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Author of 121 Stories |
Author’s Rant: I felt like writing a bunch of random things that were too short to be posted alone. Angst, humour, mush and other stuff ahead!
Time frame: From 1983 to 2006 so there are mild season two spoilers!!!
Disclaimer: Not mine, not ever. Kripke and Co. own all the characters and the show owns my soul. Season two has just been so awesome so far. I don’t care if other people don’t like the new season, I freaking love it!
Rated only for bad words.
Chev? The freckles are for you!
It’s not always about the job. Sometimes it’s about finding a little bit of normality. Other times it’s about growing up. Now and then, it’s all you can do to cope.
Go By
Dean liked making his baby brother giggle. It was a nice sound – a happy sound. It helped him feel a little less bad. His favourite thing was to make Sammy’s toes poke his nose, ‘cause Sammy seemed to like sucking his toes and even though that was kinda gross, it was still real funny. Plus Dean liked to wave Sammy’s feet in front of him so the baby would try and grab them. Babies made so many weird noises. Dean liked to see what new ones he could get out of Sammy.Dean was also getting pretty good at knowing when to let Sammy win the game of Foot Grab, because he knew what it meant when the baby stopped giggling and started making weird hiccupping noises.
Dean played the game all the time, never getting bored of it. Sammy wasn’t good for much else anyhow – he was still too little. At least he didn’t cry so much now. Maybe that was because Dean knew when to feed Sammy and when to change his diaper. Daddy had taught him. Dean always wrinkled his nose when he had to do take over diaper duty, because Sammy was a stinker. And sometimes he peed right after Dean was done getting the new diaper on. But Daddy told him babies did that so Dean just put up with it. Besides, he remembered Mommy laughing about it too.
Dean touched Sammy’s toes to his teeny weeny nose. Sammy didn’t notice because Sammy was sleeping. Dean couldn’t do that so much any more, even when he was curled up next to Sammy in his crib. He couldn’t sleep after Daddy had read a bedtime story either.
Daddy wasn’t so good at story telling any more. He didn’t do the voices like he was supposed to, like he used to. Dean would, if he could, but he’s not too good at reading yet and talking isn’t something he likes to do.
But making Sammy’s toes touch his nose… that makes him smile.
Maybe if he shows Daddy, Daddy will smile too.
Dean’s asleep under a tree, a pink blossom tree, and Sam’s having too much fun coating his brother in petals. He’s trying to stay quiet, because he doesn’t want to wake Dean up, but it’s so much fun and Daddy’s laughing too.
Waking up with badly drawn dogs and cats on your cheeks is not a good way to start the day.
It tends to get worse when Dad grins and takes pictures.
Worse still when Sam won’t stop giggling and rolling around in hysterics.
Then it’s just sayonara ego! when the ink is permanent and won’t come off…
…on a school day…
He asks Dean, and Dean tells him it’s okay, it’s a ‘Dad-Thing’ and then he makes Sam go to bed.
Now, when he stuck his big toe in his mouth, Sam alternated between thinking it was cool and thinking it was gross, and John just eyed his son in the rear-view mirror, shaking his head and chuckling over the music.
John looked at the car for a moment, looked through the windows to where his boys sat. Sam was talking animatedly, arms flying everywhere and bouncing excitedly about whatever he’s chattering about. His brother isn’t nearly so energetic, but he nods and pays attention. A quiet sigh freed itself from John. He knew Dean hasn’t slept. The boy’s always had a lighter skin-tone but recently it’s been almost flushed of life. John’s pretty sure he’d seen ghosts with more life in their waxen appearances. Dean’s eyes are shadowed and distant. The car’s blackness is a startling contrast to the kid’s washed-out look. John feels something tug inside him and yes, of course he knows he should probably do something about it. Jim had been concerned with Dean’s quietude and his dogged attachment to Sam. He’d told John about how he’d found Dean sitting on Sam’s bed every night, his own untouched, his eyes never closing.
“He’s sorry, John,” Jim had said when John came for the boys. “You need to let him know that it’s okay. We know he’ll never do it again.”
John nodded but the damage was done, the huge what if Sam had died? still enough to twist his gut into knots. And that damn Shtriga was still out there… Gone for years and the sick children would all die.
But at least Sam was okay.
