Human Kindness
Title: Human Kindness
Characters: Sam, Dean, OCs.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural related.
Word count: 1752 words.
Summary: Who are those strangers who moved in across the street?
A/N: Written for the Dean-centric h/c comment fic meme on hoodie_time, in answer to wave_obscura's prompt: "I'm craving some outsider POV. That mysteriously tall guy who lives across the street looks so worn out all the time, which is understandable, since he has to look after his chronically ill and/or permanently injured brother (or boyfriend). They totally need a casserole or some other act of human kindness." Thank you to wave_obscura for also beta'ing the fic!
The new neighbors move in during the night.
“Do you see that?” Linda asks her husband. “Henry, do you see that?”
Henry raises his head from his newspaper.
“See what?”
“The house across the street. People have moved in.”
Henry shakes his head, the way he does when he thinks she’s being silly.
“There wasn’t anyone yesterday, Lin. And it’s only nine in the morning.”
“There’s a car parked in the driveway.”
Linda doesn’t know much about cars, but this one is big and black and looks totally out of place on their quiet little street. She leans forward to peer between the blinds, but she can’t see any movement inside the other house.
“Linda!”
Henry’s cry startles her. She turns to meet his disapproving frown.
“What are you doing? You want me to get you some binoculars, so you can spy on our neighbors better?”
“So now you think we do have new neighbors?”
He glares at her and she smiles impishly.
“You’re so easy,” she says, and it might have come out more affectionate than she intended.
“You’re a brat. And at your age it’s long past being cute. Now get away from the window.”
She complies, but only because nothing interesting is going on outside.
---
The first time she sees a sign of life from the other house, she’s coming back from the grocery store, just getting out her car with her arms full of paper bags. There is a tall young man raking the leaves on the front yard of the newly inhabited house. Linda is so surprised - she was starting to think that the mythical new neighbors were vampires - she can’t help but stare until she feels one of her bags escape her grasp.
“Oh, shoot.”
The young man crosses the street in a few long strides and is suddenly at her side, holding the bottom of the bag with a large hand.
“You’re fast,” she says stupidly.
He gives her a dimpled smile.
“You’re welcome.”
“Oh, sorry. I mean, thank you. I mean, hey, I’m Linda and I’m your new neighbor. I would shake your hand but…”
“It’s okay. I’m Sam.”
“Hello, Sam. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thank you, Linda. Do you need help getting that inside?”
“Yes, please.”
He takes a couple of bags from her arms and they go to the kitchen. As he puts the bags down on the counter, she takes the time to look at him - he’s tall, broad-shouldered, shaggy brown hair, looks somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. He seems exhausted, too, dark circles under his eyes and lines at the corner of his mouth that can’t be due to age. She wants to give him cookies or something equivalent, but she’s not much of a baker.
“Do you want some fresh lemonade? We have a lemon tree in the garden.”
He glances through the still open front door, shakes his head.
“I should get back. It was nice meeting you.”
She watches him as he crosses the street almost as fast as earlier, but he doesn’t go back to racking the leaves, instead he disappears inside the house.
When Henry comes back home a couple of hours later, she tells him, “Our new neighbor’s name is Sam.”
---
She’s not spying on the house across the street, not exactly, but she does glance from time to time at the window to see where Sam is at. He must have a job because he leaves at eight in the morning in the big black car - an Impala, Hendy told her - and comes back at five. She also figures that there is someone else living with him because she sees movement inside when Sam isn’t there. It’s another man, she thinks from what she can see of his figure through the half-closed blinds. A man who moves slowly, maybe an older man.
Sam always says hello when he sees her, always polite without a fault, always inquiring after her well being but oddly avoiding when she returns the question. He always looks so tired, she can’t help but worry about him even though Henry asks her why, she knows so little of him.
“He’s our neighbor!” she says. “He’s not some stranger I’ll never see again. He lives across the street. And he’s too young to look so weary.”
One day, she can finally see more of the other man, as he comes out of the house, squinting at the sun. He’s not old at all, probably around Sam’s age, not at as tall as Sam but still pretty tall, with his hair cut short. He also walks with the help of two forearm crutches. Sam opens the passenger door of the car and rests a hand on the other man’s arm. Linda can’t make out what the man says but it must be biting because Sam steps back, lips pressed tightly together.
“Sam’s roommate is a young man, and he seems to be disabled,” she tells Henry that night.
“Seems to be?”
“Well, he walks with forearm crutches.” She sighs. “Poor Sam, that’s why he always looks to tired, he has to take care of his friend, or boyfriend.”
