mimblexwimble | insights [spn][flash fic]

Title: Insights
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: Mary, Dean, Sam
Word Count: 880
Rating: PG
Summary: AU. Dean's raking crisp burgundy and caramel-colored leaves into a big pile. Mary watches him through the window.
Notes: Dean with high-functioning autism. Written for

sistabro for the prompt, "leaf piles".

Dean is a self-proclaimed landscaper. He usually spends his time outside on the lawn, mowing and pruning and edging and god knows what else. He's talked to the professional landscapers who do work for the neighbors, made friends with other people who love to garden. It is the one part of Dean's life that Mary is sure remains unsullied by unkind words or looks.

Today Dean's just raking crisp burgundy and caramel-colored leaves into a big pile. Mary watches him through the window.

This morning it was, "I'm tired of gardening."

Dean was staring into his cereal.

Mary set a plate of pancakes down on the table. "Is there something else you want to do?" she asked, as Sam used his fork to pull a pancake off the stack and onto his plate.

It was obvious that Dean had put some thought into it. He looked up at Mary immediately, his eyes bright and determined. "Hang out with my friends."

Mary didn’t say anything. There was a problem with Dean's plan, the problem being he had no friends. Mary knew that everyone in the room was painfully aware of that fact.

"We could do something together," Sam said quickly. "I wanted to watch this movie…"

Dean gave Sam a very long look, and Sam trailed off into silence.

"I have friends," Dean told Sam seriously, and then looked up at Mary. "I'm going to hang with them today."

After breakfast Mary watched Dean call up every single person who had been the least bit kind to him during his freshman year of high school – the only time he ever attended public school - three years ago. She watched him as he pressed the phone to his ear, as he got up to pace while he waited for someone to pick up on the other line and then immediately plopped back down on his chair when someone did.

Fifteen minutes later, Mary heard Dean asking to speak to Evan from the laundry room.

"Dean," she said, standing in the doorway.

Dean looked up, raised a finger to his lips.

"Dean," Mary said again, softly, walking up to him. "Are you calling Evan?"

Dean nodded.

"Didn't you just call him a minute ago?"

Dean looked down, and for a second, Mary thought she was being ignored. But she could hear a tinny voice coming from the phone.

"Okay," Dean said politely. "Thank you." He hung the phone up carefully, and then lifted it back up to his ear. Mary put her hand over his.

"Dean," she said. "Look at me, please."

Dean looked up.

"Sweetheart, you can't call people over and over. They'll get angry, because you're bothering them."

"I just want to hang out," Dean said carefully, and Mary sat down on the table across from his recliner.

"I know you do. But look. When I was younger there was a boy I liked a lot but he used to call all the time. Three or four times a day. Even though I knew he only did it because he liked me, it bothered me a lot."

Dean looked stricken. "You – did you still think he was nice? You didn't hate him after?"

"No," Mary said firmly. "I still liked him. But I wanted him to call less. Because I felt suffocated."

"You couldn't breathe," Dean said. "Like you needed space."

"Exactly."

Mary could tell it was a concept Dean understood.

"Just one more call?" Dean asked after a moment.

"One more," Mary agreed.

She went upstairs for a while, and when she came back down, Dean was still on the couch, the telephone set sitting in his lap. He stared down at it for a long time, a line between his brows. Mary stayed in the shadows of the hall. After a minute he carefully got up and set the phone on the table. He went to the coat rack, pulled off his green jacket and grabbed the keys to the shed.

The front door clicked closed behind him.

The garden crew from next door shouts out a hello to Dean and he looks up and grins, wide and bright and beautiful. He waves to them. As they get into their car and drive away, Dean's eyes follow, and lose some of their light.

Mary tries to swallow the ache in her throat.

Dean bends over his rake again, that line back between his brows. His pile of leaves is huge now.

There's a flash of color in the corner of Mary's eyes. It's Sam, racing towards Dean, determination etched on his thirteen-year-old face. For a second Mary wants to open the window, shout at him to slow down, stop, what the fuck does he think he's doing? But there is no one in this world who knows Dean better than Sam and there is no one in this world who loves Sam better than Dean. Dean looks up just in time, drops the rake and doesn't shy away or cower, simply opens his arms. Sam, still so much smaller than Dean, tackles his brother. They go flying into the pile of leaves, sending a shower of red and gold into the air.

Mary expects them to get up, start shoving leaves down each others' shirts.

Instead, they simply lie there, in their nest of leaves, their arms around each other.

Dean's chest rises on a sigh. Sam's eyes close. Mary turns away from the window.