A mari usque ad mare - Part 5 (6/14)
A mari usque ad mare - Part 5 (6/14)
1,289/28,777 of R rated Gen (with an edge of subtext) crack!fic in which Dean revisits his past in unexpected ways. (The Lawrence Tea Party)
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Epilogue
Part 5
Surface tension
‘You’re a girl! You’re … Mom.’
Somehow his ‘Well, you’re Dad’ didn’t have quite the same impact as a comeback.
So, there they both were, sitting surreally at the table drinking tea. Because, apparently everyone knew coffee was bad for babies. He’d choked on the first mouthful and had been complaining bitterly ever since. All his carefully formulated arguments about hunters needing coffee to get them through battles hadn’t helped one bit. Dean leant forward over the chair back and valiantly choked another mouthful down as Sam shot him a disapproving look. ‘What?’
That look slanted down to his bare legs tucked around the chair legs. Um. Tugging his nightgown down didn’t seem to put Sam in a better frame of mind. Dean tried to be casual about getting up a few minutes later, turning the chair right way around, and switching positions to a classic close-kneed pose. I just felt like a change, okay? Jeez, who’d have thought there was so much to know about being a woman?
Dean wasn’t sure how Sam did it but somehow Dad’s hair even looked longer. It wasn’t actually in his eyes; it just felt like it was. Dean thought it was completely possible that it might even be growing faster now, because the utter Sammyness of it was unmistakable. He couldn’t work out how he’d missed all the signs before. Swearing in Latin? Come on! He blamed it on the estrogen.
He looked down into his teacup and sighed forlornly. Twice. Sam sat there looking through his hair at him with one eyebrow sternly raised like Spock and Dean knew he wasn’t going to get any caffeine in this lifetime. The list of negatives about being his mother just got longer every damned minute.
♒
‘The space-time continuum?’
There it was, yet another patented Sam Winchester look. At the age of eight, Dean had decided that his brother had a look for almost every occasion and named them appropriately. Although, to be honest, most of them were variants of ‘Whatever you’re doing, I don’t approve.’ Dean still liked to call that one Mr Lemonhead.
‘You’re worried about the space-time continuum? Been reading Hawking in our spare time have we, Dean? Or watching Star Trek re-runs?’
‘Shut up! I totally do not watch Star Trek.’
‘Uh huh. Just keep on telling yourself that, Dean.’
Dean started doodling flowers on his notepad. ‘But we’re here in the past, Sammy! And I’ve got me, inside me!’ He couldn’t help it if his voice got a little shrill then. It wasn’t a girly voice, at all. It was a brave, manly, ever so slightly worried voice that was all. The sort of voice anyone would have if they were possessing their pregnant mother for Christ’s sake!
‘And your point is?’
Dean knew then that his brother would have made a perfect lawyer. ‘Shouldn’t the world be going boom or something?’ It was kind of hard to say that in an offhand, not panicking at all, way. He had a suspicion Sam could see right through him. Being a chick was totally ruining his mojo. I used to be so good.
‘Boom, Dean? Is that a technical term? Or is that girl talk for “Oh, my God, we’re all going to die?”’
The best Dean could think up to say was ‘Shut up!’ but he didn’t want to be repetitive and a girl. He had some standards after all. He decided to go with a non-verbal response instead.
‘Jerk.’
‘Did you just call our Mom a jerk, geekforbrains?’ Dean somehow had Sam bent backwards over the sink. Wow, adrenaline really worked, because Mom was tiny next to Dad. Tiny. Short. ‘I’m a girl, and I’m pregnant, and I’m Mom, and I’m short!’
‘Uh, Dean?’
‘What?’
‘You’ve always been short.’
‘Bitch.’
‘I’m not the girl, Dean.’
That really hurt. But he had a point, not that Dean was going to let him know that. ‘At least you’ve still got a dick!’
Sam just blinked up at him. ‘Are you finished now, Dean?’
Oh. Um. Yep. ‘Sorry, Sammy.’
‘s fine,’ Sam said as Dean pulled him up and brushed him pointlessly down. ‘Want some more tea, Mom?’
Dean decided to kill his brother. Sometime. Maybe after they got out of this mess. Maybe immediately after. He sat down calmly and primly. He’d show his brother that Dean Winchester could handle any situation. He picked up his pen again and aimlessly started drawing hearts around each flower. ‘Could I have some camomile this time?’ Beer, I meant to say beer! It was the hormones. Those suckers were leaking through his brain as well as his … mom’s … body. Fuck! ‘You know how I said we were screwed in Milwaukee?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I take it back. Now we really are.’
‘Dean.’
‘What?’
Sam frowned as he poured a fresh pot of tea.
Dean thought he looked nothing like their father now. Oh God, my brain hurts. ‘Dude, I could sow a crop in that furrow. Spit it out, Sammy.’
Sam snorted as he shoved one of the dainty cups across the table. ‘Furrow, Dean?’
