Hotchkiss, CO
Alexis- Cawker City, KS
Belle- Disney, OK
Kate- College Station, AR
Cassie Robinson- Cape Girardeau, MO
Lisa- Cierco, IN
Brooke Davis- Tree Hill, NC
Sarah- Jumperville, MO
Tina- Crystal Lake, IA
Jennie- Jericho, CA
Maddie- Bee, NE
Andrea- Lake Manitoc, WI
Amanda- Springfield, IL
Deliha- English, IN
Tiffany- Toledo, OH
Becca- St. Louis, MO
Cheluh- Iowa City, IA
Cara- Oasis Plains, OK
Kelly- Rockford, IL
Layla- Montello, NV
Cassie- Cape Girardeau, MO
Alice- Richardson, TX
Rebecca- Manning, CO
Marion- Red Lodge, MO
Ashley- Twin Lakes, MS
Taylor- Louisville, KY
Tara Benchley- Hollywood, CA
Camille- St Paul, MN
Britney and Jill- Portland, ME
Lauren- Flatwoods, WV
Brandy- Nashville, TN
Lilly- Memphis, TN
Amy- Buffalo, NY
Linda- Saxis, VA
Annie- Rapid City, SD
Stacy- Erie, PA
Brooke Davis, Tree Hill, NC

[What do you have to lose?]

“You sure you’re feelin’ up to this, Sammich?”

“Yeah, I’m alright now,” Sam said. He ducked his head a little and Dean could see the shame all over his face. To counteract it he punched him in the shoulder a little.

“I just don’t you suckin’ down my blood while you’re s’posed to be watching my back.”

“Dean-I wouldn’t-“ Sam started and then rolled his eyes, exasperation taking the place of shame. Dean could handle that.

“Right,” he dismissed and prepared to get down to business, leaning forward so his elbows were on his knees. They were in the basement and it had been marked up with runes, hiding them as effectively as they knew how from everyone and everything. Castiel was helping a little on that front but he’d warned he couldn’t hide them for long, not without someone noticing. “No matter what happens we stick to the plan. You get that hurt assed puppy look on your face and I’m punching you anyways,” Dean smirked.

“Yeah, got it,” Sam smirked.

“We’ve got to sell this con and everybody’s got to buy it,” Dean reinforced. This was sort of the con of his life and if any one of them slipped up the world wouldn’t just burn, Dean, Sam and Castiel would burn with it.

“I know, Dean,” Sam assured him again.
Dean glanced down at his watch and up at the ceiling chalked with runes. “I’ll talk to your giant yeti ass when this all over, Bitch.” Oh yeah, Dean was upset and nervous. He was stringing insult after insult.

“You better,” Sam warned him. “Jerk.”

They stormed up the steps yelling and screaming at each other but Sam didn’t through the first punch until they were in the kitchen, clear of all the runes and in full sight of anyone who might be paying attention. They crashed through the living room, managing to smash the coffee table in their wake and it never crossed Dean’s mind that he was going to have to apologize for that to Brooke. Before this was over, they’d all have much bigger things to apologize for.

[This image]

Sammy in the basement storyline

He’s debating the assets of one carburetor cleaner against another when his phone rings. He knows it’s Claire by the ringtone—She’s only Seventeen by Winger—and he answers it with the urgency it deserves.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, abandoning the half full basket of car care products in favor of booking it toward the exit.

“His fever has spiked. It’s up to 105,” Claire starts. Dean interrupts before she can finish what she’s saying.

“I’ll be there in five minutes.” He doesn’t say goodbye, just hangs up and shoves the phone in his pocket. The Auto Zone is fifteen minutes from the house.

Dean is in the process of breaking land speed records in the Impala when he sees the blue and red flashing lights behind him. He can hear the sirens even over Black Sabbath but he doesn’t slow down or pull over. He sticks his arm out the window and makes a come along gesture. They can ticket him for what the hell ever they want when he gets home.

By the time he gets to Brooke’s house, he’s leading three police cars and he sort of misses the drive way, taking out the grass to the right of it. He slaps a driver’s license—Ted Hendrix—on the hood of the Impala along with the insurance that matches.

“Baby brother’s sick, leave the tickets under the windshield wipers,” Dean says as he books it into the house and clatters down the stairs to the basement at speeds that might make Bruce Jenner envious…maybe.

Sam is curled up in a ball, chains still on his wrists and his ankles, soaked in sweat. His hair is plastered to his skin and Claire is standing off to the side with her hands on her hips.

