Can We Pretend? | SPN Gen
Title: Can We Pretend?
Words: 800ish
Warning: Kids in the form of Ben
Summary: When Dean's by himself, he counts stars; one time Ben joins him.
Notes: IDEK but this came to me from listening to B.O.B.'s "Airplanes" and people (you know who you are) said I had to write this :-P Thanks to standing_fic for a quick look.
After another stilted dinner, Dean escaped to the backyard. He parked himself in the same lawn chair he used when he needed space, needed somewhere else to be that felt like his old life. One backlight by the night sky, not false lighting and low ceilings.
He sunk in the seat, head tipping against the seatback as he cradled a cold bottle of beer in his lap. His eyes went wide as he counted the stars above. Every twelfth one, he tapped his bottle while mumurning one dozen, two dozen, three dozen, remembering how he and Sam, aged eleven and seven, would count stars together.
It wasn’t often that he got past six dozen before he lost track, but that night the sky was pitch black and the stars were out in full force, sparkling and begging to matter.
Dean hit 103 as he finished off his second bottle. He leaned over the side of the chair to drop the empty to the small cooler before grabbing one more. When Dean sat upright, he flinched at Ben seated next to him, cross-legged in the grass and staring up to the dark sky.
“How many did you get tonight?” Ben asked, wondrous smile in place.
With a small smile, Dean took the first sip of the fresh beer, feeling warm from alcohol and Ben’s innocent curiosity. “Two-forty.”
“Liar,” he shot back with narrow eyes.
Dean chuckled low, felt it rumble in his chest. Then felt something deeper settle as he casually patted at Ben’s shoulder. “Just over a hundred.”
“Bet I can count one-fifty before you do.”
Dean looked over, high eyebrow and a tiny smirk, knowing he could never step down from a challenge. “You’re on.”
Ben shifted to sit straight and then popped his head right back to stare heavenward.
Dean sat up, impressed with Ben’s dedication, and trained his eyes on a patch to the northwest where the stars were more concentrated. “Ready, set-”
“Go. One, two, three …”
He was startled by Ben’s quick lead, but he quickly caught up to Ben’s quiet mumbling, both of them flipping through numbers like counting cards.
Two mintues later, Ben shouted, “One-forty-nine! One-fifty! Done!” with his arms high in the air.
Dean laughed then playfully scowled to Ben’s over-the-top celebration. He reached for Ben’s head, was inches from sweeping fingers over edges of his hair when Ben pointed up high with more excitement.
“Look! Shooting star!”
He followed Ben’s eyesight, saw the moving light and a flashing one just behind it; it was an airplane.
Ben swatted Dean’s knee. “Dude, we gotta make a wish.”
“No, it’s-” And he stopped at Ben’s smile: small, settled, comfortable. All things he hadn’t seen on the kid since he showed up at their house. He couldn’t bear to correct Ben, to say that it wasn’t a shooting star, it was likely a passenger plane heading somewhere they’d never go.
When Dean looked over, Ben’s eyes were clenched tight while his lips parted with silent words. He sat straight again and looked up to Dean with a playful grin. “Don’t bother asking me what I wished for. I’m not telling you.”
Dean snorted and relaxed into his seat, trying to forget the small moment that reminded him of Sam, of sitting outside and staring at the sky, dreaming of all the places they could go. They’d done it so many times over the years, both together and apart, young and old. And while he desperately wanted to cling to all those memories, he fought so hard to shove them into a corner for another day.
He shifted closer to Ben and took a sip of beer, now lukewarm but still a comfort. “I wouldn’t tell you anyways.”
“Jerk.”
“Bi-”
The moment froze and Dean swallowed hard, forced himself to drink to loosen up his twisted throat.
“Ben,” Lisa called from inside the house. “Time to wash up and get to bed.”
He groaned and turned towards Dean with a grumble.
Dean fought a smile through the streak of sadness suddenly blanketing him. Ben looked nothing like Sam; different hair, frown, eyes, smile, but Dean still patted over his head like he would when he was a young big brother. And he lightly smiled with a soft, “Night, buddy.”
Ben gave a sour smile and smacked Dean’s hand off his head but then slapped his hand with a handshake Ben had taught him weeks ago but failed him at the moment. Ben tugged his fingers into Dean’s then slipped them free with a snap and a smile. “Night, Dean.”
He turned enough to see Ben head inside then he looked back to the stars and willed himself to find a shooting star, something to watch and wish on.
Another plane slid across the sky, and he took a deep breath, sighed, and shook his head.
It was all he had.
