Warnings: Spoilers for S3. 'What If' for 3.02, 'The Kids Are Alright' and AU after that episode. And the boys have foul mouths sometimes. Or… a lot. You know the deal. Oneshot.

Disclaimer: If they're giving you that much trouble Eric, just let me take them off your hands. It'll be better for everyone in the long run. If you recognize, they're not mine.


(For Lissa.)


balancing act


"You're not Ben." The fear was plain, obvious. She was sure, positive in fact. This wasn't her son. The demon smiled, even as his form denied her words. The stupid bitch was already dead, she just didn't know it yet. It was a matter of time. Her life force was his and nothing would keep him from it. Nothing would stop him from sucking her dry.

"Yes I am Mommy," The words were said simply and innocently. They dripped from his mouth with utter sincerity, like her blood would soon.

"No, no you're n-" Her screams were delicious, her life utterly filling. The demon smiled again, stretching lazily like a cat, yawning slightly as he used his tiny legs to step over the prone body, face still frozen in fear.

The power was astounding; the feeling was miraculous and all that was left was-

An inferno engulfed him and he started in surprise and pain, no - this wasn't what came next! He had won! Victory had been his! He could feel her life force flowing through him, the sweet taste of her soul on his lips, he was all powerful now! He had-

The dust settled.


Ben was asleep in the back of the car and Sam had to forcibly remind himself not to slam the doors of the Impala like he usually did. The door clicked shut loudly, but that was a lot better than the usual gunshot slam, so Sam took what he could. His long strides ate up the pavement and he found himself at Dean's side in mere moments. Silence reigned. Sam watched Dean's face screw up into a scowl as he went over the logistics of the whole thing in his head, as he dealt with the guilt, as he tried to figure out what in the hell he was supposed to do now.

"Dean, we have to-" Sam tried, but the second he opened his mouth he knew it was futile.

"I know Sam," Dean snapped, folding his arms across his chest in a move that always reminded Sam of a petulant four year old. Informing Dean of this fact would only result in pain and suffering so Sam wisely kept his mouth shut.

Some of the time.

"But Dean," Sam attempted again and he got a sharp glare for his efforts.

"I know Sam, I know we can't bring him along, but what in the hell are we supposed to do?" Dean asked, rounding on his younger brother, managing to tower over him despite being the shorter of the two. He whirled around, his back now to Sam, the tension in his shoulders almost palpable. Sam straightened up from where he was leaning casually and dropped a hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean didn't flinch, but Sam felt the muscle twitch in response.

"Dean," Sam said, pausing to make sure Dean wasn't going to interrupt him needlessly again, "I was trying to say that," he paused again, taking a deep breath and hoping to high hell that this would work out okay in the end, "that I think he should come with us." Dean didn't move a millimeter but Sam felt some of the tension drain out of his shoulders.

His posture shifted a moment later before Dean spoke. "Yeah?" Dean asked softly and Sam's hand tightened on his shoulder.

"Yeah," Sam said. "Yeah, definitely."


Ben was quiet at breakfast but Dean didn't blame the kid. For one, getting up when it was still dark outside was hell and two… well, two was obvious and better left unsaid for now. The three sat in silence, Sam prodding at his food, Ben not even pretending. Dean shoveled down enough food for the three of them, for lack of anything better to do. He was at a loss and something like failure ached in the spot where his heart should be. Sam read him with practiced eyes and shook his head, leaving the 'not your fault, definitely not your fault Dean' unspoken.

But unspoken was unsaid, and unsaid was unheard, so the silence was just that - silence. Empty.

Sam got Ben to say a few words in the car and Dean made him order for himself at lunch, just to make sure the kid hadn't lost the power of speech. They got a phone call from Bobby, so the car ride between lunch's diner and dinner's fast food place was filled with Sam and Dean arguing over routes to Kentucky. Ben volunteered to fill the cups at dinner and just shrugged when Dean asked him if he wanted the floor or the bed of the motel room.

The rest of the week went like that, Sam and Dean collecting Ben's words like rain in a dry spell, comparing notes when Ben went to the bathroom or picked up a candy bar. On the seventh day though, the drought broke.

Ben smiled at lunch, laughed at dinner and argued over radio stations and beds that night.

Dean didn't feel like such a failure then.


"Higher… higher… harder, no, thumb outside, Ben-" Dean was shifting his feet, palms outstretched, eyes tracking the movements of the kid in front of him with the practiced ease of someone used to watching and teaching.