“Don’t touch me! It hurts!” Sam screams when Dean gets close. Dean looks over at Claire with a questioning look because this is new.

Claire shrugs in response. “You didn’t have to run home. I can inject him and it’ll bring his fever down but I can’t get near him.”

Dean holds out his hand. “Gimme,” he says, expecting her to put the syringe of her blood in his hand.

“Dean…be careful. He knocked me across the room and broke my neck. That’s when I called you,” says Little Miss Bounce Back.

Dean’s brow furrows and he takes a step back to study Sam for a moment. “Alright, I’ll grab him from behind and hold onto him. You stick him.”

[Drink It]

“The women over there would like to buy you a drink,” the bartender says as she sets another beer in front of Dean. He glances over his shoulder and grins at the table; one red head, one blonde. He gives them a wink and then makes a show of taking a drink of his beer. Any other time, he’d saunter over, make some conversation and start planning for some French thing he can’t pronounce that means threesome. Instead he hangs out by the bar, talks the tender and waits until the red head approaches—he knew it’d be the red head.

“So my friend and I were wondering” she hesitates, the tip of her tongue touching the corner of her mouth “if you’d like to have drinks with us.”

“Sweetheart, I’m never gonna turn down a drink,” Dean says with a too cocky grin and a tip of his bottle.

The red head looks over at the blonde, triumphant smile on her face and sits down next to Dean. Another half second and there’s a blond snuggling up to his other side.

They’re three beers in and a couple of shots before Dean breaks the news to the women.

“Ladies, I hate to be the one to break up this party-“

He’s interrupted by the blonde. “Our apartment isn’t far from here and we’re room mates.”

“Very open minded room mates,” the red head reminds him. Her hand is on his knee and then way too high on his thigh for anyone’s comfort.

“And there is nothing I appreciate more than open minded roommates,” Dean says, an idiot’s grin on his face. “And I am one lucky man tonight.” He glances to the red head and then the blonde, taking a moment to appreciate just how lucky. “But there is one very, very lucky girl waiting at home for me.”

The look of disappointment and rejection is pathetic and if Dean were a lesser man, he’d succumb to their pouts. His self control is better than anyone will give him credit for. It takes several more minutes for Dean to get out the door but he’s in the Impala and headed back to the motel room alone.

“Hey Hot Ass,” Dean says as he crawls into the backseat of the Impala. “Talk dirty to me.”

[Pain]

Every other week it seems like Dean’s hearing some sort of bullshit about Sam from angels or demons or prophets. He’s the Anti-Christ, the prince of Hell, the Queen of England—because of course Sammy would be a Queen. He doesn’t believe them.

Until now.

He’s not scared of Sam. That’s his baby brother in there. No matter what he does, he will always be his baby brother. He’s scared of what Sam will do. He’s scared of what Sam has done and most of all he’s terrified he’s never, ever gonna get his baby brother back. Not the way he used to be with that big dorky smile and the way he stumbles over his own gynormous feet.

“What don’t I know about that kid?”

At one time, nothing. He knew Sam inside and out, all the crevices and cracks. He could write a book about the things he knew about Sam and it’d be a hellva lot longer than the list of things he knew about himself. But now…he didn’t even know Sam was on demon blood. He feels like a stupid, oblivious parent because somehow this is his fault. If he’d been…more of anything at all, Sam wouldn’t be locked up.


If Dean weren’t so damn tired, he’d be angry. Angry at the situation, angry at Sam, angry at Ruby and angry at God. Which figures…two point four seconds after Dean decides he believes in God, he’s pissed at him. It all boils down to one thing. Dean wants to go back.

Back to goofy smiles.

Back to a time when he didn’t believe in Sam’s destiny.

And Dean’s terrified he’s never going to get there.

Maybe this is his punishment. This is for that first day he broke and every day after that. This is for ten years of souls on the rack and every drag of the blade down skin that was only there to be tortured. Sammy’s paying for every crime that Dean ever did and it occurs to him that Castiel didn’t drag him back; he dragged him deeper.

[Argue]

Sam’s nose is huge. Dean knows this because he is taking pictures of it close up with his camera phone. Sam grumbles, turns over and lets out a snore that would make the Impala envious. Dean rolls his eyes and moves back over to his bed. He sends the pictures to Brooke—because for some reason she wants pictures of Sam’s nose and flips through channels on the TV.