‘Shut up! I mean - get out of here! I watched that show where those two Hollywood chicks were pretending to work on that farm. Man that was …’
‘Dean!’
‘What?’
‘Could you please not perv about women and use the words dick and screwed while …’ Sam winced.
‘While I what, Sammy?’ Dean said ominously. ‘While I have a vagina?’
This time there was no mistake. Sam flinched visibly. Hell, Dean could even hear him do it.
‘While you’re … Mom, okay?’
Fuck. Dean hated it when Sammy sucker punched him. He almost spilled his tea.
♒
Tea was good for you. Cleansing in fact. Tea was also British. Or Chinese, maybe even Indian, or Sri Lankan. Dean was a bit fuzzy on the whole geo-economic concept of tea. In fact he was fuzzy on everything bar one thing. Okay, two things. One, he really didn’t like tea. Two, it came in these silly little cups that even his girl hands thought were stupid. Where was I? Two. Three. Oh, and yeah, thirdly, one other important thing. Funny how shock works; it can make the body just stop to take everything in. But sooner or later it starts ticking again.
‘Uh.’
‘Dean? Where are …?’
‘Bathroom!’ Dean gasped as he dashed through the house and up the stairs.
‘Are you going to be sick again?’
Damned little brothers never left you alone. Ever. Dean might be slightly shorter than his brother - even in their parent’s bodies, and wasn’t that just endlessly amusing? - But he’d always had the advantage of speed. So he used it. ‘If you pick the lock this time I really will kill you!’
After a while the persistent tapping got on his nerves. ‘What?’
‘Are you still sick?’
‘No!’
‘Oh … can I get you anything?’
Dean wished he had a gun. A big gun. He thought about that for a while. And then he just thought. And then he thought he shouldn’t think. Um. ‘Sammy?’
‘Yes?’
It was a small yes, but size wasn’t always everything. ‘Can you sing something?’
There was obviously a bit of dust out in the corridor because Sam’s voice got very peculiar.
‘You want me to sing? To you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Uh. What do you want me to sing?’
‘Led Zeppelin.’
Lots of dust.
‘Any … song … in particular?’
Lots, and lots of dust.
‘Night Flight.’
Clouds of dust.
‘… Okay… But, Dean.’
‘What?’
‘When this is all over, will you shoot me, please?’
‘No problem. And Sam?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Sing loudly.’
‘Oh.’
♒
‘Sammy?’
‘Uh huh?’
‘Don’t give up the hunting, okay?’
♒
Part 6
1,289/28,777 of R rated Gen (with an edge of subtext) crack!fic in which Dean revisits his past in unexpected ways. (The Lawrence Tea Party)
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Epilogue
Part 5
Surface tension
‘You’re a girl! You’re … Mom.’
Somehow his ‘Well, you’re Dad’ didn’t have quite the same impact as a comeback.
So, there they both were, sitting surreally at the table drinking tea. Because, apparently everyone knew coffee was bad for babies. He’d choked on the first mouthful and had been complaining bitterly ever since. All his carefully formulated arguments about hunters needing coffee to get them through battles hadn’t helped one bit. Dean leant forward over the chair back and valiantly choked another mouthful down as Sam shot him a disapproving look. ‘What?’
That look slanted down to his bare legs tucked around the chair legs. Um. Tugging his nightgown down didn’t seem to put Sam in a better frame of mind. Dean tried to be casual about getting up a few minutes later, turning the chair right way around, and switching positions to a classic close-kneed pose. I just felt like a change, okay? Jeez, who’d have thought there was so much to know about being a woman?
Dean wasn’t sure how Sam did it but somehow Dad’s hair even looked longer. It wasn’t actually in his eyes; it just felt like it was. Dean thought it was completely possible that it might even be growing faster now, because the utter Sammyness of it was unmistakable. He couldn’t work out how he’d missed all the signs before. Swearing in Latin? Come on! He blamed it on the estrogen.
He looked down into his teacup and sighed forlornly. Twice. Sam sat there looking through his hair at him with one eyebrow sternly raised like Spock and Dean knew he wasn’t going to get any caffeine in this lifetime. The list of negatives about being his mother just got longer every damned minute.
♒
‘The space-time continuum?’
There it was, yet another patented Sam Winchester look. At the age of eight, Dean had decided that his brother had a look for almost every occasion and named them appropriately. Although, to be honest, most of them were variants of ‘Whatever you’re doing, I don’t approve.’ Dean still liked to call that one Mr Lemonhead.
‘You’re worried about the space-time continuum? Been reading Hawking in our spare time have we, Dean? Or watching Star Trek re-runs?’
‘Shut up! I totally do not watch Star Trek.’
‘Uh huh. Just keep on telling yourself that, Dean.’
