The Kids Are Still Alright
Title: The Kids Are Still Alright
Summary: Garden 'verse. Written for the hoodie_time curtain-fic mini challenge. Ben helps Dean out with a problem at school.
Characters: Dean, Ben Braeden
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 2,015
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Warnings: None.
Neurotic Author's Note #1: It will surprise no one to learn that I have long-term plans for this 'verse. I have a timeline sort of mapped out in my head, for about 20 years' worth of the 'verse. Some of it is about Sam, but not this story.
Neurotic Author's Note #2: In case it's not clear, there's a similar age gap between Ben and Dean as there was between Dean and Sam before. So in this story Ben is nearly 17 and Dean has just turned 13.
Neurotic Author's Note #3: I've never written from Ben's POV before. It was kind of fun.
"Dean!"
Even though he knows Mom's tone isn't directed at him, Ben still starts a little in his chair at the table, head snapping up to see what she wants, his spoonful of cereal held halfway to his lips. He can just see her through the kitchen door, standing at the foot of the stairs, hands on her hips. She's dressed for work in a new pair of yoga pants and her favourite t-shirt, though both are already showing traces of yellow cat hair, courtesy of Tom, her hair pulled back in a bun that's going to come loose by the end of the day. Right now, she's scowling at the empty staircase.
"Dean Winchester you get your butt down here this instant before you're late for school! I have an eight o'clock class and I am not going to be late for it because I had to drive you."
There's no answer, and Ben hunches down slightly in his seat, because he knows how this is going to end if Dean doesn't do as he's told. He finishes his cereal hurriedly, and wonders if he could get away with leaving without his brother today. Dean isn't exactly his brother, not by blood, but Sam and Mom adopted him and so that kind of makes him like his brother. Not that Ben was all that thrilled when they did it, but it's been over seven years now, and it turns out it's not so bad having a kid brother you can boss around and show things to and blame things on. Ben usually walks Dean to middle school, but Mom won't force him to be late just because Dean is, even if high school starts half an hour later.
"I am counting to three," Mom is calling up the stairs, "and when I get to three I am coming up there. Woe betide you if that happens!"
That last bit Mom learned from Sam, Ben's pretty sure. She never used phrases like 'woe betide you' before he came into their lives, but Sam loves to read. He's always quoting things at them, and bringing books to the dinner table to look things up, and even though it's, like, the most uncool thing ever, Ben's actually learned a lot of the quotes by heart now. It's actually helped with his English homework more than he'll ever let on to Sam. It was hard to hold onto his resentment for all that long after Sam and Dean moved in. Ben figures he and his mom were doing just fine by themselves, but now that he's almost seventeen he can tell that Sam makes Mom really happy, and that has to count for something. Sam himself is okay, too.
"One!" Mom yells, and Dean hurls himself down the stairs as fast as he can, still struggling to button his shirt, both shoes untied.
"Sorry," he mumbles, eyes riveted to the floor. He's not sorry at all, Ben can tell and so can Mom-she's got a radar for that sort of thing-but she's obviously in too much of a hurry to make an issue of it. Sam had an early day at work and has been gone since before the sun came out, so it's up to Mom to get both of them out the door today.
"Here," she bends to help Dean with the last of his buttons, and he doesn't push his luck by struggling. "There's cereal or you can nuke some oatmeal, and no, you cannot skip breakfast just because you got up late. I have to go now, so you and Ben had better be out that door and going to school in ten minutes, or you will face the consequences, you hear me?"
It's one of those small things that's changed since Sam and Dean moved in. Mom's favourite expression before was 'There'll be Hell to pay,' but she never uses it now. When she did, at first, it made Sam flinch and go pale, and Dean would outright cry. Of course, Dean was a lot smaller, then, but it obviously scared him, and so she stopped. Still, Ben remembers when that changed, along with what feels like a million other little things.
Dean slides into the chair opposite him at the table and pours himself a bowl of Corn Flakes, his hair still mussed. Mom's constantly after him to comb his hair, but no matter what he does it always seems to stick out in all directions. Ben remembers what Dean looked like as an adult, even though it's been years, and it's hard to think that this goofy-looking kid is going to grow up into that. Right now the only remarkable thing about him is that he's got freckles and his ears stick out a bit. Ben slides the pitcher of milk toward him.