Twenty minutes later, Sam’s doing his best impression of a V8 engine and Dean is still bored. He takes some more pictures of Sam sleeping, sends them to Claire this time and then he sees the plastic spoon on the table. Dean is stealthy like a ninja—or Batman—as he slips the spoon in Sam’s mouth and takes some more pictures. Sam grunts, snorts and then wakes up flailing when Dean starts taking pictures.

“God Dammit Dean!”

There are days Dean would swear that’s Sam’s favorite phrase. He’s also faster than Dean ever gives him credit for. He’s half way across the room when Sam brings him down in a tackle and they’re rolling across the room, punching each other.

“Ow!” Sam yells when Dean catches him in the eye. “What the hell?”

“I was bored,” Dean says as he lets Sam up. He’s got a goofy ass grin a mile wide on his face.

‘What the fuck really?’ is written all over Sam’s face as he pushes himself up off the floor.

“Come on, Sammich. That was fun.” The words are a little slurred because Sam’s elbow caught him hard in the lip and it’s swelling up.

Sam just shakes his head, a chuckle coming out despite the effort to keep it to himself. “Why pictures?”

“Dude I sent ‘em to Claire. Especially that one of your-“

His words are cut off when Sam slams him into the wall and they go down to the floor, fists flying again. Dean’s laughing like an idiot.

“Christ, boney knees,” he says between gasping laughter.

Dean’s not bored anymore but then again, neither one of them are sleeping.

[What we've got here is failure to communicate.
COOL HAND LUKE]

( I don't even know what kind of warnings to put on this. Could possibly make you snort fluids out of your nose )

[Make a list of things you want people to remember about you.]

-Brooke told me I had to keep this R rated so insert porn here.

-And here

-My extraordinary good looks

-And charm

-Not to mention humor

-The Impala

-That I tried. Yeah I screwed up a lot but I tried to help people, save people and make the world a little better.

-Every state except Hawaii and Alaska.

-Zeppelin rules

-One order and I followed it as long and as well as I possibly could.

[This image]

Anyone could carve initials in a tree. It took a knife and no skill what so ever. However…using a flame thrower to burn initials into a tree took skill. It was a deeper level of devotion.

Also? It was a reason to set shit on fire.

There was little in the world Dean loved doing as much as he loved setting things on fire.

It was supposed to be a surprise. Well…she was surprised.

You know when she pulled up in the drive way to find two fire trucks and the big oak tree in the backyard reduced to a smoldering stump.

“DEAN!”

He’d know that tone anywhere. The grin he plastered on as he waded through two inches of water—putting out a fire apparently flooded the front and back yard—was not even close to sheepish. It was more like I’m so awesome the tree spontaneously combusted. He actually considered that story for about two point five seconds. He figured telling her the truth would carry more weight. At least he was trying to be sweet. Chicks valued sweet…or at least that’s what he’d been told.

“Momma! I told him not to play with fire,” Matthew said as he splashed through the water to hug Brooke.

Dean glared at him and he might have mumbled the word traitor, but not too loudly. “I was going to burn our initials into the tree in the backyard.”

And it’d all been going FINE until one of the branches caught fire.

“He should have listened to you,” Brooke told Matthew. She stared hard at Dean. “Fire? Really?”

He shrugged and his grin got wider.

“I told Dad that it would burn. They make LOGS out of trees,” Matthew pointed out again. He wanted to make sure that he wasn’t in trouble.

“You are so grounded,” Brooke told Dean as she tiptoed through the water toward the front door.

“To our room?” Dean asked hopefully as he followed Brooke. “Uhm…Hot Ass…I don’t think we can go in there yet…something about making sure-“

Brooke’s glare stopped his words. “To Sam’s room.”

Oh…she was pissed. Note to self don’t burn Brooke’s shit.

“Aww come on, Hot Ass. Every time you look out the window and see that stump it’ll remind you of me,” Dean argued.

“There’s a stump?” Brooke asked.

Second note to self: Shut up while you’re ahead.

“Just a little one?” Dean responded.

Brooke closed her eyes and started counting silently. Dean kept waiting for her to finish. He counted past ten, then fifty. He was close to a hundred when decided this shit had to be interrupted.

“I’ll buy a new tree. Matthew and I can plant it tomorrow.” Besides digging holes was kind of fun. He’d never done it before except to bury or unbury something.

“If you dig up the entire yard, you will never, ever sleep in the same room with me again,” Brooke warned.

“Just one hole,” he promised with a grin.

And this time, the new tree would have their initials carved into it.

