About A Boy--Supernatural (Alternate Ending) #JustWriteIt

Part 1

Tina and Sam stared at him. They couldn't believe it: he had just burn the witch-- and the hex bag along with her. He was now stuck as a 14 year old. "Dean," Sam said in shock.

His older--younger?--brother turned to face him, breathing heavily. "Yeah," he replied.

Sam shook his head. "Let's go."

Half an hour later, the three of them stood outside of the motel room that the brothers had checked out for the night. Tina was staring at the both of them. "And you're telling me that you do this all the time?"

Dean chuckled and shoved his hands into his pockets. "All the time."

"Not all the time," Sam countered.

The girl glanced up at Sam. "So...can you turn me--us--back?" she asked hesitantly, hopefully.

Sam looked back and forth between his brother and Tina. "Tina," Dean said, "the hex bag went up in flames."

"We could always try reverse-engineering the spell," Sam said quickly with a short look at his brother.

Tina glanced in the dark window and marveled at her reflection for a moment. "Or maybe you don't."

Sam's head jerked up. "Come again?"

She shrugged. "I've got three ex-husbands, fifty grand in debt, and not much else. I was...kinda a crappy adult. Maybe I'll do better this time around. Get out of town, get a fresh start. Get a second chance. Everyone deserves a second chance, right?"

Dean flinched, barely, but Sam noticed. Tina didn't know what she had just said. This was his second chance too, to be normal again, to not be a murderer, to not kill his brother. Just to hunt. Just to be normal, or next to normal at least. He looked up at his brother. "Yeah," he told him. "I think we're good without the spell. We're good like this."

Good to be fourteen.

Good to be without the mark.

Good to be normal.

Next to normal.

Sam tried to swallow the lump in his throat as he looked at his brother, young enough to be his son. He tried to speak, but his throat was too dry, so he sufficed a nod and looked at Tina. "You got a place to stay the night?" he asked as he found his voice.

The girl looked hesitant, but glanced up at him. "Is that an offer?"

Dean nodded. "You can stick with us for the night, until you figured out where you want to go."

Tina smiled, relieved. "Thanks guys."

Sam nodded at the door. "You guys go on in. I'm going to go get some food for us."

Tina grimaced. "Ugh. No thanks. I think I've had enough of food for the next week, thanks to that bit--"

"Language," Sam warned.

She pulled a face. "I'm thirteen, not eight."

"You're still a kid again. You'd better get used to acting like it."

Tina scowled, but chuckled a bit and walked into the motel room, flicking on the lights and closing the curtains.

Sam fished around in his pocket for the keys to the Impala, and glanced at Dean. "You coming or staying?" He asked, opening the door to the car.

Dean looked back at the motel door and then at his brother. "I'll stay," he said. "This is a pretty big shift for Tina. She might need someone--her own age."

Sam nodded and climbed in the car. "Don't do anything stupid, OK?" He reminded Dean. "You're only fourteen."

With that, he drove off, leaving himself with his thoughts. Den was a kid again. Only fourteen! Young enough to be mistaken for his son. And that might be what they would have to do: instead of being brothers roadtripping across the country, they would have to pose as father and son. Well, he thought wryly, at least they wouldn't be mistaken for a couple anymore.

No doubt it would make investigations infinitely more difficult. It would be Sam posing as the official, while Dean would have to hang back--which would no doubt piss him off. Not to mention social workers, education, new documents and passports, and the attitude problem.

Oh god, the attitude. Their father had a hard enough time parenting Dean Winchester when he was a teenager the first time. Now Dean knew all the tricks to being a snotty little teenager, as well as how to lie better than a double agent, create fake I.D.s, and sneak around. He knew he liked sex and alcohol already, and he knew how to get them.

With Sam's luck, Dean would be dead by the time he came of age--again--either due to kidney failure or a cocktail of STDs.

God, he was so almightily screwed.

Dean jumped when the for opened, by once he saw it was only Sam he laid back down on the couch and resumed watching Indiana Jones: The Last Crusade. It was the first movie he had ever seen in theatres, when he was ten years old. Bobby had taken him and Sammy.

Dean jerked his head at the girl sleeping on one of the two beds. "Careful, sasquatch. Can't have you waking up sleeping beauty over here."

Sam dropped the bags on the table and pulled a six-pack out of one of them. "Catch," he called, and tossed a takeout bag at his brother.

Dean caught it with ease and then glanced at Sam expectantly.

Sam raised his hands questioningly. "What?

Dean held up the bag. "What, no brewski?"

His brother sighed. "Dude, you're fourteen."

He looked indignant. "I'm older than you!"

"Go tell that to the lady who thought you were my kid."

"Really, man?"

Sam tossed a can at him.

"Seriously?" Dean gave the can a look of contempt. "There's no alcohol in this. Are you trying to poison me?"

"Your liver will thank me in ten years," Sam said, flopping down on the couch beside him.

Dean scowled, but popped the lid of the can and took a swig. "Ugh. Coke tastes so plain without any rum."

"Get used to it," Sam replied, taking a bite of salad.

After another hour and a half of Harrison Ford getting screwed over (literally and figuratively) by Elsa, Sam stood up and stretched his arms. "I'm gonna hit the hay pretty soon," he said. "You take the bed."

"Nah," Dean told him, his freckled face drooping with exhaustion. "I've got the couch. Face it, Paul Bunion, you need the legroom more than I do."

Sam eyed him up. "You sure?"

Dean shrugged. "Why not?"