Chapter Text
“Fortune’s fool! How we humans lie upon beauty like lizards upon a sun-baked rock.”
― Roman Payne
New Year, New me, Dean thinks to himself, leaning back on his desk chair. The chair groans in complaint and he surveys his domain.
The room is neatly arrayed with various toys, unpacked with the efficiency of a pro ikea-assembler. Crafts and activities have all been prepared across the classroom tables, walls stapled in new various motivational posters, such as Just remember, you can’t climb the ladder of success with your hands in your pockets. Not to mention a few shiny new posters of the Marvel Superheroes. Which Dean will claim was at the request of his students; a lie that fell apart after knowing him longer than five minutes.
The classroom slowly fills with kindergarten children, and Dean leans back on his chair, grinning at them as they all come in—many of them clutching new toys of their own, running around and waving them at friends whom they hadn't seen over the winter break. Or perhaps they had. To a kid that age, a day probably felt like a lifetime. A few of them wave their presents enthusiastically in his face, and Dean can only pull a smile at them before the kids run off. He wonders if they’ll remember much of these moments—he could at least remember Sammy's delight when they were kids.
He straightens up as two people he doesn't recognise enter the room. A small boy with brown hair, swooping over one side of his face and cut neatly. He grips onto what he's only assuming is his dad's hand—a tall, dark haired man, lips pressed together as he sweeps the room, even more cautious than his son. They both certainly look alike, that’s for sure.
Dean rolls onto his feet, (trying not to topple the chair on his way up,) and motions to get their attention. He sticks out a hand to the man as they approach.
"Hey, you must be Mr... uh. Shurley?" A short nod of affirmation. Dean steps aside his desk to crouch down to the child. "And you must be Jack."
Jack recoils for a moment, shuffling behind his father's leg as he peers up at Dean. Dean gives him a warm smile. "I'm Mr. Winchester. I'll be your new teacher. It's all cool if you're scared though, I can be pretty intimidating." He reaches around behind his desk, grabbing something. "I got a friend for you, though, who will never be scared of me or anyone else."
He hands Jack a plush Gecko, made up of a vibrant red fabric and bulging eyes. Jack stares at it in wonder.
"You can give 'em whatever name you like. They don't mind. And if you ever get scared or frightened, you can hold onto them and they'll help you be less afraid. They can even tell me if you're not feeling good, without you ever saying a word."
Jack gazes down at it for half a minute, before giving a very serious nod. "Tony."
Mr. Shurley leans down, and pats Jack on the shoulder. "Why don't you go and find Claire? She should be here somewhere."
Jack looks up then with wide eyes. "Claire?"
Mr. Shurley nods, and ushers him along. Jack bumbles off, still clutching at Tony the gecko. Dean and Mr. Shurley straightens as they watch him go.
"He'll be alright. Seems like a good kid."
Jack's father stares after Jack as he disappears. He expels a long sigh, closing his eyes for a moment, before turning back to Dean. He looks at him, and hot damn , did this man have blue eyes, like he belonged in an overzealously coloured portrait drawn by one of his students. "It's hard, moving schools so soon."
"Yeah, kids are pretty resilient though. I should know." Dean chuckles. "You know Jody?"
Mr. Shurley just nods, glancing down at an approximate point on the carpet. His whole posture is almost rigid, though, and something uneasy settles in Dean that he can't quite place.
"It's a small town, and she's the Sheriff." He only notes — which is fair enough, but Dean's never seen a hair on this man's head before — or his son's. Dean placates his suspicion with a grin.
"Well, hope you're feeling welcome. Name's Dean, by the way." He holds out a hand. The other man hesitates for a second, before reaching and grasping his hand.
"Castiel." He says.
Dean is scooping up the remains of the jumbo Jenga tower into a plastic box when he hears his classroom door swing open. He doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is.
“Should’ve seen the way Jody turned up late today with Claire, she practically yeeted the girl into the building before sprinting off. Must’ve been on call or something,” Charlie muses, waltzing around Dean’s desk. She comes to a stop. “Oh hey, you got rid of Maximus."