[A list of nicknames]

1. Sam
-Sammich
-Sasquatch
-Yeti
-Samantha
-Sammy
-Freak
-Chewy
-Haley Joel
-Special Needs
-Little Brother
-Baby Brother
-Whiny little Bitch
-Geekboy
-Bitch
*Sometimes I put the word giant before these and often the word ass afterwards as in: “I’m gonna beat his giant yeti ass when I get my hands on him”

2. Brooke
-Hot Ass
-Sometimes Babe

3. Claire
-Jailbait

4. Matthew
-Little Dude

5. Castiel
-Cas
-Feather Ass
-Junkless
-Chuckles

6. The Impala
-Baby
-My girl

[Have you ever had your heart broken?]

His first clue that she wasn’t buying it was a skillet upside his head. Thank God it wasn’t the iron one she made cornbread in. His ears were ringing and his head aching.

“Jesus, what the hell, Cassie?”

“You bastard, next time just tell me you’re cheating on me. You don’t have to make up shit like that!”

That earned her the classic Dean Winchester ‘bwahz’ face. “Seriously? You think that’s what this is about?”

“No, Asshole. I know that’s what this is about. You’re talking vampires and demons, monsters in the closet. No one makes up that sort of bullshit without having an underlying motive. You know, I don’t have to put up with this bullshit. My daddy told me not to get involved with you and I didn’t listen. I thought I knew you better than that.”

“Cass…” he started, emotion choking in his throat. He closed it off, pushed it down and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You do know me. I know it’s hard to believe, Baby, but I’m not making this shit up. Look around you.”

It was closer to begging than Dean ever liked to get but it was Cassie and if he’d ever had a first love, it was her.

“Get out. You son of a bitch-“ Cassie raised her hand to slap him and Dean stopped her, his fingers curling around her wrist as he squared his jaw, his whole being going cold.

“Don’t. Do not bring my mother into it,” Dean warned her.

“Oh right. The sacred Mary Winchester who was killed by a demon,” Cassie hissed.

She didn’t have to throw him out after that. He packed up and left, slamming the front door so hard the entire house shuddered. It was stupid to get so involved, stupid to let a woman get under his skin. He knew that but he thought she’d be special. He thought she could deal with it. Cassie wasn’t faint of anything, much less heart.

He’d been wrong but the one thing you could say about Dean Winchester, he rarely made the same mistake twice. It didn’t occur to him until he was three hours down the road that he’d never told her he wasn’t cheating on her.

[Triangle]


Connect the dots. One, two, three and he knows that’s one too many. His thoughts are fuzzy around the edges, separated by oceans of morphine and continents of pain. Maybe that’s why he notices for the first time, they’re a triangle. Sam’s on his right side, elbows on his knees and he’s got that same worried look he had the night he had to go play a tree or some shit in the school play. Brooke is on his left side, her back curved against a chair like she’s been there forever. Maybe she has. He can’t remember anymore.

As soon as they see his eyelids flutter, they both push forward, weight teetering on the edge of the chairs. Sam moves forward so quickly, his chair grates against the tile floor.

“Relax, Hell’s already tossed me out and Heaven’s too damn afraid I’d take over. I’m gonna live forever, Kiddos.” He wishes it sounded more like the joke it is but funny thing about being choked nearly to death. It fucks with your voice and everything sounds James Earl Jones serious.

“Do you want me to call the nurse?” That’s worry wart Sammy, hovering like a first time mother while Brooke hangs back letting him.

Dean forces a smile and really it’s a twitch at the corners of his lips. “No, she’ll just give me some of that shit that puts me in lala land.” Not that lala land sounds so bad right now. His throat feels like Alistair iss shoving hot pokers down it. Oh wait, he knows what that feels like and this isn’t quite it but almost.

He’s still watching Sammy, looking for signs of what the hell happened out there in the kid’s eyes. He knows it wasn’t good because he can see the way the weight curves his baby brother’s spine and hunches his shoulders, like Atlas after a bad day—yeah he knows who Atlas is, as he’s constantly reminding people, he’s not stupid.

Brooke’s hand is cool on his forehead, skirting along his hairline and drawing his attention to her. She’s been crying, he can see the red in her eyes. He has to look away because that quiet fear threatens to break him. He brought this into her life; a normal life with the fence and the kid and the not-yet-but-soon dog. He can’t apologize because a part of him isn’t sorry—and this seems to be a theme with the Winchesters. It’s not fair to her and its not fair to him but then he stopped caring about fair to him when he was four years old and Sammy was crying in his arms. She’s trapped in this triangle; him and Sam and her and it cycles around and around like some lopsided and broken circle.

