(Like A Family) Uncle Dean
Title: (Like A Family) Uncle Dean
Summary: Uncle Dean taught.
Verse: In The Starlight (A Supernatural/Doctor Who crossover) More info on the verse HERE
A/N: 'Like A Family' is a series of drabbles in this verse, explaining all the members of this unconventional 'family' through Sam's daughter's eyes. Obviously, the big one comes first.
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Uncle Dean taught.
He taught Mary how to hit a baseball when she was seven and the boys in the neighborhood wouldn't let her play with them. When they visited the Salvage Yard and Grandpa Bobby, Dean taught her, bit by bit, how to fix and work cars, sliding her under the hood, pointing out each mechanical piece with patience and ease. He also taught her how to punch boys in the nose when they told her that girls shouldn't learn how to play sports or fix cars and to stick with ‘that girly stuff she’s supposed to like’. (Daddy wasn’t very happy when she was thirteen and broke Brian Dennegy’s nose for the first time. Mom and Uncle Dean, however, looked proud.)
He taught her how to drive when she was sixteen, and on the day she got her license, he let her drive his Baby. Not even Dad was always allowed to drive his Baby. She’d never forget the half-smile he gave her as she sailed them down the highway, trying his best to mask both his pride and paranoia (not even she could escape his irrational over-protectiveness about his car) at seeing Mary behind the wheel, slapping her on the back both firmly and gently, in that way only Uncle Dean does, and chuckling, “See, kid? I knew you could do it.”
There was a tenderness to his naturally rough and jagged movements and voice when it came to Mary, and he constantly spoiled her with candy and milkshakes and bracelets he picked up on his way over to her house. He was almost like a grandparent, the way he doted on her. But he never treated her like she was fragile, never spoke down to her, made her feel stupid in that way only adults do. As she got older, she realized how grateful she always was for that.
She almost never saw him cry. She’d seen him yell sometimes (never to her, though), or look scared, like when she fell off the pier by Aunt Amy and Uncle Rory’s house when she was five. But crying was just not something Uncle Dean did.
There was only one time. Dean was babysitting while Dad and Mom were at work, and she’d wrestled him into watching The Lion King with her for the first time. (He always played dinosaurs with her or read stories to her, but he never wanted to watch Disney movies when he babysat for some reason.) The other kids were already asleep, but she got to stay up late because she was the oldest. She sat in the comfy Lazy Man chair that she never got to sit in when her parents were there, and Uncle Dean sat in the couch. Her eyes were glued to the TV, her Simba stuffed animal sitting on her lap to watch the movie with her. When the dad lion died, though, she looked over and saw something she’d never seen before in her life: a tear trickling down the side of his face. He wiped it away quickly, but that one tear made her want to burst out into tears herself for reasons she didn't understand. But instead, she hoisted herself out of her comfy chair and walked over to Uncle Dean’s side. She didn't look up as she wrapped her tiny arms around his chest, nestling her head into the crook of his neck. It took a few silent seconds before he hugged her back.
They didn’t say anything. At that talkative age of six and a half, Mary discovered that rare instinct that she didn’t have to. That this was a part of how Uncle Dean worked. How they worked. And when he leaned over and gave her a soft, rare kiss on the top of her head, she didn’t feel like crying anymore.
That's just what Uncle Dean does.
Summary: Uncle Dean taught.
Verse: In The Starlight (A Supernatural/Doctor Who crossover) More info on the verse HERE
A/N: 'Like A Family' is a series of drabbles in this verse, explaining all the members of this unconventional 'family' through Sam's daughter's eyes. Obviously, the big one comes first.
---
Uncle Dean taught.
He taught Mary how to hit a baseball when she was seven and the boys in the neighborhood wouldn't let her play with them. When they visited the Salvage Yard and Grandpa Bobby, Dean taught her, bit by bit, how to fix and work cars, sliding her under the hood, pointing out each mechanical piece with patience and ease. He also taught her how to punch boys in the nose when they told her that girls shouldn't learn how to play sports or fix cars and to stick with ‘that girly stuff she’s supposed to like’. (Daddy wasn’t very happy when she was thirteen and broke Brian Dennegy’s nose for the first time. Mom and Uncle Dean, however, looked proud.)
He taught her how to drive when she was sixteen, and on the day she got her license, he let her drive his Baby. Not even Dad was always allowed to drive his Baby. She’d never forget the half-smile he gave her as she sailed them down the highway, trying his best to mask both his pride and paranoia (not even she could escape his irrational over-protectiveness about his car) at seeing Mary behind the wheel, slapping her on the back both firmly and gently, in that way only Uncle Dean does, and chuckling, “See, kid? I knew you could do it.”
There was a tenderness to his naturally rough and jagged movements and voice when it came to Mary, and he constantly spoiled her with candy and milkshakes and bracelets he picked up on his way over to her house. He was almost like a grandparent, the way he doted on her. But he never treated her like she was fragile, never spoke down to her, made her feel stupid in that way only adults do. As she got older, she realized how grateful she always was for that.
She almost never saw him cry. She’d seen him yell sometimes (never to her, though), or look scared, like when she fell off the pier by Aunt Amy and Uncle Rory’s house when she was five. But crying was just not something Uncle Dean did.
There was only one time. Dean was babysitting while Dad and Mom were at work, and she’d wrestled him into watching The Lion King with her for the first time. (He always played dinosaurs with her or read stories to her, but he never wanted to watch Disney movies when he babysat for some reason.) The other kids were already asleep, but she got to stay up late because she was the oldest. She sat in the comfy Lazy Man chair that she never got to sit in when her parents were there, and Uncle Dean sat in the couch. Her eyes were glued to the TV, her Simba stuffed animal sitting on her lap to watch the movie with her. When the dad lion died, though, she looked over and saw something she’d never seen before in her life: a tear trickling down the side of his face. He wiped it away quickly, but that one tear made her want to burst out into tears herself for reasons she didn't understand. But instead, she hoisted herself out of her comfy chair and walked over to Uncle Dean’s side. She didn't look up as she wrapped her tiny arms around his chest, nestling her head into the crook of his neck. It took a few silent seconds before he hugged her back.
They didn’t say anything. At that talkative age of six and a half, Mary discovered that rare instinct that she didn’t have to. That this was a part of how Uncle Dean worked. How they worked. And when he leaned over and gave her a soft, rare kiss on the top of her head, she didn’t feel like crying anymore.
That's just what Uncle Dean does.