Sam watched from across the room, peering over the top of the laptop screen, remembering hours and days spent just like that with Dean. Fists clenched, eyes wide and intense and sure that this time, he was going to get it, he only needed one more chance to get it right, swear Dean, just one more, right? And Dean would nod and assure Sam that he would get it right next time, not a doubt.

Ben already had more power than either Dean or Sam at his age, but his form was awkward, chin jutted out, eyes narrowed. Dean was correcting his stance with all the patience of a well rehearsed teacher, tapping and tugging with only the lightest touch, slowly shifting Ben until his stance looked more natural.

The hours of practice continued and Sam managed to find two more leads in the time it took for Dean to utterly frustrate Ben to the point of breaking.

"I am doing it," Ben insisted as Dean pointed out he wasn't shifting his weight. Dean blinked at him in the slow way that Sam knew too well, the way that said 'yeah, okay, tell yourself that but you're a moron and you know I'm right' without any words at all. Ben scowled deeply, but readjusted his stance.

"More," Dean said, gesturing for Ben to hit him again, "Kid, again, harder," Dean said insistently. This refrain repeated for a minute before there was a crash and Sam whipped his head up towards the sound. The sight of Ben pummeling uselessly at Dean's chest as Dean wrapped his arms around his middle greeted bewildered eyes. A lamp dangled pitifully off the side table that Ben had apparently knocked over when he lunged at Dean.

"I can't!" Ben shouted as he struggled to slam his fists into - Dean's face? Dean's chest? Sam guessed, awkwardly half-standing, half-sitting, not sure if it was his place to intrude. "I just can't, okay?! I can't fucking do it!"

Sam's first instinct was to say 'of course you can,' because he'd seen Ben do it, he'd seen Ben in the right crouch, extend his arm with a snap the right way, but when the beating fists died down to pure shuddering sobs, Sam realized that Ben hadn't been talking about his stance.

Dean looked stricken and he cast a panicked glance in Sam's direction as he held the trembling boy in his arms. The brothers shared a gaze that spoke volumes. In that moment the three of them were just boys without moms and nothing would ever be okay or the same or anything close to alright ever again.

A second later, Dean was murmuring calm, soothing things in the tone of voice Sam had always associated with days spent sick in bed or waking from nightmares late at night. "Yeah, yeah I know, not now," Dean said, hand going to the back of Ben's head and burying his fingers in hair like he'd done when Sammy was little. Except now instead of long tangled strands there was short fuzz and instead of gasping, hiccupping cries with clinging arms, he held a stoic frame with awkward arms and angles, refusing to relax in his hold. "It won't be for now, won't be for awhile…" Dean trailed off, not wanting to promise, but not wanting to leave it there,

"But someday," Sam finished firmly, having crossed the room, touching a brief hand to Ben's shoulder. Dean glanced up at him with gratitude. Ben didn't need to know yet that they were still working on their someday.


"Help you any, kid? Make you forget her any better?" Dean had asked, staring out over the faintly smoking body of the first monster the kid had smoked on his own. Without help or permission, by the way. Just gone tearing out, convinced he knew best and killed the thing ten times over. Dean knew what that meant.

Dean didn't really expect an answer, but he wasn't surprised when he got one. Winchesters always got the last word. "No, not really," Ben had muttered, voice flat, as if he'd been hoping for more but expecting pretty much what he'd gotten.

"Yeah," Dean had said, "Yeah, it never really does."


"Ben, the guns-" Dean said from across the room, already unpacking the duffel that held the guns that needed cleaning.

"Yeah, got it," Ben replied absentmindedly as he stood slowly, still staring at the book that lay on the desk before him. He finally tore his gaze away, muttering some mantra under his breath as he crossed the room to grab the guns that needed to be looked over. Soon, the rhythmic clicks of guns filled the air. Dean and Ben were silent, passing the necessary tools or finished guns to each other without the need for words. A minute later, Sam ducked into the room, pausing only to shuck off his coat and run a hand through tangled hair.

"Ben," Sam said and waited for Ben to blink up at him, "Iron," Sam commanded, his tone gentle but firm.

"Used to repel, contain, or harm supernatural creatures," Ben recited with confidence, "In folk lore, these creatures are most commonly ghosts, faeries or witches."

"Examples in superstition?" Sam prompted. Ben took a breath, squinting at the ceiling as if the answers were there - though his voice was steady as he replied.

