So this is going to be cringey. I mean it. I wrote this three years ago and lemme tell you, I wasn't a very good writer then. But hopefully I'll continue it better. If you want me to.
XXX
The first time Dean met him, he had just gotten dumped by the hottest cheerleader in school.
Not the hottest he's seen, personally, but it was still a low blow. And, to add insult to the injury, he'd let slip more than he meant to in a futile attempt to stop himself from feeling very frustrated and humiliated like a playboy who'd gotten exactly what he'd deserved.
"I'm a hero," he said.
Maddison only sneered at him, flipped her hair, and walked away. Swallowing down a lump of anger and shame, Dean glared at anybody who dared leered at their, erm, interaction, and adjusted his leather jacket. He turned away and lifted a foot to stalk off, but before he could, four words. Four words literally made him stop in his tracks.
"I'm sure you are."
The voice was not sarcastic. Or rather, the most sincere one can be without actually meaning what was said. The words were light and cut-dry, blurted out by a calm mouth connected to a nervous brain, and was said so blandly, a hint of condescending relaxed toning the sentence into an impossible mono-humored sing-song that was so subtle, a part of Dean instead had the inkling to believe him instead of getting offended. It wasn't scathing, mocking, or even absentminded. Also, it was said by a dude.
"Excuse me?" Dean whirled around, took one look at the speaker, and paused. "Have we met before?"
"Your dad's met mine," the guy said. "Shawn. Spencer. Hi."
Dean looked him up and down. He went with Dad to interview the officer. He remembered Henry's hard eyes and no-nonsense attitude. Shawn was the exact opposite. Childish rebellion, naïve ambition and a sort of ADHD-affected air around him that you simply couldn't get from non-ADHD people. They probably went to class together. "Hold up, you're Detective Spencer's kid?"
"Yup. I know, right?" he closed his open locker with a loud spukting sound and spread his arms, giving Dean a full view of his clothes and obvious makeup. Sneakers, too-tight black jeans, black T-shirt with silver highlights and design, and a thin cotton jacket over that. Despite the goth look, the kid rather reminded Dean of a picture Sam had showed him once of a little duckling drenched in oil. He looked like somebody who just went ahead with the trend without actually wanting to. If somebody had asked Dean, he would've said that it didn't suit Shawn, with that bashful half-grin of his screamed goofy all over the place. "Not exactly what you'd expect from a cop's kid, huh? Then again, this is not exactly what'd I thought the son of an ex-military man would be like either. I kind of expected more 'sirs' and uptightness of the 'no relations while on duty' kind."
"Piss off" Dean eventually spat, before turning a finger up in an undoubtedly rude gesture. He needed to pick Sam up. He had no time for this. Even as he turned his back though, curiosity couldn't help but burn through him. He dismissed it when he figured Shawn must've seen the military pouch in the Impala's trunk or something.
"I know, I know," Shawn laughed. "Family calls. Tell you what, I'll come walk with you."
"I would really prefer it if you don't."
"Great!" Shawn exclaimed, and skipped over to stand next to him.
"But your house's in the other direction," Dean tried, exasperated. He didn't want to get angry at this guy. Not when he'd already had one fit not five minutes ago.
"The longer the trip! Even better."
XXX
Dean tried to lose Shawn during the journey to the junior high section, he really did. He ducked and weaved, quickening his pace then hiding behind trashcans or trees or whatever, gave himself more time by taking detours around the campus. Nothing worked. Each time, Shawn would pop up again and again beside him, unruffled in the least, looking for all the world like he didn't even notice Dean trying with all his skills and training to allude him.
It infuriated Dean.
Eventually though, scowling up the extension of a shed on top of the school building where Shawn Spencer sat swinging his legs and waiting, Dean couldn't help but become begrudgingly impressed by the random stranger who decided to stick to his side because of one slip of the tongue on his part. Mentally, he resigned himself to having a tail for the rest of the afternoon. Whatever. He'll just bore the guy to going away later. That, or Dad will yell at them both.
I'm a hero.
"Alright," he breathed out, nostrils flaring slightly. "Come on down. You got me. Enough of these games."
