I've Never Been the Fortunate One

By: TheQuestionIsAlwaysMangoes

Inspiration: Dean plays guitar (S12)

In school, back when they were younger, Sam was always the one to make the friends. The only exception was Kim; some random girl from some random town that became Dean's best friend.

She was a musical prodigy, doing her best to flunk every year of high school so that she could keep learning to play instruments for free. She'd been the only other person in detention with him on that particular Thursday, supposedly doing her homework, but actually writing her thirteenth symphony. He'd watched in fascination as she scribbled notes across a mass of manuscript paper. When he finally asked what she was doing, the words and melodies that had undoubtedly been roaring through her head flew from her tongue like a hurricane god had held back a century too long. Dean didn't understand what she was saying at first, but slowly began to get it as his brain connected her gestures with the seemingly random notes on the paper.

He'd seen Sammy pouring over lines of music for hours when he was younger—that one time he'd managed to take a few months of clarinet, but now he wondered, if he had only taken a peek would he be able to do what he was doing now? It was almost like his eyes were adjusting to the music the way they would to the dark, and soon he was sat close beside her, but not caring because for the first time in over a decade, Dean Winchester had found something he legitimately liked.

After school for the next few weeks, while Sam had soccer practice, the pair of them had sat in the bleachers. She had very quickly realized how crazy similar they were and, after hearing (the abridged version) of their situation, had begun to give him micro music lessons. She'd never taught, and he'd never fully paid attention, but just for a while, that didn't matter too much. She had asked the school music teacher for use of the music room and a stack of manuscript paper after the first week, and the man had agreed, so long as he supervised, but they didn't care.

For almost two full months Dad was gone off on some hunt or another, a record at the time. Sam caught the tail-end of the soccer season, and Dean and Kim wrote through a one-inch binder. She taught him the very basics of every instrument they could get their hands on, and he crammed his head full of as much as he could every day.

But it had to end at some point.

When Dean got the call, he immediately sprinted to find her. She understood better than he'd ever thought she would that they would probably never see each other again—and accepted it, but she made him give her his number anyways. In return, she gave him a piccolo that she had carved, and a case that would keep it safe through all the crap in his life.

While not the most manly, it was definitely the most thoughtful gift she could've given him. The next day, the music teacher caught him before school started and handed him a huge manuscript notebook, a package of pencils, some pencil sharpeners, and someone to contact if he ever wanted any of his music published. The bell rang before he could thank him.

A few hours later, just before lunch, he and Sam were called to the office. As they were leaving, there was a commotion a couple rooms over. Kim, who'd somehow gotten the news, had sprinted from PE at the other end of the school to say goodbye. And shove the phone he'd left at her house back in his pocket.

"And don't you lose the damned thing again." She smirked and took off again as the PE teacher came barreling through to catch her.

Dad and Sam had brushed it off as another one of his girlfriends and they'd gone without a hitch.

Kim texted him once a month until he started losing phones and they'd switched to email. When YouTube had become popular, she began to make videos of the music she wrote, always giving a shout-out to her friend "Whinny," as she'd called him. Once he'd gotten Sam back from college, he'd thought he was watching porn (as was occasionally the case), and Dean had let him.

It was over two decades before they met up in person. She'd been leaving the recording studio when they'd gone in, trying to find Lucifer. They'd locked eyes in the same moment, when he was playing with the cucumber water. She'd smirked and walked out, texting him a few moments later, asking if he was free later that night. It'd been a year before he called her, right after getting out of that freaky government place. He knew if he wasn't going to survive much longer, that was one thing he didn't want to regret.

When he showed up at her house, box of manuscript notebooks in hand, he was greeted by the husband she'd told him about and a set of nine-year-old triplets, which he teased her mercilessly for. They spent the night talking about music, something he'd never gotten to pursue beyond privately playing and writing.

As he left, Liana, one of the triplets stumbled after him under the weight of the box of music. She'd asked, breathless whether he wanted it back. He'd sighed and looked at the kid.

"I-I don't think I'm going to be around much longer." He chose his words carefully.

"Are you sick?" She asked, eyes wide.

"No. It's…complicated."

"Complicated?"

"I've got some bad people after me. I'm not sure I'll be able to keep that stuff safe."

"Oh."

He carefully regarded the girl in front of him. She didn't look like her mother much, but he could see it in her eyes; that wonder-borderline madness. Liana had been the only one of Kim's children to be even remotely interested in music, playing almost as many instruments now as her mother had learned her entire life. When he had dropped that box on the table by the front door, she'd immediately started looking through it, eyes wide as she looked through the music she might not realize had never seen the light of day. He had forgotten to take it with him, but really, he would never use it. He might die for the last time any day now. Nobody outside of this house would ever hear him perform it again.

The idea struck him

"Do you think you could hold onto the music for me?"

"Me?"

He nodded.

"I-okay."

"Thanks."

She blinked and nodded, stunned.

As Dean moved to go to his car, he felt the little girl crash into him, hugging him tight.

That hug sent him right back to that random town when he left that random girl with the only thing he'd ever truly loved. Maybe in another life, this could've been his kid, his life, his music. Unfortunately he cared too much—for the world, for humanity, for his friend. That girl his life might've been much less painful without, but who was, ultimately one of the reasons he kept on fighting. For incredible people like her who should be allowed to live their lives in relative peace.

He returned her hug, and then left and never saw her again.

It was years before she understood that short exchange. It happened when his face popped up on TV while her Dad watched the news.

Today, after nearly twenty years of murder, robbery, impersonating and evading law enforcement, the Winchester brothers and known associate James Novak have been apprehended…