Pairing/Characters: John, Dean
Rating: ehh PG-13 I guess
Disclaimer: Please, considering the student loans I'm still paying back, I don't even own myself.
Summary: John's sons were good looking boys, especially Dean.
A/ N: Title from Bob Dylan's Like a Rolling Stone
Dean never got quite the same reaction as Sam did. Even when Mary was alive, people would tell her how beautiful he was. No one ever called Dean adorable. When he was born, he looked like a china doll, the nurse said. No matter what they dressed him, strangers always thought he was a girl. It never really bothered John. He could see that what was prettiness now would be just good looks later on, and if Dean’s huge green eyes and rather delicate features made people stop and stare, well that was just fine.
Dean never thought anything of it either until he was about 9 years old. He was walking the mile from his school to the rundown apartment they were renting this month, mentally berating himself for missing the bus again. His dad was going to be so mad. There was no way he was going to order the pizza Dean had been craving. He was contemplating another night of macaroni and cheese when he heard footsteps approaching him quickly from behind. Without glancing back, he reached into his pocket and curled his fingers around the tiny can of pepper spray his dad had given him weeks before. John had reasoned that a nine year old couldn’t be hauling around a sawed-off, and most anything with eyes would at the very least be stalled by a hit of pepper spray.
Dean didn’t turn but quickened his pace. He could see the apartment building just up the road.
“Hey, kid. Could you tell me where the nearest gas station is? I’ve been walking for a couple of miles now.”
The voice was very close behind him. Dean tightened his grip on the pepper spray and flipped open the safety latch. “Take a left on the next street. There’s a BP right on the corner of Elm.”
Suddenly a hand latched onto Dean’s shoulder and spun him around. Dean swallowed when he looked up into the man’s face. He was hugely muscled and smelled like he hadn’t bathed in weeks. He had oily black hair combed over in a poor attempt to hide a bald spot, and his face was pockmarked with acne scars. His smile was more of a leer when he said, “Thanks kid. Hey, what’s your name?”
Dean was trying to back away without looking like he was going to run which was exactly what he was going to do as soon as he broke free of that disgusting hand on his shoulder. Dean smirked “No problem, buddy. I’ve got to go. Shouldn’t talk to strangers and all that.”
“Right, you’re a smart kid. You never know what kind of sickos are walking the streets these days. Lucky for you, I’m not one of them.” He leaned in closer, sour breath hitting Dean’s face. “Why don’t you come with me to the BP? I‘ll buy you a candy bar as a thank you.”
The dirty fingers were digging into Dean’s shoulder blade. He began to sweat even as he put on a disbelieving face. “Are you freaking kidding me? You seriously asking me to go somewhere with you because you’ll buy me candy? That’s pretty much word for word what they tell you sickos will say.”
The man’s face lost all semblance of a friendly expression. “You’ve got a smart mouth, kid.” He moved his hand to grasp Dean’s upper arm, long fingers encircling it. “I can think of better uses for such pretty lips.”
Dean knew he had to make his move because the situation had just gotten out of hand. As quickly as possible he tugged the pepper spray from his pocket and let the guy have it. He immediately let go of his arm to clutch his face, and Dean took his chance. He ran as fast as he could to the apartment building, taking the steps two at a time as he flew up the three flights of stairs. He slammed the door shut as soon as he entered, immediately locking the deadbolt and fastening the chain lock. He leaned against the door, his breath coming in short gasps.
“Dean,” his dad said as emerged from his bedroom. “What the hell? You’re gonna wake Sammy from his-“ John dropped off when he saw the look on his oldest’s face. He was sickly gray under his freckles, and his eyes were wildly darting around the room. John dropped to his knees in front of his son, reaching to settle a hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean flinched violently from the touch. “What happened, son? What’s wrong?”
Dean, who rarely ever cried and if he did only shed silent tears, began to sob. He unclenched his fist and dropped the nearly empty can of pepper spray into his father’s outstretched hand. “I missed the bus,” he managed to get out between gasps.
John stared at the little can. He had specifically told Dean to never use it unless it was a real emergency. “Dean, what happened?”
In a broken watery voice, Dean told his father what had happened. “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to. I dropped all my books and the buses were leaving and I‘m so sorry.”
John gathered his son into his arms. “Don’t you apologize, Dean. This isn’t your fault. You did good, exactly what you should have done. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He pulled back to look into his eyes. “Do you understand me, son? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Dean nodded. “Why would he follow me like that Dad? What’s wrong with him? Was he . . . possessed or something?”
Dean’s big green eyes were searching John’s for an answer he didn’t have. John wanted nothing more than to run out of his apartment and bury a bullet in that pervert’s head. He had told his son about every evil thing he had encountered and what to do to get away. He didn’t know how to explain the darkness that just lived in some people. He had no idea how to explain it since he couldn’t comprehend it himself.
“People don’t follow patterns, Dean. They don’t all have a routine and you can’t predict anything they’re going to do. Some people are born ugly, and some people learn it. There’s no reason for it, and there’s nothing I can do to make it make sense because it doesn’t. You just have to be cautious and look out for yourself and Sammy. You can’t always tell what their motives are or what they want, but you need to know that for every person like that, there’s at least two who are good, okay?”
“Okay, Dad.” Dean flashed a watery smile. “Mac and cheese for dinner?”
“I think we’ll order in pizza.”
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