Bad Boys 2.0
(or How 9.07 Should've Gone)
A/N. When I saw the preview for this episode and the sneak peek, I thought that the writers had the perfect opportunity to make Dean canon bisexual, but they didn't take it. So I did.
I adapted the episode to fit what I think should've happened. A lot of lines are the same, but I changed some reactions or the way they were said. I also added or changed some scenes.
This story turned out to be longer than I expected, so it's broken up into two parts.
Some of you may know I ship Destiel, but there is no Destiel or any other ship in this story. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Cas is brought up once by Sam, asking how Cas is and if Dean saw him when he went to Idaho (which in case you forgot happened in 9.06). This is a story about Dean coming to terms with who he is.
Without further ado, Bad Boys 2.0
Present Day
Dean hears the rough buzzing of a cell phone vibrating on a hardwood table, so he heads into the library. The sun is shining, it's a beautiful day, and he's been itching for a hunt. Sam's already in the library like the massive nerd he is, so he answers the phone. No big deal.
"Hello?" Sam answers. "I'm sorry, there's no D-Dog - "
Dean grabs the phone from Sam, his heart pounding at the mention of the nickname.
"Sonny," he says, because who else would know that name? "So what's up? ... Okay. ... All right. Yeah, just sit tight. I'll be there as soon as I can. ... Yeah."
He hangs up and Sam looks amused.
"So, what was that all about, D-Dog?" he teases.
Dean ignores the gibe like he ignores the uneasy feeling in his stomach as he refreshes Sam's memory about the Bungalow Colony and the Ping-Pong table.
"Yeah, uh, you disappeared," Sam says. "Dad came back, you were gone. He shipped me off to Bobby's for a couple months and went and found you. You'd been lost on a hunt or something."
"That's what we told you," Dean says as he remembers the lie as well as the real story, turning away from Sam. "Right."
Sam pauses. "I'm sorry - that's what you told me?"
Dean shifts his weight, turning back toward his brother. "Truth is, uh..."
You can't tell him, Dean, he won't understand, the cynical voice in his head says.
"I lost the food money Dad left for us in a card game," he says, which is true. "I knew you'd get hungry, so I tried taking a five finger discount at the local market and got busted. They sent me to a boys' home." Still true.
"A boys' home?" Sam asks. "Like a...a reform school?"
Dean's mouth is dry. He doesn't want to talk about this.
"Yeah, more or less," he says. "It was a farm, and the guy who ran it, Sonny, he, uh...you know, he looked after me." Also true.
They decide to go and Dean tries verifying with Zeke that heading out to New York is fine. Can never know with that guy, what with having to kick Cas out. Zeke doesn't pop out, so he figures they're all good. Dean starts to leave the library. He needs a painkiller or two to relieve the headache he's got from reliving the past. Sam stops him.
"Hey, Dean?" he asks. Dean turns. "I mean, why didn't you just tell me you went to a boys' home?"
Don't ask questions, Sammy.
"I don't know," he lies.
Yes you do.
"It was Dad's idea."
That much is true.
"And then it just...you know, the story became the story," he says, licking his lips. "I was sixteen."
Just a baby.
So they pack up the car and drive.
It's been a long time, but the farm hasn't changed much. It's still a big white house with a creaky porch that's surrounded by fields and green hills. The sign saying Sonny's Home For Boys is different, but the one that had been around when Dean was here had been pretty dinged up. It's all so familiar - too familiar.
"You were...here for two months, and Dad couldn't find you?" Sam asks as he comes around the Impala.
Stop asking questions, Sammy.
"Oh, no, he found me, found me quick," Dean says. A bitter taste fills his mouth at the memory of his dad's voice telling the police officer to let Dean rot in jail. "But he left me here cause I lost our money."
"You were sixteen, you made a mistake!" Sam defends.
"Yeah. I made the mistake," Dean says firmly. "Look, I know how you think. None of this was Dad's fault."
He walks away before Sam can respond.
You're right, it wasn't Dad's fault.
It was yours.