"Games?" Hair billowing behind his head like some sort of out-of-the-way, odd flag, Shawn tilted his head in confusion, though his eyes (could be brown, could be blue, could be green, black, grey) shone with mischief.
I know you are.
"What games?" He asked, grinning.
He jumped down from the ledge with a practiced grace that even Dean could envy. Shawn shot him a smile that, with the right look and air, could honestly probably get the guy anything he wanted. Like Sammy's puppy eyes, but cooler.
Then they walked, side by side, on their way to pick up the youngest Winchester.
Dean was proud to have been able to say that he lasted the whole half of the trip before he grew too curious to let it lie. It was against the Winchester code, to be honest, to admit to someone your feelings, no matter what they were. But Dean was still sixteen years old, forgive him.
"What did you mean, earlier?" He asked gruffly. His shoes scuffed the ground as they stopped walking, standing together in the middle of a courtyard. The school library could be seen on one side, and Dean guessed he should ask the question that's been bugging him all of the past ten minutes before he'd had an old hag hush him up in the one constant place that consistently smells like dust and parchment. "When you sort of, ah, agreed that I was a. A... "
"Hero?" Shawn walked past him and twirled around. His thin black cotton jacket with the hood and silver linings swished as he moved. "C'mon. Do you really think now would be the time to ask that question? Poor Sammy's getting lonely in there!"
"Shut up," Dean snarled, jumping back to create some space between Shawn and him. "I never gave my brother's name."
"You doodle it in class like crush initials," Shawn replied bluntly. "It's the first contact on speed dial in your phone, right behind 'Dad'. And, if that's not enough for someone of your calibre, a 'Sam Peters' transferred here in accelerated seventh grade the same day you did. Same date, same surname, correct age and grade. Duh?"
"O...kay," Dean uncurled his fingers from around the emergency half-iron, half-silver blade Dad gave him for his last birthday, and sheepishly withdrew his hand. "Sorry 'bout that."
"S'okay," Shawn waved his hand, and suddenly Dean had the impression that he got that reaction a lot. "And as for your question…Your first question," he shrugged. "I just do."
Dean suddenly got the impression that Shawn was tired. Not just marathon-type tired, because suddenly Shawn was that too. But he was repetitive-type tired too. Dean wondered if Shawn was tired of trying to explain himself.
Please, he found himself internally wanting. Maybe not in such girly words, but close enough. Take the time to explain. "Let's go get my brother then," he said instead, and jogged his way to up the few stairways leading up to the library.
The space instead wasn't as big as it was deep. The ceiling was barely high enough to avoid grazing the top of Dean's hair.
He noticed it when Shawn took a few seconds longer to catch up. "Sam!" he called instinctively, before quieting down when the librarian - a barrel-built woman under imposing horn-rimmed glasses - glared at him above her pulp romance novel.
"Sorry," Shawn, stepping forward, said in a low voice. "My friend over here, ah... he's had a long day. The love of his life had just rejected him in front of his whole…" his eyes flickered down to the cover of the librarian's book, "clan."
"Oh," the woman gained an understanding look in her eyes as Dean started very pointedly glaring at the back of Shawn's head. Her eyes widened, then narrowed, then softened and focused uncomfortably on Dean simultaneously with Shawn. "Right. Your brother's the nice little boy with an eye for horror is he? In isle five, my boy. And, I know your heart is hurting. But just remember that it never was... " she took a deep breath and shuddered. Dean resisted the urge to take a step back and disinfect his eyes with molten lava. "Love… at true sight."
"...Right," he managed, and snagged Shawn by the arm. "C'mon, babe, let's go get Sammy so we can go home quick."
"Hey! - what?"
"Ooh!" The old librarian's cheeks were tinted pink all the way until she disappeared, out of sight, behind the curve of a bookshelf. Shawn was just confused.
They found Sam sitting bunched behind an unending pile of ancient-looking tomes and volumes titled things in Latin. "Man, how'd your school get this many books?" Dean said, softly enough not to be heard, thankfully. Sammy jumped and slammed shut the book he'd been reading. His hand shot to his side, where Dean knew his own dagger was strapped to.
