Disclaimer: the only thing I own is the computer I'm writing this on. If I did, in fact, own Supernatural, the show would simply be beautiful scantily dressed men making delicious food. I guess it's good I don't. Also, I have no beta, so this may be chock full with glaring errors, which I take full accountability for. I'm planning this to be sixteen episodes, or chapters, so this may take a while, folks.
This was not what I had intended to write. But the idea caught at me, and would not let me go, so, it seems I must. This is what happens if every Korean drama smooshed together and had a Supernatural baby. For those of you who are not acquainted with the glory and the absolute absurdity of many Korean dramas, I will go ahead and make you some promises. There will be happy endings. Those are mandatory. Everyone will dress in layers, and only one of our intrepid heroines will have access (and inclination to use it) to a hair brush. Seemingly, everyone will have been either kidnapped, or lost at a young age, and they will be tormented by this. There will be nightmares, and only our drama heroines will have any chance of comforting our poor, beleaguered hero. There will be "explosive amnesia," fuzzy sweaters, mild sickness that somehow appears incredibly serious to one of our characters, and there will be long, loving descriptions of the kindness heaped upon the sufferer by one of their potential partners. People will misunderstand each other in such incredibly stupid ways that you will occasionally wish you could smack them in the face with one of their ridiculous sweaters. And, to ensure you get the full K drama experience, occasionally someone will say something bizarre and completely incomprehensible. And everyone will go on as if it is perfectly normal, because such is the great joy of literally translated subtitles. So, without further ado, let's get started, shall we? Enjoy!
-(Not as) Clever (as she should be)
Dean Winchester was a man who Had It Together. From the tips of his polished shoes, to the top of his carefully styled blondish hair, and everywhere in between. He was successful in his work as the vice president of the Winchester corporation. (Founded by his grandfather, the initially small, family owned distribution business was now global, and had a finger in nearly any pie you could think of, from making ice cream, to missiles. It had been said that if God went broke, the Winchesters would happily give Him a loan, and make a profit doing so.) He had a beautiful home, and if it was a little sterile, he could hardly be faulted. And more importantly, it had been featured in various magazines. It was a beautiful showpiece. And if that thought made him think of Regine, his equally beautiful (and empty, a treacherous voice inside his mind whispered) girlfriend, well, he was very careful not to dwell on it much.
The important part, after all, was that Dean was on track to the Perfect Life. And nothing, not even the return of his long distant pain in the ass little brother, was going to change that. Everything, he reminded himself, as he glanced at his watch, realizing he was almost late for another meeting, would be just Perfect.
Sam sat on the plane, waiting impatiently for the crowd to begin to thin so he could pull his bag from the overhead compartment and get onto solid ground. He had been on the plane for over fifteen hours at this point, and he was both exhausted and sore, squished from fitting his tall frame in the small airline seats. He told himself that he was waiting because it was practical, but part of him was forced to admit that he dreaded seeing his father and brother again.
It had been three years since they had seen each other, and that had hardly gone well, ending in a shouting match that had concluded when his brother had punched him in the face, breaking his nose. He shook himself, then turned to apologize to the darkhaired woman who was seated next to him, trapped inside the aisle.
"Sorry," he said, "I prefer to wait until it's cleared out. Is that okay?" he asked solicitously. They had chatted some on the flight from Seoul, and he had enjoyed her company. It turns out they both were returning home to the States after several years abroad, though she had been settled in Seoul for the whole of the time, and he had wandered all around Asia. She smiled, her hazel eyes amused.
"No worries," she answered easily. "I'm not in any kind of rush." She raised a questioning eyebrow. "Feeling a bit nervous, though, are we?" she asked gently. He nodded, and she gave him a sympathetic look. "It'll be fine," she said reassuringly.
"I hope so," he replied wryly. She laughed.
"Tell you what," she said, pulling the pen she had been using to hold her hair up and grabbing his hand, jotting down a number as he looked on bemusedly. "If it gets too awful, give me a call and I'll take you out and get you drunk enough that you won't remember the problem in the first place, eh?" she grinned. He laughed, wondering if she was coming onto him or just being nice. She was attractive, certainly, but he didn't get the pick up vibe from her. "I'm Mina, by the way," she said, twisting her long hair back up and shoving the pen back in to hold it in place.
"I'm Sam," he replied, holding out his hand and giving hers a shake. "Nice to meet you." Then, noticing it was finally clear, he stood up and retrieved his baggage from the overhead compartment, and went out to face the world, thankful that, at the very least, he had one person on his side.
Becky (or Becca, as she generally preferred to be called these days, as no one takes "Beckys" very seriously) quickly stepped out of her car as she saw her old friend step out of the airport, a bag slung over one shoulder and a rolling suitcase in one hand. The petite darkhaired woman's face lit up with a grin as she saw Becky. "Becks!" she called excitedly, jogging over to her. Becky grinned back as she rushed to meet her.
"Will!" she called back excitedly, then gave her friend a hug. They had been friends for what seemed like forever, and hadn't seen each other since last year, when Becky had taken a vacation to visit her in Korea. "You look great!" she said enthusiastically, and Will gave her a skeptical look. "Okay, aside from the fact that you've obviously been on a plane forever and haven't brushed your hair in what looks like a week or so," she teased. Will laughed, giving Becky a once over, taking in her sleek blonde hair in a smooth chignon, her charcoal-colored tailored pants suit, and nondescript but polished sedate black heels.
