Disclaimer: Oh, if only I had owned them… Maybe then I'd know what was going on with Dean's necklace. The thing is driving me nuts!
A/N: Another little scene that just got stuck in the back of my head and gets in the way of the other stories I'm trying to write. Oneshot (and this time, I mean it).
The assignment
Dean tossed his schoolbag on his bed and went to find something to snack on while doing his homework. Well, something to snack on while he was teasing Sam about doing his homework was more like it.
Sitting on his bed, Dean quickly ruffled through his homework. A book report. Yeah, right. Math. As if. But then he hesitated, picking up an assignment sheet he had been given. That one he could do. It was an easy one, shouldn't take more than five minutes of his time. And besides, he had been thinking about it since the moment his teacher handed them the assignment.It was comprised of a single question. The easiest question in the world, Dean thought as he took out his pencil and wrote down the title. If you could change just one thing in your life, what would it be, and why? Seriously, can you ask an easier question? I would want my mom to be alive, he wrote, I want us to be a happy family again, my mom, my dad, my geek brother and me. Dean put his pencil down. That's it. He didn't think it needed any more explaining. Having his mother back in his life. The easiest assignment ever. And now he wouldn't be lying when he would tell his dad that he had done his homework. He looked over at the bed across from him, where Sam was working hard on his math homework. What a geek, Dean thought and went outside to work out.
He worked out for a couple of hours and then went back inside. The sink was overflowing with dirty dishes. He'd been putting it off for a couple of days now, but now they had no clean dishes. Rolling up his sleeves, Dean started working on his chores. But his mind kept going back to the assignment. It would be so great to have a mom, he thought. Someone who cooked edible food, and helped with the cleaning, and would sit with him at night, teaching him what girls liked to hear. Well, that part he'd sort of figured out already, but still… having his mom back… If that night fourteen years ago had never happened… He cursed when one of the soapy plates nearly escaped his fingers, and went back to his daydream. If that night had never happened, they would be a happy family. They would still live in Kansas, and his dad would probably still work at the garage. No hunting, no moving around all the time…
Dean started drying off all the wet dishes, putting them back in place. That could have been wonderful, he thought. He wouldn't have to worry about Sammy and his dad all the time. He could just hang out with other kids his age and worry about things like cars and girls and college. You know, all those unimportant stuff. Not worry about getting more silver bullets or finding a way to actually shoot a ghost. He'd been working on that one for well over a month. If only they could find some sort of special bullets that can actually hurt a ghost… That would sure make life a hell of a lot easier, he thought as he piled up all the dirty laundry. And then he stopped, a sudden thought crossing his mind. If his mother was alive, he would never know about all those things that were hiding in the dark. His dad wouldn't know about them. And then, all the things they've done in the past fourteen years, all the people they'd saved, they would all be dead. That thought made him drop the laundry basket. Would he really want that? To have his mother back at the cost of all those people dying? Of all those families breaking, like his had been? Could he really live with that? No. No way. He ripped the paper, sitting back on his bed, and watching Sam still struggling with his math. Dean sighed. Maybe it wasn't such an easy assignment after all…
Dean sat on one of the driers, watching the laundry spinning inside the laundry machine, his mind still very much occupied with his school assignment. Maybe if his dad had drank less, especially when he was growing up? Truth be told, his father rarely drank nowadays. No more than Dean did, anyway. Dean bit his lower lip. Is that what he should write down? No. His dad was rough on him growing up, but he had to be. Dean had to learn. If his dad wouldn't drink so much, wouldn't be so rough, then Dean would never have become as strong as he was now. He wouldn't be strong enough to protect Sammy against whatever may come, and Sammy still needed him to watch his back, despite his constant protests to the contrary.
Dean jumped off the drier, opening the laundry machine and taking their clothes out, stuffing them in the drier and stuffing another load back in the machine. He sat back on the drier and kept staring blindly at the spinning clothes.
Maybe things would be better if they just didn't move around so much? If they didn't have to change schools all the times, go from one stinky motel to the other… Then maybe he could actually make some real friends. Maybe he could actually find someone to talk to, someone who wasn't his little brother…
Dean opened the large duffle bag and put their clothes back in. He shouldered the heavy bag and made his way back to the motel. No, he thought. The moving around wasn't so bad. His dad had to move around to chase the damn thing that had killed their mother, and if it came to a choice, if he had to choose between having a stable environment or staying with his dad, he would choose his dad in a heartbeat. It was bad enough when his father was gone for a week. He didn't even want to think about his dad being gone for months at a time.
"Hi, Dean, did you wash my red shirt? I want to wear it to school tomorrow." Sam said.
"Yeah, it's in there somewhere." Dean said, letting the duffle bag drop to the floor and rubbing his shoulder. "You finished your homework?" he asked.
"Just about." Sam said, digging around the duffle for his clothes.
"Don't forget, you still need to work out tonight. Finish early enough and I'll work out with you." Dean offered. Sam shrugged at him, going back to his room.
"Hi kiddo." John said, getting in the motel room, his hands loaded with take-out food. "You want to help me with that?" Dean was quick to help his father. "Do we even have any clean dishes?" John asked, sitting heavily down.
"Yes, sir." Dean said quickly, setting the table. "Did you find out where the guy is buried?" Dean asked.
"Yeah. I'm going to need your help tonight. I got the feeling this guy won't like us digging his bones out."
Sweat trickled down Dean's front and back as he dug the grave. He had a headache. The screaming match between Sam and his dad had reached a new volume tonight – way too loud. Maybe that's what he should write in his assignment? For Sam and his dad to stop fighting all the time? But he knew that Sam wasn't happy. He hated living like that, hatedto always be the new kid, the outsider. He hated the hunt, the way it had affected their lives. No, for Sam and his father to stop fighting so much, they would both need to be happy, and for that to happen, many more things would have to change. The assignment specifically said one thing.
