The Kid, Part 5 - Supernatural, PG

[phantisma]

Fandom: Supernatural
Title: The Kid Part 5 (Part one, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four)
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam, John, Pastor Jim
Rating: PG
Genre: GEN (did you even know I could GEN?)
Word Count: 3151
Summary: Dean is 17, Sam is 13. John is 6. The Winchesters do Christmas.


A/Ns & Warnings: Um. This is at least partially varkelton's fault. De-aging fic.




The house wasn’t one Dean would have chosen, but it was more than they usually ended up in. Some old widow had died and left it to the church. It was in a fairly nice part of town, though he guessed the neighborhood was heavily on the grannies and light on kids for Sam and John to play with.

Still, it was free, and Dean wasn’t one to stick his nose up at that. He unlocked the door with the key Jim had given him and John pushed past him, hauling Mr. Turtle and a duffle bag nearly as big as him.

Sam followed, holding the door as Dean turned back for his own duffle. He grimaced, but did his best to hide it from Sam who had been mother-henning him since he’d gotten released from the hospital.

“It smells like grandma in here.” John said, his nose crinkling.

It did have an odd smell of antiseptic and rose water to it. “Like grandma, eh?”

“It looks like grandma in here.” Sam amended, fingering the afghan on the back of the couch.

“Well, grandma or no, it’s home.” Dean said, dropping his bag on the couch. His body was stiff from the drive and his side hurt. He huffed and shook it off. Time for that when the munchkins were in bed. He shut the front door. “Jim said he put some food in the kitchen. Why don’t you two sort out rooms and I’ll get dinner started.”

They both went running for the stairs. It was a four bedroom house, all the space they could possibly need, and provided they didn’t kill each other over who got which room, it would be better than any of the places they’d squatted since the fire.

With a few days until Christmas, and a little over twenty dollars left from his last paycheck, Dean’s first priority was finding work. The problem was, he wasn’t exactly healed. His leg was better, but his stamina was shit. They just couldn’t keep relying on Bobby and Jim to keep them fed.

At least Jim had gotten them started. A quick inventory revealed hamburgers and hotdogs, mac-n-cheese, cereal and milk, peanut butter and bread, plus odds and ends of canned goods that had probably been here since before the old lady kicked it. All the makings of a Winchester feast.



When Sam and John came roaring down the stairs, Dean was setting the table. “I found Christmas stuff in the attic.” Sam said as he sat down. “There’s a fake tree and lights and everything.”

“Sam, we don’t need to be pawing through some dead woman’s stuff.” Dean chastised as he put two hotdogs on his brother’s plate.

“You promised we could have a tree.”

He had promised. “I was drugged at the time.”

Sam punched him and scowled. “We are so putting up that tree.”

“Fine.” It wasn’t like Dean had anything against Christmas, per se. He just wasn’t sure he liked invoking the wrath of some dead granny for it. “Tomorrow. For tonight, let’s just get settled in, okay?”

He sat and played with his hotdog, not entirely sure he was ready for food. His stomach didn’t always play nice with food since the damn demon dog had torn out half his right side.

Sam glared at him. Dean picked up the hot dog and shoved it in his mouth. For a little brother, Sam certainly was pushy.



“I understand that you’re still recovering from a pretty bad accident.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably and nodded. “I am. Still a little sore, but I’m better.”

The man Jim had introduced Dean to as Smitty nodded, looking over the piece of paper that told him just how little experience Dean had at working a real job. “Look, I know I’m young, and I don’t have a lot of work experience, but I know cars, sir. My father taught me everything I know. I take orders well, I learn fast.” Dean swallowed and exhaled. He hated resorting to begging. “I really need the job. I have a kid and a brother and I’m all they have in the world.”

Smitty squinted at him, looking him up and down. “I tell you what I’ll do. I got me an old Chevy parked out back. It’s kind of been a project of mine. Been meaning to give it to my son. You show me you know cars. Make it run.”

“Show it to me?”

