Incipient |inˈsipēənt|
adjective
In an initial stage; beginning to happen or develop
[Editor's note]: Contrary to popular beliefs, Elena Gilbert and Dean Winchester did not meet for the first time in the fall of 2013. Technically they'd met years prior in an old salvage yard, but they were not aware of this fact. The only people who were aware were Mr. John Winchester, Elena's parents, and the owner of the salvage yard, Bobby Singer. All were deceased before the couple "officially" met.
July 22nd, 1994
"Dad, we don't need a babysitter. I can take care of Sammy on my own," Dean insists, tapping his foot against the base of the car. The Impala purrs beneath him, but the familiar feel does nothing to calm him down. "I'm fifteen, dad. You really gonna treat me like a child?"
"After that stunt you pulled last month, you're damn right I am," John snaps, not bothering to turn his attention away from the road. It was clear this argument wasn't worth his father's time, but Dean wasn't about to give up.
"That's bullshit and you know it!" Dean hits the dashboard with his open palm, the sound almost loud enough to wake Sam in the backseat.
"Hey, watch your mouth, son," John warns, casting a pointed look in Dean's direction. Dean shrinks back, melting into the leather seats. "I've made up my mind. You're staying with Singer until I get this case taken cared of. Shouldn't be longer than a week or two anyway."
"But dad—"
"I don't wanna hear another word about it," John hisses, finally silencing his eldest son. Grunting when Dean doesn't say anything, John reaches forward and turns on the radio.
The gravelly sound of AC/DC fills the car until the car rolls to a stop outside the old salvage yard. The sight of the rickety sign and stacked rusted cars is familiar. Sam and Dean had spent plenty of time here over the years, staying with old Mr. Singer while their dad hunted. They hadn't been here in a long time, though.
"Sammy, hey, Sam wake up." John leans over the front seat, gingerly shaking the young boy. Blinking his eyes open, Sam sits up and turns to Dean. He knew his older brother was trying to get them out of this, but one look was all it took to know he'd been unsuccessful. "Alright boys, grab your bags and head on up to the house. Bobby's waitin' for you."
Nodding, Sam picks up his bag from the seat next to him and clambers out of the car. After a slight hesitation, Dean follows suit. Dean watches his father drive away before putting his hand on his little brother's back and pushing him towards the house.
Bobby was always happy to see them. He had more than a few spare rooms in the place, but it was clear they were hardly used. The only people to stay at "Casa Singer" were kids like Sam and Dean—there weren't many of them—and the random hunter. For most this was just a pit stop, a wayward home with a grumpy old man for a roommate.
The man himself wasn't all that bad. Sure he was a bit of a drunk and had a mouth like a sailor, but he had kind eyes and a heart of gold. Dean really didn't mind staying with Bobby—if he was being honest, the old man was more of a father to him than John was—but it was the principle.
The brothers were there for a week before they got a call from their father. The case was harder than anticipated and John wouldn't be back to get them for a while.
"I don't know how long, Dean," John sighs into the phone, rubbing the crease between his eyes.
"Dad, you promised." Dean glances behind him, making sure he's out of Sam's earshot.
"There's nothing I can do about it. This witch knows how to cover her tracks. Take care of Sammy."
Dean can't get another word in before his father hangs up the phone. Sighing, he puts the landline back in its place before turning toward Bobby.
"I'm sorry," the old man says, clapping a hand on Dean's back. Dean just nods, not trusting his voice at the moment.
[Editor's note]: I feel it is important to mention Dean had a complicated relationship with his father. If I had room in this file, I would go deeper into the subject. I believe another angel has been tasked with writing a "Father and Son" file, and I truly wish him the best of luck.
Dean's about to go tell his younger brother the news when the phone starts ringing again. Hoping it's his father, Dean rushes to pick it up.
"Dad?"
"Uh, no," a deep voice says, causing Dean's chest to deflate. "I'm looking for Bobby Singer?"
"Oh, umm, he's right here," Dean mumbles, passing the phone over to Bobby. Confused, the old man takes the phone. It doesn't take more than a few seconds for his eyes to widen and for him to shoo Dean away.
Dean goes to tell Sam the news, assuring him dad's gonna be fine and that he'll be back before they know it. Sam knows it's a load of crap and that Dean has no way of knowing for sure, but he nods in understanding and returns to watching television as if it didn't affect him.
They sit in silence until Dean hears the familiar click of the phone going back into place and Bobby limps into the living room.
"Who was that?" Dean moves closer to Sam so Bobby can sit down with them on the couch, but the older man doesn't make a move toward them. Instead he moves toward a teetering stack of books, reaching up and plucking several from the top of the precarious tower.