Dean hadn’t been talking. John knew that was bad. He knew Jim wasn’t exaggerating the matter. But still… John was struggling to give the kid a break. He had to learn. Dean had left his brother just once and Sam almost…
How was he supposed to trust Dean with his brother from now on?
…John was good at ignoring the voice that said ten-year-olds shouldn’t be relied on to do their father’s duties.
Dean suddenly looked out the car and met John’s gaze. He must’ve found something in his father’s expression that John wasn’t aware of, because Dean looked away as fast as he could, blinking hard and forcing emptiness onto his face.
John felt the guilt squirm through him, strengthening as he returned to the car, warring with his anger. John figured he’d do something about it soon.
Sam thinks it’s ‘cause of all the stuff they did today – running through the woods (with packs full of rocks ‘cause that made it harder and Dad said something about that making Sammy better than all the other people in his class, and wouldn’t that be neat?). They'd played football too… only not exactly. They didn’t have a ball to play with. Dad was just teaching them how to tackle.
Sam knows the real reason why they do all this stuff. He’s not a baby any more.
He just doesn’t notice how his brother practically stayed awake for a week to make sure nothing else came to get him.
But John knows. And as he carries Dean from the chair to the bed, Sam helping by pushing back the motel bed’s covers, he promises himself and his son that he’ll try to let Dean know it’s okay. I’m still angry son, but it doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore.
Sam just grins, as if the coolest thing ever is him staying awake longer than his brother.
Tonight he’s talking to Jonny Quest.
Dean laments Saturday morning cartoons.
Sam’s asking Jonny if they can go travel the world and chase down megalomaniac criminals.
Dean thinks the supernatural is enough to keep them busy.
Baby puke versus blood. John knew which one he’d rather deal with.
“Sorry Mary,” he whispered as he tossed his boys’ blood-speckled jeans into the washer.
He thinks maybe he should write it all down. My Mom, by Dean Winchester. She had long blond hair, knew everything I didn’t know, taught me how to hold Sammy without hurting him, and died, pinned to the ceiling and trapped in a fire, when I was four.
Sam didn’t think that was fair, Dean out-sleeping him.
So he pulled a feather out of the pillow, got up, pulled Dean’s blankets down and tickled his feet. Sam snorted when his brother’s leg twitched and shifted away to get free. Sam just chased after the pale appendage, brushing the feather back and forth until Dean woke up with an unintelligible gush of meaningless words.
Sam couldn’t stop laughing. Dean wasn’t so amused.
Next time, Sam was gonna go for the nose.
Dean thinks he’s getting too old for games. But when Dad joins in, he’s just as enthusiastic as Sam.
Sammy’s always relegated to the dishes.
John grins into his coffee. His little man is a pretty good little woman. But he doesn’t mention that to Dean.
He’s saving it for Sam.
“Jerk.”
“Baldy.”
“Housewife!”
…well, John figured Sam earned it.
“Yup.”
“Cannibal ghosts?”
“Yup.”
“Cannibal ghosts that only like eating guys with light skin?”
“Yup.”
“Is that some kind of Native revenge thing Dad?”
“Yup.”
John and Sam turned to Dean. Sam grinned. “It’s your turn to be bait.”
Why is it he can deal with ghosts, demons and creatures from hell without feeling sick, but confrontations between Dad and Sam leave him trembling? When they’re are going at it, Dean feels like his knees will give out. Sometimes tears blur his eyes.
But he doesn’t let that stop him from throwing the door open, stepping in-between them and shoving them apart.
They're ripping him in two and they don't even know it.
Sometimes, he’s a brother. Other times he’s practically a parent. And sometimes, these times, he’s the only adult in the room.
That’s because Sam’s getting so frickin’ tall and not too long ago, his bony knee cracked into Dean’s groin and ever since then Dean’s been a little protective.
John and Sam have no sympathy for the shortest member of the family.
Bastards.
This argument is beyond Dean’s negotiating skills. It’s been coming for weeks… hell, years. But then it started closing in and it rushed up all too fast and now it’s just too late.
Sam exploded first. Dad blew up one I’m going to Stanford and you can’t stop me later. It was both amazing and terrifying to know that beneath the puppy-dog eyes and sincerity, Sam had a temper worse than John’s.
Dean thought if anger were a power source, John and Sam would be lighting up the entire the entire Eastern Seaboard by now.