"You look...organized," Will said with a chuckle, and Becky rolled her eyes. "But good, Becks," she added. The two women shared a grin as Becky led the way to the car.
"How was the flight?" she asked. Will shrugged.
"Long, mostly, though not the longest," she answered in a somewhat tired voice. "Thankfully, I was seated next to some lovely eye candy, so that always helps." Becky grinned and gave her friend a knowing look.
"That it does. Get his number?" she queried. Will shook her head, and the pen holding her hair up fell out. Becky laughed as she picked it up.
"Nah," Will answered, accepting the pen and nodding at Becky in thanks. "Not really my type. I did give him my number, however, since it seems like he needed a friend." Becky nodded as they stowed Will's luggage in the trunk and got into the car.
"Oh, good, another Lost Boy," Becky answered with another eye roll. "You collect those like some women collect shoes, Will." Will nodded, then pointedly glanced at Becky's less than interesting footwear.
"You mean like some women should collect shoes," Will rejoined. Becky laughed as she started the car.
"It's good to have you back, Will," she said with feeling. Will gave her another mischievous grin.
"Of course it is," she answered smoothly, and they laughed again as Becky drove them back to her place.
Sam took a deep breath as he stood at the entryway to the lavishly appointed and likely ridiculously overpriced restaurant, tugging at the sleeves of his suit jacket somewhat nervously. He closed his eyes briefly, and took a deep, measured breath in an attempt to calm himself. He shook his head, his longish hair (that he already knew his father and brother would disapprove of, was that maybe why he always kept it long? Was even this some sort of obscure self-defeating rebellion? An easy way to justify the disapproval he had always received from his father?) falling into his eyes. He pushed it back, irritated, already, at himself, and stepped inside the restaurant.
He quickly located his father and brother and made his way over to their table. His father stood, looking at him with his dark, stoic gaze, and Sam felt himself shrinking inside, back to when he was a little boy and had tried desperately to please this unfamiliar, incomprehensible man. "Hi, Dad," he said unsurely. He wanted to hug his father, but wasn't sure if it would be welcome, and when his father made no move towards him, he extended a hand to shake.
"Hello, Sam," his father said in a casual tone, as if it hadn't been years since they'd seen each other, and Sam died a little, inside. He looked over at his brother, noticing the small changes the years had made to Dean's face in his absence. There was a new brittleness there, new lines had drawn themselves into Dean's face, and it was clear, Sam thought sadly, that they were not smiles that marked it.
Dean watched his younger brother stride through the restaurant towards them, and he chanced a quick glance at his father, noticing the flash of pain on his father's face as he, himself, watched Sam. Dean had never understood Sammy (and yes, he would always be Sammy to Dean, he would always be the gawky tagalong younger brother with the perpetually skinned knees and puppy dog eyes) and John's relationship. Dean knew, down to the center of his bones, that his father loved his brother more than him. He had occasionally resented it, but he knew it to be true, and generally, it was okay with him. Dean was like John; at his core, he was a simple man, uncomplicated in his understanding or desires. Sam was...different. In another generation, he would've been called "a little fey," a phrase Dean had read in his youth and had glommed onto, because it was the best explanation for his little brother. A little magical, maybe, but somehow alien, Sam had never seen the world in the stark black or white he and his father perceived. No, Sammy's world had always been painted in every vivid hue imaginable, and probably some colors Dean had never heard names for. There was a sense of such wonder and mystery within him, and Sammy had tried so very hard, as a child, to help his metaphorically colorblind older brother understand. Dean figured he was more like his dad, and Sammy was more like the mother he barely remembered, and that was why John loved him so much more. Sam was the living memorial of his beloved, and John would do anything to make Sam happy.
But somehow, Sammy never saw that, or maybe he did and it felt like too much pressure, and that was why he had to run away, all the time. Dean wasn't ever sure. He just knew that it was on him to stay here, take care of their father, take care of their business, and accept it when Sam breezed back through to break their father's heart again.
And his. Dean loved his little brother, maybe more because he couldn't understand him rather than in spite of it, and everytime Sam stopped back by, and the fights started again, it broke Dean's heart, too.
Dean stood suddenly, bumping into the table awkwardly as he moved around to give his younger brother a hug. He hadn't meant to, but he saw that flicker of hurt in Sammy's eyes, he looked so lost, and there they were again, in Dean's mind, children, and Dean was bandaging Sammy's knee, and wiping the tears and snot from his small, dirty face, and how in the hell did that little boy turn into this giant? Dean thought, finishing the hug of his younger brother with a pound to the back before he withdrew.
"Welcome home, Sammy," Dean said, a little more huskily than he would ever admit to. Sam chuckled softly, his lips twitching slightly as he looked down at his older brother.
"It's Sam," he reminded Dean with a hint of dimple showing. Dean's green eyes twinkled with mischief.
"Sure it is, Sammy," he replied teasingly, and Sam found he didn't have the heart to correct him again.