"Hurry up."
Dean glares at him and then deliberately takes his time chewing his spoonful of cereal.
"I mean it, squirt. You make me late and I'll put ice cubes in your shorts."
Dean just shrugs, because they both know it's an empty threat. Dean always wins their prank wars, even though he's four years younger than Ben. The way Sam tells it, the two of them used to have huge prank wars that sometimes lasted for weeks when they were kids, and Ben isn't keen on getting Nair put in his shampoo bottle. He's already checked it once or twice, just to be on the safe side.
Ben grabs both their backpacks when Dean's done and the dishes have been loaded into the dishwasher, and tosses the smaller one to Dean, who catches it neatly and pulls it over his shoulders. He locks the door behind them, makes sure Dean's key is around his neck, even though it gets him an eye roll for his pains, and definitely doesn't hold Dean's hand while they walk to school, because they're both way too old for that. It's promising to be a beautiful day, and the apple tree in the front yard is beginning to blossom a lot earlier than usual, filling the air with a sweet smell as they go by.
"So what's with you? Bad dreams, or what?"
Dean isn't usually this quiet. He was when he was a little kid, when he was still really confused about everything, and he had nightmares all the time, but these days he's a lot more talkative, a lot more outgoing. He's got friends in school and after school activities just like a regular kid, so it's not really like him to be quiet like this. Then again, maybe it's the after school activities that are the problem. He nudges Dean's shoulder.
"Baseball tryouts are coming up."
Dean shrugs him off. "Quit that!"
"You tell Mom yet?"
"No. Stop it," Dean squirms away when Ben nudges him again.
"You better tell her tonight, then. You know she hates signing permission slips last minute."
"I'm not trying out, so forget it."
That actually stops him short in his tracks. Dean loves baseball, has been obsessed with it ever since Sam got him a glove for his seventh birthday. He spent the whole winter waiting for it to be nice enough outside to play, and pestered Ben non-stop to throw the ball for the entire summer until Mom and Sam finally gave up and signed him up for the Minor League. He's good at it, too, even Ben can see that. So it's more than a little surprising that he suddenly doesn't want to go, after being quietly excited about it all winter.
"Why not?"
Dean just shrugs. "It's not important. Come on, we're going to be late!"
"And whose fault is that?" Ben rolls his eyes, checking his watch. "Next time get up when the alarm rings, geek-boy."
"Don't call me that."
"But it's true. You skipped a grade because you're oh-so-smart," Ben reaches over to ruffle Dean's hair, and gets a yelp of annoyance as a reward. "That makes you a geek."
"Screw you," Dean mumbles, trying to smooth out his hair again.
Ben walks casually alongside him, waiting for him to spill whatever's on his mind. Dean isn't the type to let things fester. He's dragging his feet, though, as they approach the school. At this rate, Dean's going to get to class just in time for the first bell. Maybe that's the point, Ben thinks suddenly. Dean's looking around, trying to act casual, but he's wary, scanning the schoolyard as though some monster is going to spring out from the shadows at them. A few years ago, that might have been a very real possibility, but they haven't had so much as a whisper of anything supernatural in a really long time. Dean stands by the school gate, clearly waiting for the bell, and that's when Ben spots a group of kids standing off to one side, leaning up against the wall. One of them, a big kid who looks like he needs to lay off the cheeseburgers, makes an exaggerated kissy face in Dean's direction, and Ben doesn't miss the way the tips of Dean's ears turn red.
"That guy giving you a hard time?"
Dean scowls. "It's fine."
"It's not fine," Ben matches his expression. "Is he why you're not trying out for baseball?"
"No!"
It's a lie, and they both know it. Ben chews on his lip for a second, glaring daggers at the kid. Dean's a lot smaller than him and his pals, and bullies aren't exactly known for picking on kids their own size. Still, he remembers what it was like well enough, and the rule that only bitches send a grown-up to do their dirty work still applies.
"He hit you?"
Dean shrugs, which means 'yes,' but probably nowhere anyone could see. "Just once," he clarifies. "I dodged the rest of the time. Kept out of his way."
