Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Dexter. Written purely for profitless entertainment.
Warning: Light spoilers for the first half of season 6! If you don't know what's up with Sam, then don't read. Spoilers for Dexter to season 4! You have been warned! I mean it-don't come crying to me later…lol.
Author's Note: Ok, so in SPN season 6's "All Dogs Go to Heaven," Dean calls Sam "Dexter." This had me rolling on the floor laughing. So, I thought, what if both the boys had watched the show. So, this story was written from comedic inspiration but ended up being more of a dramatic one-shot. Go figure. Featuring souless Sam and domesticated Dean. *shutters* Set during the year between S5 and 6.
Dexter Morgan is Not a Role Model
When Dean arrived home, he realized two very important things. The first was that he wasn't expected home from the bar until after ten. The second was that Lisa had a secret obsession.
From the stunned, wide-eyed expression on her face, he would have suspected that there was another man in the house. Instead, there were two other women, about Lisa's age-and as kinky as that could have been, they weren't half dressed but, instead, sipping fruity mixed drinks Dean wouldn't order if his life depended upon it and giggling about someone named Debra's sex life.
"Dean," Lisa smiled. The expression was forced. "I thought you were going to hang with the boys tonight."
Dean smirked, catching the eyes of the other ladies who were whispering fiercely. He had no doubt he was probably the subject. Hopefully he passed whatever test was currently taking place. "Did I interrupt poker night?" he asked.
Lisa patted him on the arm, trying to steer him away from the living room, but Dean's eyes found the cake on the coffee table. I had just been sliced. White frosting with red…splatters? And the name "Dexter" in clunky brushed letters in the same blood-red frosting.
"Who the hell's Dexter?" Dean muttered.
Lisa's skin was dark, a feature Dean adored, but he was around her enough to see when a blush was rising below the surface. "Maggie and Jane and I were just celebrating the new season of a show we watch, that's all, Dean. Ben's upstairs finishing up some homework-why don't you go see if he needs any help?"
"Dexter…" Dean's brow wrinkled. "Wait, wait-you mean that show about the serial killer?"
"It's about to start," one of the women hissed, and pulled the other to the couch, plopping down. "Lisa, come on!"
"Wait," Dean shook his head, no able to hide the confused grin on his face, "you ladies are seriously into this? Cheering for the serial killer? Sounds a little out there to me."
Lisa slapped his arm. "Dean!"
Dean held up his hands in surrender, but Lisa had already slipped past him, settling beside the other women, engrossed in the seasonal preview: hiding, living a lie, sliding one knife after another into evil doers… Dean slid out of his jacket and took to the recliner.
"Not exactly a role model," he muttered, transfixed, nevertheless.
Sam had picked up the girl at the diner. When she had sated his appetite, he had brushed her out the door. Unfortunately, that left him with the rest of the evening without any form of entertainment. He flipped on the television, and suddenly remembered the day of the week.
Did this hotel offer Showtime? He wasn't sure… He flipped through the stations, finally stopping. The intro music was still playing. Sam scrambled for his notepad and perched on the edge of the bed, as if preparing for class.
The idea had come to him when, while researching a case, he'd noticed an internet trailer for the premier. Sam had known, since he'd "resurfaced" after the big fall, that something inside him wasn't quite the same. He didn't work the way he used to. Didn't hunt the same. Wasn't that it was any worse, no. In fact, he was better at his job. But it seemed there was some sort of trade-off. Sam couldn't pretend to be the man he was any more. When he was himself, his new self, his bluntness scared witnesses, his actions drew attention. He couldn't be a decent hunter if he was constantly drawing attention to himself. He had to adjust his methods.
Remembering who he had been, how he used to behave, wasn't enough. It was too hard.
So, when he'd noticed this particular show, saw the protagonist's mental state was something familiar to him, Sam had decided to study this Dexter Morgan's methods for coping with the outside world.
And Dexter was proving to be quite the role model. Sam found himself, dare he admit, impressed by the character's kill ratio. But then, Dexter had a voice in his head, Harry, a father figure, reminding him what lessons he'd been taught.
That had been the first lesson Sam had applied to his own life. If his actions were drawing attention, he imagined a similar figure reminding him of how to behave himself. How to pretend sympathy. How to engage a woman.
If memory served, it shouldn't have been a surprise to Sam that Dean was that glowing figure, reminding him how not to get caught. But Sam didn't quite understand Dean's Code all of the time. It didn't make sense to him. It slowed him down. He only used it when he needed to.
Still, the lesson was learned. And Dexter still had plenty more to teach him.
Dean found himself a little pale as the show went on, the premise coming to full light. The backstory showing itself, the women explaining what he'd missed. It should have been a perfectly normal situation, a group of friends watching a television show together. How much tamer could the evening get?
The cake was divided up, packed in Tupperware to leave with the women Lisa was currently showing the door. Dean hadn't moved from his seat. Hadn't had the stomach to eat his cake.
"Dean…" Lisa had a slight smile on her face, but there was worry in her eyes. "You alright?"
He faked a yawn, stretching his shoulders. "Yeah, just gonna unwind a few minutes more. Catch the news."
She nodded. "I need to make sure Ben made it to bed. See you upstairs."
Dean stared after the spot where she'd been standing, shame written across his face. Because he knew exactly what she was to him. This beautiful woman with her son, her life, her spirit. She was a Rita.
And Rita died.
It was a hard conclusion, but he'd felt the truth in it slowly seeping into him as he'd watched the episode. The aftermath. How was what he'd done so different from Dexter? A false life to cover up what he was, what he had been, pretending to be a dutiful mate, a loyal employee, a good citizen. And yet the dark deeds, the need for the hunt, circled his mind almost constantly. A constant worry that his hunts would catch up with his pretend family. Get them hurt. Slaughter them in the night. All because of what he'd done.
And yet there was no leaving it. This false normalcy. He'd made a promise. From what he could gather, so had Dexter, to his father. Because if the world knew the truth… Well, there was no place out there for their kind. For those who hunted evil. Because to them, killing was killing, even if it was bad guy at the other end of the knife.
No, Dexter Morgan wasn't exactly a good role model. Dean took a sip off the warm beer sitting at his side, staring at the blackened television screen. Dexter wasn't a great guy, shouldn't be teaching any life lessons any time soon. Not a role model for good behavior. But neither was Dean Winchester.
"You coming, Dean?" Lisa called, her bare legs taunting him from the stairs.
Dean nodded, licking his lips, and gave his house, his cover, a once over. He should leave. Pack up and go. But he couldn't. It would be against his code. "Be right there, baby."
End Notes: Ok, hope that entertained you in some way, shape, or form. Have a happy New Year!