“Linda.” There’s a warning in the way Henry says her name.
“What?”
“What are you thinking about? Don’t go bothering those young men.”
“I’m not going to bother them! I just think I should go over there with something to eat.”
Henry raises an eyebrow. “Something you cooked?”
“Don’t be like that, Henry. You know I make mean macaroni and cheese.”
“Yes, you do, darling.”
---
Linda doesn’t let her husband stop her, she never does. The next day, after Sam has come back from work, she goes knock on his door with her arms full.
“Hey!”
She smiles brightly when Sam opens the door.
“Linda? Is everything okay?”
“Oh, yes, I just realized that I hadn’t wish you a proper welcome. You like macaroni and cheese?”
“Uh, yes.”
Sam looks confused, like the dish in her arm isn’t a big clue.
“Perfect! I cooked this for you. I’m not the best cook in the world but who can mess up macaroni and cheese, right?”
“Sammy? Who is it?”
Linda holds her breath at the deep voice calling. It’s the mystery man, and she takes a peak over Sam’s shoulder before she can stop herself. She thinks Sam is going to excuse himself and close the door, but he surprises her.
“Do you want to come in?”
Out of words, she nods, and follows Sam inside the house. It’s sparingly furnished, and in the living room where Sam takes her after he puts the food in the kitchen, there is nothing more than a couch, a table, and a small TV on a box. Sam’s roommate - or whoever he is - is sitting on the couch. His eyes widen when he sees Linda, and he starts to struggle to get on his feet. It looks painful, his face scrunches and his hands tighten on the arm of the couch. The crutches are propped up against the wall but he ignores them. Linda thinks about telling him he doesn’t have to stand up for her, but he looks like the stubborn type.
“Dean, this is our neighbor Linda, she lives across the street,” Sam says.
“Hey,” Dean says with an attempted smile.
“Linda, this is my brother Dean.”
Brother, then. Good to know. She smiles at him, a little awkwardly. Now that she’s inside of their house and has finally met the mysterious roommate, she doesn’t know what to say to him.
“Sit down, please.”
Sam gestures at the couch, and she sits down next to Dean, who has sat back down with a barely audible sigh of relief. Sam draws a chair for himself, but then stops mid-movement before he sits.
“Do you want something to drink? We have uh, water. Milk.”
“We have beer,” Dean says.
“I’d like a beer, then,” Linda says.
“I’ll be back.”
Linda and Dean don’t say a word while Sam is gone, and even if it’s only for a few minutes it’s a relief when he comes back. He has a beer bottle for Linda, but nothing for himself or Dean and now she feels guilty about drinking in front of them.
“How long have you lived here, Linda?” Sam asks.
“Hmm, almost ten years, I think? It’s a nice neighborhood, I mean, it’s pretty quiet and maybe young people like you would prefer more excitement, but I like it here.”
Sam snorts. “We’ve had enough excitement for a lifetime, believe me.”
Linda glances at Dean’s crutches. Dean sees her looking, and their eyes meet, but he doesn’t say anything. Sam bravely keeps up with small talk, and Linda chatters to hide her unease, but Dean doesn’t say much. He sends some dark looks in his brother’s direction, the kind Henry gives her when he’s very displeased with her and she’s going to hear about it later. After about twenty minutes, Linda stands up.
“Well, I have to get back to my husband before he tries to make dinner and burns our house down.” Henry is actually a better cook than she is, but the joke earns her the polite laughter she expected. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“Thank you for coming. And thanks for the food.”
“You brought food?” Dean says, and it’s so unexpected that both Sam and Linda turn to look at him.
“Yes,” she says. “Macaroni and cheese.”
“Homemade?”
“Yes. Maybe not the best you’ll ever had, but I think it’s decent.”
“I haven’t had homemade mac and cheese in ages,” he says, almost dreamily.
When he looks at her again, there’s new appreciation in his eyes.
“It was nice meeting you, Linda.”
At the front door, before she can leave, Sam lowers his voice.
“I’m sorry, it must have been kinda awkward for you, but my brother has been living like a recluse since his, um, his accident so I guess I thought if he didn’t want to see people I had to force people on him. It wasn’t very nice of me.”
Linda shakes her head. “It’s okay, really, it was no trouble at all. If you ever need anything, you know where to find me.”
Sam smiles, a genuine smile that eases the exhaustion on his face. He looks younger like that.
“Thank you.”
When she goes back home to Henry, Linda feels accomplished.
“Sam’s roommate is actually his brother. His name is Dean.”
Henry rolls his eyes.