"I don't get it. You know how to take him down. Hell, you're the one who taught me how to kick bullies in the nads, remember?"
Dean shrugs again, which could mean anything. His memories of everything that happened before he got changed are still vague and mixed up a lot of the time. "I'm supposed to keep my head down."
"What? Says who?"
Dean opens his mouth, appears to reconsider whatever he was going to say, frowning in that way he gets whenever things get messed up in his head about which set of memories he should be paying attention to.
"I know it wasn't Mom. Was it Sam?" Ben asks, but Dean shakes his head. "Okay, so if it wasn't Mom and it wasn't Sam, it doesn't count, right? Anyone else tells you what to do, screw 'em. What's lard-boy's name over there?"
"Carson."
"Okay. So next time Carson hassles you, you take care of him. Take him down, make him cry for his mommy and wish he was never born. You'll get in trouble for fighting, but it'll only be once. Mom'll get mad, you'll get detention for, like, a day if you tell them he was bullying you, and then it'll be done. Stuff like that doesn't even go on your permanent record. Got it?"
Dean's shoulders straighten visibly, chin coming up, eyes clearing. For a second, it's like he's an adult again, ready to face whatever's in the darkness. "Got it. I gotta go, the bell's ringing."
"Yeah, sure. I'll be here at three. Kick 'im in the ass."
At three o'clock, Dean has a bruise on his jaw, a four-inch tear in the knee of his pants, an official note for their parents, and a grin so wide Ben's a little surprised his face hasn't split open. He slings an arm around the kid's shoulders, pulling him in for a half-hug, and ruffles his hair.
"Ow!"
"If you want, I'll bring up baseball with Mom and Sam, after they've finished grounding you for the next two weeks."
"Nah, s'okay. I'll do it. Maybe tomorrow," Dean amends.
"Your funeral," Ben grins. "All right, c'mon. Let's go home."
This entry was originally posted at http://ratherastory.dreamwidth.org/226174.html, where there are
: comments, currently. Feel free to comment wherever you'd like! ♥
Summary: Garden 'verse. Written for the hoodie_time curtain-fic mini challenge. Ben helps Dean out with a problem at school.
Characters: Dean, Ben Braeden
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 2,015
Disclaimer: Still not mine.
Warnings: None.
Neurotic Author's Note #1: It will surprise no one to learn that I have long-term plans for this 'verse. I have a timeline sort of mapped out in my head, for about 20 years' worth of the 'verse. Some of it is about Sam, but not this story.
Neurotic Author's Note #2: In case it's not clear, there's a similar age gap between Ben and Dean as there was between Dean and Sam before. So in this story Ben is nearly 17 and Dean has just turned 13.
Neurotic Author's Note #3: I've never written from Ben's POV before. It was kind of fun.
"Dean!"
Even though he knows Mom's tone isn't directed at him, Ben still starts a little in his chair at the table, head snapping up to see what she wants, his spoonful of cereal held halfway to his lips. He can just see her through the kitchen door, standing at the foot of the stairs, hands on her hips. She's dressed for work in a new pair of yoga pants and her favourite t-shirt, though both are already showing traces of yellow cat hair, courtesy of Tom, her hair pulled back in a bun that's going to come loose by the end of the day. Right now, she's scowling at the empty staircase.
"Dean Winchester you get your butt down here this instant before you're late for school! I have an eight o'clock class and I am not going to be late for it because I had to drive you."
There's no answer, and Ben hunches down slightly in his seat, because he knows how this is going to end if Dean doesn't do as he's told. He finishes his cereal hurriedly, and wonders if he could get away with leaving without his brother today. Dean isn't exactly his brother, not by blood, but Sam and Mom adopted him and so that kind of makes him like his brother. Not that Ben was all that thrilled when they did it, but it's been over seven years now, and it turns out it's not so bad having a kid brother you can boss around and show things to and blame things on. Ben usually walks Dean to middle school, but Mom won't force him to be late just because Dean is, even if high school starts half an hour later.
"I am counting to three," Mom is calling up the stairs, "and when I get to three I am coming up there. Woe betide you if that happens!"
