SPN fic (again!): Credence (1/1)
Title: Credence
Author: Bella Temple
Category: SPN, gen
Rating : PG13
Spoilers: 3x08.
Characters: Sam (wee! and not), Bobby
Disclaimer: The characters and basic premise within are property of Warner Bros, Eric Kripke, etc. No money is being made off this work of fiction.
Author's note: Much much much MUCH thanks to ladybug218 for beta-ing.
Summary: The story of an amulet in three scenes.
cre·dence \ˈkrē-dən(t)s\ noun: mental acceptance as true or real
"Uncle Bobby?"
Bobby looked down into a pair of large, warm hazel eyes peering up at him through a broad fringe of unruly hair. He wondered how long John would be putting up with this particular haircut. "Whatcha need, Sam?"
Sam looked down and to the side for a moment, biting his lower lip like he wasn't sure if he was about to get himself into trouble or not. It was an expression Bobby was familiar with; he just usually saw it on Dean's face, not Sam's.
"When are Dad and Dean getting back?"
Bobby swallowed a sigh. At least this time, he knew the answer to that question. John had just taken Dean out for a training run. "Hell, kid. They'll be back by dinner, you know that."
Sam nodded, looking around again, before going over to his small pack and digging in it for a moment. Bobby watched him curiously. Sam had always been the most curious of the three Winchesters and was known to bring in all sorts of things he'd found along the side of the road, in the junkyard, or out in the woods beyond. He just hoped it wasn't something dead, again.
But what the kid came back with was worse than any half-smashed sparrow. He held it up for Bobby to look at, hands clenched around the sides like he was worried about dropping it. Or about Bobby stealing it. A brown leather-bound notebook, one he'd seen a few times before, usually after John got back from a hunt.
"Why does my dad believe in monsters?"
Well shit.
Bobby let the sigh out this time and hunkered down low so they'd be on the same level. "You should be askin' your daddy this, you know."
"Dad's never home. And Dean won't tell me anything."
Bobby really should've seen this coming. "That's because he loves you, Sam."
"If he loves me, he wouldn't lie to me all the time."
Bobby could smack Dean, if the kid were in front of him. He really could. What was he supposed to tell Sam? "Do you tell Dean everything?"
"Yes," Sam said immediately. Bobby just looked at him, and Sam slowly deflated. "No. . . ."
"And why not?"
"'Cause he'd yell at me."
"Well, maybe that's why Dean doesn't tell you everything, either."
Sam frowned, but then nodded. Bobby could tell he was working on an argument against that one, and wouldn't bring the subject up again until he could refute it. Kid would make one hell of a debater, one of these days. Maybe keep his dad and his brother out of the slammer. Bobby reached out to scrub his hand over Sam's hair before easing himself back to his full height. "Come on, I'll letcha help me feed the dogs."
"'Kay. . . ." Sam went to put the journal back and then went to get his jacket. He stopped with one sleeve on. ". . . Uncle Bobby?"
"Yeah, kid?"
"Are the monsters gonna get my dad?"
Shit. Bobby should not be the one answering these questions. But John and Dean were still determined to keep the kid in the dark. Well, Dean was. And John, for once, seemed perfectly happy to follow Dean's lead.
"Nah, Sammy. He'll be fine."
"How do you know?"
"'Cause he's got me to help him out."
Sam gave Bobby a skeptical look.
"What, you don't think I can keep your daddy safe?"
Sam kept looking at him, silent and calculating. Bobby rubbed a hand down his face, looking for a way out of this one.
". . . Tell ya what, kid." He dropped his hands to his sides. "Christmas is comin' up, yeah?"
Sam nodded. He didn't look nearly as excited about the holiday as an eight year old should.