Dean started doodling flowers on his notepad. ‘But we’re here in the past, Sammy! And I’ve got me, inside me!’ He couldn’t help it if his voice got a little shrill then. It wasn’t a girly voice, at all. It was a brave, manly, ever so slightly worried voice that was all. The sort of voice anyone would have if they were possessing their pregnant mother for Christ’s sake!
‘And your point is?’
Dean knew then that his brother would have made a perfect lawyer. ‘Shouldn’t the world be going boom or something?’ It was kind of hard to say that in an offhand, not panicking at all, way. He had a suspicion Sam could see right through him. Being a chick was totally ruining his mojo. I used to be so good.
‘Boom, Dean? Is that a technical term? Or is that girl talk for “Oh, my God, we’re all going to die?”’
The best Dean could think up to say was ‘Shut up!’ but he didn’t want to be repetitive and a girl. He had some standards after all. He decided to go with a non-verbal response instead.
‘Jerk.’
‘Did you just call our Mom a jerk, geekforbrains?’ Dean somehow had Sam bent backwards over the sink. Wow, adrenaline really worked, because Mom was tiny next to Dad. Tiny. Short. ‘I’m a girl, and I’m pregnant, and I’m Mom, and I’m short!’
‘Uh, Dean?’
‘What?’
‘You’ve always been short.’
‘Bitch.’
‘I’m not the girl, Dean.’
That really hurt. But he had a point, not that Dean was going to let him know that. ‘At least you’ve still got a dick!’
Sam just blinked up at him. ‘Are you finished now, Dean?’
Oh. Um. Yep. ‘Sorry, Sammy.’
‘s fine,’ Sam said as Dean pulled him up and brushed him pointlessly down. ‘Want some more tea, Mom?’
Dean decided to kill his brother. Sometime. Maybe after they got out of this mess. Maybe immediately after. He sat down calmly and primly. He’d show his brother that Dean Winchester could handle any situation. He picked up his pen again and aimlessly started drawing hearts around each flower. ‘Could I have some camomile this time?’ Beer, I meant to say beer! It was the hormones. Those suckers were leaking through his brain as well as his … mom’s … body. Fuck! ‘You know how I said we were screwed in Milwaukee?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I take it back. Now we really are.’
‘Dean.’
‘What?’
Sam frowned as he poured a fresh pot of tea.
Dean thought he looked nothing like their father now. Oh God, my brain hurts. ‘Dude, I could sow a crop in that furrow. Spit it out, Sammy.’
Sam snorted as he shoved one of the dainty cups across the table. ‘Furrow, Dean?’
‘Shut up! I mean - get out of here! I watched that show where those two Hollywood chicks were pretending to work on that farm. Man that was …’
‘Dean!’
‘What?’
‘Could you please not perv about women and use the words dick and screwed while …’ Sam winced.
‘While I what, Sammy?’ Dean said ominously. ‘While I have a vagina?’
This time there was no mistake. Sam flinched visibly. Hell, Dean could even hear him do it.
‘While you’re … Mom, okay?’
Fuck. Dean hated it when Sammy sucker punched him. He almost spilled his tea.
♒
Tea was good for you. Cleansing in fact. Tea was also British. Or Chinese, maybe even Indian, or Sri Lankan. Dean was a bit fuzzy on the whole geo-economic concept of tea. In fact he was fuzzy on everything bar one thing. Okay, two things. One, he really didn’t like tea. Two, it came in these silly little cups that even his girl hands thought were stupid. Where was I? Two. Three. Oh, and yeah, thirdly, one other important thing. Funny how shock works; it can make the body just stop to take everything in. But sooner or later it starts ticking again.
‘Uh.’
‘Dean? Where are …?’
‘Bathroom!’ Dean gasped as he dashed through the house and up the stairs.
‘Are you going to be sick again?’
Damned little brothers never left you alone. Ever. Dean might be slightly shorter than his brother - even in their parent’s bodies, and wasn’t that just endlessly amusing? - But he’d always had the advantage of speed. So he used it. ‘If you pick the lock this time I really will kill you!’
After a while the persistent tapping got on his nerves. ‘What?’
‘Are you still sick?’
‘No!’
‘Oh … can I get you anything?’
Dean wished he had a gun. A big gun. He thought about that for a while. And then he just thought. And then he thought he shouldn’t think. Um. ‘Sammy?’
‘Yes?’
It was a small yes, but size wasn’t always everything. ‘Can you sing something?’
There was obviously a bit of dust out in the corridor because Sam’s voice got very peculiar.
‘You want me to sing? To you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Uh. What do you want me to sing?’
‘Led Zeppelin.’
Lots of dust.
‘Any … song … in particular?’
Lots, and lots of dust.
‘Night Flight.’
Clouds of dust.
‘… Okay… But, Dean.’
‘What?’
‘When this is all over, will you shoot me, please?’
‘No problem. And Sam?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Sing loudly.’
‘Oh.’
♒
‘Sammy?’
‘Uh huh?’
‘Don’t give up the hunting, okay?’
♒
Part 6