"You okay there, kid?" John asked. Dean looked up at him. "You seem a little distracted." John noted, his shovel finally hitting the coffin. Dean shrugged, climbing up from the grave.
"No, it's just this thing from school. Nothing important." He said, helping his dad up.
"I need you to stay sharp, kiddo. This isn't a game here." John said, handing him the lighter fluid and Dean started pouring it over the dry bones.
"I know." He said.
John had been right. The ghost wasn't very pleased with them trying to burn its bones. It put out quite a fight, and Dean had the bump on the back of the head to prove that. He rested his head against the window of his dad's truck as they made their way back to the motel.
"Dean?" Dean looked up at his father. "You okay? You took quite a hit." John asked worriedly, glancing at his son.
"No, I'm fine. Just tired, that's all." Dean said, resting his head back against the window.
"Well, get some sleep. We still have a couple of hours before we get back to the motel." John said, glancing at Dean again. "Are you sure everything is all right?" John asked a couple of minutes later. "You seem like you're somewhere else." He noted. "You want me to stop for a while?"
"No, really, I'm just tired." Dean said, closing his eyes. It was long past midnight. He probably won't make it to bed before three in the morning, and he had to wake up at six thirty. He tried to sleep, but as tired as he was, he couldn't. Well, at least not until he turned the radio on.
As Dean forced himself out of the truck and into their motel room, bee-lining into his bed, he thought how wonderful it would be if there weren't any things that went bump in the night. No more things hiding in the dark. No evil spirits, no monsters, no demons. See, that's one thing he wouldn't mind changing. But then again, he couldn't really write that down and hand it to his teacher, now could he?
Dean punched the punching bag as hard as he could, over and over again. Sam and dad were arguing again. It seemed like everything turned into a fight these days. Seriously, it was just a stupid two-day field trip, and Sam could handle himself. He wasn't a little baby anymore, despite how he acted at the moment. But dad still refused to let him go. Sam kept looking at Dean to intervene, to talk on his behalf, to back him up.
Dean completely understood why Sam wanted to go, why Sam just wanted to be like all the other kids in his class. But he could also understand his dad. Sam wasn't like everyone else. He knew what was out there. To his dad, Sam would always be the little baby, even at fourteen. He knew his father didn't want Sam to go someplace where they couldn't protect him, even if it was just a school trip. So instead of getting in the middle, Dean just went out and started working out.
He wanted to tell his father to let go, just this once, but he couldn't. He never could. He was never able to stand up to his father the way Sam did. He could never really talk to his dad, explain to him how he really felt about the hunt, the constant moving around, and the way they lived their lives.
Dean stopped hitting the punching back, wiping sweat from his brow. Maybe that's what he should write in that assignment. To be able to explain things to his dad. But then how could he? How could he just walk up to his dad and explain to him how he was feeling, when he couldn't even explain it to himself? Dean kicked the punching bag as hard as he could, nearly knocking it over. That damned assignment was turning up to be a real pain in his behind.
Dean walked in silence, Sam by his side, on their way to the motel. Sam was still angry at him for not backing him up with their dad, and wasn't talking to him. Dean tried to apologize, he tried to explain to Sam why dad was right, why it wasn't safe, but Sam wouldn't listen, and Dean didn't really blame him.
He knew what it was like to be different. He knew what it was like to want to be like everyone else. He, too, wished the greatest burden in his life right now would be something trivial, like choosing what college to go to next year. He actually had the grades to get into college, if he really wanted to. But he couldn't imagine leaving his family. He wasn't like other people, no matter how much he had tried to pretend he was. He just didn't think the way other people his age thought. College wasn't even a distant priority. He could never turn his back on his family. Never.
In a few months, when school would finally be over, he would help his dad, full time. Go into the family business. He couldn't just pretend those things weren't out there. He couldn't just look the other way and then read about all those people die in the paper. Not if he could help them. That's not the way his father had raised him. Even if it did mean he was always alone. Even if it did mean giving up his dreams, and giving up the hope for ever having an apple-pie life with a wife, kids and a… what? Future? Nothing was ever as it seemed. His parents thought they had the perfect life, and look where it got them.
Dean sighed, putting his schoolbag on the kitchen table as Sam got in their room and slammed the door. Dean hated that. He hated being alone. He hated it with every fiber of his being. For a moment, he considered writing that down in his assignment. But then again, that was just a part of the job, and he had no second thoughts about that.
The assignment was stuck in his head. Dean couldn't get it out of his mind. He had been thinking about it all week long. It was supposed to be an easy assignment, that was why he had chosen to do it in the first place. But it didn't seem so easy now.
He lay awake in his bed, listening to Sam breathing softly in his sleep in the bed next to his, and just stared at the ceiling. The assignment was duetomorrow. He had already given up, deciding to just not hand it in, but it still wouldn't leave him alone. It still wouldn't let him sleep.
Dean sat upright, suddenly realizing he knew what to write. He quietly snuck out of bed, taking a pencil and a notebook out of his school bag, and reaching for his flashlight before he left for the kitchen. He sat down quietly, not wanting to wake his father, sleeping on the couch, up.
He wrote the assignment title again; If you could change just one thing in your life, what would it be, and why? Biting his pencil, he glanced at his dad. If I could change just one thing, it would be this stupid assignment, he wrote, because it reminded me of all the things that I couldn't change.
Closing the notebook and turning the flashlight off, he snuck back in bed and slept better than he had in a week.