Smitty nodded and lurched to his feet. He was a big man, solid muscle, nearly six feet tall. He led Dean out the back of the garage and into a snowy yard. The Impala that sat there was in bad shape, rusted out and looking like it had seen the bad end of a wreck. “Nineteen Seventy?”

He nodded and watched Dean approach the car. Dean lifted the hood, wincing when it groaned. “Engine looks doable.” He looked over his shoulder. “I’m going to need to borrow some tools.”

Smitty grinned and disappeared into the garage, emerging a few minutes later with a tool box. He put it on the ground next to the car. Dean looked up from his examination of the engine. “I can get it started, but it won’t run today.”

“You get her to start by the end of the day, I’ll pay you fifty bucks and you can come back tomorrow.”

Dean grinned and held out his hand. “You’re on.”

The car had seen better days. The engine had been neglected, even before whatever wreck had taken out her back end. Dean petted over the engine block. “You’re in good hands now, baby.”

All he had to do was get her to talk to him.

The sun was going down. Dean’s fingers were numb with cold as he reached inside the car and turned the key. It cranked, but didn’t turn over. He listened, slid back under the hood and made an adjustment, then turned the key again.

This time it caught, just as Smitty emerged from the back of the garage. He grinned as Dean stood and held up his hands. The engine sputtered and died almost immediately, but that didn’t matter.

“She’s going to need a lot of work. And parts.” Dean said, wiping his hand on a shop towel.

“I’ll get one of the boys to tow her into a bay tomorrow morning. She’s your project.”

Dean looked up at him. “You only doing this because Jim asked you?”

Smitty shook his head. “Not only. I don’t really need another hand right now, but Joey in there’s leaving after the new year, and things pick up round March. You need the job. I figure you can work on this and I can pull you when I need you.”

Dean nodded and held out his hand. “I’m not going to argue with you. I do need the job.”

“Here’s the fifty I promised you.” He pressed a wad of bills into Dean’s hand.

“Thanks.” He shoved it into his pocket. If he hurried, he might even be able to grab a Christmas present or two before he headed home. “So I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

He rubbed at the grease on his hands and started down the road to the church. He’d promised Jim he’d stop in and let him know how it went. The parking lot was empty, except for an old beat up Mustang that looked vaguely familiar. He bounded up the steps and into the church. Jim looked up from conversation with a smallish man.

Dean looked him over. Like the car, he looked vaguely familiar. Jim came toward him, his smile strained. “Dean.”

Dean nodded, looking around him at the man. “Who’s that?”

“No one. How’d it go?”

Dean frowned at him. The man was coming toward them. “You Winchester’s boy?”

“Mark, I said to let it be.” Jim said, turning to placate the man.

Mark, whoever he was, shook his head. “You told me you he wasn’t here.”

“And he isn’t. This is Dean. Dean, Mark Wallerby. He knew your father.”

“Where is he? I need to see him.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably. “He’s not here.” He looked to Pastor Jim. “Why do you need him?”

“He’s got something I need.” Wallerby was nervous, agitated. His father had that affect on people. “Something important.”

Dean inhaled sharply. “He didn’t leave anything. I got to go.”

He turned for the door, but Wallerby grabbed his shoulder. “It’s an amulet. Your father got it from a man named Hale.”

Dean yanked himself away. “I said I don’t have it.”

“Well where is your father then?”

“Dead.” Dean said coldly. “My father is gone. Leave us the fuck alone.”

He slammed out of the church, tears stinging at his eyes. It was stupid. Crying. Dean held his side as he slipped on some ice. His father wasn’t dead. Even if it felt like it. His father was sitting at home, with Sam, waiting for Dean.

Dean pulled in a lung full of cold air and pushed the pain away. He had fifty dollars in his pocket and Christmas was only a day away. He huffed and headed for the nearest store.



The front window of the house was filled with multicolored lights as Dean stopped outside to hide his presents in the trunk of the car. It wasn’t much, but at least Sam and John would have something to open on Christmas morning.