"Jesus, - Dean!" It didn't take long for fear to turn to irritation. "You're late. And this is…"
"Shawn Spencer, but my friend calls me the Pineapple Lover," he took a long bow. A small smile stretched itself across Sammy's face, and he laughed. Dean immediately developed a stronger liking to Shawn. In his mind, not only had the guy proved himself to not be a total loser, but he was trustworthy too, as Sam usually had a freaky sixth sense about that kind of thing. The people he didn't like usually turnt out to be traitors or other monsters, or have an affinity of strangling other people for fun. Shawn gestured at the thick leather-bound books Dean knew was research for Dad. "Need help with that? I speak five languages fluently. One of them just happens to be Latin."
"Really?" Sam's smile turned unbelieving. "Prove it. I'm having trouble at these parts…"
"Ahem," Dean 'cleared' his throat. "I'll just be in the 'adult' section, if you don't mind. Sammy, on you." He walked off, shooting one more look behind his shoulder at the boys. One physical, one mental. Neither of them gave him mind. It's not like Dean knew how to read Latin anyways. He idly wandered between the shelves and walked out of sight soon enough.
"See… this one here, is all very good. It's shorter too. But, it's apparently only able to be used for one very particular kind of demon - a young one. One that still sticks to reason and habit, and hasn't yet lost all of their marbles yet. Maybe just most of their soul-marbles, but not all. Eventually they're gonna slip and fall on the fallen marbles and drop them all anyway, but that's not the point…"
"What about this one?"
Shawn took a moment to read through the page. "That's for the older ones, yeah. They either kill and torture for the sake of it, or, they serve somebody. Anybody. The king of Hell, their Creator, Satan… you name it, they fear it. Say it out loud for me?"
Almost a whole minute passed while Sam read it out loud for Shawn to hear. The younger brother didn't mind having Shawn sort of be his teacher for the day (Dean used to do that for him before Sam bypassed his level of general normal knowledge, like things about maths and stuff). He learnt Latin from an old dictionary and various computer from various places. He didn't exactly know how to pronounce everything. "'...Ab insidiis diaboli, libera nos, Domine. Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos."'
"Right" Shawn praised. "That was good. Really good, for someone who learnt a whole language on their own. Amazing, even. But you know that merged A and E together, over there." His finger landed on the word 'æternæ', which was just between 'eisque' and 'perditionìs'. Two other words Sam had no idea how to say. "You articulate it like a parrot."
"So you're saying I should stop sounding like a parrot?" Sam guessed, trying to be offended at having his voice be compared to one, and failing.
"No," Shawn said patiently. "I'm saying you need to sound more like a parrot, Sam. More. And the front Cs are pronounced S-es. The back Cs stay how they are."
XXX
So yeah. That was the first time the Winchester brothers ever met Shawn Spencer.
Shawn went home eventually after Sam had nothing more to ask him. He was confused by the man's appearance. It changed during the time they were together.
When Dean walked in with Shawn in tow, he was one of those goths that popped up in every high school like always. When he waved goodbye to the guy another two hours two hours later, with the setting behind their backs, All of the makeup that had previously masked his face was gone. Sam could see Shawn's light tan, like everyone who lived in California. His jeans were still black, as were his shoes, but his jacket was suddenly a plaid overall tied around his waist, and his shirt had become bright green.
Sam glanced at Dean when he noticed all of this, about to open his mouth to point all of this out - but Dean hadn't seemed to notice anything, so Sam figured he'd just been hanging around weird crowds for too long.
At first, Sam was fully prepared to ignore him. But then Shawn told him he knew how to read Latin… and apparently Russian, Chinese and Spanish along with English. Wow.
That night, Sam gave Dad a copy of the chant, and the accompanying ritual, and pointed out what Shawn pointed out to him.
"Great job Sam," Dad smiled at him for the first time in what seemed like forever. "Thank you."
XXX
"What are you doing here?"
