A/N: All right, I'll tell you the story of where this came from. See, I have this obsession, lately, and its call The Olympics. (Michael Phelps, anyone? He's my hero.) I'm not quite sure how I connected the Olympics to Supernatural, but I did, and this came out. I just thought it might be funny if Sam and Dean were watching the Olympics, and what kind of conversation they might have.
Disclaimer: I wish it were mine. I really wish it were mine. I really, really, really wish it were mine. But it's not. And the Olympics? I'm not sure you can own the Olympics, but that's not mine either, just for the record.
Might Have Been
Neither Sam nor Dean Winchester ever paid much attention to what was playing on the television. They were normally too distracted by research or conversations or something else. The tv was just there for background noise. Occasionally one of them would get sucked into a movie during the middle of the night, when they couldn't sleep. Or they would channel surf, searching for the Holy Grail of television programming. Or, of course, they could always fall back on good-old porn.
But today wasn't a normal day.
Sam's eyes were glued to the television and he wasn't hearing a word that his brother said.
"Dude, are you even listening to me?" Dean said when he didn't get a reply from his younger brother. He looked over, taking in Sam's rapt expression, and followed his gaze. "Dude, are you watching the Olympics?"
"Yes." Sam said, seeming to stir from his stupor a little. "And what was with the derogatory tone?"
Dean approached, flopping onto his own bed, facing the tv. "What, you like to watch little boys in spandex prance around doing crappy gymnastic—whoa." Dean cut off, his eyes widening as he watched the athlete flip through the air and land perfectly.
Sam smiled a self-satisfied grin. "That's what I thought." They watched in silence for a few minutes. Sam's expression turned from rapt to thoughtful and he leaned back against his pillows. "Hey Dean?"
"What do you think we might have been if we weren't hunters?"
Dean straightened, shooting the younger man a sharp look.
"What are you talking about, Sammy?"
Sam shrugged. "What do you think we might have been? If none of this had happened, if we didn't know that there were things that go bump in the night, what could we have become?"
Dean only eyed his brother warily.
"If we had dedicated our lives to something else, where would we be? Would we be lawyers, politicians, professional athletes? Would we be there—," he tilted his chin at the television, "swimming or boxing or doing something like that? Would we be authors, write novels? Be scientists, win Nobel Prizes? Be journalists, reporters, or maybe cops, Feds? Mechanics or doctors?"
Dean closed his eyes, letting his head drop to the mattress. "Sam, thinking about what might have been is only going to hurt in the long run. Because we aren't anything else, we can't be anything else."
"I know that." Sam wouldn't look at his brother, just kept his eyes staring right up at the white ceiling over his head. "I'm done trying to run away from what I am, what we are. But, if."
Dean hesitated, sucked in a breath and let it out. "If we hadn't been trained as hunters…well, I, naturally, would be a rich and famous actor, live in L.A. in some huge freakin' mansion with my beautiful wife and three perfect kids, and I would have money coming out of my ass I'd be so rich." He opened his eyes and cracked a smile. "And I'd be generous enough to take pity on you, and take you in when your landlord kicked you out and your girlfriend dumped you because you're such a complete loser that you can't hold a job. Don't worry, Sammy, I'd let you live in my garage. Maybe even feed you, occasionally."
Sam grinned, and the smile lit up his entire face. "Dream on. I'd be a kick-ass lawyer, always have to bail your ass out of jail, I'd be an award-winning author, and I'd win a Nobel Prize in my spare time. Have a nice house up in New England, summer homes in Aspen and the Hiltons, and a villa in France. You'd be hanging onto my coattails, begging for a crumb."
The two brothers grinned at each other and turned back to watch the Olympics.
If. Sometimes it hurt to think of what might have been, but sometimes it was fun to wonder. Sometimes it was okay to dream that there wasn't anything bad that needed to be hunted, to dream that they both had years and years to come, to dream that they lived perfect lives.
So long as they remembered, at the end of it all, that if was just a word, and no amount of dreams or wishes, could change their existence.