1995
"Well, this bed is yours. Make yourself comfortable," Sonny said, putting a piece of tape with the name Dean W. on it on the frame of the foot of the bed. The name it covered was Ethan J., and Dean briefly wondered what happened to the guy before he remembered that he didn't care.
"Thanks a ton," Dean said sarcastically.
"Well, take this time to relax and unwind," Sonny said. "Dinner'll be at six-thirty sharp. You'll start chores tomorrow."
Sonny turned to leave and lingered in the doorway, as if waiting for Dean to say something. After a moment he left and Dean collapsed face first on the bed. He growled and angrily punched his pillow. This whole thing was so stupid. He was just trying to get some food so Sammy could eat and his dad got mad at him about it just cause he got caught. It was his dad's damn fault in the first place for leaving.
But you were the one who lost the money, the voice in his head piped up.
Yeah, that was true.
How do you think you can take care of Sammy if you can't even win a card game?
Dean closed his eyes and wished for the voice to shut up shut up shut -
Another boy walked into the bedroom. Dean propped himself up on his elbows and glared at the boy. Most of the other boys that Dean had seen were ten or younger, but this one seemed like he was Dean's age or close to it. He smiled in the face of Dean's glare and went to the foot of Dean's bed. He had messy light brown hair, an angular jaw, and dark brown eyes.
"I thought I heard someone new arrive," he said kindly. "It'll be nice to have somebody my own age around for once."
Dean raised an eyebrow at him, trying to give off an unfriendly vibe.
"I'm Jack," the boy said, holding out his hand, oblivious to Dean's vibes.
Dean flipped over onto his back and sat up. He shook the boy's hand, squeezing it hard, trying to get him to realize Dean didn't want to be friends. "Dean."
"Nice to meet you, Dean," Jack said, trying to inconspicuously shake out his hand when they let go.
Dean smirked to himself and said nothing, waiting for him to get intimidated and leave.
"So, what did you do to get in here?" Jack asked nicely.
This kid couldn't take a hint.
Lie.
"I stole some peanut butter and bread," he answered truthfully.
"Most kids get caught trying to steal cigarettes," Jack said. "Why peanut butter and bread?"
Lie lie lie lie -
"My dad was out and I didn't have money and I didn't want my little brother to be hungry," Dean said without thinking.
Stupid.
"Good brother," Jack commented with a slight smile.
Dean sat up straighter and smiled a bit back at him. He was pleased with the compliment, because damn straight he was a good brother.
Jack peered at his arms. "You're bruised up pretty bad."
"Congratulations, you can see," Dean said sarcastically.
"Did your dad...?" Jack started.
"Did my dad what?" Dean snarled.
He shook his head. "It's none of my business."
"You started the question, so finish it," Dean growled.
"Well, you've got bruises on your arms, I wondered if your dad maybe..." he trailed off an raised his eyebrows, silently asking: Did your dad do that to you?
Dean scoffed and shook his head in agitation. "You're right, it is none of your business."
"Sorry. Forget I asked," Jack said quietly, shifting his weight.
Dean sighed, agitated that he felt a twinge of guilt in his gut for snapping at the guy. He had no desire to make any friends here, since his dad would come back for him eventually and they'd just pick up and leave again, but he didn't want to be a jerk.
"Sonny asked me the same thing," Dean said.
"Well, we see it a lot here," Jack replied. "What'd you tell him?"
Dean grinned. "Werewolf."
"Well, I might not know a lot about werewolves, but if I were one, my instinct would be to bite and claw, not to bruise," Jack said smartly, causing Dean to look up at him in surprise. He thought maybe, maybe this kid was a hunter-in-training too, and he knew about werewolves and other monsters too and -
But Jack was staring at him with this gentle, knowing expression in his wide brown eyes and Dean suddenly wanted to look anywhere but at him, so he tore his gaze away.
Jack didn't know anything about werewolves.
