Queer Fest: Locks on the Door
Title: Locks on the Door
Author: chasingtides
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam, and John Winchester
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Sam, Dean, and John (at least one of whom is queer), five conversations about sex.
1.
“Where do babies come from?”
“What do you care?” Dean didn’t look up from where he was carefully spooning the store brand Spaghetti-o’s into blue plastic bowls. Sammy’s got two scoops more than his because Sammy was a growing boy and Dean could live without.
“Annalisa said Connor came from her mama’s belly,” Sammy said, his eyes big and innocent under his too-long bangs. Sammy was still just a kid. He didn’t know about demons or skinwalkers or ghosts or what happened when a mommy and a daddy loved each other (or didn’t love each other at all).
Dean put the bowls in the tiny, dirty microwave that came with the cramped motel room and tried to think about how they were lucky to have it this time and not about Mom when her belly was big with Sammy and Dad still took him to the park to play catch. He definitely didn’t think about when he was Sammy’s age and asked Mom the same questions. He didn’t think about how she smelled like flowers and gave him a cookie and talked about love and marriage and things Sammy would never understand.
Instead, he stared at the dull yellow light inside the microwave until it went off. Then he stuck a metal spoon in Sammy’s bowl and handed it to him. He didn’t touch his own and wouldn’t until he knew Sammy was full enough. “Don’t ask stupid questions. Winchesters don’t have babies.”
2.
Dean was in high school, his fourth that year, when he started dating Rhonda. She wasn’t his first girlfriend or even the first girl he had sex with. (Those honors when to Kelly in Butte and Clarissa in Sandy Springs, respectively.) After a drunken party behind her daddy’s barn, though, he didn’t think twice about stuffing a pair of her silky panties in his jeans pocket, even if they did leave the next day. It wasn’t a creepy prize or anything, just some quick pick up so her daddy wouldn’t come after him with his twelve gauge.
That had been last week though, when Dad was still in Oklahoma chasing gremlins and Dean had been making do with Easy Mac and picking up odd hours at the local garage. Now they were in New Brunswick, looking at some kind of poltergeist, and Dean was spending his nights thinking about Eileen from algebra and his morning showers imagining what he could do with Cory from history.
So, after making sure Sam got to bed after finishing his book report, Dean flipped on the crappy TV - mostly snow and static, but he was used to it. Someone had to be marathoning old horror movies somewhere and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t find them. He ignored Dad when he finally came in, smelling like lighter fluid and rot, choosing to focus on the black and white monsters instead of the real ones.
He jumped in the threadbare armchair when Dad threw a box of condoms on the table next to the unwashed plates.
“I just want you to be safe,” Dad said, his gruff voice even lower than usual and more strained.
“With.. Uh….” Dean didn’t know what to say. He knew what condoms were and how to use them and even how to best pocket the boxes out of Walgreens when money was tight. (It was always tight and shoes and food always came first and there was never money left over, unless it was a book for Sammy or pizza on Friday. It wasn’t like Walgreens cared.)
Dad looked everywhere but in his eyes. “I did the laundry last night.”
Dean did his best not to blush or look at the tabled. He wished he had a beer or six or was anywhere but in this shitty motel having this conversation with Dad. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
“Just don’t knock up some poor girl. We don’t have time for that.”
For an hour after Dad disappeared into the bedroom to work on his guns, Dean watched Frankenstein without touching the condoms. He wondered how Dad would react if he told him it was Eli Burgman in Dorchester who showed him how to use one because he wouldn’t have unprotected sex. In his head, Dad kicked him out of the family, wouldn’t let him hunt with him or see Sammy ever again. He replayed it, this time with Dad supporting him. He finally decided never to mention it.
When he finally heard Dad put his last gun away for the night, Dean grabbed the end of a pair of forties from the fridge and turned the television to a rerun of I Love Lucy. He thought about Eileen and about Cory and about how it wasn’t fair that he could talk about Eileen’s gorgeous brown eyes and amazing body with anyone, but he wouldn’t be able to ever tell anyone about Cory’s freckles or his impossibly sexy ass.
Eventually, long after Ricky yelled at Lucy and Ethel for making a mess, Dean picked up the box of condoms and tucked them in his duffle bag, drunkenly promising himself they would only be used with Cory or whatever boys came after him.
3.