"Well, I got a present for ya to give your daddy. It'll help keep him safe." And Bobby headed straight for his back room, where he kept the charms and trinkets he picked up here and there on his own hunts. He wasn't entirely sure what the little golden amulet had been made for, but he had managed to confirm that it didn't do anything bad. And a little placebo could be worth a pound of real meds, when it came to kids. He dug the thing out of a box and headed back, only to find Sam waiting for him just outside the door. He ducked low again and held the amulet out for him. "There ya are, kid."
"It's a necklace."
"Amulet," Bobby corrected. "If your daddy wears this, the monsters'll have a bitch of a time getting him."
"How does it work?"
"Magic."
Sam gave Bobby another skeptical look.
"What, so monsters are real but magic ain't?"
This time, not having an answer for Bobby's logic seemed to reassure Sam. He reached out to take the amulet, running his small thumb over its face.
"It doesn't feel magic."
"And you know all about what magic feels like?"
"No," Sam admitted. "I can really give this to Dad?"
"For Christmas. That's what makes the magic work."
A nod, and then Sam's fist closed over the amulet determinedly, and he suddenly rushed Bobby, nearly bowling him over with a hug. Bobby rested his palm between Sam's shoulder blades and nodded. "Don't mention it, kid."
* * *
Bobby didn't see the Winchesters for nearly a year after that. The next time he heard the unmistakable rumble of the Impala in his drive, the second snow of the season had fallen and Bobby was using his rock salt to keep more ice at bay than demons. He looked out the window to watch Dean and Sam, both a few inches taller and wilder than they'd been the last time, racing each other to the trunk to unload the bags. John shouted orders at them like they were little soldiers and climbed the steps, flashing Bobby a bright smile.
Bobby's eyes flicked down to John's chest, then back up. Instead of "hello", he greeted the man with "Would it kill you to wear it?"
John was an accomplished actor -- no way he'd've lived this long in the game if he weren't -- but there was no feigning the confusion that rolled over his features. "Wear what?"
Bobby shook his head, not sure how to answer as Dean lead Sam up onto the porch, a duffel awkwardly balanced on his shoulder, and a golden, horned amulet bouncing on his chest.
"Never mind," Bobby muttered. "Well, don't stand out there and freeze, get your asses in here."
It wasn't easy to get a moment alone with Sam, that evening. It seemed as though he'd graduated into one of the team, and John and Dean were both busy with him most of the time, showing him how to clean the handgun that looked too big for his hands or sparring in the living room. John caught him watching the boys and gave only a defeated shrug.
"Kid's too smart for his own good. Figured the whole game out last year. 'Bout time he learned how to protect himself, anyway."
Bobby could only nod.
After dinner, he finally got the chance, sending Dean out to feed and exercise the dogs while John settled down to look through some of Bobby's new books. He asked for Sam's help drying the dishes, and as he handed the boy the third plate, he finally spoke up.
"Notice your brother's wearin' your daddy's amulet."
Sam shook his head. "It's Dean's. I gave it to him, instead."
"Yeah?" Bobby reached for a glass, shooting Sam a look out of the corner of his eye. "Why's that?"
Sam shrugged, his expression far too dark for a nine year old. "I'd rather the monsters get Dad than Dean."
And there just wasn't anything to say to that.
* * *
Six years after Bobby chased John off his property with his shot gun, two years after Sam and Dean showed back up on Bobby's doorstep before John died, one year after Sam and Dean showed up on his doorstep after Sam died, Sam showed up on Bobby's porch, bent nearly double under the weight of his brother's body. The first thing Bobby spotted was the fat drop of blood drooping lazily from Dean's fingertips.
"Stupid ass," he whispered, and stepped forward to take half of Dean's weight. "Sam, I'm so sorr -- the hell?"
The second thing he noticed was that Dean was still warm.
"He's not dead, Bobby," Sam's voice was strained and breathless. "It was close, but they didn't get him."
"Well I'll be damned."
A weak smile from Sam at that. "Please don't."
Bobby nodded, adjusting his grip and slinging Dean's arm over his own shoulders. "Well, let's get him inside, then."