Dean turns around, straightening. “... ‘Yeet’?”
“Where'd Maximus go?”
“Yeet?”
Charlie scoffs, before pointing a finger at the accused coffee cup on the desk. “Hey. Gecko first, old man questions later.”
Dean does a double take, before he blinks. The gecko. Oh.
“Oh, yeah. Got a new kid today, Jack. So I gave him the gecko to keep him company while he settles in. He’s called Tony now."
"Oh, yeah! Think I saw his dad dropping him off." She smiles, hands going to her cheeks. "He's dreamy ."
An odd comment coming from Charlie, but whatever. "If you say so." Dean turns around to pick up the plastic box. From Charlie’s silence, he doesn’t even need to look at her to know what expression she’s throwing at him. He elects to ignore it and begins to move across the room to put the box away.
“So, found yourself a DILF?”
"Fuck off," Dean comments, hoisting the box into his arms. "You gonna say that about every strange guy that comes in?"
Charlie watches him, before shrugging with one shoulder. "We queers gotta stick together, Dean."
Dean rolls his eyes. "You don't have to bring it up every damn second you see me."
She grins, shuffling some lego half heartedly into a pile with her foot. "New year, new you, Dean. Hark my words."
Yeah, it definitely made for an interesting New Year's Party, Dean tipsily revealing that information about himself.
"I'll check in with you about Cute Dad Guy in about six months, Winchester," Charlie half sings, waltzing back towards the door.
Dean rolls his eyes. He grumbles. “Imma yeet you in a minute.”
Dean's back aches as he settles into the worn leather of his Impala. The heavy doors creak as they shut, and Dean is now sheltered from the world, nothing but the muted drone of cars on the highway nearby and the occasional passerby, normally a staff member going home.
Dean closes his eyes for a moment, letting the noise of the children and the rush of exerted energy slowly slosh its way to stillness as he breathes. He'd joke about it, but this was one of his favorite parts of the day in that it was necessary. No matter how hectic, or stressful, or annoying his work day would be, he knew there would be a moment where he could come back to Baby and sit in her company, alone, and just... breathe. It might not be the most comfy, or the first place people would think of for respite, but it was certainly one to him.
Dean eventually sighs, and reaches to put the key into ignition. Baby purrs into life. One of the ancient cassettes starts playing Ramble On.
Dean takes off the handbrake and looks behind him as the bass of the engine roars under his feet.
The Roadhouse is one of the less appealing looking pit stops and diners in the town, but it just wouldn't be the same if it was renovated. Dean pulls up into his usual parking space. As soon as he steps out the aroma of grease and coffee spills out and hits him from one of the opened windows, and Dean suddenly realises he is very hungry, no matter how long it's been.
The small bell jingles enthusiastically as Dean enters. The diner is pretty quiet, in the weird gap between the end of school mothers and fathers shepherding children for an early dinner, and the evening crowd getting out of work. The perks of a kindergarten teacher when Dean could actually escape somewhat on time; managing to avoid rush hour some of the time was a sweet perk of the job.
Apart from one or two truck drivers keeled over a coffee, there isn't much in sight. Dean twirls his keys for a moment as he saunters up to the counter. The sounds of greasy sizzling echo from the confines of the kitchen.
"Anyone home?" Dean calls out. Ellen is standing with her back to him, hovering over a grill. Jo is tucked in some corner, wielding a knife against some vegetables. He thinks twice about making her jump. Dean smiles. "Hey. How're the girls doing back here?"
Ellen turns, brow furrowed in frustration. She brandishes the spatula she's holding. "Boy, you call us that one more time, you're gettin this spatula straight to the face."
Dean grins, tilting his head towards the older woman in the back of the kitchen, flipping some burgers. “Hey, Ellen. How you doin’?”
“Way too short staffed for my likin’,” she mutters. “You keep your head stuck there for long enough I’ll have an apron and spatula in your hand before you can blink.”