He had tried to defuse the situation, putting down most of the smaller arguments that had preceded this big one. They used him as a listening post, pouring out how frustrated the other made them. It was all falling down, shredding to pieces in front of Dean's eyes and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He'd tried and he was failing... he'd failed. Dread worse than anything Dean had ever known started rising deep in his stomach. He knew what was coming. He knew it. He knew all the signs and they had been coming thick and fast. This though…
Beginning of the end. Apocalypse. Doomsday.
Ka-fucking-boom.
Dean’s ears were still ringing. Sam was gone with all his stuff, gone to California, to Stanford, gone to his future.
We can’t go with him.
I can’t go with him.
He’ll always regret those words. So, so stupid. He had one hell of a temper, and his son did too. But as much as he wanted to be the adult, the good father, he can’t call Sam. He might be a father, but his pride was always an unruly bitch.
Still, California’s always a nice place to swing by, even if it is on the other side of the country and John had to drive for days without sleeping just to get there.
Everyone thinks Sam is just a naïve Kansas boy. Maybe he is. Maybe he isn’t. He doesn’t always fit in, but he’s working on it. Maybe he’s working on that more than he’s working on studying.
College is hard in a really different way.
Sam loves it.
And his roommate laughs when Sam calls him Dean.
…okay, so he wasn’t expecting to get them period.
Doesn’t matter though. The women love it.
He let out a breath and he couldn’t help but smile.
Jess.
Everything was perfect now…
…So long as he kept his thoughts away from that, him and him…
Sunshine through blond hair and laughing smiles were so good for erasing his past.
Jess.
His other son is doing his work, just like his Daddy told him to.
John picks up the phone, calls Dean. He’s saying goodbye without ever using that exact word or phrasing like it.
And he’s saying it to the voicemail.
He has to protect his boys.
He had to get Sam.
Why?
Shit, there were more reasons than he had time to think of.
Sometimes he can’t stop thinking. Other times he’ll suddenly snap out of a blankness that lasted for too many empty hours.
Dean’s there and he’s not there. He’s there but it’s different. Is Dean even trying to bridge the gap? Sam is hardly in a mindset to notice. All he knows is that his brother is quiet, thoughtful but reserved and a little distant. Uncertain, that’s it. They’re both lost, although Dean’s just taken a wrong turn while Sam’s blindfolded and stuck in a labyrinth.
But right now he needs someone to help him.
It’s just too quiet. He doesn’t like quiet anymore. It’s the thing that breaks him in the end.
And when the tears come, Dean is there.
Except dot-to-dot. If Sam tries that crap again, he’s going to regret it.
First they were in Lawrence and he was back in that house. His legs had trembled with every step and his mind screamed run the hell away! But he stayed.
And Mom was still there. She was still there and he almost shot her.
It was all so very, very messed up.
My Mom, by Dean Winchester. She had long blond hair, knew everything I didn’t know, taught me how to hold Sammy without hurting him, and died in a fire when I was four. Then we found out she was a ghost. Now she’s really, really gone.
But at least Sammy kinda got to meet her.
Then there was Max.
Psychic powers didn’t make Max and Sam the same.
Sam couldn’t bend spoons and he couldn’t turn into a killer.
Dean was the one who did that kind of killing.
Sam figured he and his dad should’ve been on that list.
This is the first time he’s felt himself rip Dean’s chest open.
What if he dies?
No. Nu-uh. That wasn’t going to happen.
Sam knows what’ll wake Dean up.
Only pleas and threats don’t get through this time, and Sam’s pretty sure a feather under the nose won’t do the trick either.
Dad is dead.
Dead.
Dad.
Two words that end in a solid D.
Dead Dad.
Deh, dah, duh …
Dead.
And Dean knows the truth.
“Clowns.”
“Planes.”
They have to laugh.
Dean had earned a few new lines around the eyes.
He thought he die before he had a single one.
The grey hair would be next. Dad had had his fair share.
Dead.
Dad’s dead.
Died. He died. Dad died.
And Dean knows the truth.
…it’d just have to wait until the damn cast was off.
Yeah, he was going to take that rain check one day…
…even though Sam knew what Dean was thinking and he had no words to make it better.
Dad’s dead.
Sam’s been having visions and Dean can’t stop them.
Dean knows the truth.
Dad’s gone but Dean’s still got a job. He’s got a lot of anger and just as much sorrow, but he’ll always have a job.
Take care of Sammy.
Dean sees the cast and grins. It’s been way too long since he got to leave notes on one of those.
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