Outlaws And Inlaws
Chapter 1
AN: I met to post this before Christmas but work and planning inevitably got in the way. Just wan to say a thank you to It'sJustADream, who I bounced ideas of and got advice. (Ie Pulled me away from writing something stupid lol) Happy Christmas, hope you like it x
Dean peered between the curtains, scanning the area around their home as large flakes slowly fell, adding to the drifts that had already built up on the sides of the road.
"Will you relax;" came his wife's voice. "You're like this every year and we're still alive."
He sighed and turned to face her. "Maybe that's the reason why we're still alive." he said gruffly; she merely rolled her eyes and headed to the kitchen.
It was Friday, Christmas weekend and he was already getting anxious. For most parents, Christmas preparations included gift shopping, taking the kids to see Santa at the mall and then waking up at the crack of dawn. They did most of those things, but Dean refused to let his kids go to the mall to see 'Santa'. 'Why would I pay for my kids to sit on the knee of some guy in a polyester costume? It's creepy. Besides, if they want to tell some old guy what they want for Christmas, that's what Bobby's for.' was his argument every year. His wife took them anyway, while Dean stood to the side with a gruff look, his eagle eyes never leaving the creepy 'Santa'.
Dean was especially protective over their first born, his little girl, Mary-Ellen. Mary-Ellen was tough as nails, a trait he proudly boasted to the principal the second time they'd been called in. Mary-Ellen pulled out the puppy dog eyes and swore the only reason she kicked butt was because the boys had tried to kiss her. Dean was thrilled with this, insisting his daughter wasn't even allowed her first date until she was 30. He took her for ice cream that night, despite his wife once again chiding him. 'You're supposed to be disciplining her Dean, not taking her out for ice cream.'
'And pie.' his little girl so helpfully supplied.
His wife raised her eyebrows and Dean did his best to look innocent.
His wife returned from the kitchen after a few minutes, an apron around her waist, drying her hands with a small towel. Dean was stoking the fire with his iron poker; the set was a house gift from bobby, who insisted the fact they were iron was only a coincidence. "Now what?" she teased. "Smoking spirits out of the chimney?" she smirked; she put up with his 'habits' if it gave him piece of mind, and especially if there was even the slightly chance it would someday protect the kids.
"Do I look like a red Indian to you?" he joked, straightening up and replacing the poker to its stand.
"More like my cowboy." she smiled, stepping in to his arms.
"Really?" he smirked, leaning in to capture a kiss. She didn't fight his embrace as she ran her arms over his perfect back. Dean felt her pull away and knew instantly he had been busted as her fingertips traced the cold metal at the small of his back.
She pulled out the gun and held it up to him awaiting explanation. He looked like a deer in the headlights of a Chevy, and then he merely grinned, trying to appease her.
"Dean, you know I don't like you carrying around the house." she reprimanded, expertly putting on the safety catch and removing the magazine clip.
"Come on Jen, you know I feel naked without a gun." he said, his eyebrows jumping suggestively.
"Nakedness never stopped you before." she smirked, sliding the clip in to her apron and handing him the empty gun. "It's only fair Dean; if I had to put my shotgun in the safe, you can go easy on the artillery."
"That's because shotguns are unstable, you know that; easily misfire. Besides, it was your idea to put it in the safe. And anyway, I need that gun." he insisted with a slight whine, looking down at his beautifully engraved and yet now useless weapon.
"Oh, like you need the 9mm in the flowerpot on the porch? Or the Smith & Wesson in the toilet cistern? And the handgun you hide inside the TV?" she challenged knowingly, remembering when she'd taken the back off the TV to see why it was overheating, only for a pistol to fall out.
Dean merely looked at her. "You know about those huh?" he tried to say innocently, awkwardly shifting when she nodded. "They're for protection." he defended. "D'ya know what would happen if we got caught short without protection?" he asked rhetorically, considering all the times he and Sam had been caught off guard.
"8 years of marriage, 2 kids and a Hunter for a husband?" she smiled.
He smiled, capturing a final kiss.
