#parent!dean

The feeling of “peace” was a rarity in the bunker. Not completely unknown, but by no means the norm. Tonight was one of those rare nights. Perhaps it was fitting that this feeling came on Christmas Eve, though some part of Sam was waiting for the peace and quiet to come crashing down. But, even as he had gone to bed, there was nothing but a strange sense of everything being all right.

It was the sound of something creaking that awoke him. Though being a light sleeper came with the hunter territory, strange sounds coming from inside the bunker always put him on edge. He got out of bed, taking care to grab his gun before quietly exiting his room. He looked down the halls. No sign of Cass or Dean, though Sam figured it was more or less due to the overindulgence of spiked eggnog Dean had consumed a few hours previously. Seeing a soft glow coming from the War Room, Sam moved closer, hoping that this wouldn’t end in some sort of Christmas nightmare. However, his fear evaporated when he saw Jack sitting at the table, a blanket wrapped around him as he sat at the base of the Christmas tree, eyes watching the tiny ornaments shimmer in the light. He turned his head at the sound of Sam’s footsteps, the excitement in his face fading slightly at the sight of him.

“Oh,” he said. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure…”

“It’s okay,” Sam nodded. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Jack shook his head as Sam walked over, sitting beside him on the floor. He stared up at the giant tree, decorated from top to bottom. He didn’t want to know how much money Dean had spent on ornaments. Making up for lost time, he supposed.

“Excited?” Sam asked. Jack nodded, taking out a small piece of paper. Sam couldn’t help but smile.

“Your Christmas list?”

“Yes,” Jack nodded. “I’m hoping to ask them all, but I’m not sure he’ll have enough time.”

Sam blinked, staring at Jack. “What?”

“Santa Claus has to travel around the whole world in a single night, right?” Jack looked at Sam. “So he won’t have a lot of time to spare.”

He handed his list to Sam. “The most important ones are at the top.”

Sam regarded the list, taking in every line with a strange mixture of confusion and… well, wonder wouldn’t be the right word, but it brought a smile to his lips. Most kids wait up for Santa to see him come down the chimney or hope to catch sight of his reindeer… this list… wasn’t exactly that.

“How do you enter a home without any detection or worrying about protective sigils?”

“What spells are there to create a bag that holds an infinite supply of items? Is it similar to that blue box in the show “Doctor Who?”

Sam couldn’t help but laugh a little at that one, glad that Jack’s taste in television leaned more towards his own as opposed to Dean’s.

“How can you survey every human in the world to know the quality of their actions. I thought only God could do that. Are you in contact with God? How do we find him and his sister?”

Sam reviewed the list of questions until he came to the end, his eyes hovering over the last question.

“Can I ask for my family’s safety for Christmas? And a new TV for Dean since he had to smash that last one? And I guess my own car since I don’t know how often I’ll get to drive Baby again? Thank you.”

Sam folded the list carefully before handing it back to Jack.

“I’m hoping he’ll let me ask them all, but I’ve put little stars next to the most important ones.”

Sam had noticed the two little stars next to the final question. He put his arms around the Nephilim and hugged him tightly. He wished Jack didn’t have to ask those questions. Hell, he wished Jack never had to deal with this. He wished none of them had to… he wished he could have finished law school… that Castiel could be happy…. That Dean could have everything he ever wanted… still, this was their life… and at the very least, he was glad for the people he had in it.

“Do you want to wait for him with me?” Jack asked. Sam smiled, nodding as he looked back up at the tree. Occasionally, Jack would shift around to get more comfortable before resting his head on his arms.

“I’m gonna close my eyes for a bit. Can you wake me up when he arrives?”

“Sure thing,” Sam said, watching as Jack drifted off to sleep, seemingly free of nightmares, at least for tonight. Sam continued to watch the tree until his eyes grew heavy. He’d just tell Jack…

…….

“Sam! Sam!” A hand shook him awake. “Wake up!”

Sam’s eyes opened, flashes of bright colors dancing in front of him. He scrambled to get up as he looked at a smiling Jack. Rubbing his eyes, he looked at the base of the tree which seemed to be spilling with brightly colored packages.

“Woah, Sammy, what the hell?”

Turning around, he saw Cass and Dean standing in the library with amazed, if not slightly confused expressions on their faces. He noted the tray of pancakes in Castiel’s hands. How long had they been asleep if Dean had had the time to set out all these gifts without making them up and make breakfast!? Sipping from a cup of coffee, Dean stepped down towards the tree.

“I knew I went overboard with the ornaments, but how the hell did you charge all this?”

Sam blinked. “What?”

“I know I said I wanted to make up for holidays we missed, but this is-“

Sam shook his head, stopping his brother with a look that said: “Not me, dude… did you?”

Dean pulled back. “What? No, I…” He looked up at Castiel, who was still holding the tray.