Dean gave Sam credit that he didn’t get falling down, crying in his beer drunk until they took a long weekend on the outskirts of Omaha. But when Sam (or any hunter) let loose his sorrows, he didn’t do it halfway.
“She was beautiful,” Sam slurred at him, his eyes bright with tears. “She was so amazing.”
Dean thought of Jess, of the the way she filled out that Smurfs t-shirt, but also about the way she looked at Sam and the way Sam still called for her in his sleep. “Yeah, she was.”
He shifted Sam’s arm so his Sasquatch of a baby brother could lean on him a bit more. Dean just wanted to get them inside the motel before Sam started officially bawling. After they were inside, Dean would deal with Sam’s inner demons; they just needed to get there first.
“She was so smart. She was gonna be a doctor, you know?” Sam continued. “I never met anyone as smart as her. And her legs. God, she had amazing legs. And she would wear these sundresses…”
Dean leaned Sam against the wall as he fumbled in his pocket for the room key. It took him long enough that he realised he was pretty close to falling down drunk himself. “And I’m sure you two were going to have some geek-genius Stanford babies.”
Sam blinked at him slowly and allowed Dean to manhandle him into the room and onto the edge of one of the beds. “Nuh-uh. No babies.”
Dean knelt down and began to work at unlacing Sam’s shoes. He didn’t know why they were talking about Sam’s life with Jess, but he felt, somehow, that this was his first and last opportunity to learn about the girl Sam buried in California. “So you had yourself a career woman? Must have been kind of sexy.”
“She had sis-ss-sis,” Sam frowned when his mouth wouldn’t form the words. “Jess couldn’t have babies.”
Dean didn’t quite know what to say to that. He’d never talked to anyone about having kids; he’d never been in one place, with one woman long enough for that. Even with Cassie, it just never happened like that.
“She said we’d adopt.” Sam paused a beat. “Our anniversary was the first time I had sex without a condom.”
Dean dropped Sam’s shoe. “Jesus Christ! I did not need to know that!”
“It’s true.” Sam nodded with the absolute seriousness of the truly drunk. “Jess laughed at me when I told her about you giving me condoms when I started dating Lynne, but you were right. You were totally right. I never got no one pregnant.”
“Awesome,” Dean muttered, wondering how much Sam would bitch in the morning if Dean put him to bed with his jeans on.
“Not even when Yuji asked me to,” Sam continued obliviously. “And she really wanted me to. And I was gonna to anything for her. But I thought about you and I said no. Even when she-”
“Shut up, Sam,” Dean told him quickly. “You do not want me to know that.”
Sam stared at him for a moment. “I think you’re right.
That night, Dean did let Sam sleep in his jeans and the next morning, he deliberately chose the greasiest diner he could find for breakfast.
4.
There was a reason it was called Hell. By day, a sulphurous yellow sun burned into his flesh and at night, he breathed in noxious green-black fumes that tore at his lungs. He was never alone and the demons wore a thousand faces, everyone Dean ever knew when he was still alive. He had begun to be able to see the demon beneath the human skin and that scared him more than their knives and chains.
He hung from the St John’s cross, held up only by the burning chains, his throat bleeding from screaming in the smoke and ozone, when a pair of demons came across the baked and charred landscape. The larger figure dragged the smaller one and he only knew they were demons because this was Hell and there was no chance of meeting anyone else.
They wore human skins. They looked like Dad was dragging Alan, Alan the baseball player from Evangeline Parish who dreamed of finding his way to New York City but joined the army instead, by the arm. Dad looked like he had up until the day he died: big, scruffy, and angry as anything that ever came up out of a grave. Alan looked like he had when they were fifteen, with too-short hair and gangly arms and legs.
Dean coughed, blood flecking his lips, and swallowed dryly. He longed for water and a rest from the torture. “W-what are you doing?” he croaked in a voice that belong to the dead.
“This fag’s been hanging around,” Dad said, shaking Alan by the arm, “while you’re at work. He’s chasing after Sammy.”
Dean try to swallow, but his throat convulsed and spasmed. He couldn’t speak, but shook his head instead. He knew Alan, the boy he kissed behind the bleachers when he could steal him from practice, the boy who wanted a world where he wasn’t taking a beauty queen to prom and stealing time with Dean when no one could see. He remembered Alan spending time around the broken down Wagon Wheel Motel, because no one was there except him and Sam and the old man who swept the halls and gave them all candy like they were kids. Alan had helped Sam with his advanced biology and showed Dean how to make him feel good and even remembered to call him when shit got bad ten years later.
