Title: Baby Girl and Uncle Deano
Characters: Dean, Sam
Category: Gen, Humor
Summary: Baby Think It Over, Dean's ass. More like Baby Full of Bullshit.
Word Count: 1537
Disclaimer: This is my Father's world, but it's Kripke's playground.
Author's Note: For roque_clasique on the occasion of her birthday. She came up with the idea, not me.
Baby Girl and Uncle Deano
Dean did not know how he had ended up in the same sex-ed class with his geek little brother. It was total bullshit. Someone at the office hated him. Or hated Sam. Or hated them both. Or just...hated everything in the whole entire world. Because this? Was bullshit.
It might have been Dean's fault for never taking sex-ed before—he was a senior now, after all. But he'd always figured that he already knew anything they could teach him. And then some perky admissions lady had told him that he needed the credit to graduate at this school, and he shrugged and said okay. It might be fun, and maybe he could meet some girls who got all fired up just thinking about sex in the classroom, or something. You never knew what kind of freaks went to high school, and Dean liked the freaky girls.
And of course Sam went and signed up for it in his very first year and very first semester of high school, the little pervert.
"Do you all have your assignments?" Mrs. Bildung asked, holding up the sheet of paper from which she had just read all of the pairs for this project. Randomly assigned, Dean's ass. They did this just to mess with him. "I'll go through it again, and this time as I say your names, both of you need to come up to the desk and sign out your doll."
When she finally, after about a million years, got down to the Ws, Dean and his little brother went to the desk and got their baby.
"Dean, you hafta support the head!" Sam's fingers twitched as he reached out, eager to put all the baby stuff they had just learned to use and obviously not trusting his awesome big brother with anything. Anything at all. "It's gonna start crying!"
"Lay off, I know how to hold a baby!" Dean snarled, adjusting the heavy lump of plastic on his arm as he juggled his backpack and textbooks out of his locker. Going on the bus with this thing, and his hovering and anxious fourteen-year-old "partner," was going to be a riot.
"Let me hold it," Sam insisted. "You're not doing anything Mrs. Bildung said to do. You're gonna mess it up. We're gonna get a bad grade." His eyes were wide with panic at the thought.
Dean laughed, shrugging the strap of his backpack over one shoulder and heading into the flow of students moving toward the buses. "Oh, and this is what has you worried, isn't it? You just hate having to trust me with anything to do with your precious grades, don't you?"
"Dean, no, that's not..."
"Suck it up, Sammy." And he cradled the doll to his chest and gave his brother a glare. "This baby girl is just fine where she is."
It was bullshit, but it was Dean's bullshit.
Sam didn't get it. From Dean's glares and sighs and eye-rolls, he had thought his brother hated this assignment. Taking care of a plastic doll, he'd told Sam in a vicious whisper as soon as they saw the syllabus, was nothing like taking care of a real baby. Who did they think they were kidding? It wasn't going to prevent teen pregnancy by making these young potential mothers and fathers "think it over"—it was just gonna piss them off. Stupid and futile, those were the words Dean had used, and Sam had been mildly shocked that his brother knew how to use the second one in a sentence. Also bullshit.
Once Dean got that plastic baby in his arms, though, something had changed.
At the motel, Dean made a nest for the doll on his bed and refused to let Sam touch it. He might have even hummed "Enter Sandman" as he was tucking it in, Sam wasn't sure. He had the key on the bracelet around his wrist and had already had to use it a couple of times, but wouldn't even think about letting Sam try it.
"You just keep that stupid journal we're supposed to do," Dean told him. "And do your homework. You don't want to get behind. There might be a hunt this weekend when Dad gets back."
Sam rolled his eyes and wrote My brother is insane. I think he thinks it's real. on a piece of college-ruled looseleaf.
"Yeah, baby girl," Dean cooed as he sat next to the baby-nest and flipped on the TV, crossing his ankles and leaning back against the headboard. "You and Uncle Deano are gonna get along just fine."
"And how come it's a girl?" Sam asked. "It doesn't look like anything."
"No junk, Samantha," Dean proclaimed haughtily. "Therefore, it's a girl."
He's also kind of creepy about it, Sam wrote.
The main point of the "infant simulator," Sam figured, was to wake them up at night. It went off at supposedly random intervals that were way too close together, and every freakin' time, Sam woke up and pretended that he hadn't, even throwing in some fake snores for effect. Dean took care of it every time, yawning and smacking his lips but getting the key into the doll after a minute or so, but Sam didn't want him to get any ideas about handing the duties over to him now that it was less convenient.
Sam expected to hear his brother curse and complain, maybe call the thing names. Bitching about school was one of Dean's favorite activities, and this assignment was ripe for it. But Dean never said a word, not even when he thought he was alone in the night, taking care of a fake baby and staring blearily at the walls.
It was weird.
And that was definitely "Enter Sandman."
"It kinda feels like a baby," Dean said the next morning over Lucky Charms. "You know, when you hold it. It has the right feel and weight distribution. They did a good job designing it."
"But it's still bullshit, right?" Sam asked, blinking at his bowl. Spoon goes in cereal, then in mouth, he reminded himself. He slopped some milk on the table and wiped it with his cuff, jaw cracking with a yawn.
"Yeah, it's still bullshit," Dean said. "Stupid key, sticking it in her to make her shut up. That's weird and creepy. You shouldn't stick things in babies."
Sam snorted a giggle. "That sounds funny."
Dean glared at him. "Well, it's not. Sticking things in babies is no laughing matter."
Yeah, Sam realized, it kind of wasn't.
Dean is totally superly stupidly over-protective with this thing, he wrote in the journal. I think he thinks you should have a real bottle and diapers and stuff instead of a plastic key to make it feel better. I think he feels like his talent is being wasted.
"Nah, I can't go out tonight, though that sounds really, really hot and awesome," Dean said into the phone, sighing a little. "I have to take care of the baby."
Sam stared at him.
Then he wrote some more.
On the second day, Dean let him hold the doll, under careful supervision and only when it wasn't crying.
Sam felt weirdly honored.
He didn't write that down
The weirdest thing was when Sam complained about the crying at night and Dean told him to shut up, because real babies were even worse and who did he think he was, anyway? She was hungry, of course she was crying. Babies shouldn't go hungry, not ever.
Sam realized that his journal was probably way longer than Mrs. Bildung was expecting.
After just a week of what Sam had come to realize was complete and utter bullshit, he was tired. Really tired. Amazingly, stupidly, unbelievably tired. Freakin' Baby Think It Over.
Dean seemed to take the sleep-deprivation in stride. Of course, he spent nights up with Dad hunting monsters sometimes, so maybe this wasn't that unusual.
But wait, Sam helped out on hunts sometimes, too, yet the sleepless thing was definitely getting to him more. This didn't make sense. Maybe it was because Dean was older. But that had never been a factor before.
Did he mention that he was really, really tired?
"Time to go home, baby girl," Dean told the doll as they walked her into school for the last time. Today they handed in the doll and their journal. Today the bullshit ended and their lives went back to normal. Dean held the baby on his shoulder and patted her bottom, gently and fondly.
Sam couldn't wait to get a full night's sleep again. Dean seemed almost...reluctant to let her go.
"I thought you hated this." Sam gave him a bleary stare, standing in the hallway and making one last notation in the journal. "I thought it was bullshit. I thought it was nothing like taking care of a real baby."
"It isn't," Dean said absently, patting the doll again. "That was way, way better."
He kept walking. Sam was stuck, staring after him.
He looked down at the page in his hand and wrote one last thing. Dean will be a good father someday. I have reason to know.
Then he ran to catch up with his brother.