WHEN YOU WISH UPON A CAR
WOW: fifteen. In honour of three hundred episodes and the announcement of fifteen seasons … Dean gets a rather special visitor.
A/N: I gave up trying to write a drabble; it's just too much of a significant milestone, and my muse ran away with me! Oh yes, and this is not even close to canon...
Disclaimer: I don't own them.
xxxxx
Dean sat down on his bed and opened the bag containing his latest purchase. He'd seen it in the window at a local charity store that very morning, a nightlamp in the shape of an old-fashioned racecar.
The little car had clearly seen better days, sporting a few dents and scratches and a liberal coating of dust, with bulbs and batteries that had long since seen a spark of life. But it was fun, it was quirky and it had only cost him three bucks, so there was no question of it not coming home. Hell, he'd even cleared a space on the nightstand ready for it.
He blew over the roof to remove the worst of the dust, then employed his cuff to finish the job. As he rubbed away at the embedded grime, he was somewhat puzzled to see that the little car seemed to start glowing.
It was barely a moment later when the little racecar, Dean and most of his room were engulfed in a blinding flash of pink light, sending crackling sparks flying around the room, and dislodging a festival of cobwebs and termites from the ceiling.
Dean yelped in shock, dropping the little car on his bed and, nuked retinas notwithstanding, gazed up in wide-eyed wonder through slightly smouldering eyelashes, at the vaguely purple oriental-looking gentleman who now stood in front of him, surrounded by a drifting haze of pink smoke.
"Greetings," said the purple stranger.
Dean's initial instinct was to stab the interloper in the face with whatever came to hand, but given that the only things immediately to hand were a dog-eared copy of Busty Asian Beauties and a half-eaten O Henry bar, he discounted that idea and just sat and stared, mouth stupidly agape, instead.
"You have released the genie of the lamp," the curious figure announced in what was, to be fair, very one-sided conversation; "my eternal gratitude is with you; I have the power to grant you one wish."
Dean blinked, and finally found his tongue. "One wish? I thought you dudes granted three wishes?"
The genie sighed; "C'mon, be fair - how much d'you want for three bucks?"
Dean scratched his head, "Uh yeah, ok," he mumbled contritely. One wish? Heck, how could he possibly think of one wish?
His mind whirled. Could he hoodwink the genie? Maybe he could wish for more wishes? But then, what if the genie said 'no'? He'd have wasted his wish. No, couldn't chance that.
His first instinct was to wish for his family back together. Him and Sam together with Jess, Mom, Dad, even Adam. But, he knew well enough that these genies were slippery customers, a wish like that was unlikely to end well. What if they came back as zombies, or everyone ended up in the cage with Adam? He needed time to work out the mechanics and ramifications of a wish like that. It was just too big a risk.
What about if he just wished for Sam to be safe and have the life he wanted? But fifteen long years had washed under the bridge since the whole Stanford episode. That Sam – young, ambitious, dreaming of a law career – that Sam was long gone. What the now Sam wanted was exactly what he had; hunting, the bunker, Dean, and a million lore books to drool over. Sam was about as content and fulfilled as Dean had ever known him.
Dean sighed. The genie was obviously being polite, but he could see it was growing impatient. Dean was pretty sure if it had been wearing a watch, it would have glanced at it.
Perhaps he should just keep it simple. A big lottery win maybe or a lifetime's supply of pies perhaps?
Damnit to hell; one wish … this was way too hard.
The genie stood over him, silently twiddling its faintly purple thumbs as it waited. Dean was sure he saw it roll its eyes.
Their silent impasse was suddenly and rudely interrupted as Sam crashed, unannounced through the door.
"DEAN, I WISH YOU WOULDN'T LEAVE YOUR GODDAMN STINKING SOCKS ON THE BATHROOM FLOOR – WHAT D'Y THINK WE HAVE A LAUNDRY BASKET FOR…?"
The genie smiled.
…
…
"SAAAAAM!"
xxxxx
end