Dean rubbed his arms slightly to ease the skin crawling feeling that had just overcome him. He swallowed to get rid of the bile that had risen in his throat and then his gaze landed on a guitar case that was resting on one of the beds. The tape on that bedframe read "Jack P."
"That yours?" Dean asked, nodding toward the case.
"Yeah, there's a lady who comes by every week and teaches guitar to the boys who want to learn," Jack replied. "I'm her top student, so she and Sonny pitched in to get me my own for my birthday last year. I help her out sometimes by teaching the beginners while she works with the more advanced boys.
Dean nodded, but his eyes were still fixed on the case. Jack noticed the desire in his green eyes, and smiled.
"I could teach you some, if you want," he offered.
"Yeah, that'd be cool," Dean said eagerly, then tried to play it off. "I mean, if it's not any trouble, or anything. It's not a big deal, I mean, if you don't wanna or something."
Real cool, Dean.
Jack looked amused and Dean stared at his lap, his cheeks flaming. He was pissed at himself for acting like an overeager idiot.
"Dean, don't worry about it," Jack said. "I like teaching music to people. I think it helps a lot of the kids around here deal with their issues. It gives them an outlet for their emotions, and I see it as a kind of escape."
Dean glanced up at Jack and saw that Jack was looking away, his eyes distant as if in remembrance. Then Dean noticed something: a scar on Jack's cheek, going from his ear to his jaw. It was uneven and rough, and there were smaller scars around it. Dean recognized them as scars that come from being cut with a jagged piece of glass -
And suddenly his body went cold.
"Can I ask you something?" Dean said unsurely.
Jack looked at him and nodded.
"When...when you said you see a lot of abused kids come through here," he started, not meeting the other boy's eyes, "...were...were you...?"
"Yes, Dean," Jack said quietly, absentmindedly raising his fingers to the scars Dean had just been staring at. "My dad abused me."
"I...I'm sorry," Dean said, his insides churning uncomfortably. "I shouldn't've asked. Forget it. I'm sorry."
"It's fine. It was a while ago," Jack replied. "I've accepted it and moved on."
"Why?" Dean asked, his voice choked.
"Why did he beat me?" Jack asked.
Dean nodded.
"Most people don't have a reason for abusing their children, Dean. They just do it," Jack told him, his eyes so gentle and knowing that it made Dean's skin crawl again. "Mine, however, didn't like that I like boys, so he thought he could beat it out of me."
Dean sat up straight. "You...you're gay?"
"Yes."
Dean saw well-practiced walls go up in Jack's eyes, and suddenly the warm, kind boy in front of Dean was replaced by an icy cold one.
"It that a problem?" Jack asked with narrowed eyes.
"I...I, well - Does Sonny know?" Dean blurted.
"Yes, Sonny know, as do all the boys, and pretty much everybody in town thanks to the gossipers." Jack sounded bitter. "Now I repeat my question: Is. That. A problem?"
Dean's mouth opened and closed, but for some reason he couldn't make a sound come out. He felt like an idiot and he felt like a jerk, and even though he hadn't wanted to make any friends this Jack guy was actually pretty nice and now he was just screwing everything up like usual.
"Because if it is you need to let me know right now," Jack continued fiercely. "I'm out and proud, and it took me a long time to get to this place, and I refuse to let people into my life who are going to make me feel ashamed of who I am. So, please, just - "
"No!" Dean exclaimed. "No, it's not a problem, sorry. I didn't mean to freak out. I just...my dad - he was a marine, and he felt strongly about...that sort of thing."
"Did the marines feel strongly about hitting their sons as well?" Jack asked, his knowing eyes trained on Dean's, and this time Dean couldn't look away.
"Listen, don't...don't get the wrong idea," Dean started.
Stop, stop, stop! the voice in his head was screaming, but he kept talking.
"My dad doesn't hit me or anything like that."
Why are you still talking?!
"He's not an abusive parent."
This guy has no right to know anything.
"He just...held on too hard."
You're a fucking idiot, Dean Winchester.