“This was not my doing.”

“Sam, look!”

Jack picked up a piece of paper, carefully laying next to a set of keys and a very large box that Sam could only guess contained a TV. Castiel set the tray down and walked over to look at the paper.

“It’s a protection spell,” he said softly. Jack’s eyes went wide as Sam’s jaw almost hit the floor.

“I simply see no merit in us “clearing” anything up. This was clearly a fight between Emma and that bully Walt, so –“

“Stop it” Dean interrupted him.

“Stop what?” he asked innocently.

“You’re proud of her for pummelling him to the ground, I can tell.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Tell me you aren’t.”

“I’m not.”

“Not even a little bit? I can tell when you’re fibbing, you know.”

“I can tell when you’re fibbing” Dean mocked him, then sighed again before conceding, “Of course you’re right. Emma stood up for what she believed in, but that still doesn’t mean that she had a right to hit him. We have to deal with this.”

“I could show her how to handle her enemies without –“

“Oh no” Dean raised his hands to stop him, “You’re not showing her your techniques. Not yet, at least.”

“Why?”

“Because I want her to be able to handle them, not completely destroy her enemies and take their livelihoods.”

Crowley smirked.

“Sometimes I really wonder why I married you.”

His smile fell.

“I didn’t mean that, and you know it.”

And he hadn’t. Sam had asked him countless times if he really wanted to go through with it before the wedding (he and Crowley weren’t exactly the best of friends even now) and Dean had stood by his man each time. He wasn’t about to stop doing that.

Crowley still looked a little sad though, so he stepped up to him. “Hey, I’m sorry, alright?” he began, reaching and trailing his tie with his right hand. “Make it up to you tonight?”

Crowley smiled. “I am counting on that, darling.”

Say one thing about him: As nasty as he could be to others, he was always easy to placate when it came to his loved ones.

“He was insulting Dottie Keenan, and she was this close to crying!” their fourteen-year-old exclaimed. “And there’s nothing worse than openly crying in school!” She hesitated. “Except maybe dying.”

“I am glad” Crowley drawled, “That you have your priorities in order”.

“Just as you taught me, Father.”

“I don’t think anyone’s priorities are in the right place at this very moment” Dean said firmly, knowing well that his husband’s greatest weakness was the tendency to go soft when either he or the kids tried their puppy dog eyes on him, and Emma was definitely using them now.

Little cheater.

“Emma, you can’t just walk around and punch bullies in the face. That’s just not how you do it.”

Crowley threw him a glance and Dean glared back; the last thing he needed was to him indeed starting to explain to Emma how to best ruin Walt’s life and look innocent.

Thankfully, he stayed silent.

“Actually I think...” Dean trailed off. He knew he should probably punish Emma, but how could he do that when she had been sticking up for another girl? There were so many bad people in the world, someone had to take them on.

He sighed. “Don’t do it again. And if anyone asks – especially Uncle Sam – you were dealt with most severely, young lady, do you hear?”

She grinned and skipped off to call Gavin, who was doing his first semester at Stanford. They’d probably end up laughing together over their dumb parents.

Dean wouldn’t have had them any other way.

“Look at this tacky window frames.”

“Crowley, not everyone has the money for designer ones” Dean reminded him.

Money had indeed been an issue between them in the beginning, and had more than once almost separated them. Dean had taken a while to realize that Crowley throwing expensive gifts at him was not meant to be condescending, but indeed him spoiling those he cared about at every opportunity.

“I am not talking about them being cheap, I am talking about them being tasteless.”

“Any chance you won’t be acting like this in front of Walt’s parents?”

“If they start badmouthing our daughter, no.”

Dean’s heart beat faster even as he knew that he probably shouldn’t encourage that line of thinking, but he would always be touched at Crowley’s devotion to his family. He took his hand and squeezed it. “Let’s do this.”

To say this was awkward would have been an understatement.

Mr. and Mrs. Irving lacked all understanding that their son’s behaviour might have had something to do with Emma’s attack.

“Our daughter” Dean tried again, “Has told us that Walt was... annoying a young lady she’s friends with, and she wouldn’t lie to us –“

“Are you sure there?” Mrs. Irving interrupted him. “Why wouldn’t she lie, since she was the offending party?”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“I do hope you have taken proper measures to ensure something like this won’t happen again” the woman dared to announced, “We’ve been thinking about making a complaint because the school didn’t act either.”

That was because everyone at school knew Wart Irving to be an unlikeable bully, but Dean had to word his answer differently.

“The school investigated the incident, and it is procedure in such cases that when it is found –“

“Pardon, but why would you know anything about the procedures involved in such matters?” Mr. Irving asked and studied him with a contemptuous expression on his face.