“Or have you been chasing him when you’re supposed to be looking after your brother?” Dad demanded, angrier than he’d been about the shtriga or when Sam ran away to Arizona. “You’re just that desperate that you’ll take anyone and anything that’ll put out?”
With his arm still firmly in Dad’s grip, Alan shifted from the awkward baseball player Dean knew in school to the lean, muscled man who called him about a voodoo showdown in New Orleans. He had scruff on his face and the edge of a tattoo peaked out from under the edge of his shirt. Dean remembered tracing his tongue along its lines while he stayed a couple of extra days in the Big Easy.
“This is why you nearly let Sam burn with his girlfriend?” Dad raged. “Why you let Jess die just like your mother? You were too focused on some guy’s ass to care about your family anymore?”
Dean tried to say something, but the air was too dry and his lungs were too full of blood. He coughed, spraying both Dad and Alan with specks of clotted blood. He couldn’t defend himself and his lungs burned hotter than Hell’s unnatural sun.
He knew he lost the fight when he could no longer see the demons in their eyes.
5.
Dean Smith adjusted his tie and made sure his suspenders where straight. He had a hot date with Tucker Eckstein, the head of HR from the accounting firm across the street, and he wanted to look good. The Master Cleanse had paid off, but it never hurt to add that extra polish. He would woo Tucker with French wine and fine cooking and see where the weekend would take them.
And of course, Sam Wesson was already in the elevator. He was, as usual, rumpled and wearing that really unpleasant yellow that identified the IT guys from across the building. He lit up when he saw Dean.
Dean tried not to think about the Tuesday night spent researching in his apartment or Wednesday night buying supplies or last night, fighting ghosts in their office building. He tried to focus on the company rules about fraternization.
“What are you doing later?” Sam asked, his words coming out in a rush. “I think I found some more Ghostfacer videos.”
Dean bit his tongue against another comment about keeping it out of the office. Sam had made it abundantly clear he didn’t mean it like that and was pretty insulted when Dean told him that it wasn’t that Sam wasn’t cute, but he didn’t mix it up at the office. (It was just against policy.)
“I have dinner plans,” Dean told him, trying not to be rude, but also not ready to share his personal life with the weird guy from IT, even if they did hunt ghosts together.
Sam stared at him a little weirdly, but Dean didn’t think about it until halfway through dessert (California strawberries in a whipped mousse) when a knock on his door interrupted Tucker’s story about horseback riding at the Grand Canyon.
“I promise this’ll just be a minute,” Dean told him, taking a second to enjoy the sight of Tucker relaxing at his table. He brushed his hands over the other man’s shoulders as he walked around him. “It’s probably just Mrs Noonan again.”
It was old Karen Noonan looking for her cat again, though. It was Sam Wesson, looking sweaty and overheated in running shorts and another hideous yellow shirt. “I figured your dinner meeting would be over by now and we could watch some more videos.”
“Who’s your friend?”
Dean watched Sam’s face pale as Tucker wrapped a possessive arm around him. He felt something knot in his gut when Sam finally made the connection between Tucker and Dean and what dinner plans really meant. He didn’t know why it meant so much that some messy kid a half step up from a temp approved of his love life.
“Oh.” Sam took a step back and tugged a bit at his shirt. “You meant you had a date.”
Tucker kissed the side of Dean’s head and then offered his hand to Sam. “Tucker Eckstein. HR over at James and Hess.”
Sam took it. “Sam Wesson, IT at Sandover. I’m just a friend of Dean’s. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”
Sam might not have and he might have left after introducing himself, but the date fizzled after that. Tucker insisted that it wasn’t about Sam, but the mood was ruined by Wesson and his disgusting yellow shirt. Dean moped for three days (mostly by living at the gym and spending all of Saturday afternoon at the farmer’s market downtown). Three days later, it didn’t matter, because Dean Smith disappeared like he never existed.
And Dean Winchester never smiled when he woke up one morning, two weeks later, to a hot coffee and a note on motel stationary that said, “You could have come out before the angels memory wiped us, jerk.” He certainly never tore up the paper, thinking it was nice that maybe, just maybe now he could tell someone when he found a bartender was hot and not just when the waitress was giving him the eye.
