"Okay Dean, you can get one thing, and nothing else." John said as he guided his son towards the entrance of the antique shop. A bell chimed as they opened the door and walked in, notifying the sleeping woman at the desk to wake up and get her act together.
"He-hellooo people… what c-can I help you with on this f-fine day?" The lady greeted them in a groggy voice that, tinged with alcohol from the night before.
"I'm here to pick out a birthday gift for my kid." said John in a stern voice. Something about this lady gave him the creeps. He rested his hand on the flask of holy water in his back pocket.
"Toys are in the back kiddo, knock yourself out." The woman slouched back in her chair and closed her eyes.
Dean slowly made his way towards the far end of the store, gazing at the shelves overflowing with relics. He glanced with a keen eye, sorting the objects into three groups in his head: Awesome, Kinda Cool, and Lame.
He must've passed ten isles when he stopped and walked too the bookshelf on his left. It was a golden frame that caught his eye, shining bright among the rusted and faded objects. He grabbed it off of the shelf and dusted it off with his flannel, revealing the purity and glint of the photograph.
It was a family picture, Dean assumed. There was no woman in sight; all that was captured was a group of smiling brothers, bundled up in a big hug by another man who appeared to be their father. I wish I had a big family like that, thought Dean, scanning through the faces in the portrait.
His eyes stopped when he saw the beautiful blue eyes that gleamed with innocence. They were so pure; just longing for someone to gaze into them. The same boy had perfectly messy hair, similar to Dean's after hours of playing and wrestling with Sammy. Dean couldn't resist.
"I want this." Dean said, carrying the four-by-six-inch gem over to his father.
"Why not pick anything reasonable, like a toy? That stupid thing will probably break before we get in the car." John said with disapproval, a tone that was familiar the the blonde boy.
"It's my birthday dad, not yours. This is what I want." Dean insisted, pouting.
"Fine. But don't ask for anything this stupid again. And quit pouting, you look like a baby. You're seven now, you should know better." John grunted as he handed five dollar bills to the woman.
It's not stupid, Dean thought to himself, clutching the frame close to his heart. As he climbed into the back seat of the Impala after leaving the store, he looked back at that little boy with the blue eyes. He wore a trench coat and a blue tie. Thats a nice outfit on him… Dean smiled at the thought.
The picture didn't fit in any of his categories: it wasn't just Awesome, it was more than Kinda Cool, and it or sure was not Lame. It had to have a category all of his own, described by a word that he only ever said regarding his late mother. This picture was beautiful, and more importantly, the boy was beautiful.