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SPN Hiatus Creations: Week Three

Dean Winchester

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John had suddenly left on a hunt. After lots of swearing and hurriedly packing his bags and shouting orders at Dean he was out the door. He hadn’t even realized that Dean had ditched school for the day, was too wrapped up in whatever had caught his attention now. In fact, he was too wrapped up in it all to remember to give Dean some money. So Sammy was at school, and Dean was left all alone to sit there and question how he was going to feed his little brother.

He could get a job, he supposed. Who cared about his grades? He wasn’t doing well, anyway. He never did. There was one teacher at the school who saw how smart Dean really was, who had pulled him aside after class and told him that his grades weren’t a true reflection of his intelligence and that he had so much going on in his head. She had even offered to help tutor him after school, but knowing they’d be probably moving soon anyway, Dean had declined. Besides, after school was when he had to watch Sam and do his training. And Dean kept telling himself he didn’t really care anyway. Knowing his lifestyle he was bound to drop out soon, become a hunter like his dad. So it didn’t matter. He could get a job and just focus on that.

But Dean had to pull himself together first. It was never good when Dad left. It made him feel empty and alone and lost. Yet, there was this tension he felt all around him, like it was left over from his dad’s presence. And there wasn’t just that, there was telling Sammy. His little brother was always disappointed, but as he’d been getting older he was no longer surprised. He’d just heave a sigh, sometimes sniffle and turn his head to the side to hide the tears in his eyes, and then he’d throw his bag down by the table, take a seat, and start doing his homework. Dean was glad he did his homework since Sammy really did have what it took to get through school; he had always been smarter than him, but he figured Sam buried himself in it to keep himself distracted, to not deal with the fact that John left all the time. Dean didn’t see a problem with him doing that though – whatever got Sam through the day.

He went over to the bathroom and washed his face in the sink, hoping maybe the cold water would get rid of that awful emptiness he felt, the emptiness that was quickly being filled with the ugly weight of responsibility and worry. It helped somewhat, and then he grabbed his keys to the motel room, stuffed a pistol in the back of the waistband of his jeans like his dad had taught him to, in case something attacked him, and he left. Dean had never tried to get a job before, so he didn’t know what it entailed, but he was willing to what had to be done.

Luckily, when he got to the gas station a few blocks away he saw a paper sign taped to the window that said Now Hiring, ask for manager at front desk. A bell over the door dinged when he walked into the small, but well-kept store. The floor was white, the walls a drab steel grey that might have once been blue before it faded, and there were a few shelves holding the usual: snacks high in sugar and carbs, water bottles, milk, eggs, tubs of ice cream, some toiletries, and in the back behind the front desk there were a few packs of Marlboros. A man who looked to be in his 20s and was terribly thin with well-kept hair and oily skin stood behind the counter. His nametag read Jeff. Dean nodded at him and walked over.

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