"Iron horseshoe on or over your door to bring good luck or keep bad spirits away, burying a knife under your porch or in your front yard or something to keep witches from coming in, and… uh… something about graveyards?"

"Built what around them?" Sam questioned as he hung his coat up in the closet.

"Oh!" Ben started, shifting the gun to his left hand to slap his right palm against his forehead. "Duh, uh, fences of iron around cemeteries to keep the souls of the dead in." A pause before Ben spoke again, "Or out I guess, because there was that weird movie with Johnny whatever with the headless horsemen and he couldn't cross the cemetery to get to the church where that old dude was impaled with like, a cross or something? Man, fucking boss."

Sam snorted and nodded. "Yeah, something like that. Good job," Ben's face broke into a grin before he returned to the task at hand. Sam settled into the chair by the window with the laptop, letting the sound of guns being cleaned lull him to sleep.


Ben glanced at Ruby out of the corner of his eye. He was eight, not a dumbass. Something was off with her. He just didn't know what. He tried to bring it up with Dean once, but Dean had just glanced at him like he hadn't really seen him and told him Sam thought he knew what he was doing. Ben knew what that meant. Meanteven if Sam thought he knew what he was doing, Dean certainly didn't.

Ben was familiar with this feeling. Sometimes adults were fuckin' morons.

The blonde woman turned and flashed him a smile and Ben managed to summon up a quirk of the lips that seemed to reassure most of the adults he'd ever met that he was okay. Sam glanced over at the same second though and Ben caught his frown.


Ben didn't know what the fuck it was but Dean and Sam never believed him when he was lying. It seemed sort of BS that he was now stuck with the only two people in the world who didn't believe his BS. There was something completely unfair about that.

Ruby left a moment later and Ben went back to doing his math homework. Sam taught him now - more complete BS, he still had to do school?! - but he supposed it wasn't that bad. Sam sat down next to him, as if just checking over his work, so Ben played along. If Sam was gonna play it cool, he would too. If the giantess wanted to say something to him, then he should just say it.

"You don't like Ruby," Sam said bluntly, surprising Ben.

"Not really, no," Ben said challengingly. "Whadya wanna make of it?" he asked fiercely, turning to face Sam who was gazing at him with something like approval. Okay, confused much.

"Good," Sam said firmly. "In fact, if she comes near you and neither of us are around, shoot her and run."

One confused Ben, coming right up. "Uh…yeah?"

Sam slid out of the chair and crouched down to Ben's height, long legs folding under him like a gangly grasshopper. He still moved with an odd sort of grace, despite his lengthy limbs. Ben was envious, Dean was tall, yeah, but Ben really wished that Sam's height, by osmosis, somehow meandered over into his gene pool. That would be fucking boss.

Oh, Sam was talking. Time to pay attention again.

"Ruby thinks you're just around for a bit, keep out of sight and shut your mouth when she's around, got it?" Sam glanced over his shoulder at Dean coming into the room and stood slowly, "Just remember that, yeah?" Ben nodded and turned back to his math, which suddenly made a lot more sense than anything else at the moment.

"Oh, and number five's wrong," Sam murmured as he walked away, so Ben did the only thing he could at that moment - he flipped him the bird.


The Winchesters were special, there was no denying that. No one knew quite what it was that made them special, just that the whole family was simultaneously blessed and cursed with unnatural luck.

The Winchesters were the Key. The Key to a lock no one knew existed. No one except Lucifer. Lucifer - who'd only recently decided to go by the name of Ruby.

The Keyhole had only appeared when the Winchester men had started kicking the bucket. With John in hell, one of the three conditions was satisfied. One in hell, one in heaven and one… one fallen from good. Lucifer needed sway, she needed a single point of influence to gain a foothold. She needed two Winchesters dead and one evil - with that, the trifold would be complete.

One Winchester in Hell, one in Heaven and one beyond hope - and when Dean made his bargain and John escaped, she saw her chance and she jumped.

"Let go Sam," she cooed, stroking his hair gently as he sobbed brokenly over Dean's dead body. She smiled softly as she played with the long strands almost absentmindedly. "Let go and take the power," she murmured, "You can see Dean again, I promise Sam, you can save him. Just let go and fall, fall into the darkness." Sam made no attempt to reply and simply clutched at Dean's body harder. His fingertips dug into familiar worn leather as he tried to breathe past the pain that threatened to swallow him whole. His ribs ached and he could feel his lungs tightening with every halted breath. Bruises littered every inch of his body and his skin crawled wherever Ruby had touched it.