Dean closed his eyes and ignored the voice. He thought about Mom, and about keeping Sammy in the dark for so long, and about the search for the thing that killed Mom, and about the constant moving around, and about the way his dad reacted whenever the boys mentioned doing anything other than hunting.
"He's always holding on too hard," Dean said softly.
Jack put a hand on his shoulder, causing Dean to open his eyes. Jack was staring at him with that goddamn knowing expression and the boy looked sadly at him.
"That's still abuse, Dean," he murmured.
Dean looked away and Jack's hand slid from his shoulder.
"So!" Jack said cheerfully. "About those guitar lessons..."
Present Day
"So," Sam says with a grunt as he digs his shovel into the earth. "Dad didn't want you to tell me. How come? Was this place really so bad?"
Always with the questions, Sammy.
"I don't really remember," Dean replies, chewing his lip.
That's a lie.
"I mean, look, nobody...bad touched me."
It was far from bad.
He swallows thickly. "Nobody burned me with their smokes, or beat me with a metal hanger. I call that a win," he says, passing everything off as a joke.
Sam chuckles and Dean feels relieved, hoping to move on from the topic.
Dean's shovel hits something hard and they're in business.
1995
"Can I ask you something?" Dean asked, tapping his pencil on the table.
He and Jack were studying together. Dean'd been at Sonny's for about two weeks, which was the longest he'd stayed in one place in a long time and he had to admit...it was nice not moving around. Things felt steady, reliable. Dean was slipping into a routine. And he'd also become pretty good friends with Jack.
It's all gonna end and you know it, Dean.
Jack looked up from his chemistry textbook. "Of course."
"When did you come here?" Dean asked. "And why?"
"I ran away from home when I was ten," Jack replied. "Stole some money from my dad to buy a train ticket. He tracked me down and started beating me right there on the train platform."
Dean sucked in a breath but Jack kept going.
"People freaked out, naturally," Jack said. "A couple guys pulled him off of me while someone called the cops. They took custody away from him and I testified against him. There wasn't much of a case in his defense since an entire platform saw him do it. A friend of mine had gone to Sonny's once, so I asked to go there instead of a foster family. Been here every since."
Dean nodded and turned back to his math homework. He started tapping his pencil again.
"Dean."
He looked up. Jack was looking at him.
"There's more you want to ask, isn't there?" he asked.
Dean nodded.
"Go on," Jack said. "Ask.
"What happened to your mom?" Dean asked, his voice small.
"She walked out on me and my dad when I was about five," Jack replied. "When I was taken away from my dad they tried to find her but couldn't. I have no idea what happened to her."
"I'm sorry," Dean said.
"You don't have to be," Jack said. "But now that I've told you about my family, I think you should tell me about yours."
Dean's stomach clenched.
You don't have to tell him anything.
"You mentioned you have a little brother," Jack continued when Dean was silent. "Maybe start with him?"
He doesn't deserve to know about Sammy.
"His name's Sam," Dean said, pushing the voice away. "He's four years younger than me. Real smart kid. Has dreams of going to an Ivy League school someday, and let me tell you, he could do it."
"You really care about him."
It was a statement, not a question, but Dean answered anyway.
"Yeah, I do." Dean fiddled with his pencil. "I've practically raised him."
"What about your parents?"
Don't you dare.
Dean bit his lip. "My mom died in a fire when I was four. Sammy was a baby. He doesn't even remember her."
"But you do."
Don't. Don't you fucking dare tell him about Mom.
But Jack's eyes were gentle and knowing, so Dean nodded painfully and ignored the voice.
"She wouldn't sing lullabies to me," he said. "She thought they were silly. Instead she sang Hey, Jude. And I remember the way she smelled," he confessed. "Like coconut. Now I know it was probably her perfume, but when I was a kid I thought she carried coconuts around in her purse all the time."
Jack chuckled appreciatively.
"After she died, my dad went a little crazy," he continued. "But he did the best he could. We move around a lot, never stay in one place for long. He's kind of a hard-ass, but he's my dad. And, like I said he - "
"Holds on too hard," Jack finished.
