Dean Winchester
Seven A.M on a Saturday morning and I had to get up for freaking work. As if Dad actually cared if I was there on time or not, it was Dad for Christ’s sake, he was never there on time himself and he owned the god-damned garage. My wife, Angel shook me continually and whispered my name over and over.
“Dean, get up sunshine. Time for work.” She cooed over and over and freaking over again.
“Can’t I just lay here, it’s not as if Dad actually cares if I’m there bang on time anyway--“
“No, but I do. I have my own work to do once I drop the kids off at Sam and Sarah’s.”
As I looked round at her face, prepared to argue, I remembered part of the reason I married her. Her eyes glittered and she had a puppy dog expression on her face which would make Sam look like a black dog. So what else could I do but sigh and give in.
“Fine. I’m up.” I climbed from the bed and pulled on the grimiest pair of jeans I could find. If I’m going to go to work with little to no enthusiasm, I’ll damn well show it!
Angel took over the bathroom to make her self beautiful (well more beautiful) and for once I didn’t have to pee like a race horse, so I quickly scrubbed my teeth and proceeded down the hall to attend my youngest kid, Cobain John Winchester.
He wasn’t crying, like he usually is by this time, but because I was a fantastic father and wonderful husband I decided to wake him anyway.
“Hey sport –“at that moment Cobain rubbed his eyes, screwed up his face and started balling.
I, being not as great as I thought, quickly tried to comfort him, but was relieved when Angel snatched him from me and comforted him. Within moments it was like nothing had happened.
“Dean, you should know to let me wake him. Let’s face it honey you’re not Mrs. Doubtfire.” Angel smiled at me, trying to hide her obvious annoyance at me.
I like to think I handled this pretty damn well by just smiling and walking out of the room, but I would be lying to myself if I didn’t say I was a little hurt that I wasn’t as good as some guy dressed up as an old lady, even though that was a sick and creepy movie.
From the door way I could hear Angel cooing softly to Cobain and him laughing with her, that damned kid never laughed with me! My daughter was the one who laughed with me, and never cried when I woke her, and so it was only natural that I missed her when she was that age. A ten year old isn’t the same as an infant, they talk back to you, get moody with you, steal the TV remote and somehow think they know better than you do and continue arguing when they are so obviously wrong. (Even if they are right and they actually do know a lot more than you do, what adult would ever admit that?)
Breakfast, the most important meal of the day often turned out to be pop tarts and a cup of coffee (mostly because it was the day that Angel did the weekly supermarket run in the evening and there was nothing in the house but kids breakfast foods.) Angel sat across the table with Cobain in her arms, feeding him some messy green stuff – it could have been peas, I didn’t want to look, I mean seriously who would feed their kids that shit anyway. Dana was still sleeping, she was old enough to get herself up and fed and then make the long journey across the street to Sam’s place.
“Dean,” Angel said softly looking up at me and then to the clock,” Eight A.M. You had better go to work.”
I sighed.
“Righto.”
As I headed to the back door I stopped to kiss both her and my son. Who would have thought suburbia was where I would end up?