Shawn popped up from behind the barrel with a rackish grin on his for once non-painted face. His hair, still long with bangs that seem to always try its best to annoy him by getting in his eyes a lot, was a disheveled mess on top of his head.
"Hi, Dean," he said breathless. Again, the hunter-to-be couldn't help but be remembered of ducklings, and imagined feathers flying around in disarray despite himself. "Where's the demon? Late to the party?"
Dean looked behind him nervously. Sam was twelve and technically old enough to come to hunts, so he was here on that occasion, helping set up the Devil's Trap to catch the sonava when it comes for the bait.
"You are not supposed to be here," he grounded out, only half-concerned for his own hide. Which was a pretty warm greeting, if you considered a) how loud Dean's father could be if he wanted to and b) the fact that literally Dean had only met this guy today.
"Fine, yes, I know, I know," Shawn sobered up, but Dean had a feeling he was only doing it for show. "But I… I don't know Dean-o. I don't know."
"Dean!"
The older boy bit back a curse and Shawn shut up. "In a minute, sir," Dean called. Then, he hissed under his breath. "Hide in there, don't come out. Keep your mouth, ears and eyes closed, and don't open them until I come get you. Stay quiet. I'm kicking your ass for this later, Spence."
Dean was telling himself not to panic as he walked back to stand at the perimeter of the twenty foot in diameter circle. Shawn wasn't his responsibility. He didn't care for the foolish. If the guy died tonight because of his own stupidity, then so be it. Nobody told him to come tail the new guy. Dean hoped.
And, if he becomes mentally scarred from the events that are about to unfold (completely everyday life for Dean and his own family now of course), then he wouldn't care either way. Shawn would most probably forget it as a crazy dream or something, like normal people tend to do.
Oh, who was he kidding? Dean would beat himself up about it for years.
He got in place. The bait was ready. The trap was set. Dean looked over to Sam's supposed hiding spot. Then his dad's. His gaze lingered on the off-put barrel to the side where Shawn lay.
A man appeared rounding a corner.
XXX
Sam wasn't sure what happened, exactly.
It was all going so, so well. And then it wasn't.
There was a break in the trap. The demon got free. Dean got thrown back and knocked out when his head collided none-all-too-gently with a trashcan. Dad was being held with one hand onto a far wall, with so much force it seemed he couldn't even open his mouth.
Sam's lower lip trembled. He shrunk into himself, eyes frantically flickering between his dad's, Dean's prone form, repeat. Stay calm, he told himself, as Dad always told him. You can't afford to panic on a hunt. Clear your head. Remember the chant.
"Ex - Exorcizamus te," he stammered, "omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incurs -"
The demon's eyes bled purely to black, and Sam's throat closed in on itself. He watched on in horror, completely frozen in fear, as the demon stretched out its other hand - its free hand - and made Sam fly towards it. Its hand closed around his jacket collar.
"HEY!" a voice suddenly shouted, somewhere to Sam's right. It sounded familiar, somehow, and it wasn't until he was able to get his eyes off the demon's that he would realise why. For now,, he merely trusted the confused look his father's face suddenly bore. Confused, he noted, but also relieved.
The demon snarled. "Who are you?"
In response, Sam could only hear beeping, like keys on a phone. Then, a slightly staticy voice articulated, perfectly clear, perfectly loud: "EXORCIZAMUS TE -"
The demon shrieked and rolled its head, and somewhere, something shattered behind Sam's ears. Still the recording chanted.
" - OMNIS IMMUNDUS SPIRITUS, OMNIS SATANICA POTESTAS, OMNIS INCURSIO INFERNALIS ADVERSARII,"
Another speaker blew to bits, this time just a few feet hidden from where Dean's head lay bruised but not bleeding, thankfully. The voice pushed on.
"OMNIS LEGIO, OMNIS CONGREGATIO ET SECTA DIABOLICA… ERGO, DRACO MALADICTE ET OMNIS LEGIO DIABOLICA, ADJURAMUS TE…
The demon was weakening. Sam could feel it, Dad could feel it too. He was moving his fingers, rolling his shoulder… The chant was strong only in Sam's right eardrum.
