Chapter Text
Dean Winchester was little, he knew that, he could tell every time he came eye to eye with everyone else’s knees, but he could be an adult. He was sitting still, but his hands wouldn’t sit still like the rest of him. It was like they were moving around by themselves: crossing his arms across his little chest, fluttering on his thighs, or clenching the pink out of his fingers. He would be a man, even if his hands wouldn’t. His little pink lips settled into a frustrated, determinedly angry line.
“When an Alpha dies, he has to be replaced.” His uncle was explaining, “But we don’t want you to grow up too fast, and have all those people counting on you just yet, little man.” Dean wasn’t sure what he meant, but he liked it when his Uncle acknowledged he was a man. Didn’t you grow up the same time no matter what happened? “You’re the next one…but you’re too young. So I’m going to take your place for a little bit. Is that okay? So you can be a kid, still.”
Dean nodded, but he was confused.
“But Uncle Bobby. You said another Alpha only comes up when the one before him dies. ‘n den you said I’d be Alpha in only a little bit.”
“The rules your daddy put in place, kiddo. They make it so I have to take your place. And I have to go away when you come of age.”
“Can’t you change that?”
“We’ll try, .”
“I love you, Bobby. I do’wann you to have to go ‘way.”
“You’re gonna be a good alpha, kid. I love you too.”
[12 years later]
Dean Winchester sauntered through the halls, nothing to be unconfident about; his thick leather jacket, over shirt, tee shirt, under shirt, and six million other layers protecting him from the gazes of the world. Not bothering to carry books or even keep anything in his locker, Dean barely managed to stroll into his class in time.
Checking the clock and vaguely disappointed in himself for actually being on time, he settled himself in his chair. There were little clues in everything he did that whispered that he was set apart and this was one of them: Dean Winchester didn’t slouch in his chair, he didn’t plop down. Dean Winchester settled himself onto it, comfortable with his back straight and a commanding pair of shoulders thrown back, he sat as if everyone was, and should be, looking at him. Because they were.
At nearly 18 years old, simply a week away from it in fact, Dean Winchester was about to become the youngest pack Alpha in history of his pack. The rules had been made simply as a precaution – no one ever expected it to happen. Most Alphas were protected so by their pack members and followers that they didn’t near danger unless in battle, and there hadn’t been battle in hundreds of years.
His smile didn’t falter as he thought of the situation that brought them here, plastered there by years of faking it for everyone. His entire life had been under the eyes of his pack, and while he understood it was out of love and care...it made it awful hard to grieve. Strong Alphas healed quickly, and strong Alphas didn’t break down at night, crying and afraid of their futures. The pack was only to see a strong Alpha.
His mother had been Alpha. Female Alphas were unusual yes, but not unheard of, and accepted readily. She was Alpha – it was her birthright, and was anyone who followed her really going to question that? She had ruled well, been fair. She was well respected, and her son was allowed to bask in the glory of that privilege. It didn’t hurt that he looked just like her. He had her pale skin, intense, focused green eyes, and freckles that wouldn’t end. He had her full lips, commanding posture, and slim hips, and it certainly didn’t hurt to be reminiscent of the famed, if passed, leader when you were going to be the most inexperienced, and therefore most doubted, pack leader ever.
His father had been her Beta, her mate and her best friend. After she’d gone, he hadn’t lasted very long. He’d tried to remain strong, and stay, but his emotional distraught sort of…broke him, in Dean’s eyes. His dad just wasn’t right after. He became mean, he pushed too much, and while Dean felt the tug to obey his leader, his Beta, he had too much riding on him.
A few months after her death, Dean’s dad just left. He wasn’t able to stay around, live in a house where none of his Mary’s scent lingered, not the ghost of hope that he could ever pretend the hell he was living in wasn’t happening. You see, his mother had been in their house when it burned. She had been coming down the stairs to investigate a noise, when the explosion threw her backwards, against the top of the walls and the ceiling, spreading her far and wide, and burning the life out of her. Dean remembers one statement he heard whispered, half ashamed, in the crowd at the funeral, “For a woman so bright, so…vibrant, I guess…it seems a fitting way to go”
His father left him to go find the men who had lit the house up with that bomb. He’d just disappeared one day, with a shaky word written directly on the kitchen counter, just “sorry” emblazoned directly on the counter of his uncle’s house, with Dean left to look at every morning.
His Uncle, Bobby, had stepped up to the plate without any semblance of a second guess, and taken Dean as his own, like he’d never loved before and was now addicted. Bobby had become father, mother, best friend, and confidante; a seamless support system. So complete that it took Dean years to realize that not everyone had it, and it humbled him to a level he couldn’t explain. That the old man had seen so much, been through so much pain, and still loved his boy with a passion unrivaled.
Now halfway through his chemistry class, and realizing from the stirring bodies around him that he was meant to stand and go back to the labs, Dean sent a silent prayer up for his father, a firm belief in the universe deeply rooted early on by the man’s replacement. The teacher seemed flustered, having received a call from the office as they all moved
“We are halfway through the year, and chemistry compounds upon itself as a subject, what do you mean we have a new student?”
“Yes, I understand he has to have a science, I’m simply saying why couldn’t he take a simpler one, like biology,”
“Fine. Sam Wesson, you said? Alright. Send him when you can.”
Hazards of Alpha life were that no one deemed themselves worthy of getting too close. And though Dean had tried to dispel that attitude, it remained, ingrained by years of “Respect the Alpha” preached by parents. It made his wolf lonely.
When the door creaked open, Dean barely noticed. When the (still irritated) teacher started talking, Dean made a point of not noticing. When the teacher assigned the new kid to be Dean’s partner, the only open one in the class, why turn around? The kid was going to come to him anyways. When Dean finally lifted his eyes, and travelled up miles of arms and chest to reach a face he was already unconsciously leaning towards, he couldn’t believe he’d wasted all that time.