Author: chasingtides
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Dean, Sam, and John Winchester
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: Sam, Dean, and John (at least one of whom is queer), five conversations about sex.
1.
“Where do babies come from?”
“What do you care?” Dean didn’t look up from where he was carefully spooning the store brand Spaghetti-o’s into blue plastic bowls. Sammy’s got two scoops more than his because Sammy was a growing boy and Dean could live without.
“Annalisa said Connor came from her mama’s belly,” Sammy said, his eyes big and innocent under his too-long bangs. Sammy was still just a kid. He didn’t know about demons or skinwalkers or ghosts or what happened when a mommy and a daddy loved each other (or didn’t love each other at all).
Dean put the bowls in the tiny, dirty microwave that came with the cramped motel room and tried to think about how they were lucky to have it this time and not about Mom when her belly was big with Sammy and Dad still took him to the park to play catch. He definitely didn’t think about when he was Sammy’s age and asked Mom the same questions. He didn’t think about how she smelled like flowers and gave him a cookie and talked about love and marriage and things Sammy would never understand.
Instead, he stared at the dull yellow light inside the microwave until it went off. Then he stuck a metal spoon in Sammy’s bowl and handed it to him. He didn’t touch his own and wouldn’t until he knew Sammy was full enough. “Don’t ask stupid questions. Winchesters don’t have babies.”
2.
Dean was in high school, his fourth that year, when he started dating Rhonda. She wasn’t his first girlfriend or even the first girl he had sex with. (Those honors when to Kelly in Butte and Clarissa in Sandy Springs, respectively.) After a drunken party behind her daddy’s barn, though, he didn’t think twice about stuffing a pair of her silky panties in his jeans pocket, even if they did leave the next day. It wasn’t a creepy prize or anything, just some quick pick up so her daddy wouldn’t come after him with his twelve gauge.
That had been last week though, when Dad was still in Oklahoma chasing gremlins and Dean had been making do with Easy Mac and picking up odd hours at the local garage. Now they were in New Brunswick, looking at some kind of poltergeist, and Dean was spending his nights thinking about Eileen from algebra and his morning showers imagining what he could do with Cory from history.
So, after making sure Sam got to bed after finishing his book report, Dean flipped on the crappy TV - mostly snow and static, but he was used to it. Someone had to be marathoning old horror movies somewhere and he’d be damned if he wouldn’t find them. He ignored Dad when he finally came in, smelling like lighter fluid and rot, choosing to focus on the black and white monsters instead of the real ones.
He jumped in the threadbare armchair when Dad threw a box of condoms on the table next to the unwashed plates.
“I just want you to be safe,” Dad said, his gruff voice even lower than usual and more strained.
“With.. Uh….” Dean didn’t know what to say. He knew what condoms were and how to use them and even how to best pocket the boxes out of Walgreens when money was tight. (It was always tight and shoes and food always came first and there was never money left over, unless it was a book for Sammy or pizza on Friday. It wasn’t like Walgreens cared.)
Dad looked everywhere but in his eyes. “I did the laundry last night.”
Dean did his best not to blush or look at the tabled. He wished he had a beer or six or was anywhere but in this shitty motel having this conversation with Dad. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
“Just don’t knock up some poor girl. We don’t have time for that.”
For an hour after Dad disappeared into the bedroom to work on his guns, Dean watched Frankenstein without touching the condoms. He wondered how Dad would react if he told him it was Eli Burgman in Dorchester who showed him how to use one because he wouldn’t have unprotected sex. In his head, Dad kicked him out of the family, wouldn’t let him hunt with him or see Sammy ever again. He replayed it, this time with Dad supporting him. He finally decided never to mention it.
When he finally heard Dad put his last gun away for the night, Dean grabbed the end of a pair of forties from the fridge and turned the television to a rerun of I Love Lucy. He thought about Eileen and about Cory and about how it wasn’t fair that he could talk about Eileen’s gorgeous brown eyes and amazing body with anyone, but he wouldn’t be able to ever tell anyone about Cory’s freckles or his impossibly sexy ass.
Eventually, long after Ricky yelled at Lucy and Ethel for making a mess, Dean picked up the box of condoms and tucked them in his duffle bag, drunkenly promising himself they would only be used with Cory or whatever boys came after him.
3.