Dean flashes his best flattering grin at her, and dares to keep his head where it is for the moment. “I work with small kids, Ellen. My reflexes are second to none.”
“We’ll see about that,” she remarks, but places down her spatula for a moment, walking the few steps towards the hatch. Ellen smells of grease and beef, and she leans towards the end of the counter to pull out some bread buns; starting to slice at some tomatoes. “How them kids treatin’ you today?” she asks, without looking up. Dean rolls one shoulder in response, before realising that she isn’t going to see that.
“Good.” He nods. “Claire threw some bouncy balls at one of the other boys which hit them hard in the head, so I had to put her in time out. She told me afterwards it's because the boys were picking on Kaia.”
“That kid is gonna grow up to be a feisty one, I swear.”
Dean chuckles. “Think she’s already there. We also got a new kid in today."
"Oh?" Ellen questions, flipping the burger with a nonchalance that only comes from years of muscle memory. "How were they?"
"Nice. Kid called Jack. His dad brought him in. His name was something odd. Castiel? Castine? Name sounds European, that's all I remember. Think they're new in town though. Seemed nice enough."
“Well, knowing the parents always makes things easier,” Ellen remarks, flipping the burger onto a bread bun. She drops it on the counter. “Says a lot about the family when the parents are willing to know the teacher, I think. Ain’t that right, Sam?”
Dean turns his head as Ellen looks up; Sam looms over his right shoulder. If Dean hadn’t grown up with his ever imposing stature, he probably would have jumped out of his skin. Despite not jumping, Dean punches him in the shoulder for good measure.
“Geeze, Sammy, what are ya? Ninja moose?”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Dean, you’re a little more creative than that, come on.”
Dean grins. “Fine. Ninjoose? Moosja?”
Ellen emerges at the kitchen doorway before Sam can end his family line.
Her smile spreads wide when her eyes settle on Sam, and she throws her arms out.
“Now where’s my hug from the man of the hour?” Sammy leans down and she pulls him in tight, patting him on the back. “Congrats, Sam. You’ve found a good one.”
Sam smiles at her as they part. “Thanks, Ellen.”
“Where is Eileen, anyway?” Dean questions, peering around Sam as though his large form was somehow hiding her away in his shirt or something. Sam shrugs.
“She gets out today. Figured I’d spin by here first.”
The sound of ceramic sliding across metal comes from Dean’s left, and the plate garnishing a cheeseburger and fries shows up. Dean grins at Ellen, sticking a hand in his pocket to throw down some notes. “Keep the change.” Dean winks, and pulls the plate towards himself.
Ellen rolls her eyes before looking at Sam. “What can I get you?”
“Just some Ceasar salad. No sauce.”
“It’s on the house, Sammy,” Ellen notes, disappearing back into the kitchen.
Dean mutters around his burger, “Rabbit-Moose.”
“How’d Eileen’s parents react?” Dean asks, kicking at some loose gravel in the parking lot.
“They seem happy enough. Her dad already knew, though.”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “…You asked him for his blessing?”
Sam nods, sheepishly. Dean laughs. “Damn, Sammy. Who brought you up in the Victorian Era?”
“It just felt like the right thing to do, alright?” Sam shrugs. “You know she’s real close with him.”
“Yeah.” Dean falls silent, too. “I bet mom would’ve liked her.”
Sam gives a curt nod, straightening. “Yeah,” he says. Then snorts. “Thought you were the one who didn’t like chick flick moments?”
Sam presses the button on his keys, unlocking the car beside him. “See you at home.”
“Don’t be out partying too late, Sammy.” Dean grins, opening his car door. “You got work in the morning.”
“Doesn’t matter, old man.” Sam retorts. “You’ll be asleep either way.”
Dean lays on his bed, arms behind his head. He stares at the picture framed on the wall. A woman with long flowing hair and a chubby cheeked four year old, their heads pressed together as though there's nothing else worth feeling.
Dean leans his head back against the pillow, and sighs. He closes his eyes.
"Night, mom," he murmurs.
