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

Part 2

Three hours later Dean found himself lying on the couch, regretting that decision. He stared up at the ceiling. Sleep was proving itself to be a tough beast to catch, unlike the many thoughts tumbling through his brain.

He was fourteen again. A teenager. As Tina said, a One Direction reject. He didn't even like One Direction. Not even as a teenager.

But he no longer had the Mark of Cain. He was normal again. Well, next to normal. As normal as normal got for a Winchester.

After what felt like an eternity, he fell asleep.

When he woke up, Tina was still asleep and Sam was curled up awkwardly on the couch, his mane of hair spread around his face. Dean was tucked up in the bed.

Tina wanted to catch a bus at 12.15. The brothers didn't ask where she was going, but Sam pulled out his wallet and handed her a wad of bills. "It's all the cash we've got...but it should help you pull through until you get where you're going."

She smiled gratefully. "Thanks guys. For everything."

"You stay safe out there, you hear?" Dean warned.

She nodded. "I will." She stepped in for a hug, which he accepted, and then gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. If he really was fourteen he was certain he would have turned the colour of a tomato, but at this point it took a lot to make him blush.

"And if it doesn't work out, well, we'll always have the Royale motel."

Sam looked confused, but he nodded anyways and smiled a bit when she walked into the bus station. "So," Dean said. "Grand Coven. Any clue?"

"No," his brother said, "but it doesn't sound good." They reached the Impala.

"It sounds like an 80s hair metal band," Dean said. "You know, lots of hair, lots of hairspray, lots of guitar." Sam stared at him blankly. "Oh come on man, I'm painting a word picture here!"

Sam shook his head and pulled open the driver's door of the car. Dean stared wistfully at his baby before sliding into the passenger's seat. Sam laughed a bit and started the engine. "Look, we'll get you a learner's permit. Then you can drive again."

"Or, we could make a driver's licence for me," Dean suggested hopefully.

In return he got a pitiful glance. "Face it, man, nobody's gonna believe that you're sixteen." Less than twelve hours ago Sam had been teasing him about the time until he was legally allowed to drink. Now that it was a reality that he was going to be living with a kid who could be mistaken for his son, he was looking at him like a kicked puppy. Dean hated it. Violently he switched the radio on in the car. An irritatingly poppy Taylor Swift song blared through the speakers and he slammed in a Kiss tape with much more force than was required. Soon The Demon was screaming at top volume about drugs, sex and rock 'n roll. Sam didn't reprimand him, for once.

A teenager. A virgin in every way. Not legally allowed to drive on his own.

The rest of the long trip to Corpus Christi, Texas, was spent in a contemplative brooding silence.

Sam sat at the desk in the motel room—pathetic, just like everything else in the room. The desk light (also pathetic) cast just enough light for him to be able to see what he was doing. He glanced over at the couch they had shoved up against the door and contemplated the likelihood of someone walking in on his construction of new IDs for Dean, and the drawing up of legal documents. The door itself was a redeemable factor to the hotel—sturdy, providing no leeway for anyone to break it down unless they had an axe—or it would have been, if the lock worked. They had been given the room by a prickly faced man who had a glaze over his eyes that suggested he was inhaling more than just car fumes. He told them that all the other rooms had been booked up by an English tour group that hadn't showed. Sam wanted to know, if the Brits hadn't showed then couldn't take a room that had a functioning lock? Cactus face said no, the options were they could pay twice as much as the Pommies, or pay for a new lock, or go find a different place. Based on the late hour, they both opted to stay and put up with no lock.

As a result, Sam found a hard time sleeping. Now that his brother was twenty years younger than him, he felt an odd new protectiveness towards him, more than just as brothers, as hunting partners who had been through too much with and without each other. The product of that was a sleeplessness that accompanied thoughts of the Mark of Cain, a lockless door, and the Grand Coven. The notion had flickered through his mind that if he wasn't going to sleep like Dean, he could at least make himself useful. That translated to obsessive researching of the Grand Coven, age regression, and making new identification and documents.

Dean now had a few different learner's permits from various states, as well as a smattering of school IDs. Reluctantly on all of the papers, Sam had marked himself down as Dean's father on every page they had. They could use the same story that John had used for them—a travelling salesman and his son. The school registration would help pass Dean off as a student, if anyone ever questioned the validity of their lifestyle.

It was with a heavy sadness that he noted the lack of professional identification among the pile of cards and passports. No longer did Dean have any phony FBI ID, or wildlife officer, or journalist or doctor "credentials." Sam had burned those all out back. It was no use carrying them anymore. It would just increase likelihood of getting caught out for something. Even if they found a way to get Dean back to his normal state, it carried the risk of the return of the Mark. Much as Sam hated to admit it, there was no turning back from this.