"Go bring the kids down for dinner." she said, ducking from his lingering kisses. She headed back to the kitchen. "And hide that gun." she called back.
"Yeah, yeah." he mumbled, begrudgingly abandoning his gun in to one of the Christmas stocking over the fireplace. He trudged upstairs to find his kids, wondering what Hell they'd unleashed now.
xXx
He found them in Mary-Ellen's room. Sam was coming to stay for Christmas so Dean had set a camp bed in his little boy's room for Mary Ellen, and Sam would have her bed. Dean smirked, noting the pink sheets Sam would be sleeping with.
His daughter was sitting against her headboard, a heavy black book on her pulled up knees. She's the most beautiful girl in the world, Dean's always thought, and he would punch any father who argued differently. His other pride and joy was laying on his belly in the middle of the floor, little bow-legs flat out behind him, his adorable face screwed up in concentration; he had his father's frown. 'He's going to break some hearts when he hits his teens.' his mother had always said, again, Dean's chest swelled with pride. His name was 'Sammy Winchester' on his birth certificate, much to big Sam's annoyance and disbelief.
"Daddy!" his son's voice came adoringly. "Don't look!" he yelled, trying to cover the picture he'd been drawing. "I needs to finis' it!"
"Ok, buddy." Dean said, smiling at the mess of papers and crayons around his son. He headed to sit beside his daughter; she was almost in a bubble when she started reading. He nudged her playfully. "What'cha" readin'? he asked, seeing her frown like her mother for interrupting her, but it soon smoothed out.
"A book from Uncle Bobby's." she said, not removing her eyes from the page.
"Really..." Dean considered, looking over the cover. It didn't exactly look like a book about unicorns, rainbows and princesses, or whatever other little girls were reading. "Let me see,"
She closed it with a thud and handed it over, looking slightly shifty. He looked at the title.
'Vengeful spirits; Find it, Dig it, Burn it!' He nodded at the concise title.
"So Uncle Bobby just 'gave' you this to read?" he asked doubtfully. She didn't meet his eyes. "Mary-Ellen," he began gruffly.
"It's not stealing, I always return them." she shrugged.
"What do I say about lying?" he asked firmly.
"'It's not lying, it's just bending the truth!'" she recited.
'Ok, I'll give her that one.' he thinks with a nod. "What does Mom say about lying?"
She sighed. "It's wrong, even if no one ever finds out."
"That's right. You're going to give this back to Bobby and apologize for taking it without asking." He pauses, knowing if she looks up with those wide green eyes he's screwed. "Go wash your hands for dinner." he says.
She gives him a brief hug and then heads out the room, her long curls bouncing behind her.
"Hey champ, you done already?" he asked, turning to Sammy.
"Almos'" he called back excitedly, swinging his little legs back and forth in delight.
"If you don't hurry you might miss dinner." At the same second the green eyed boy jumped up with a piece of paper and ran to his father.
"Look! Look!" he said, thrusting the paper in to his dad's hands and hopping on to his knee.
"Wow!" Dean feigned over excitedly. "It's a-" he stopped as he looked down at the paper.
"Sigil! Sigil!" his son chanted. He had scribbled a simple Angel's sigil in red crayola.
'Oh, great,' Dena thought with a sigh. 'It was bad enough when he started drawing pentagrams everywhere. She's going to kill me.' Dean thought, knowing his wife would wait until the kids were in bed to rip his head off.
The toddler hit his palm against the paper repeatedly, expecting something to happen.
"Sorry buddy, this one must be faulty." Dean said, knowing it would take more than crayola to get this sigil to work. He grabbed up his son, lifting him on to his shoulders, leaving the drawing behind. "Come on, scrub time." He eyed the amount of felt tip ink on the little hands, knowing he'd only get half of it off before his son lost interest and grew restless. It seemed he'd inherited his father's temperament. Much to his wife's horror during the Great Toddler Temper Tantrums of summer '11. Sammy had mellowed since then, thank God.
xXx
Dean strode into the kitchen with his now ink-free son determinedly trying to reach the ceiling, his hands stretched up high. Dean's hands were ever secure on his son as he lifted him off his shoulders, turned him upside down, back up and sat him down in his booster seat beside his sister. Sammy chuckled in delight. His wife was already at the head of the table, Mary-Ellen to her left; Dean dropped in to his seat at the other end of the table. Dean spared a glance at the empty chair and place mat at his left, opposite the children; Sam was running late.