Dean gave Sam credit that he didn’t get falling down, crying in his beer drunk until they took a long weekend on the outskirts of Omaha. But when Sam (or any hunter) let loose his sorrows, he didn’t do it halfway.
“She was beautiful,” Sam slurred at him, his eyes bright with tears. “She was so amazing.”
Dean thought of Jess, of the the way she filled out that Smurfs t-shirt, but also about the way she looked at Sam and the way Sam still called for her in his sleep. “Yeah, she was.”
He shifted Sam’s arm so his Sasquatch of a baby brother could lean on him a bit more. Dean just wanted to get them inside the motel before Sam started officially bawling. After they were inside, Dean would deal with Sam’s inner demons; they just needed to get there first.
“She was so smart. She was gonna be a doctor, you know?” Sam continued. “I never met anyone as smart as her. And her legs. God, she had amazing legs. And she would wear these sundresses…”
Dean leaned Sam against the wall as he fumbled in his pocket for the room key. It took him long enough that he realised he was pretty close to falling down drunk himself. “And I’m sure you two were going to have some geek-genius Stanford babies.”
Sam blinked at him slowly and allowed Dean to manhandle him into the room and onto the edge of one of the beds. “Nuh-uh. No babies.”
Dean knelt down and began to work at unlacing Sam’s shoes. He didn’t know why they were talking about Sam’s life with Jess, but he felt, somehow, that this was his first and last opportunity to learn about the girl Sam buried in California. “So you had yourself a career woman? Must have been kind of sexy.”
“She had sis-ss-sis,” Sam frowned when his mouth wouldn’t form the words. “Jess couldn’t have babies.”
Dean didn’t quite know what to say to that. He’d never talked to anyone about having kids; he’d never been in one place, with one woman long enough for that. Even with Cassie, it just never happened like that.
“She said we’d adopt.” Sam paused a beat. “Our anniversary was the first time I had sex without a condom.”
Dean dropped Sam’s shoe. “Jesus Christ! I did not need to know that!”
“It’s true.” Sam nodded with the absolute seriousness of the truly drunk. “Jess laughed at me when I told her about you giving me condoms when I started dating Lynne, but you were right. You were totally right. I never got no one pregnant.”
“Awesome,” Dean muttered, wondering how much Sam would bitch in the morning if Dean put him to bed with his jeans on.
“Not even when Yuji asked me to,” Sam continued obliviously. “And she really wanted me to. And I was gonna to anything for her. But I thought about you and I said no. Even when she-”
“Shut up, Sam,” Dean told him quickly. “You do not want me to know that.”
Sam stared at him for a moment. “I think you’re right.
That night, Dean did let Sam sleep in his jeans and the next morning, he deliberately chose the greasiest diner he could find for breakfast.
4.
There was a reason it was called Hell. By day, a sulphurous yellow sun burned into his flesh and at night, he breathed in noxious green-black fumes that tore at his lungs. He was never alone and the demons wore a thousand faces, everyone Dean ever knew when he was still alive. He had begun to be able to see the demon beneath the human skin and that scared him more than their knives and chains.
He hung from the St John’s cross, held up only by the burning chains, his throat bleeding from screaming in the smoke and ozone, when a pair of demons came across the baked and charred landscape. The larger figure dragged the smaller one and he only knew they were demons because this was Hell and there was no chance of meeting anyone else.
They wore human skins. They looked like Dad was dragging Alan, Alan the baseball player from Evangeline Parish who dreamed of finding his way to New York City but joined the army instead, by the arm. Dad looked like he had up until the day he died: big, scruffy, and angry as anything that ever came up out of a grave. Alan looked like he had when they were fifteen, with too-short hair and gangly arms and legs.
Dean coughed, blood flecking his lips, and swallowed dryly. He longed for water and a rest from the torture. “W-what are you doing?” he croaked in a voice that belong to the dead.
“This fag’s been hanging around,” Dad said, shaking Alan by the arm, “while you’re at work. He’s chasing after Sammy.”
Dean try to swallow, but his throat convulsed and spasmed. He couldn’t speak, but shook his head instead. He knew Alan, the boy he kissed behind the bleachers when he could steal him from practice, the boy who wanted a world where he wasn’t taking a beauty queen to prom and stealing time with Dean when no one could see. He remembered Alan spending time around the broken down Wagon Wheel Motel, because no one was there except him and Sam and the old man who swept the halls and gave them all candy like they were kids. Alan had helped Sam with his advanced biology and showed Dean how to make him feel good and even remembered to call him when shit got bad ten years later.