The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth things he noticed were the wounds covering Dean's legs and forearms, each one horrible in its own right, adding up to a total that, on any non-Winchester, Bobby'd've figured dead would be preferable. As it was, Dean would never be quite so pretty again, not without a proper hospital, and with Henrickson still after them, that just wasn't an option. They were up all night cleaning and stitching him, Sam never saying more than three words the entire time. Dean himself was in and out of consciousness throughout, never quite aware enough to do more than moan and twitch.
The seventh and final thing Bobby noticed was the amulet, still resting on Dean's chest, as they finally settled him into a proper bed at dawn. In sixteen years, Bobby realized, he hadn't once seen Dean without it.
Sam followed his gaze. "It worked, Bobby,"
"What the hell are you talkin' about?"
"The hellhounds couldn't get him, not in the chest, back, or neck. It worked."
Bobby looked from the amulet to Sam and then back again. "Sam . . . that amulet's a piece of shit. It ain't even real gold. I just gave it to you to give your dad so you'd feel better 'bout him going hunting."
Sam shook his head. "No it's not. It's real. It saved him."
Bobby gave Sam a measuring look, then nodded slowly. "Alright then. You keep an eye on your brother, you got me? We sure as hell can't let him slip away from us, now."
Sam nodded, his expression bright. He looked younger now than he had since he was eight years old. "I will. I'll keep him safe."
As soon as he was alone, Bobby sorted through his books, looking up the information he'd stumbled upon a few years before. He'd remembered it properly; the amulet was a dud. It was older than hell, but it had absolutely no supernatural properties, good or bad. There was no way it could have protected Dean from the hounds.
He turned to the book he'd found a few months before, the one he'd kept hidden from Sam all this time. It was a book of prophesies regarding the Antichrist. Including a passage stating that whatever the Antichrist believed in with all his heart would come to pass.
"Hell, kid." Bobby ran his hand over his face again and half-turned in his seat to look back toward the room Sam and Dean were in, his fingers lingering over the pages of the book. "Hell."
The End
Author: Bella Temple
Category: SPN, gen
Rating : PG13
Spoilers: 3x08.
Characters: Sam (wee! and not), Bobby
Disclaimer: The characters and basic premise within are property of Warner Bros, Eric Kripke, etc. No money is being made off this work of fiction.
Author's note: Much much much MUCH thanks to ladybug218 for beta-ing.
Summary: The story of an amulet in three scenes.
cre·dence \ˈkrē-dən(t)s\ noun: mental acceptance as true or real
"Uncle Bobby?"
Bobby looked down into a pair of large, warm hazel eyes peering up at him through a broad fringe of unruly hair. He wondered how long John would be putting up with this particular haircut. "Whatcha need, Sam?"
Sam looked down and to the side for a moment, biting his lower lip like he wasn't sure if he was about to get himself into trouble or not. It was an expression Bobby was familiar with; he just usually saw it on Dean's face, not Sam's.
"When are Dad and Dean getting back?"
Bobby swallowed a sigh. At least this time, he knew the answer to that question. John had just taken Dean out for a training run. "Hell, kid. They'll be back by dinner, you know that."
Sam nodded, looking around again, before going over to his small pack and digging in it for a moment. Bobby watched him curiously. Sam had always been the most curious of the three Winchesters and was known to bring in all sorts of things he'd found along the side of the road, in the junkyard, or out in the woods beyond. He just hoped it wasn't something dead, again.
But what the kid came back with was worse than any half-smashed sparrow. He held it up for Bobby to look at, hands clenched around the sides like he was worried about dropping it. Or about Bobby stealing it. A brown leather-bound notebook, one he'd seen a few times before, usually after John got back from a hunt.
"Why does my dad believe in monsters?"
Well shit.
Bobby let the sigh out this time and hunkered down low so they'd be on the same level. "You should be askin' your daddy this, you know."
"Dad's never home. And Dean won't tell me anything."