That last bit Mom learned from Sam, Ben's pretty sure. She never used phrases like 'woe betide you' before he came into their lives, but Sam loves to read. He's always quoting things at them, and bringing books to the dinner table to look things up, and even though it's, like, the most uncool thing ever, Ben's actually learned a lot of the quotes by heart now. It's actually helped with his English homework more than he'll ever let on to Sam. It was hard to hold onto his resentment for all that long after Sam and Dean moved in. Ben figures he and his mom were doing just fine by themselves, but now that he's almost seventeen he can tell that Sam makes Mom really happy, and that has to count for something. Sam himself is okay, too.
"One!" Mom yells, and Dean hurls himself down the stairs as fast as he can, still struggling to button his shirt, both shoes untied.
"Sorry," he mumbles, eyes riveted to the floor. He's not sorry at all, Ben can tell and so can Mom-she's got a radar for that sort of thing-but she's obviously in too much of a hurry to make an issue of it. Sam had an early day at work and has been gone since before the sun came out, so it's up to Mom to get both of them out the door today.
"Here," she bends to help Dean with the last of his buttons, and he doesn't push his luck by struggling. "There's cereal or you can nuke some oatmeal, and no, you cannot skip breakfast just because you got up late. I have to go now, so you and Ben had better be out that door and going to school in ten minutes, or you will face the consequences, you hear me?"
It's one of those small things that's changed since Sam and Dean moved in. Mom's favourite expression before was 'There'll be Hell to pay,' but she never uses it now. When she did, at first, it made Sam flinch and go pale, and Dean would outright cry. Of course, Dean was a lot smaller, then, but it obviously scared him, and so she stopped. Still, Ben remembers when that changed, along with what feels like a million other little things.
Dean slides into the chair opposite him at the table and pours himself a bowl of Corn Flakes, his hair still mussed. Mom's constantly after him to comb his hair, but no matter what he does it always seems to stick out in all directions. Ben remembers what Dean looked like as an adult, even though it's been years, and it's hard to think that this goofy-looking kid is going to grow up into that. Right now the only remarkable thing about him is that he's got freckles and his ears stick out a bit. Ben slides the pitcher of milk toward him.
"Hurry up."
Dean glares at him and then deliberately takes his time chewing his spoonful of cereal.
"I mean it, squirt. You make me late and I'll put ice cubes in your shorts."
Dean just shrugs, because they both know it's an empty threat. Dean always wins their prank wars, even though he's four years younger than Ben. The way Sam tells it, the two of them used to have huge prank wars that sometimes lasted for weeks when they were kids, and Ben isn't keen on getting Nair put in his shampoo bottle. He's already checked it once or twice, just to be on the safe side.
Ben grabs both their backpacks when Dean's done and the dishes have been loaded into the dishwasher, and tosses the smaller one to Dean, who catches it neatly and pulls it over his shoulders. He locks the door behind them, makes sure Dean's key is around his neck, even though it gets him an eye roll for his pains, and definitely doesn't hold Dean's hand while they walk to school, because they're both way too old for that. It's promising to be a beautiful day, and the apple tree in the front yard is beginning to blossom a lot earlier than usual, filling the air with a sweet smell as they go by.
"So what's with you? Bad dreams, or what?"
Dean isn't usually this quiet. He was when he was a little kid, when he was still really confused about everything, and he had nightmares all the time, but these days he's a lot more talkative, a lot more outgoing. He's got friends in school and after school activities just like a regular kid, so it's not really like him to be quiet like this. Then again, maybe it's the after school activities that are the problem. He nudges Dean's shoulder.
"Baseball tryouts are coming up."
Dean shrugs him off. "Quit that!"
"You tell Mom yet?"
"No. Stop it," Dean squirms away when Ben nudges him again.
"You better tell her tonight, then. You know she hates signing permission slips last minute."
"I'm not trying out, so forget it."
That actually stops him short in his tracks. Dean loves baseball, has been obsessed with it ever since Sam got him a glove for his seventh birthday. He spent the whole winter waiting for it to be nice enough outside to play, and pestered Ben non-stop to throw the ball for the entire summer until Mom and Sam finally gave up and signed him up for the Minor League. He's good at it, too, even Ben can see that. So it's more than a little surprising that he suddenly doesn't want to go, after being quietly excited about it all winter.