“Or have you been chasing him when you’re supposed to be looking after your brother?” Dad demanded, angrier than he’d been about the shtriga or when Sam ran away to Arizona. “You’re just that desperate that you’ll take anyone and anything that’ll put out?”
With his arm still firmly in Dad’s grip, Alan shifted from the awkward baseball player Dean knew in school to the lean, muscled man who called him about a voodoo showdown in New Orleans. He had scruff on his face and the edge of a tattoo peaked out from under the edge of his shirt. Dean remembered tracing his tongue along its lines while he stayed a couple of extra days in the Big Easy.
“This is why you nearly let Sam burn with his girlfriend?” Dad raged. “Why you let Jess die just like your mother? You were too focused on some guy’s ass to care about your family anymore?”
Dean tried to say something, but the air was too dry and his lungs were too full of blood. He coughed, spraying both Dad and Alan with specks of clotted blood. He couldn’t defend himself and his lungs burned hotter than Hell’s unnatural sun.
He knew he lost the fight when he could no longer see the demons in their eyes.
5.
Dean Smith adjusted his tie and made sure his suspenders where straight. He had a hot date with Tucker Eckstein, the head of HR from the accounting firm across the street, and he wanted to look good. The Master Cleanse had paid off, but it never hurt to add that extra polish. He would woo Tucker with French wine and fine cooking and see where the weekend would take them.
And of course, Sam Wesson was already in the elevator. He was, as usual, rumpled and wearing that really unpleasant yellow that identified the IT guys from across the building. He lit up when he saw Dean.
Dean tried not to think about the Tuesday night spent researching in his apartment or Wednesday night buying supplies or last night, fighting ghosts in their office building. He tried to focus on the company rules about fraternization.
“What are you doing later?” Sam asked, his words coming out in a rush. “I think I found some more Ghostfacer videos.”
Dean bit his tongue against another comment about keeping it out of the office. Sam had made it abundantly clear he didn’t mean it like that and was pretty insulted when Dean told him that it wasn’t that Sam wasn’t cute, but he didn’t mix it up at the office. (It was just against policy.)
“I have dinner plans,” Dean told him, trying not to be rude, but also not ready to share his personal life with the weird guy from IT, even if they did hunt ghosts together.
Sam stared at him a little weirdly, but Dean didn’t think about it until halfway through dessert (California strawberries in a whipped mousse) when a knock on his door interrupted Tucker’s story about horseback riding at the Grand Canyon.
“I promise this’ll just be a minute,” Dean told him, taking a second to enjoy the sight of Tucker relaxing at his table. He brushed his hands over the other man’s shoulders as he walked around him. “It’s probably just Mrs Noonan again.”
It was old Karen Noonan looking for her cat again, though. It was Sam Wesson, looking sweaty and overheated in running shorts and another hideous yellow shirt. “I figured your dinner meeting would be over by now and we could watch some more videos.”
“Who’s your friend?”
Dean watched Sam’s face pale as Tucker wrapped a possessive arm around him. He felt something knot in his gut when Sam finally made the connection between Tucker and Dean and what dinner plans really meant. He didn’t know why it meant so much that some messy kid a half step up from a temp approved of his love life.
“Oh.” Sam took a step back and tugged a bit at his shirt. “You meant you had a date.”
Tucker kissed the side of Dean’s head and then offered his hand to Sam. “Tucker Eckstein. HR over at James and Hess.”
Sam took it. “Sam Wesson, IT at Sandover. I’m just a friend of Dean’s. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”
Sam might not have and he might have left after introducing himself, but the date fizzled after that. Tucker insisted that it wasn’t about Sam, but the mood was ruined by Wesson and his disgusting yellow shirt. Dean moped for three days (mostly by living at the gym and spending all of Saturday afternoon at the farmer’s market downtown). Three days later, it didn’t matter, because Dean Smith disappeared like he never existed.
And Dean Winchester never smiled when he woke up one morning, two weeks later, to a hot coffee and a note on motel stationary that said, “You could have come out before the angels memory wiped us, jerk.” He certainly never tore up the paper, thinking it was nice that maybe, just maybe now he could tell someone when he found a bartender was hot and not just when the waitress was giving him the eye.