Bobby really should've seen this coming. "That's because he loves you, Sam."
"If he loves me, he wouldn't lie to me all the time."
Bobby could smack Dean, if the kid were in front of him. He really could. What was he supposed to tell Sam? "Do you tell Dean everything?"
"Yes," Sam said immediately. Bobby just looked at him, and Sam slowly deflated. "No. . . ."
"And why not?"
"'Cause he'd yell at me."
"Well, maybe that's why Dean doesn't tell you everything, either."
Sam frowned, but then nodded. Bobby could tell he was working on an argument against that one, and wouldn't bring the subject up again until he could refute it. Kid would make one hell of a debater, one of these days. Maybe keep his dad and his brother out of the slammer. Bobby reached out to scrub his hand over Sam's hair before easing himself back to his full height. "Come on, I'll letcha help me feed the dogs."
"'Kay. . . ." Sam went to put the journal back and then went to get his jacket. He stopped with one sleeve on. ". . . Uncle Bobby?"
"Yeah, kid?"
"Are the monsters gonna get my dad?"
Shit. Bobby should not be the one answering these questions. But John and Dean were still determined to keep the kid in the dark. Well, Dean was. And John, for once, seemed perfectly happy to follow Dean's lead.
"Nah, Sammy. He'll be fine."
"How do you know?"
"'Cause he's got me to help him out."
Sam gave Bobby a skeptical look.
"What, you don't think I can keep your daddy safe?"
Sam kept looking at him, silent and calculating. Bobby rubbed a hand down his face, looking for a way out of this one.
". . . Tell ya what, kid." He dropped his hands to his sides. "Christmas is comin' up, yeah?"
Sam nodded. He didn't look nearly as excited about the holiday as an eight year old should.
"Well, I got a present for ya to give your daddy. It'll help keep him safe." And Bobby headed straight for his back room, where he kept the charms and trinkets he picked up here and there on his own hunts. He wasn't entirely sure what the little golden amulet had been made for, but he had managed to confirm that it didn't do anything bad. And a little placebo could be worth a pound of real meds, when it came to kids. He dug the thing out of a box and headed back, only to find Sam waiting for him just outside the door. He ducked low again and held the amulet out for him. "There ya are, kid."
"It's a necklace."
"Amulet," Bobby corrected. "If your daddy wears this, the monsters'll have a bitch of a time getting him."
"How does it work?"
"Magic."
Sam gave Bobby another skeptical look.
"What, so monsters are real but magic ain't?"
This time, not having an answer for Bobby's logic seemed to reassure Sam. He reached out to take the amulet, running his small thumb over its face.
"It doesn't feel magic."
"And you know all about what magic feels like?"
"No," Sam admitted. "I can really give this to Dad?"
"For Christmas. That's what makes the magic work."
A nod, and then Sam's fist closed over the amulet determinedly, and he suddenly rushed Bobby, nearly bowling him over with a hug. Bobby rested his palm between Sam's shoulder blades and nodded. "Don't mention it, kid."
* * *
Bobby didn't see the Winchesters for nearly a year after that. The next time he heard the unmistakable rumble of the Impala in his drive, the second snow of the season had fallen and Bobby was using his rock salt to keep more ice at bay than demons. He looked out the window to watch Dean and Sam, both a few inches taller and wilder than they'd been the last time, racing each other to the trunk to unload the bags. John shouted orders at them like they were little soldiers and climbed the steps, flashing Bobby a bright smile.
Bobby's eyes flicked down to John's chest, then back up. Instead of "hello", he greeted the man with "Would it kill you to wear it?"
John was an accomplished actor -- no way he'd've lived this long in the game if he weren't -- but there was no feigning the confusion that rolled over his features. "Wear what?"
Bobby shook his head, not sure how to answer as Dean lead Sam up onto the porch, a duffel awkwardly balanced on his shoulder, and a golden, horned amulet bouncing on his chest.