“I’ll…go tell the doctor you’re awake,” Sam says, his gaze flicking to Brooke and then back to Dean one last time. There are tears in his eyes and Dean wonders what the fuck happened once again. He’s pretty sure that whipped puppy look isn’t because he found out big brother tortured a demon. Or maybe it is and Dean’s just fooling himself.

“He alright?” Dean asks when Sam is gone but he’s still there in that room—always there, part of the broken, lopsided circle that is DeanBrookeSam. Or maybe it’s SamDeanBrooke—SamBrookeDean. He’s not sure anymore and he doesn’t know if it even matters. Or maybe it’s like a tide, and that’s all that matters. The way it washes up and then away, up and then away. Reverse it—away and then up—the world goes askew but then his would is already askew. He’ll have to talk to Castiel about changing the tide again.

Brooke squeezes his hand in hers, lightly, lightly because if he’s ever been fragile it’s right now. “He’s fine. Worry about you. “

But worrying about Sammy is what makes Dean’s world go round and Brooke’s along for the ride; oh what a bumpy ride.

“I’m sorry.” There’s the tears he’s been struggling with and where the hell is the nurse with the morphine that he didn’t want a few minutes ago.

Brooke shakes her head and moves closer to the bed, curling over him the way she does Matthew when she kisses his forehead at night. “Take it back. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

If it were so easy. Take it all back. Back to Mom and back to Dad. Back to 1973 before the tide changed and the world went askew. Take back the fire and the way Dad was always gone. Take back Jess and Sam dying in his arms. Take it back. Take it back. Take it back and maybe there wouldn’t be a stupid lopsided, broken circle--triangle, his kindergarten teacher reminds him and Dean thinks he needs to remember so he can teach Sammy someday—Just Dean and Brooke—DeanBrooke; BrookeDean—but that feels wrong and weird so maybe he can just take back Sammy dying in his arms because that’s when the tide changed for him. That’s when up and away became away and up. The shortest distance between A and B is always a straight line but doesn’t the journey trump the destination and what fun is a straight line anyway? Besides, he doesn’t know what he is without Sam and he’s not sure BrookeDean would ever make it at all. Funny how he’s got more faith in something infinitely more broken and desperately more dysfunctional: SamBrookeDean.

“Can’t take it back.”

If you were to attend a costume party tonight, what or whom would you go as?
James Bond

What is your concession stand must-have at the movies?
Twizzlers

Which is worse: Being in a place that is too loud or too quiet?
Too quiet

If you had to have the same topping on your vanilla ice cream for the rest of your life, what topping would you choose?
Apple

Have you ever felt a dick that was over eight inches?
Does mine count?

Would you rather be trapped in an elevator or stuck in traffic?
Stuck in traffic. At least I'm in my baby then.

If you were a car, would someone buy you?
Oh hell yes.

When was the last time you had Mom's home cooking?
I was four.

What do people label you as?
Asshole. Funny, they're right.

Have you ever slept on a couch with someone else?
Yup.

Is the last person you kissed more than a year older than you?
Whitney in Ohio. Read this wrong, too much damn morphine. No the last person I kissed is six years younger than me. Yeah I'm robbing the frickin' cradle.

Would you ever enhance or get any plastic surgery?
Why screw with perfection?

[Who do you work best with?]

The tension that runs between the two of you like a trip wire just waiting to trigger an explosion melts away in the thick of a case. Your backs against each others, guns raised and flash lights held above the guns. Tension still exists but it binds you together, tighter than wire or tape, tighter than glue or a weld. This is what you were raised for and more importantly in ways that no one will ever understand, this is what he was raised for; need and circumstance, blood and responsibility have wound you both together so that neither of you know exactly where one ends nor where the other begins. Trusting him is in your bones, protection is in your soul and that’s why you take a couple of steps in front him, your body angled just a little so that you’re in the line of fire. You like to pretend he doesn’t know what you’re doing because that’s part of protecting him; hiding all the bad things from him, even if he’s becoming one of the bad things.

There’s an unearthly scream and talons rake your shoulder.

“Sammy!”

You dropped the flashlight and you can’t see him but you can still feel him at your back and the crunch of bone against rock isn’t his. Somehow you know that because instinctively you would know what the crunch of his bone sounded like. You would know the smell of his blood because it smells like yours and the metallic scent that makes your stomach twists isn’t his blood.