"I saved him some." Jen said, undoubtedly reading his expression. Dean nodded; a huge portion because Sam was a human dustbin.
He looked down and saw steak, potatoes and veggies. He didn't like the look of the veggies, but that steak had his name on it. He pulled his pocket knife from his boot, popped it open and stabbed in to the meat. He heard Jen mumble something about it being unsanitary, but smirked when he saw her doing exactly the same. Luckily, for the younger people at the table, their mother had shredded their meat to within an inch of its life.
"Stop nudging me," Mary-Ellen whispered. Dean glanced up from his food to see Sammy not too subtly elbowing his sister. Dean knew he was trying to swap his veggies for her meat; a habit he'd gained when he was introduced to sprouts.
"No swapping Sammy," Dean said gruffly. He could see Sammy about to argue. "Sorry buddy, but if I gotta eat my veggies then so do you."
"But, Dad, you don't eat your vegetables, you hide them in your mashed potato." Mary-Ellen said looking confused. Dean's eyes stayed on his plate; how is it his kids can drop him in trouble so often?
"Just...eat your dinner." he fumbled.
xXx
Once they were done and cleared the table away, Sammy was excited to get back upstairs.
"D'awings!" he proudly exclaimed when his mother asked.
Dean turned his back to her and heard Sammy's little feet racing away as soon as they hit the floor. Dean stood awkwardly pouring himself a drink.
"Sigils, really?" she said.
He turned to see her holding one of Sammy's drawings; little squirt must have kept one in his pocket. Sneaky little...
"He's just expressing himself." Dean said; that's the kind of crap that Nanny 911 said, right?
"My ass." Jen retorted. "I told you, I don't want those dicks in our home."
"They're not all dicks," he argued.
"Ok, besides Castiel, can you name one Angel who isn't a dick?" she challenged. Something told him this was one of those 'freaky woman mind tricks' where either answer would get him in trouble. And he wasn't going to mention Anna, not after the reaction it gained last time.
"It's just a phase; he'll get over it." he dodged. "Mary-Ellen did."
"And look where that got us!" she said exasperatedly.
When Mary-Ellen was a lot younger, Dean had made the mistake of mentioning in passing that Angels were real. She had then convinced herself she was an Angel; she took to wearing the white costume wings they'd bought her for the previous Halloween, and it was kind of cute. Until she'd jumped off the top of her cabinet and broke her arm. She said she had been trying to fly to Heaven to see Grandma Mary. That was the first time Dean had cried over one of his babies; (he'd passed out in the delivery room but that didn't count, right?). They had tried to remove him from the treatment room for punching a doctor. It wasn't Dean's fault; Mary-Ellen had told the Doctor to stop pressing down, that it was hurting. Dean had endured it, until her little hand grabbed his and cried out in pain. Dean's reflex was to hit anything trying to hurt her, or at least that's what he tried to explain to the broken nosed Doctor.
He swilled the last of his drink down his throat; she recognized that expression. She stepped closer to him, pulling him in to a hug, her head falling against his broad chest.
"Dean, I'm not saying it's your fault," she began.
"You did when Mary-Ellen got hurt."
"I was upset; my baby was being encased in plaster, what did you expect? But I'm not angry, Dean. You're right, he'll grow out of it." she soothed.
In his experience an upset wife was the same as an angry wife; they both resulted in him sleeping on the couch and a week of silent treatment.
They stayed quiet for a moment, until the front door opened. Dean's hand immediately went to the small of his back, his gun wasn't there. He stepped in front of his wife with a frown, pressing against the wall.
"Just me!" they heard Sam call. Dean looked to his wife who was expertly gripping a kitchen knife. She replaced it in the block with a defensive 'what?' kind of look.
