Don't own 'em, just love 'em wished to hell I worked for Kripke
Dean had delicate features for a hunter right from the git go. It seemed like he was born to remind John of Mary long after she was gone. Back story to how Dean got his signature hair cut.
The first time John saw his first born son was when the nurses placed the pink blanket wrapped bundle in his wife's arms.
The baby was beautiful. Eyes already open, little clenched fists flexing in the air and man did that kid have lungs! But Dean soon calmed when he heard the low tones of his mother's cooing voice as Mary held him. His perfect bow lips pursed in a pout as he concentrated on those sweet murmurings. Like he recognized the tone already as being his mom's.
John was beaming by the bed in sheer delight, he didn't know he could have ever felt this much love instantly fill his heart until he saw his son for the first time. Then he looked over to the other couple holding their little boy and noticed their's had a blue blanket.
Still smiling he touched the passing nurses elbow, nodded toward his son and asked, "Why does he have a pink blanket?".
"He?" the nurse glanced at the now peaceful infant being held in Mary's arms and frowned, then walked over and gently lifted up the tiny wrist to read the Hospital band: Baby Boy- Winchester, Dean
She looked back down at the perfect features and blushed, "I'm sorry, he's so beautiful the Candy Stripers must have mixed up the receiving blankets thinking he was a girl. I'll get him a blue one right now." then she paused, "you're going to have a real heart breaker on your hands with that one." and she winked good naturedly to John as she went to do her errand.
Mary had wanted her little man to have longish hair for the first four years, at least until he entered preschool. But between the radiant golden locks, those perfect bow lips and impossibly large expressive eyes with their thick long lashes despite how masculine they dressed him up people were always 'ooo-ing' and 'ahhh-ing' on how pretty a child their daughter was.
The first few times John had to correct them it was ...understandable, he'd read the books about how a baby's looks change as they mature, flip flopping between looking like bald old men and then into various degrees of cuteness.
But every goddamned day they took Dean out for a walk in the stroller?
John's teeth would start to go on edge the minute the first person approached and crouched down for a better look. It was bad enough they had named the kid after his grandmother but now he was wondering if the mistaken identity would ever stop!
"Oh what a beautiful little girl you have!" was the standard response.
John would smile tightly and say, "That's M' boy, name's Dean."
The complimentor would blush and then stumble through some apology about how VERY handsome the little guy is!"
And John would humbly tell them, "he took after his wife, she's the good looking one." Which brought sighs and smiles until the next person stopped him to take an admiring look. And John would have to correct them too and so on along the route.
One of John's favorite memories is Dean's fourth birthday. John steadied his little boy with his hands as the toddler stood on the chair by the kitchen table about to blow out the candles of his cake. 'Everything about him,' he thought, 'That same smile, that same hair, he even had that same mischievous glint in his eyes when having fun, yep, he'd inherited much of his wife's features.' But he was all boy on the inside as he grinned at the cake with the 'Thunder Cats' motif and told his dad he'd beat up their arch enemy Skelator someday.
"I'm sure you would Tiger." John fondly remembers saying as a proud smile played across his lips.
But after the fire...after he lost Mary. He found it increasingly more difficult to explain to strangers how Dean looked so much like his wife when they made the mistake of saying it was good he still had both a son and a daughter left.
And eventually John just couldn't do it any more so Dean got his first big boy haircut. The barber moved the razor over the flaxen Dutchboy locks and John watched each tendril gently fall to the ground and land at the base of the barber's chair. Dean was fascinated by the buzz of the haircutter and giggling said it tickled.
It wasn't until the barber swung the boy around to see himself in the mirror that his eyes grew wide, began to fill and his lower lip began to wibble. John's eyes were equally beginning to fill but he got straight up out of his chair and went over to his son and patted him gently on the back telling him how grown up he looked, how proud he was of him for being such a good boy in the chair and would he like some pie as a reward from the diner next door?
The little boy still looked stricken, lower lip in full on pout as he stared at his reflection but nodded once at the mention of pie.
While the barber brushed stray hairs off the boy's shoulders and helped him slide down off the booster seat from the chair John gathered up up his youngest and opened up his wallet to pay the bill.
But as Dean's dad put the money in the barbers hand he asked a favor of the man. Dean was too busy looking in the mirror and running his little hand over the short spikes that now covered his head to hear what was said. But the barber passed John something small, like a business card only it was a clear pouch that his dad had reverently placed in his wallet.
Years later Dean would find that pouch as he was going through his fathers effects. It was a lock of golden hair. The same color his mom had once had. At first his heart skipped a beat... thought it was hers. But then he realized...no. The fire had taken away every trace of her. It was his own. He looked down at the small packet again and slowly put it in his wallet for safekeeping, because, like his dad, it reminded him of her... as well.