Dean opened the door to find Sam standing on a chair trying to put a star on top of the fake tree, and John covered in garland, hanging red balls on it. The living room was trashed, covered in Christmas glittering crap. Sam grinned down at him. “Almost finished.”

“So I see.” Dean said dryly, raising an eyebrow.

Sam stuck the star on the top branch and jumped down. “How’s it look?”

“It looks like Christmas.” John said, hanging the ball and standing back.

“I found stockings and everything.” Sam lifted what looked like homemade stockings.

“Why don’t you two clean up this mess and I’ll heat up some soup.” Dean didn’t want to squash Sam’s Christmas spirit, but he couldn’t get excited about someone else’s recycled stockings. It made him feel like he was just visiting in someone else’s life.

He headed into the kitchen to fish out a couple of cans of soup from the cupboard.

“Did you get the job?” Sam asked a few minutes later from the doorway.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, I start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.”

“I know.” Dean sighed and looked up at him. “We need the money.”

Sam nodded and looked away. “Yeah. I told Johnny I’d take him to the park to see the decorations.”

“Good. Keep you two squirts out of trouble.” Dean stirred the soup. “I’m doing the best I can, Sam.” Ever since he’d come home from the hospital things had been tense between them.

“Me too Dean.” Sam sighed and looked back over his shoulder. “I’m going to go finish up.”

Dean nodded and let him go. It was hard on Sam. Suddenly thrust into Dean’s role, being a big brother. Taking care of John while Dean worked. Just like Dean, Sam was trying to keep their family together, make it work. Only Sam had never had to take responsibility like this.

Then again, neither had Dean. Not like this.

Because it was starting to sink in. That this is how it would be from here on out. That Dean would work and Sam would watch John and John would grow up slowly. That Dean had taken his father’s place and Sam had taken Dean’s.

“Is Santa going to be able to find me?” John asked as he climbed into his seat.

Dean sucked in air and pushed away the emotion that was bubbling inside him. “What?”

“I don’t live where I used to live.” John tucked Mr. Turtle up under his arm as Dean poured soup into his bowl.

“I’m sure he knows where we are.” Sam said as he took his spot. “Right Dean?”

Dean nodded. “Sure. He’s a smart guy.”

“I didn’t tell him what I want this year.” John blew noisily on his soup. “Like the dump truck. And the bike.”

“You want a bike?” Dean asked.

He nodded. “A two wheeler. Mom was teaching me to ride.” He looked up suddenly, his face scared. He hadn’t mentioned her so casually in a while. “I mean…”

“It’s okay, Kid.” Dean said. “What about you, Sammy? What would you ask Santa for this year?”

Sam looked at him, and Dean could see in his eyes what he’d ask for if he could. Sam turned away, looking into his bowl. “I could use a new backpack for school. And some jeans. I got high waters.”

That much Dean had anticipated. He’d found a few pairs of jeans at the thrift shop, and splurged on a new backpack. It wasn’t a fancy one, but it would do.

“That’s not what you ask for.” John said, making Sam look up. “It’s Christmas. It should be stuff you want, not stuff you need.”

“Well, you better leave him a note then.” Dean said. “Now, eat your dinner.”



“Hey, Sammy.” Dean sat on the edge of his brother’s bed.

Sam groaned and opened his eyes. He looked around the room, then up at Dean. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Dean said. “I need your help.”

Sam sat up, eyeing him suspiciously. “With what?”

“I found a bike out in the shed. But it needs some work. Can you do me a favor tomorrow, before the kid gets up?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“I got a coat of paint on it, but it’s going to need a second coat. Then keep him away from there. When I get home from work I’ll finish it up.”

“I thought you didn’t want us pawing through the old lady’s crap.”

Dean nodded. “I know. But I talked to Jim about it. He said it would be okay.”

“You okay, Dean?”

“I’m fine.” Dean was exhausted, and hurting, but he knew Sam knew that. “What about you Sammy? What about you?”

“I’m good, Dean.”

“No, I mean…what do you really want? For Christmas.”