I wish I was wherever Sam is.
Words: 800ish
Warning: Kids in the form of Ben
Summary: When Dean's by himself, he counts stars; one time Ben joins him.
Notes: IDEK but this came to me from listening to B.O.B.'s "Airplanes" and people (you know who you are) said I had to write this :-P Thanks to standing_fic for a quick look.
After another stilted dinner, Dean escaped to the backyard. He parked himself in the same lawn chair he used when he needed space, needed somewhere else to be that felt like his old life. One backlight by the night sky, not false lighting and low ceilings.
He sunk in the seat, head tipping against the seatback as he cradled a cold bottle of beer in his lap. His eyes went wide as he counted the stars above. Every twelfth one, he tapped his bottle while mumurning one dozen, two dozen, three dozen, remembering how he and Sam, aged eleven and seven, would count stars together.
It wasn’t often that he got past six dozen before he lost track, but that night the sky was pitch black and the stars were out in full force, sparkling and begging to matter.
Dean hit 103 as he finished off his second bottle. He leaned over the side of the chair to drop the empty to the small cooler before grabbing one more. When Dean sat upright, he flinched at Ben seated next to him, cross-legged in the grass and staring up to the dark sky.
“How many did you get tonight?” Ben asked, wondrous smile in place.
With a small smile, Dean took the first sip of the fresh beer, feeling warm from alcohol and Ben’s innocent curiosity. “Two-forty.”
“Liar,” he shot back with narrow eyes.
Dean chuckled low, felt it rumble in his chest. Then felt something deeper settle as he casually patted at Ben’s shoulder. “Just over a hundred.”
“Bet I can count one-fifty before you do.”
Dean looked over, high eyebrow and a tiny smirk, knowing he could never step down from a challenge. “You’re on.”
Ben shifted to sit straight and then popped his head right back to stare heavenward.
Dean sat up, impressed with Ben’s dedication, and trained his eyes on a patch to the northwest where the stars were more concentrated. “Ready, set-”
“Go. One, two, three …”
He was startled by Ben’s quick lead, but he quickly caught up to Ben’s quiet mumbling, both of them flipping through numbers like counting cards.
Two mintues later, Ben shouted, “One-forty-nine! One-fifty! Done!” with his arms high in the air.
Dean laughed then playfully scowled to Ben’s over-the-top celebration. He reached for Ben’s head, was inches from sweeping fingers over edges of his hair when Ben pointed up high with more excitement.
“Look! Shooting star!”
He followed Ben’s eyesight, saw the moving light and a flashing one just behind it; it was an airplane.
Ben swatted Dean’s knee. “Dude, we gotta make a wish.”
“No, it’s-” And he stopped at Ben’s smile: small, settled, comfortable. All things he hadn’t seen on the kid since he showed up at their house. He couldn’t bear to correct Ben, to say that it wasn’t a shooting star, it was likely a passenger plane heading somewhere they’d never go.
When Dean looked over, Ben’s eyes were clenched tight while his lips parted with silent words. He sat straight again and looked up to Dean with a playful grin. “Don’t bother asking me what I wished for. I’m not telling you.”
Dean snorted and relaxed into his seat, trying to forget the small moment that reminded him of Sam, of sitting outside and staring at the sky, dreaming of all the places they could go. They’d done it so many times over the years, both together and apart, young and old. And while he desperately wanted to cling to all those memories, he fought so hard to shove them into a corner for another day.
He shifted closer to Ben and took a sip of beer, now lukewarm but still a comfort. “I wouldn’t tell you anyways.”
“Jerk.”
“Bi-”
The moment froze and Dean swallowed hard, forced himself to drink to loosen up his twisted throat.
“Ben,” Lisa called from inside the house. “Time to wash up and get to bed.”
He groaned and turned towards Dean with a grumble.
Dean fought a smile through the streak of sadness suddenly blanketing him. Ben looked nothing like Sam; different hair, frown, eyes, smile, but Dean still patted over his head like he would when he was a young big brother. And he lightly smiled with a soft, “Night, buddy.”
Ben gave a sour smile and smacked Dean’s hand off his head but then slapped his hand with a handshake Ben had taught him weeks ago but failed him at the moment. Ben tugged his fingers into Dean’s then slipped them free with a snap and a smile. “Night, Dean.”
He turned enough to see Ben head inside then he looked back to the stars and willed himself to find a shooting star, something to watch and wish on.
Another plane slid across the sky, and he took a deep breath, sighed, and shook his head.
It was all he had.
I wish I was wherever Sam is.