He'd thought he had gotten it; he was positive the ritual would work, but the hell hounds had come growling and with Dean unconscious from the ritual, in desperation he'd called for Ruby. She'd beaten back the hounds and then proceeded to beat Sam to Hell.

Sam couldn't move when she was done. Every visible inch of him was covered in deep cuts or quickly darkening bruises. He was half sure his arm was broken, but it didn't matter. The pain was choking him, paralyzing his every move. He was forced to watch through hazy eyes as Ruby called the hell hounds back on Dean.

He was forced to watch his brother die.


Ben fought against his bonds uselessly, ignoring the ache of his wrists and the throbbing pain of the ropes biting into his hands. Dean was dead and Sam was near to it and he was fucking stuck on the other side of the goddamn warehouse where he couldn't reach his guns or that stupid bitch who'd killed Dean.

Killed Dean. Killed Dean. Ben's whole body seized up as the words sunk in and his struggles grew more violent - violent enough to catch the attention of the demon bitch across the room. She gave him a disgusted look - one he fully returned - and the next thing Ben knew, he was flying across the floor, free of his bonds. This revelation was halted a mere second later when his head slammed into the concrete floor and he saw nothing but black.


As long as Dean was alive, the trifold had not been called into question. As long as Sam remained "good", there had been no opening for Ruby to slip through. With the elder two Winchesters dead, all Ruby had to do now was sit and wait and whisper.

"Complete the trinity Sam," Ruby's lips were barely moving, but her words were unmistakable. "Finish the circle and the power is yours." Sam tried to envelop Dean's body with his own, hide his big brother from the words of the bitch who had done this to him - problem was, there was no one to protect him anymore.

"Save him," she murmured insistently, her smile growing, her tone becoming sing-song almost. "One in heaven, one in hell, one left and who can tell?" Sam's grip on Dean tightened but his hands shook with the effort. She giggled in his ear. "Be the key Sam, save…" she paused, fingers drifting through his matted strands of hair, "Save Dean." That wrenched a cry from Sam, who wanted to give in so badly - with the power he could - could he see Dean? Could he find a way to get to him? He was dead and gone but if Sam gave in… if he - he wanted it so badly. With every doubt that crossed Sam's mind, Ruby seemed to grow warmer, stronger.

A longer pause, a soft kind whisper. "Save me."

Sam's hoarse sobs had dwindled down to wheezing and he was so damn close to giving in. Nothing mattered anymore but Dean. Finding Dean, seeing Dean, saving Dean.

"Yes?" came the voice that haunted his every thought. Sam raised his head, gazing at Dean through pain and tear glazed eyes.

Cracked and dry lips parted to speak the word, to agree, to give in, "Y-"

Then the familiar sound of a gun being cocked resounded in his ears. Sam slowly raised his head to stare at what seemed to be an apparition. Dean at age eight? Sam's heart rose with such hope - had something gone wrong? Had something happened, had - it took a moment for his brain to kick in, quieting his hopes with reluctance. Ben, his thoughts filled in for him, it's Ben.

"And who the fuck are you?" Ruby asked, her voice no longer coy or patient.

And for the first time in his life, Ben spoke the words, "Ben Winchester bitch, at your fucking service." He raised the gun, his hand level - and everything but the gun exploded.


With a fourth Winchester, the trinity was meaningless. All that power Ruby had taken rushed back to its owners, killing her in the process. Back to Sam. Back to Dean. It had seemed so anti-climatic to most who heard the story - a kid, talking, had beaten a demon?

With a single word, Ben had brought Dean back to life.

"And don't you forget it, bitch," Ben crowed weeks later. "My birthday's coming up in a few months and there are a few issues that I believe need addressing. Firstly, the lack of an AK-47 in this family, what are you guys thinking?"

The importance of being a Winchester never seemed so obvious.

And no, Ben didn't get an AK-47 for his birthday.


"Haha," Dean crowed, dancing up and down the sidelines at a soccer game of the intermediate league they'd managed to get Ben into during a long lull between hunts. "Man, Ben smoked that kid, what kind of punkass kids do they let into these leagues?" Sam winced, a hand going to rub at his temples.

