Dean Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hasperkynipples) wrote2008-12-05 11:51 pm
hasperkynipples) wrote2008-12-05 11:51 pm
Entry tags:
[BCM] Prosperity
[Set in the “Revenge is Supernatural” verse, which usually isn’t written on this journal, but Dean wanted a prompt and all the prompting is here, so! Sam is ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
likely_evil, Anna is absit_omens, Bobby is maninflannel.]
Dean had his history teacher in high school that considered one of the best teachers he ever had. He was a history guy, who had been teaching for years, to the point where he knew he had tenure so he could teach however the hell he wanted, and there was nothing the school could do about it. Winkler was arguably psychotic, but when it came to everything but history, the guy knew his shit. And one of the most credible pieces of advice was when he talked about the one phrase of Spanish you needed to know if you ever traveled south of the border.
Una cerveza fría, por favor.
Dean didn’t tend to make it south of the border much—too much to do with the job—but on the few times he did, that was the one phrase he never forgot. Well, that and his numbers.
The trip down to Tijuana had been a bitch and a half with Sam in the back seat, but once they actually got here, things got so much easier. Dean had a feeling that was mostly because he wasn’t going to believe that he was actually going to get away with taking a real vacation until they actually got there. But here they were—all four of them.
Dean didn’t have a lot. He didn’t have a lot of money, he didn’t have a lot of material wealth. In fact, most of the monetary assets they did have were illegit, considering that that was part of the credit card fraud they happened to running, so Dean didn’t learn to count on a whole hell of a lot in the monetary sense. He learned to go without, and that was probably part of the reason why people like Bela Talbot pissed him off to no end—all about money, and no care for wealth that didn’t come in with a little bit of green.
No, Dean didn’t have much. But as he glanced back at the table where his family was sitting—Sam, Bobby, Anna, everyone who was important to him at the moment—and he knew that what he did have was enough. He had people who cared about him, and he was doing good. And he wasn’t dead. He really couldn’t ask for much more than that.
Well, with one small exception.
“Cuatro cervezas frías, por favor.”
396 words
likely_evil, Anna is absit_omens, Bobby is maninflannel.]Dean had his history teacher in high school that considered one of the best teachers he ever had. He was a history guy, who had been teaching for years, to the point where he knew he had tenure so he could teach however the hell he wanted, and there was nothing the school could do about it. Winkler was arguably psychotic, but when it came to everything but history, the guy knew his shit. And one of the most credible pieces of advice was when he talked about the one phrase of Spanish you needed to know if you ever traveled south of the border.
Una cerveza fría, por favor.
Dean didn’t tend to make it south of the border much—too much to do with the job—but on the few times he did, that was the one phrase he never forgot. Well, that and his numbers.
The trip down to Tijuana had been a bitch and a half with Sam in the back seat, but once they actually got here, things got so much easier. Dean had a feeling that was mostly because he wasn’t going to believe that he was actually going to get away with taking a real vacation until they actually got there. But here they were—all four of them.
Dean didn’t have a lot. He didn’t have a lot of money, he didn’t have a lot of material wealth. In fact, most of the monetary assets they did have were illegit, considering that that was part of the credit card fraud they happened to running, so Dean didn’t learn to count on a whole hell of a lot in the monetary sense. He learned to go without, and that was probably part of the reason why people like Bela Talbot pissed him off to no end—all about money, and no care for wealth that didn’t come in with a little bit of green.
No, Dean didn’t have much. But as he glanced back at the table where his family was sitting—Sam, Bobby, Anna, everyone who was important to him at the moment—and he knew that what he did have was enough. He had people who cared about him, and he was doing good. And he wasn’t dead. He really couldn’t ask for much more than that.
Well, with one small exception.
“Cuatro cervezas frías, por favor.”
396 words