Really? Not only did they have to raise their son like this, but now they had to be elitists too? Dean was working his usual t-shirt and jeans get-up he put on once he came home for the evening, since he’d decided he might as well get this over with in the clothes he felt most comfortable in.

Crowley, of course, always wore a suit. Dean had only got him to wear something casual on a few memorable occasions.

“I’m a teacher myself” he said.

He was used to people reacting with surprise; apparently no one expected someone looking like him to want to educate kids.

By now, he’d stopped feeling resentful about it.

His husband, he remembered a little too late, had not. Crowley not only seemed to think that Dean was more than entitled to be treated with respect by each and every member of the human race, but also to consider any criticism of his husband as a criticism of himself.

“How could they possibly think” he’d fumed one day after dressing down a rather impertinent waiter, “That I would take anything but the best?”

But then, he’d always been a romantic at heart, even though he pretended not to be. Dean was rather sure his wedding ring hadn’t left his finger since he put it there.

And so, the inevitable happened.

“I do find it fascinating that you cannot manage to explain to your son that harassing others is a bad thing, but you do find the time to judge my husband for not being dressed the way you think teachers should be.”

“It’s not about his profession, it’s about self respect.”

And that, thankfully, was when Mrs. Irving did the right thing for the first time that evening and hastily said, “Dinner was ready.”

Dean guessed she saw murder in Crowley’s eyes and takes his hand as they are being led to the table. He throws him a glance that could be considered apologetic – if Dean didn’t know him that well. It will have to be enough.

Dinner was cooked well enough, he supposed, although it had nothing against his burgers (if he said so himself). Mr. and Mrs. Irving followed the age-old rule that nothing bad should be discussed at table, and he was glad to make some stilted small talk about the school he himself worked at, Gavin’s progress, and Crowley’s business.

As to Crowley himself, the stoic silence he maintained was probably for the best. He could take just about any indignity when it was directed towards himself – otherwise he’d hardly have managed to build up his own firm from ground up – but when it came to his family...

Afterwards, they were led back to the living room while both Irvings disappeared to get them drinks.

For about a minute, they sat next to each other on the couch, completely silent; then Dean couldn’t help it anymore.

He began to chuckle.

Crowley grinned. “I will say this, they are more perceptive than some of my erstwhile business partners.”

“You were pretty obvious. Did you have to look at him like you wanted to stab him?”

“I did.”

“Crowley –“

“I will try not to glare at them. Happy?”

It was an almost heroic act, so Dean acquiesced.

When they finally came back with glasses of red wine for each of them – Dean sighed internally because if there was one other thing that could raise Crowley’s hackles, it was serving him bad wine – he decided to try and broach the subject again.

“Look, I am sorry Emma punched Walt” he began carefully. “And we have explained to her that she should refrain from such techniques in the future when she wants to help someone. But I still feel that Walt’s behaviour needs to be addressed as well.”

“I don’t –“ Mr. Irving began, but stopped suddenly. Dean had no idea why until Crowley took his hand and he glanced at his husband to see him smile at the others – in that threatening, I-am-going-to-kill-you-for-this-later way he had during company meetings.

Quite frankly, he was glad they weren’t sitting at the table anymore so no knives where in reach.

Mr. Irving swallowed and Dean told himself that he had no right to find Crowley’s behaviour sexy in front of the parents of the child their daughter had hit.

“I know you don’t think so, Mr. Irving, but it might be a good idea to think about it again before we sue you.”

“Sue us? Why?”

“For starters, for the emotional damage done to our daughter –“

“She punched our son!”

“Oh yes” Crowley said, leaning forward, still that unsettling smile on his lips. “She did. But guess what. That doesn’t mean a thing when I am after someone. And I should warn you that my brother-in-law is one of the best lawyers in the State. Not only would I win, but I’d take most of your savings and this house, while we’re at it.”

He stood up, pulling Dean up as well. “I think that cleared everything up, then. Enjoy your evening.”

“That was a bit harsh” He said once they were on the street.

Crowley sighed. “Dean –“

“They were not that impolite –“

“That’s not it. That’s not it at all.”

“UI don’t understand.”

“Did you notice something about the house?”

“Can you be more specific –“ Dean was about to complain when he went through the rooms he had seen in his mind and realized. “Where are the family pictures? They have a kid.”

“Exactly.”

“But that doesn’t have to mean –“

“Dean, I have pictures from their ultrasounds to Gavin’s high school graduation on my office desk. I know what neglect can do to a young mind.”

Dean winced in sympathy as he remembered what Crowley had told him about his own childhood. “but we still don’t know –“

“I recognize a house without love. I’ve been living in the opposite for too long now.”

“You sap” he muttered.

“Your sap. And we better keep an eye on the situation, in case the kid needs help.”

“Fine” Dean mumbled, dragging him into a kiss, “But if we eventually have to get him out of there, you’re the one explaining to Emma why we did it.”