"The kids of all the parents standing around you, Dean," Sam said, warning in his tone. Dean waved it off as Sam had expected he would, so he began packing up some of the stuff, in case they had to make another quick exit. Dean couldn't seem to avoid starting fights at these things. Ben thought it was hysterical that people thought they could beat his "dad" and "uncle". Dean thought it was pretty funny too - Sam, alas, could not find the humor in kicking the asses of angry soccer dads. And moms.

The whistle blew as the ref called a foul on Ben. Sam winced again - this would not end well. "What the fuck is that? Are you blind?" Dean started in on the ref and Sam began shoving things more haphazardly into his knapsack. "My fourteen year old kid could make a better call than that, Grandpa!" Dean bellowed across the field.

Sam settled his bag on the ground and made to stand. Dean apparently wasn't finished though. "Get off your knees ref, you're blowing the game!" Sam groaned aloud at this one and jogged forward to where the ref had crossed the field and come toe to toe with his older brother, the poor ref turning more and more red by the second. "You can't call a foul, that was a perfectly legal move and-"

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to quiet down and go back to your seat," The referee's tone was terse and he looked like he was milliseconds from punching Dean in the fact.

"And I'm going to have to ask you to-" Sam hurriedly cut Dean off.

"Dean, just sit down," He tugged at Dean's shoulder, putting himself between Dean and the referee who was glaring something fierce. Sam gestured at Ben who was watching avidly, as were most of the kids in the game. Those on Ben's team knew too well what could happen when Ben's dad went a little crazy. "Just let Ben play," Sam outstretched his arm, pointing past the ref's shoulder, opening his mouth to further calm his brother down - but then the ref snapped at him.

"Get your hand out of my fucking face," Sam blinked, startled. When he began to slowly lower his arm, he felt his finger enter a painful grip and without thinking, Sam jerked his arm and shifted his weight, sending the ref flying. His brain only took over when the ref was on the ground, shouting up at the two of them. Sam didn't need to hear the words to know that the three of them had been expelled from the game. The ref stalked off, shouting and waving his hands wildly.

Ben cackled as he ran off the field, waving goodbye to his friends on the team who were in awe. Sam stared blankly at the spot where he'd flipped the ref. "I just got kicked out of a game," he said, blinking rapidly. Dean chuckled and clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder, shaking his head.

"Correction, you got Ben kicked out of the game," Dean reminded him, tugging him back in the direction of their bags, where Ben was cheerfully rolling down his socks and loosening his shin guards.

"Doesn't really matter," Ben said, having clearly heard Dean's comment as they moved towards him. "The other kids on my team can smoke those bitches easy,"

"Easily," Sam corrected absentmindedly - just because Dean talked like a trucker didn't mean Ben had to. "I've never been kicked out of anything in my life," he said, still shocked.

"Dude, you flipped the referee, what did you expect? A prize? But man, that was fucking cool, like that movie with the-"

"Can you teach me?" Ben interrupted eagerly, ducking the automatic cuff to the head that he got every time he cut off Dean mid-babble. "My friends already think my dad and uncle are awesome but if I come back and say I know how flip people around like my uncle then-"

"No," Sam said firmly and Ben stared up at him with wide eyes. Sam weakened, wavering, "Maybe," he conceded and Ben cheered. "But you're only allowed to use it on jobs and on Dean and I in training and…" he started, trailing off a moment later as Ben sped off towards the car, clearly having ignored every word that had come after 'maybe'. "He's going to flip all his friends, isn't he?" Sam asked with a sigh and Dean nodded, snorting.

They neared the Impala which Ben had been bouncing around happily for the past minute or so. He froze before jumping up, as though the thought had just struck. "Dad, can we get hot dogs from that truck thing down the street?" Dean nodded absentmindedly, dropping Sam's knapsack in the back of the car as Ben cheered yet again and climbed into the back seat.

"You're a sucker," Sam said with a smirk. "Dad, can I? Please, can I Dad?" He dodged the fist that Dean swung in his direction, crossing to the passenger side door. "Getting old Pops?"

"Older than you maybe, Uncle Sam," Dean retorted, walking around to his side of the car. "Is that how you pick up girls now, 'Uncle Sam wants YOU… to suck his-" Dean was cut off by Sam throwing his knapsack over the top of the car, aiming for Dean's face. Dean caught it just in time and smirked. "Bitch," he grinned.

"Jerk," Sam muttered back, both of them ducking into the Impala at the same moment, doors slamming in tandem.