Sam shook his head. “I have what I want Dean. I have you. And John.”

“We’re going to make this work Sam. I promise.”



Dean stumbled out of the bedroom and down the stairs early Christmas morning. Sam and John were already up, the tree lights on. Dean rubbed at his eyes, squinting at full stockings and more presents than he’d actually put under the tree.

“Merry Christmas!” John yelled, wrapping his arms around Dean’s legs.

“There’s coffee.” Sam said with a smile. “I’ll get you some.”

Dean grumbled and inched toward the couch with John still attached to his leg. “Can I open my stocking? Can I? Now? Please?” John was practically bouncing.

“Yeah, yeah. Go on.” He took the coffee cup Sam offered him. He’d been up way too late putting the finishing touches on the bike, which was out on the front porch. In fact, he’d only been in bed a few hours.

“Pastor Jim stopped by.” Sam said softly so that only Dean could hear him.

That explained the extra gifts. And the stockings. John was on the floor with one of them, the contents dumped all over the carpet. “Candy!” There were chocolates and nuts and little wrapped gifts. “I got a toothbrush and cars!”

Dean sipped at the coffee and tried to wake up enough to pay attention. Suddenly John was there, thrusting a stocking into his lap. “Open yours!”

“Okay, okay, kid. Calm down.” Dean set his coffee aside as Sam retrieved the last stocking. “How do you know which one’s mine?”

“Sam said.” John answered, going back to his line of Matchbox cars on the floor.

Dean dumped the contents of the stocking into his lap. This felt strange. Christmas had always been a dumpy motel or a diner with a swap of gifts picked up at gas stations and convenience stores.

“You got a toothbrush too.” John said as Dean sorted through the pile. There was a toothbrush and a comb and socks along with more of the candy and nuts.

“Me too.” Sam said, smiling. “And pens.” He held up an assortment of pens.

“Presents now?”

Dean nodded and John raced for the tree. Dean cradled his coffee cup and let John tear through his gifts. Sam was a little more controlled, his eyes lighting up when he opened the box filled with books. Dean had found them in the garage, some of them fairly old. They were just his geek brother’s thing too, science and shit. “Thanks.”

Dean just nodded, watching as John got to the box that had his note in it. John pulled the paper out of the box, frowning at it. “What’s this?” He held it up for Sam to read to him.

“It says to look on the porch.” Sam said, smirking. John jumped up and ran for the door. Dean wasn’t entirely sure that the sound he made when he found the bike was even human.

“A bike! A bike! I got a bike!” John ran back and grabbed Dean’s hand, then Sam’s and pulled them toward the door. “A bike!”

“Shit, it’s cold.” Dean said after a minute of standing in the door in nothing but his boxers and t-shirt. “Get in here.”

John left his bike reluctantly, but cheered up when he was back inside. “You have to open my present.” He scampered to the tree and came back with rolled up piece of paper tied with a ribbon. “Sam helped me wrap it.”

Dean sat back down on the couch and took the paper. “Did you make it yourself?”

John nodded proudly.

“He’s been hiding in his room all week working on it.” Sam said.

Dean pulled the ribbon off and unrolled it. The drawing filled the entire page. The left side was filled with a house and the right side had what he assumed was supposed to be the Impala and in the middle there were three people.

“Sam helped me spell.” John said, his voice soft.

Dean looked up at him, then back at the picture. “John.” Dean’s voice caught. Over the smallest of the people John had scribbled his name, and over the next one was Sam’s name. Over the tallest of them though…Dean swallowed. He ran his finger over the letters. “Dad.” Not Dean.

“Is it okay?”

Dean nodded, setting the picture aside and reaching for him. “It’s beautiful.” Dean said through tears he didn’t want to admit, hugging John to him. “It’s perfect.”

“Merry Christmas, Dad.” John’s voice was just a whisper in his ear.

Dean hugged him closer. “Merry Christmas, John.” He reached for Sam, pulling him into the hug. “You too Sam.”