Characters: Sam, Dean, OCs.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Supernatural related.
Word count: 1752 words.
Summary: Who are those strangers who moved in across the street?
A/N: Written for the Dean-centric h/c comment fic meme on hoodie_time, in answer to wave_obscura's prompt: "I'm craving some outsider POV. That mysteriously tall guy who lives across the street looks so worn out all the time, which is understandable, since he has to look after his chronically ill and/or permanently injured brother (or boyfriend). They totally need a casserole or some other act of human kindness." Thank you to wave_obscura for also beta'ing the fic!
The new neighbors move in during the night.
“Do you see that?” Linda asks her husband. “Henry, do you see that?”
Henry raises his head from his newspaper.
“See what?”
“The house across the street. People have moved in.”
Henry shakes his head, the way he does when he thinks she’s being silly.
“There wasn’t anyone yesterday, Lin. And it’s only nine in the morning.”
“There’s a car parked in the driveway.”
Linda doesn’t know much about cars, but this one is big and black and looks totally out of place on their quiet little street. She leans forward to peer between the blinds, but she can’t see any movement inside the other house.
“Linda!”
Henry’s cry startles her. She turns to meet his disapproving frown.
“What are you doing? You want me to get you some binoculars, so you can spy on our neighbors better?”
“So now you think we do have new neighbors?”
He glares at her and she smiles impishly.
“You’re so easy,” she says, and it might have come out more affectionate than she intended.
“You’re a brat. And at your age it’s long past being cute. Now get away from the window.”
She complies, but only because nothing interesting is going on outside.
---
The first time she sees a sign of life from the other house, she’s coming back from the grocery store, just getting out her car with her arms full of paper bags. There is a tall young man raking the leaves on the front yard of the newly inhabited house. Linda is so surprised - she was starting to think that the mythical new neighbors were vampires - she can’t help but stare until she feels one of her bags escape her grasp.
“Oh, shoot.”
The young man crosses the street in a few long strides and is suddenly at her side, holding the bottom of the bag with a large hand.
“You’re fast,” she says stupidly.
He gives her a dimpled smile.
“You’re welcome.”
“Oh, sorry. I mean, thank you. I mean, hey, I’m Linda and I’m your new neighbor. I would shake your hand but…”
“It’s okay. I’m Sam.”
“Hello, Sam. Welcome to the neighborhood.”
“Thank you, Linda. Do you need help getting that inside?”
“Yes, please.”
He takes a couple of bags from her arms and they go to the kitchen. As he puts the bags down on the counter, she takes the time to look at him - he’s tall, broad-shouldered, shaggy brown hair, looks somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. He seems exhausted, too, dark circles under his eyes and lines at the corner of his mouth that can’t be due to age. She wants to give him cookies or something equivalent, but she’s not much of a baker.
“Do you want some fresh lemonade? We have a lemon tree in the garden.”
He glances through the still open front door, shakes his head.
“I should get back. It was nice meeting you.”
She watches him as he crosses the street almost as fast as earlier, but he doesn’t go back to racking the leaves, instead he disappears inside the house.
When Henry comes back home a couple of hours later, she tells him, “Our new neighbor’s name is Sam.”
---
She’s not spying on the house across the street, not exactly, but she does glance from time to time at the window to see where Sam is at. He must have a job because he leaves at eight in the morning in the big black car - an Impala, Hendy told her - and comes back at five. She also figures that there is someone else living with him because she sees movement inside when Sam isn’t there. It’s another man, she thinks from what she can see of his figure through the half-closed blinds. A man who moves slowly, maybe an older man.
Sam always says hello when he sees her, always polite without a fault, always inquiring after her well being but oddly avoiding when she returns the question. He always looks so tired, she can’t help but worry about him even though Henry asks her why, she knows so little of him.
“He’s our neighbor!” she says. “He’s not some stranger I’ll never see again. He lives across the street. And he’s too young to look so weary.”
One day, she can finally see more of the other man, as he comes out of the house, squinting at the sun. He’s not old at all, probably around Sam’s age, not at as tall as Sam but still pretty tall, with his hair cut short. He also walks with the help of two forearm crutches. Sam opens the passenger door of the car and rests a hand on the other man’s arm. Linda can’t make out what the man says but it must be biting because Sam steps back, lips pressed tightly together.
“Sam’s roommate is a young man, and he seems to be disabled,” she tells Henry that night.
“Seems to be?”
“Well, he walks with forearm crutches.” She sighs. “Poor Sam, that’s why he always looks to tired, he has to take care of his friend, or boyfriend.”