Dean met his eyes and nodded, swallowing hard.
"I understand," he said, putting his hand over Dean's.
"Thanks," Dean said with a slight smile.
Jack removed his hand and turned back to his textbook. "Now, do you understand how to balance a chemical equation?"
Present Day
"Cus's Place?" Sam asks as they get out of the car and head toward the diner.
"Yeah, Sonny took me here once," Dean says with a grin. "Best banana pancakes ever."
He's feeling completely at ease. They burned the big bad's bones and Dean didn't even have to face any of his own skeletons in the closet - which would be much harder to burn. Now they were on their way and were gonna get some good grub. All in all, Dean would call this one a success.
Sam rolls his eyes. "Speaking of Cus's, how's Cas?"
Dean's happy-go-lucky feeling fades and is replaced once again by uneasiness. "I, uh, I dunno."
You wish you did.
"You really didn't talk to him at all when you were in Idaho?" Sam asks as they enter the diner.
"He, uh, he was busy. Got a job at a gas station," Dean replies.
"So you did talk to him."
Shit, you can't even lie well anymore.
"Um..." They seat themselves at a small table for two. "Briefly. Dropped in on him just to say hi. Like I said, the dude was busy."
"But he looked like he was doing okay?" Sam asks.
If looking okay means looking like a kicked puppy, yeah, he's damn peachy.
Dean shrugs and looks over the menu.
"Dean."
"What?" Dean asks.
Sam sighs and picks at the corner of his menu. "I think he should come back to the bunker."
Uh oh.
"Sammy - " Dean starts.
"I mean it, Dean," Sam says. "He's our best friend."
Dean purses his lips. "I'll think about it," he says, just to get Sam off his back. "But it's up to Cas."
Sam nods, looking a little relieved, and picks up his menu.
"Hi. Welcome to Cus's. What can I get you two?"
Well, well, well.
Dean looks up at the waiter who'd just walked over and spasms so violently he almost falls out of his chair. Sam and the waiter give him strange looks.
Their waiter is older, around the brothers' age, probably closer to Dean than Sam. He has short, light brown hair and an angular jaw. There's a jagged scar running from his ear to his jaw. And he has a pair of wide, brown eyes that are all too familiar to Dean.
"Jack?!" he exclaims.
What was that about skeletons, Dean?
The waiter blinks. "Yes, that's my name," he says in confusion.
"Jack Powell, it's...it's Dean Winchester," Dean says emphatically.
Jack purses his lips. "Look, I'm a bit slammed right now. Do you want to hear the specials?"
"You don't remember me?"
Sam raises his eyebrows at the hurt tone in Dean's voice.
"We...we lived at Sonny's together," Dean says. "You taught me guitar."
"Yeah, well, I've taught a lot of boys guitar up there. Still do," Jack dismisses. "Now, you going to order or what?"
"Um - "
"Hey Jack!" somebody calls. "I need some help!"
"Excuse me," Jacks says, then walks away.
Guess you didn't mean much to him after all.
Dean feels like he's going to be sick and Sam won't stop staring at him with all the fucking questions in his eyes.
"Let's go," Dean says, rising out of his chair and heading for the door.
"What was that?" Sam asks when he catches up to him. Damn those long legs.
Questions, questions, questions.
"Nothing," Dean replies shortly, his stomach churning relentlessly.
His cell phone starts ringing and for some reason the sound is so jarring he feels like his head's about to explode.
"Nothing?" Sam repeats with amusement. "Well, obviously it was something."
Oh, it was more than just something, wasn't it, Dean?
The cell keeps ringing and Dean can't handle this right now.
"Who was that waiter?" Sam asks.
Dean fishes the phone out of his pocket and momentarily considers chucking it against the pavement before deciding it would probably be better to just answer it.
"I said it was nothing, alright?" Dean snaps. "Drop it!"
He glances at the number and answers the phone.
"Sonny," he greets, then his heart drops into his stomach and he does not need this right now. "What?!"
You fucked up again, Dean.