"Why not?"
Dean just shrugs. "It's not important. Come on, we're going to be late!"
"And whose fault is that?" Ben rolls his eyes, checking his watch. "Next time get up when the alarm rings, geek-boy."
"Don't call me that."
"But it's true. You skipped a grade because you're oh-so-smart," Ben reaches over to ruffle Dean's hair, and gets a yelp of annoyance as a reward. "That makes you a geek."
"Screw you," Dean mumbles, trying to smooth out his hair again.
Ben walks casually alongside him, waiting for him to spill whatever's on his mind. Dean isn't the type to let things fester. He's dragging his feet, though, as they approach the school. At this rate, Dean's going to get to class just in time for the first bell. Maybe that's the point, Ben thinks suddenly. Dean's looking around, trying to act casual, but he's wary, scanning the schoolyard as though some monster is going to spring out from the shadows at them. A few years ago, that might have been a very real possibility, but they haven't had so much as a whisper of anything supernatural in a really long time. Dean stands by the school gate, clearly waiting for the bell, and that's when Ben spots a group of kids standing off to one side, leaning up against the wall. One of them, a big kid who looks like he needs to lay off the cheeseburgers, makes an exaggerated kissy face in Dean's direction, and Ben doesn't miss the way the tips of Dean's ears turn red.
"That guy giving you a hard time?"
Dean scowls. "It's fine."
"It's not fine," Ben matches his expression. "Is he why you're not trying out for baseball?"
"No!"
It's a lie, and they both know it. Ben chews on his lip for a second, glaring daggers at the kid. Dean's a lot smaller than him and his pals, and bullies aren't exactly known for picking on kids their own size. Still, he remembers what it was like well enough, and the rule that only bitches send a grown-up to do their dirty work still applies.
"He hit you?"
Dean shrugs, which means 'yes,' but probably nowhere anyone could see. "Just once," he clarifies. "I dodged the rest of the time. Kept out of his way."
"I don't get it. You know how to take him down. Hell, you're the one who taught me how to kick bullies in the nads, remember?"
Dean shrugs again, which could mean anything. His memories of everything that happened before he got changed are still vague and mixed up a lot of the time. "I'm supposed to keep my head down."
"What? Says who?"
Dean opens his mouth, appears to reconsider whatever he was going to say, frowning in that way he gets whenever things get messed up in his head about which set of memories he should be paying attention to.
"I know it wasn't Mom. Was it Sam?" Ben asks, but Dean shakes his head. "Okay, so if it wasn't Mom and it wasn't Sam, it doesn't count, right? Anyone else tells you what to do, screw 'em. What's lard-boy's name over there?"
"Carson."
"Okay. So next time Carson hassles you, you take care of him. Take him down, make him cry for his mommy and wish he was never born. You'll get in trouble for fighting, but it'll only be once. Mom'll get mad, you'll get detention for, like, a day if you tell them he was bullying you, and then it'll be done. Stuff like that doesn't even go on your permanent record. Got it?"
Dean's shoulders straighten visibly, chin coming up, eyes clearing. For a second, it's like he's an adult again, ready to face whatever's in the darkness. "Got it. I gotta go, the bell's ringing."
"Yeah, sure. I'll be here at three. Kick 'im in the ass."
At three o'clock, Dean has a bruise on his jaw, a four-inch tear in the knee of his pants, an official note for their parents, and a grin so wide Ben's a little surprised his face hasn't split open. He slings an arm around the kid's shoulders, pulling him in for a half-hug, and ruffles his hair.
"Ow!"
"If you want, I'll bring up baseball with Mom and Sam, after they've finished grounding you for the next two weeks."
"Nah, s'okay. I'll do it. Maybe tomorrow," Dean amends.
"Your funeral," Ben grins. "All right, c'mon. Let's go home."
This entry was originally posted at http://ratherastory.dreamwidth.org/226174.html, where there are
: comments, currently. Feel free to comment wherever you'd like! ♥