"CESSA DECIPERE HUMANAS CREATURAS, EISQUE ÆTERNÆ PERDITIONĺS VENENUM PROPINARE…
Sam could almost wriggle free now. He prayed that this trick, whoever set it up, would last until he could at least get his mouth moving again.
"VADE, SATANA, INVENTOR ET MAGISTER OMNIS FALACIÆ, HOSTIS HUMANÆ SALUTIS… HUMILIARE SUB POTENTI MANU DEI; - "
The last one broke. It didn't matter. Sam pried the hand holding him up open and hit the ground running, and yelling.
"CONTREMISCE ET EFFUGE," he bellowed, looking over his shoulder, "INVOCATO A NOBIS SANCTO ET TERRIBILI NOMINE…"
"QUEM INFERI TREMUNT… AB INSIDIIS DIABOLI, LIBERA NOS, DOMINE," Dad continued without missing a beat, when Sam finally reached Dean and crouched beside his older brother, and had gotten too choked up to continue. For a fraction of a second, Sam was terribly tempted to raise his head when the unmistakable sound of a head hitting pavement reached his ears. He did.
Dad was pushing himself off the ground, but was frozen in the movement like somebody had clicked the pause button. His eyes were bigger than saucers.
Sam looked at the demon. He could see why.
Behind the man with the black eye was the guy Dean had following him that day he came to pick Sam up from the library. Earlier, Sam could've sworn Shawn's eyes were a warm, good-humored shade of hazel, but now they were glowing like mini-supernovas were imbedded behind them, shining an ethereal blue. And when he spoke, he spoke for all his life as if he'd been speaking every and all languages for many a lifetime.
"Ut Ecclesiam tuam secura tibi facias libertate servire," Shawn said, his expression hard as stone; no trace of the smiles that seemed to have come so easily to him before remained, "te rogamus, audi nos."
Demonic clouds of ash exploded out of the man's mouth. Gently, Shawn caught the limp body in his arms and set the man down. When he looked back up, he stared directly at Sam with completely normal eyes, still devoid of a smile, and nodded once at him. Dad was completely ignored.
Then he moved to crouch next to Dean, crossing all the way across the alleyway as he did. The candles and moonlight made his appearance even more otherworldly, making Sam tense and wary. But Shawn seemed to have sensed that, and walked as one would around a wild animal. He slowly crouched next to him, and put two fingers to Dean's forehead.
Sam jerked forward, alarmed, but Shawn merely closed his eyes and murmured, "He should be okay."
And when Sam looked at his brother again, it looked like it. A little bit more color was in his face. He quickly felt the bump at the back of the head and noticed immediately that it wasn't as distinct as it was.
"Thank you," he breathed.
"Your brother so owes me for this," Shawn smirked, and looked more like himself at that moment than he would care to notice. "Tell him that. Five speakers and a new phone. Otherwise…" his lips came down a bit, mellowing to a more sincere kind of crooked smile. "Look after each other, okay? I'd like to say you'll be seeing me again but... Well. You'll see."
He stood up, and left.
XXX
When it boiled down to it at the end of the day, Shawn really didn't know why he did what he did. How he'd managed to plan that whole thing with the recorded exorcism and such. All he knew was that he'd gotten one heck of a headache when he tried staying home that evening, started walking, and ended up in a barrel with Dean Winchester telling him to stay down and don't look. The moment he uttered that last line of the chant, he felt more complete than he would be happy to admit. Or think about. Ever, again.
He did two hours later.
Shawn had left a goodbye note to his dad on top of his bed, like he'd seen in a few teenage runaway clichés. Packed a backpack, duffle bag and other essential things in another bag, gotten on the bike he'd blown his college funds on (he's just waiting for his father to notice), and was all ready to ride off in the middle of the night. Badass, right?
After all, Shawn was not one to let questions be left unanswered.
So it almost, almost, came as a little bit less than a surprise when word comes it that Shawn had disappeared (ran away, been kidnapped, whatever) at around approximately, give or take an hour at most, the same time the Winchesters moved out of town.
"Goodbye, Santa Barbara."