"Dude, do we have a camera?" Dean shouted, digging around in the closet of the tiny apartment they'd rented for a few months, wanting Ben to finish out his senior year in one place. His voice was muffled by coats and shoes, but Sam's reply came a moment later from several rooms over.

"Unless you managed to fix the one that Black Dog managed to eat, no," Sam called back, hunched over the ugliest ironing board he'd ever seen in his entire life. He was carefully ironing a tie, knowing that neither Ben nor Dean had thought of it, or would've. "Ben, get over here, your tie's done." Ben shuffled into the tiny kitchen, struggling to button the cuffs of his suit jacket.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Ben asked simply, holding out his arms in a silent plea for help. Sam chuckled and dropped Ben's tie over his shoulders before hauling one of his wrists up closer to his face.

"I hope Jen knows what she's getting into with your foul mouth," Sam said absentmindedly, fingers deftly working the cuffs, adjusting the length of the shirt beneath.

"She likes it," Ben said with a smirk.

Sam forced himself not to smile, but half a second later a "Haha!" echoed down the stairs, Dean clearly approving. Ben laughed and Sam just shook his head, starting on Ben's tie next.

"Dean!" Sam called up the stairs warningly.

"I, uh, I mean," came a voice, much closer this time. "Uh, watch your mouth?" A second later, Dean stuck his head around the frame of the door into the kitchen, grinning. "Man, prom. Good times." Dean nodded, as if he'd just bestowed profound wisdom on the other two inhabitants of the apartment and expected gratitude. Ben and Sam rolled their eyes in unison.

"Good times for whom exactly? You never went to your prom," Sam said with a snort. Dean waved his words away as if to say 'details, details'. "Got the camera?" Ben groaned and Sam nudged him hard with his shoulder. "Deal with it small fry, you're getting your picture taken, it's your prom."

Dean nodded, handing it over to Sam, who set the timer with practiced ease. When the camera flashed thirty seconds later, the Winchesters were standing together in their living room, identical grins plastered across their faces.


"Uh, Sam, Dean?" Ben's hesitant tone grabbed their attention. "I was wondering if I could talk to you guys for a sec?" Sam raised an eyebrow in question as Dean glanced up curiously, mouth stuffed full with fries. Ben slid sideways into the booth seat to sit across from them, the familiar feeling vinyl comforting him. "Uh, y'see, this town has got something a lot of other places don't and I was wondering if I could, y'know, take advantage of the fact?"

"Not following," Dean said after a moment of silence, Sam blinking. There was a long pause and Ben took a deep breath.

"A college, it's got a college." There was an even longer moment of silence which Ben took as a bad sign. "I mean, it looked like you guys liked the town, but if you don't, that's cool, I mean, whatever, it's just a college, but I got accepted awhile back since I applied and didn't tell you so I was thinking but if not then we can just go and-"

"Ben, shut the hell up," Dean said firmly and Ben snapped his mouth shut, looking faintly concerned. "Of course you can go to college, don't be an idiot." Ben's eyes widened.

"Wha- really? And I was thinking you guys could stay around for awhile, I mean just for a bit, you don't have to live here or whatever, but it's a nice town so you could but it doesn't matter I just-" Sam cut him off this time.

"I think we can settle for awhile," Sam said with a small smile. "We were thinking of taking a break or something soon. Perhaps retiring?" he glanced in Dean's direction.

"What? Are you saying I'm too old for this shit anymore?" Dean asked, mock-insulted. Sam smirked.

"Always," he replied promptly and Ben snorted.

"You both are geezers, it's time for the newer and hotter generation to take over. Ya'll just sit back and relax and make sure your dentures don't fall out." Seconds later, Ben was pelted by a handful of French fries.

"Old school beats new school," Dean pronounced as only one of his growing years could. "But yeah, I think taking a real long break sounds pretty good right about now. Four years or so? Yeah, no problem."


And there the Winchesters lived out the rest of their unnaturally cursed and blessed days.




AN: Please tell me this doesn't suck. Unless it does, then let me down gently but firmly. Reviews would be great, but reading it and telling your friends to read it makes me just as happy. Thanks for reading you guys.

AN: Written solely and only for Liss, just because. Miss you, love you, all that good stuff. Told you I couldn't give you peeks without spoiling it for you. It's Ben! This is for pretty much just being my best friend and for congrats for getting into a college that means I can see you all the time and for being generally amazing. 'Cause you are.