Jen hurried towards the front door and jumped at Sam when she found him, closing the door behind himself. He was, if possible, taller since the last time she'd seen him.
"Sam!" she smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck as his giant arms encased her, lifting her 3 feet clean off the ground. "You don't come see us often enough." she scolded as he placed her back down, smiling widely.
"Been busy," Sam shrugged.
"I'll bet," Dean said, pulling Sam in for a 'man hug', holding tight and then releasing with a few sturdy pats to the back.
A rumble of footsteps came down the stairs as Mary-Ellen flew at Sam. He scooped her up, resting her on his hip. "How is it you get more beautiful every time I see you?" he asked, as she buried her head in the crook of his neck, playing with his hair. There was a steady thump-thump as little Sammy took one step at a time as quick as he could.
As soon as he reached the bottom he ran and wrapped himself around Sam's leg. "Hey bud, I thought you'd be in bed by now." Sam said, awkwardly looking down.
"Supposed to be." Jen smiled.
"Mom, can we go play in the snow with Uncle Sam before bed?" Mary-Ellen asked sweetly.
"It's cold out, and it's getting late." her mother reasoned.
Mary-Ellen looked to her father with her emerald orb eyes. "Please Daddy, please?" she sweetly pleaded.
Dean knew he was screwed. "Five minutes can't hurt." he said to his wife after a minute. Sammy and Mary-Ellen looked back at Jen; Daddy might give them what they want but Mommy had the final say, even if Dean thought otherwise.
"Fine, five minutes," she caved. The kids immediately took off to find shoes and coats. "I hope you'll be sterner when you have kids, Sam." Jen joked.
Sam smirked. "I don't know about that." he mumbled, ducking his head.
"What's her name?" Sam looked awkward. She grabbed up his wrist to show the thin, soft leather bracelet with a silver clasp and charm attached. "A man does not buy jewellery like that for himself." she smiled. "So, what's her name?" she asked again.
Sam hid a smile. "Her name is Sara." he mused.
"It serious?"
"Erm, semi-serious," Sam hedged.
"Well, I bet she's lovely." she crooned. "She the reason you're late?" she smirked.
"Kind of;" he smirked. "She asked me to drop her off at the mall, but I hit traffic on the way over anyway."
"Wait, the mall?" Dean piped up. "What, you chasing jailbait now?" he asked incredulously.
"What? Dude, no, she works there." Sam sighed.
"As what, a cleaner?" Dean chuckled.
"No, a model at Ann Summers." Sam said, a slight pink tint appearing on his cheeks. Dean's face fell only to spark up again in an even wider grin.
"Ann Summers, huh? Way to go, Sammy! Seems I made a man out of you after all." Dean said patronizingly. Sam grinned and bared it. "She must be hot." Dean winked, earning an elbow from his wife.
"I'm sure she's beautiful." she corrected.
"Mommy, who is Ann Summers?" All the adults turned to see Mary-Ellen and Sammy; coats, hats, scarfs, gloves and boots ready to head out. Sammy's hat kept falling over his eyes, and his coat looked so big it was surprising he could walk at all without waddling.
"Uh, never mind that," Jen hedged. "Why don't we go start a snowman?" she insisted. "Daddy and Uncle Sammy will be out in a minute." She grabbed and pulled on her coat. "You boys behave." she called back. They smiled sweetly until she disappeared in to the yard with the kids. As soon as the back door shut, Sam immediately turned to Dean.
"Salt?"
"Basement- when the kids go to bed." Dean replied.
"Holy water?"
"Done."
"Devil's Traps?" Sam pressed.
Dean gave an are-you-kidding-me look. The first thing he'd done when they got the house was tear up the old flooring and paint Devil's Traps throughout the entire house; especially under ever door and window.
"Lock the windows?"
"Yes, Sammy, I locked the-" Dean began to insist.
"Even the attic window?" Sam interrupts pressingly.
Dean's silent for a moment before he rolls his eyes and trudges to the stairs.
"You forget every year." Sam laughs.
"'Oh, you forget every year'" Dean mocks, heading upstairs.
AN: Would love to hear what you think x Thanks for reading