"An old friend," he grunts, moving to rummage through a bunch of loose papers. He was clearly looking for something, but Dean couldn't tell what. "Looks like you boys are gonna have another bunkmate for a little bit."
"What? Really? Who?" Sam perks up at this, sitting up straight at the possibility of a new friend. At the moment, he had about zero.
"Not someone you're gonna be playin' with," Bobby tells him, scurrying off into another room.
Turns out Bobby was right. There's a knock on the door a couple hours later, and when Dean rounds the corner to see who it is, he's surprised to see a man holding a small child.
She had little hair, but what she had was clipped back with a pink bow. She wore a matching pink dress, which was bunched up around her hips due to the awkward way the man was holding her. Her big brown doe-eyes meet Dean's almost immediately and she squeals, reaching out toward the stranger in the way only naïve children can. Dean smiles softly at her before turning his attention to the conversation between the adults.
"You know I wouldn't do this if I didn't have to. But Miranda—"
"I know, I know," Bobby says, putting a hand on the man's shoulder. "I'll take care of her, don't you worry. Go get your wife back."
"Thank you," the man sighs, putting the child in Bobby's outstretched arms. "Thank you, truly." He moves a small duffle over the threshold of the house before looking to the young girl. She's still all smiles, reaching out her small hand to bump the man in the nose. "I'll be back, I promise."
With a chaste kiss to her forehead, the man is gone, climbing into his car and leaving behind a whirlwind of dust. Sighing, Bobby turns around with the child and narrows his eyes when he sees Dean.
"Well don't just stand there," Bobby snaps, struggling to hold the girl. Her attention has returned to Dean, her stubby little fingers grabbing at the air as she struggles to get to him. "I set up some blankets upstairs for her. Could you grab the toys off the kitchen counter?"
Still confused, Dean goes to fetch what Bobby asked for. Why the old man had kid toys Dean didn't know, but he scoops them up and heads upstairs. By the time he gets there, Bobby has already placed the girl in a fort of pillows and blankets, effectively trapping her. Dean smirks at the sight, raising his eyebrows when the child instantly turns to face him.
"What's her name?" Dean walks over to where Bobby is standing, setting the toys down on the table in front of them. The child's eyes follow his every move, but he restrains himself from turning to look at her.
"Elena Gilbert," Bobby answers, clearly distracted with rummaging through the bag the man left. "What the hell is this stuff? Baby formula?"
"Her parents are hunters?" Dean helps Bobby unpack the bag, finally glancing over his shoulder. Elena smiles at the attention, waving her arms until Dean turns away. Sticking out her bottom lip, she watches the two strangers curiously.
"Yeah, her mom..." Bobby trails off, shaking his head at the thought. "Yeah, they're hunters." Nodding in understanding, Dean pulls the last diaper out of the bag before leaning against the table. "She's only two."
Dean inhales sharply, immediately turning to stare at Elena. She copies him, breathing in hard and loud and holding it until Dean also releases the breath. Furrowing his brows, Dean cocks his head to the side as he scrutinizes the young girl. Once again, the girl repeats his movements, though she has trouble mimicking his eyebrows.
"Shouldn't she be talking or something? I thought two year olds could talk," Dean points out, quickly glancing over at Bobby. A sudden swell of something like caring fills Dean's insides, a feeling usually reserved for Sam and Sam alone.
"She's a quiet kid, I guess," Bobby suggests, shrugging. "She'll probably start up when she gets comfortable." Dean nods, working his jaw. A thought was forming in his mind, but he hasn't fully processed it before speaking up.
"I can watch her if you want," Dean offers, his mouth working faster than his mind. "You know I practically raised Sammy. I'm good with kids."
"No, no, I can do it," Bobby assures him, but he doesn't sound very convincing. Dean casts another look towards the child, the confusing instinct to protect her overwhelming.
"Bobby, do you even know how to put a diaper on?" When Bobby says nothing, Dean picks up one of the dolls and moves towards Elena. "I love kids. I got this, really. Go order some pizza or something for dinner."
"When did you get so grown up?" Bobby shakes his head on his way out the door, grumbling about the fact that Dean is still a kid in his eyes.
Elena watches him leave, but her big eyes find Dean the second the door is closed.
"I don't really like children," Dean admits, shrugging at Elena. "I don't know why I said I did."
Elena squeals excitedly, once again sticking out her hands as if to say Up! Up! Smirking, Dean closes the distance between them and sits just outside the miniature fort of protective pillows. Elena frowns, but continues to reach for him.
"Do you want the doll?" Dean holds it out in front of him and moves it up and down like he'd seen respectable parents do. Elena wriggles her fingers, giggling. "It's not like you understand anything I'm saying, but here."