“Linda.” There’s a warning in the way Henry says her name.
“What?”
“What are you thinking about? Don’t go bothering those young men.”
“I’m not going to bother them! I just think I should go over there with something to eat.”
Henry raises an eyebrow. “Something you cooked?”
“Don’t be like that, Henry. You know I make mean macaroni and cheese.”
“Yes, you do, darling.”
---
Linda doesn’t let her husband stop her, she never does. The next day, after Sam has come back from work, she goes knock on his door with her arms full.
“Hey!”
She smiles brightly when Sam opens the door.
“Linda? Is everything okay?”
“Oh, yes, I just realized that I hadn’t wish you a proper welcome. You like macaroni and cheese?”
“Uh, yes.”
Sam looks confused, like the dish in her arm isn’t a big clue.
“Perfect! I cooked this for you. I’m not the best cook in the world but who can mess up macaroni and cheese, right?”
“Sammy? Who is it?”
Linda holds her breath at the deep voice calling. It’s the mystery man, and she takes a peak over Sam’s shoulder before she can stop herself. She thinks Sam is going to excuse himself and close the door, but he surprises her.
“Do you want to come in?”
Out of words, she nods, and follows Sam inside the house. It’s sparingly furnished, and in the living room where Sam takes her after he puts the food in the kitchen, there is nothing more than a couch, a table, and a small TV on a box. Sam’s roommate - or whoever he is - is sitting on the couch. His eyes widen when he sees Linda, and he starts to struggle to get on his feet. It looks painful, his face scrunches and his hands tighten on the arm of the couch. The crutches are propped up against the wall but he ignores them. Linda thinks about telling him he doesn’t have to stand up for her, but he looks like the stubborn type.
“Dean, this is our neighbor Linda, she lives across the street,” Sam says.
“Hey,” Dean says with an attempted smile.
“Linda, this is my brother Dean.”
Brother, then. Good to know. She smiles at him, a little awkwardly. Now that she’s inside of their house and has finally met the mysterious roommate, she doesn’t know what to say to him.
“Sit down, please.”
Sam gestures at the couch, and she sits down next to Dean, who has sat back down with a barely audible sigh of relief. Sam draws a chair for himself, but then stops mid-movement before he sits.
“Do you want something to drink? We have uh, water. Milk.”
“We have beer,” Dean says.
“I’d like a beer, then,” Linda says.
“I’ll be back.”
Linda and Dean don’t say a word while Sam is gone, and even if it’s only for a few minutes it’s a relief when he comes back. He has a beer bottle for Linda, but nothing for himself or Dean and now she feels guilty about drinking in front of them.
“How long have you lived here, Linda?” Sam asks.
“Hmm, almost ten years, I think? It’s a nice neighborhood, I mean, it’s pretty quiet and maybe young people like you would prefer more excitement, but I like it here.”
Sam snorts. “We’ve had enough excitement for a lifetime, believe me.”
Linda glances at Dean’s crutches. Dean sees her looking, and their eyes meet, but he doesn’t say anything. Sam bravely keeps up with small talk, and Linda chatters to hide her unease, but Dean doesn’t say much. He sends some dark looks in his brother’s direction, the kind Henry gives her when he’s very displeased with her and she’s going to hear about it later. After about twenty minutes, Linda stands up.
“Well, I have to get back to my husband before he tries to make dinner and burns our house down.” Henry is actually a better cook than she is, but the joke earns her the polite laughter she expected. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
“Thank you for coming. And thanks for the food.”
“You brought food?” Dean says, and it’s so unexpected that both Sam and Linda turn to look at him.
“Yes,” she says. “Macaroni and cheese.”
“Homemade?”
“Yes. Maybe not the best you’ll ever had, but I think it’s decent.”
“I haven’t had homemade mac and cheese in ages,” he says, almost dreamily.
When he looks at her again, there’s new appreciation in his eyes.
“It was nice meeting you, Linda.”
At the front door, before she can leave, Sam lowers his voice.
“I’m sorry, it must have been kinda awkward for you, but my brother has been living like a recluse since his, um, his accident so I guess I thought if he didn’t want to see people I had to force people on him. It wasn’t very nice of me.”
Linda shakes her head. “It’s okay, really, it was no trouble at all. If you ever need anything, you know where to find me.”
Sam smiles, a genuine smile that eases the exhaustion on his face. He looks younger like that.
“Thank you.”
When she goes back home to Henry, Linda feels accomplished.
“Sam’s roommate is actually his brother. His name is Dean.”
Henry rolls his eyes.