"Never mind," Bobby muttered. "Well, don't stand out there and freeze, get your asses in here."
It wasn't easy to get a moment alone with Sam, that evening. It seemed as though he'd graduated into one of the team, and John and Dean were both busy with him most of the time, showing him how to clean the handgun that looked too big for his hands or sparring in the living room. John caught him watching the boys and gave only a defeated shrug.
"Kid's too smart for his own good. Figured the whole game out last year. 'Bout time he learned how to protect himself, anyway."
Bobby could only nod.
After dinner, he finally got the chance, sending Dean out to feed and exercise the dogs while John settled down to look through some of Bobby's new books. He asked for Sam's help drying the dishes, and as he handed the boy the third plate, he finally spoke up.
"Notice your brother's wearin' your daddy's amulet."
Sam shook his head. "It's Dean's. I gave it to him, instead."
"Yeah?" Bobby reached for a glass, shooting Sam a look out of the corner of his eye. "Why's that?"
Sam shrugged, his expression far too dark for a nine year old. "I'd rather the monsters get Dad than Dean."
And there just wasn't anything to say to that.
* * *
Six years after Bobby chased John off his property with his shot gun, two years after Sam and Dean showed back up on Bobby's doorstep before John died, one year after Sam and Dean showed up on his doorstep after Sam died, Sam showed up on Bobby's porch, bent nearly double under the weight of his brother's body. The first thing Bobby spotted was the fat drop of blood drooping lazily from Dean's fingertips.
"Stupid ass," he whispered, and stepped forward to take half of Dean's weight. "Sam, I'm so sorr -- the hell?"
The second thing he noticed was that Dean was still warm.
"He's not dead, Bobby," Sam's voice was strained and breathless. "It was close, but they didn't get him."
"Well I'll be damned."
A weak smile from Sam at that. "Please don't."
Bobby nodded, adjusting his grip and slinging Dean's arm over his own shoulders. "Well, let's get him inside, then."
The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth things he noticed were the wounds covering Dean's legs and forearms, each one horrible in its own right, adding up to a total that, on any non-Winchester, Bobby'd've figured dead would be preferable. As it was, Dean would never be quite so pretty again, not without a proper hospital, and with Henrickson still after them, that just wasn't an option. They were up all night cleaning and stitching him, Sam never saying more than three words the entire time. Dean himself was in and out of consciousness throughout, never quite aware enough to do more than moan and twitch.
The seventh and final thing Bobby noticed was the amulet, still resting on Dean's chest, as they finally settled him into a proper bed at dawn. In sixteen years, Bobby realized, he hadn't once seen Dean without it.
Sam followed his gaze. "It worked, Bobby,"
"What the hell are you talkin' about?"
"The hellhounds couldn't get him, not in the chest, back, or neck. It worked."
Bobby looked from the amulet to Sam and then back again. "Sam . . . that amulet's a piece of shit. It ain't even real gold. I just gave it to you to give your dad so you'd feel better 'bout him going hunting."
Sam shook his head. "No it's not. It's real. It saved him."
Bobby gave Sam a measuring look, then nodded slowly. "Alright then. You keep an eye on your brother, you got me? We sure as hell can't let him slip away from us, now."
Sam nodded, his expression bright. He looked younger now than he had since he was eight years old. "I will. I'll keep him safe."
As soon as he was alone, Bobby sorted through his books, looking up the information he'd stumbled upon a few years before. He'd remembered it properly; the amulet was a dud. It was older than hell, but it had absolutely no supernatural properties, good or bad. There was no way it could have protected Dean from the hounds.
He turned to the book he'd found a few months before, the one he'd kept hidden from Sam all this time. It was a book of prophesies regarding the Antichrist. Including a passage stating that whatever the Antichrist believed in with all his heart would come to pass.
"Hell, kid." Bobby ran his hand over his face again and half-turned in his seat to look back toward the room Sam and Dean were in, his fingers lingering over the pages of the book. "Hell."
The End