Light bounces in your eyes and then angles up at the ceiling once before arcing across your eyes again to the ground. He’s crouching in front of you, the heel of his hand pressing against the deep gashes in your shoulder and it hurts and it’s right and it’s home and it’s the way everything is supposed to be.

“You okay?”

And you are because he is. Whatever wounded you is dead and you don’t want to ask how he did it because those are things about him that scare you now so you nod instead and clap your free hand to his shoulder, pushing—half pulling yourself to your feet.

“Me? I’m smokin’ Sammy,” you say and you know your words are too bright, too cocky, too wrong, too everything but they usually are these days.

“Let’s get out of here. I want to look at your shoulder and I need a shower.”

“Thought I smelled something. You gotta start taking those more than once a week, Sammich.” Because insults and snapbacks are easier than asking why your baby brother has blood all over him, blood that’s not his or yours and why you only heard one scream, the crunch of bone and a wet, fleshy pop. Those sounds are etched in your ears and your brain, squealing somewhere in the back like nails on a chalk board. You never heard a gun fire, never smelled burnt powder and you know Sam doesn’t have a knife. Whatever happened, however that monster died, Sam did it and you know that and it’s eating away at you faster than what was in that cave ever could.

The walk back to the Impala is slow and you lean on Sam more because you can then because you need to. Using your brother as a crutch makes some of the horror go away because no matter what happens, no matter what he becomes or what you become, he’s still the person you work best with in the world. The person you’ll stand beside against everything else. It’s what you raised for. More importantly it’s what he was raised for.

[Go Home]

“We gonna go closer, Dad?” Matthew asks from the back seat. Dean glances over his shoulder, hesitating before he nods. It’s like Doc Brown’s best invention yet back there. Little green and brown army men are strung all across the Impala’s back seat and Dean has to blink a couple of times to make sure it’s all real.

“Yeah…” Dean says slowly then nods, like he’s working himself up to something. The ‘house’ is really just some burned remains. Two house fires in twenty-five years. It’s got a bad luck rap that won’t go away.

“We don’t have to,” Brooke says quietly, her hand creeping over to cover Dean’s.

“Yeah…we do,” Dean responds. This is why he brought them here; to see where the person he is was born and to share the little bit of home he remembers with them. He opens the door and looks over at Brooke, shooting her a grin that is too cocky and too bright to be real. “Come on, we’ll walk around and then we’ll go have pie at the diner where I once had pie with my dad.”

Of course he’d had pie with John hundreds of times after that but it’s the time in Lawrence that really sticks out in his mind.

Dean picks Matthew up and sits him on his shoulders. He doesn’t want Matthew wandering around in the broken glass and debris. His boots crunch as they wander through it, everything of value taken long ago. It takes him a minute to get his bearings.

“That was the kitchen,” he tells Matthew and Brooke who’s right behind him. He knows she hates getting dirty and this is so far from her idea of how to spend a day but she’s there because he needs wants her there. “Mom used to make sugar cookies and she’d dance with my Dad while they baked.” It is a memory that is half hazy in his head. Sometimes he thinks he made it up entirely because he needs it to be real.

“Sorta like you and Mom?” Matthew asks.

Dean nods. “Yeah…sorta. I think Dad was a better dancer then than I am now.” They move on closer to what’s left of the staircase.

“Upstairs is where my room was and where Uncle Sam used to sleep,” he continues the tour.

“Why didn’t Uncle Sam come with us?” Matthew asks, his head tilted up to the sky where a second floor might have once been.

Dean shakes his head in response. “Nah…Sammy didn’t want to come. He’d rather stay and read books…or something.” This was never home for Sam anyway. He gets a little lost staring up those stairs because he can remember running down them, Sam in his arms and so afraid he was going to drop his baby brother. He knows the place is burning behind him and he’s terrified his parents are both going to die. He doesn’t know how he’s going to take care of Sammy. He doesn’t know how he can listen to his dad because he’s four years old and he can’t take care of Sammy by himself.

Brooke’s hand is light on his shoulder and he doesn’t realize until he feels it that he got lost. He clears his throat, blinking away the tears in his eyes and pastes a smile on his lips. “Ready for some pie? I’m ready for some pie.”
“With ice cream?” Matthew asks, house forgotten and pie on his mind. At five he’s easy to distract.

“Of course with ice cream,” Dean nods as they turn around and start back toward the Impala. He reaches out his hand, taking Brooke’s in his. “You guys mind to much if we just head home after pie? Don’t feel much like staying in a motel tonight.”