Dean places the doll in Elena's outstretched hands, intending for her to take it from him. Instead she grabs onto his wrist, squeezing as tightly as she can. Furrowing his brows, Dean tries again to pass off the doll, but Elena refuses once more.
"Do you want the doll or not?" Dean didn't mean to sound so aggressive, but Elena's eyes fill with tears and her bottom lip wobbles. "Oh shit—please don't—" Unsurprisingly, Elena lets out an ear-shattering screech. Dean instantly panics, not knowing what to do to stop her face from turning tomato red. "I'm sorry! Shhh, I'm sorry!"
Dean scoops her up, bouncing her up and down on his hip bone to sooth her. It only takes a moment for her to stop crying, her big eyes blinking happily at Dean. Confused, he scrunches his eyebrows together before realizing.
"You just wanted to be picked up, little cheater," Dean says, laughing lightly. Elena laughs with him, putting her hands on either side of his face.
"Hello," she whispers, tracing Dean's face with her fingers.
"Hi," Dean whispers back, smiling softly at her.
For the week and half Elena stays at Bobby's house, the two of them are inseparable. Elena refuses to do anything endless Dean is by her side, screaming at the top of her lungs when he's not there. At first Sam teased Dean for it, but it didn't take him long to see how Dean acted around the child. There was some sort of connection between the fifteen year old and the two year old, though it didn't make any sense.
"Dad called last night after you fell asleep," Dean says, readjusting Elena in his arms. She was staring at him intently as if she understood his and Sam's conversation perfectly. "He should be back in a week or two."
"You don't sound very happy about it," Sam points out, still trying to scrub last night's dinner off the plates. Bobby was horrible at cleaning up after himself, but Sam didn't mind helping. Normally Dean would be drying while Sam washed, but Elena gave him a good excuse.
"I am," Dean defends, pausing only to look at Elena. "It's not like I have much choice in the matter, Sammy."
"I'm sure he would understand if you wanted to stay behind. I could stay too," Sam says, looking hopefully at his brother.
[Editor's note]: I would like to point out that Sam had a very hard time growing up in the hunter life. Later in life, he spoke of how miserable he was, but at this moment in time Dean was unaware of how unhappy he was.
"No, no. Even if I stayed here, it'd be better for you to be with dad," Dean tells him, moving out of the way so Sam can set the plate down. Sam's shoulders deflate ever so slightly, but he covers it up by picking up the next pan. "Do you think I should ask him?"
Sam looks up from the sink, taking in the way Dean gingerly adjusts Elena's bright pink top. Of course he had seen his brother care about things before, but this was different. His eyes were brighter, his smile bigger whenever he looked at her. Sam could see that whatever connection these two shared was unique.
"Yeah, I think you should," Sam finally says, smiling quickly before returning to the task. Setting his shoulders with new reserve, Dean nods before giving Elena his full attention.
Dean never got the chance to ask his father. A couple of days later Elena's parents show up on Bobby's doorstep, and Dean reluctantly placed the young child into her mother's anxious arms.
"Thank you so much for taking care of her," her father says, taking the bag from Dean's shoulder.
"No problem," Dean mutters, staring at the kid he'd grown attached to. She seems happy to be back in her parents' presence, but she keeps looking to Dean for reassurance that everything is okay. "She's a great kid."
"Yeah," the mother responds, clearly not paying any attention to Dean. He didn't blame her—from what Bobby told him, the hunt was bad. Her hair whips around as she looks at her husband, giving Dean a whiff of her vanilla perfume. "Grayson, we should—"
"Oh, yes, we should get out of your way," the father says, taking a step towards their car. "Really, I can't thank you and Singer enough."
"Yeah—bye Elena." Dean waves at her as the parents scurry off, his heart thudding painfully in his chest as he watches them strap her in the car seat. Confused, Elena squirms and makes an attempt to reach out for Dean. His stomach clenches horribly, his whole body rejecting the idea of saying goodbye to this child.
Before Dean can comprehend his body's reaction, the couple is off, taking the crying child with them. Feeling the familiar tingling in his nose, Dean runs a hand down his face before turning back to the house.
He told himself he would get over it, that she was just some random kid and soon enough he'd forget she ever existed. He did eventually, of course, because human memories are so unstable in their making.
But this was only the beginning.
Author's Note:
Thank you so much for reading the first chapter! I really hope you liked it. I feel like everyone usually just ignores their age difference or writes a story where they are closer in age, but this story gave me the opportunity to write about them at a younger age so I thought it would be interesting.
Anyway, I hope the whole "editor's note" thing makes sense now! If anyone is still confused just let me know. Thank you again for reading!
~ spnjackles