[Anything But Butterflies] 672.
For my brother, who nearly had a similar experience, and for my sister, who mostly did.
ℵ
"Did you see them?" They're heavy in his hands.
Dad's got a poker face that just won them next month's rent. Seven pieces of construction paper, decorated with blotted swirls of Sammy's favorite colors, hit air resistance, and they fly out the back window of the Impala. They are anything but butterflies.
Then the numbers on the one marquee that's facing streetside flash to 12:00am, and it's May third.
--
Donna, Lauren, Frank; they're all Jewish--really Jewish. That's why it can't be on Saturday. The twins, Chris and Sean. They're Baptists--that's why it's in the afternoon. Luc, who isn't anything at all. And Gordon, the quiet kid with the mean grandma who's even newer than Sam. Sam doesn't know much about Gordon, but they're friends anyway.
Sam's first mistake is giving them his phone number.
--
Sam cleans house. He spends a little time filling brown bottles with sand and sourgrass and a lot of time scrubbing at the dark crusted spots on the carpet that stagger their way to the bathroom.
Dean experiences mild panic at the prospect of the coming intrusion--of Donna and Lauren, and Frank, and Chris and Sean and Luc and Gordon all coming to sip fruit punch out of bright construction paper cones. Or that's what Sam takes his behavior to mean.
Maybe Dad really did tell him to clean the guns on the couch.
--
Sam fills two more bottles with sand and a sagging handful of bright yellow sourgrass.
--
Dean will always hold that the phone number--that was the kicker. He's already fourteen, but he doesn't sound like 'Mr. Winchester' to Donna and Lauren's mom, gravelly static and all. Luc's step-uncle--whoever that is--doesn't sound a whole lot like Caleb to Dad, even though there's more dark spots on the carpet and a lot more bottles Sam needs to fill.
Gordon's still coming, though; he asks Sam what he wants.
--
Anything but butterflies, really, says Sam. Or unicorns and princesses. Girl things.
Dean of course surprises him in the morning with a pink eraser that smells like cotton candy. Apparently fifty cents only buys girl things.
Dad surprises Sam by staying home.
--
Dad cleans the guns on the couch. Dean flicks quick glances out the window, toward freedom. Sam fidgets. No one comes.
Gordon calls. He reassures his grandmother in a language Sam doesn't understand, but doesn't get much further than that before Dad disconnects the phone.
Dean makes a crack about Rapunzel on Sam's behalf, but Dad makes clear this is not a girl thing, but a them thing, the same way bouquets of balloons and construction paper cards are other people things.
--
"You're supposed to send these," says Dean. He slides down the dresser, boneless, without bothering to unlace his running shoes.
Sam stares at his own knotted laces. Blurred and watery, they look like Sam's writing on those cards--but in shades of grey, not red, or green, or yellow. He told them in person; he didn't need the cards.
That's one of the reasons, anyway.
Dean smells like sweat, Dad smells like blood, and Sam smells like tears. Dean and Dad take the car and go back out. They come back smelling like more sweat, and more blood, but Sam's through with tears. Now that he's ten.
--
He still has to go back to school on Monday. They are too busy to have a party but not too busy to stick around for another couple months.
Sam doesn't know what Dean does at the middle school (whatever it is involves very little homework and a lot of smoky 7-11 receipts), but Sam watches him disappear down the street and this is the first time Sam wants to follow him.
--
Donna and Lauren transferred to a private academy, even though it's the middle of the year. Chris and Sean won't make eye contact. Frank and Luc, Sam's not even sure about. They're around.
But it's Gordon who asks.
--
"So how come you never had that party, Sammy?"
end.
a/n: Working on that thing called 'understatement' to variable success, ahaha. Constructive criticism is, as always, loved and utilized!
ℵ
"Did you see them?" They're heavy in his hands.
Dad's got a poker face that just won them next month's rent. Seven pieces of construction paper, decorated with blotted swirls of Sammy's favorite colors, hit air resistance, and they fly out the back window of the Impala. They are anything but butterflies.
Then the numbers on the one marquee that's facing streetside flash to 12:00am, and it's May third.
--
Donna, Lauren, Frank; they're all Jewish--really Jewish. That's why it can't be on Saturday. The twins, Chris and Sean. They're Baptists--that's why it's in the afternoon. Luc, who isn't anything at all. And Gordon, the quiet kid with the mean grandma who's even newer than Sam. Sam doesn't know much about Gordon, but they're friends anyway.
Sam's first mistake is giving them his phone number.
--
Sam cleans house. He spends a little time filling brown bottles with sand and sourgrass and a lot of time scrubbing at the dark crusted spots on the carpet that stagger their way to the bathroom.
Dean experiences mild panic at the prospect of the coming intrusion--of Donna and Lauren, and Frank, and Chris and Sean and Luc and Gordon all coming to sip fruit punch out of bright construction paper cones. Or that's what Sam takes his behavior to mean.
Maybe Dad really did tell him to clean the guns on the couch.
--
Sam fills two more bottles with sand and a sagging handful of bright yellow sourgrass.
--
Dean will always hold that the phone number--that was the kicker. He's already fourteen, but he doesn't sound like 'Mr. Winchester' to Donna and Lauren's mom, gravelly static and all. Luc's step-uncle--whoever that is--doesn't sound a whole lot like Caleb to Dad, even though there's more dark spots on the carpet and a lot more bottles Sam needs to fill.
Gordon's still coming, though; he asks Sam what he wants.
--
Anything but butterflies, really, says Sam. Or unicorns and princesses. Girl things.
Dean of course surprises him in the morning with a pink eraser that smells like cotton candy. Apparently fifty cents only buys girl things.
Dad surprises Sam by staying home.
--
Dad cleans the guns on the couch. Dean flicks quick glances out the window, toward freedom. Sam fidgets. No one comes.
Gordon calls. He reassures his grandmother in a language Sam doesn't understand, but doesn't get much further than that before Dad disconnects the phone.
Dean makes a crack about Rapunzel on Sam's behalf, but Dad makes clear this is not a girl thing, but a them thing, the same way bouquets of balloons and construction paper cards are other people things.
--
"You're supposed to send these," says Dean. He slides down the dresser, boneless, without bothering to unlace his running shoes.
Sam stares at his own knotted laces. Blurred and watery, they look like Sam's writing on those cards--but in shades of grey, not red, or green, or yellow. He told them in person; he didn't need the cards.
That's one of the reasons, anyway.
Dean smells like sweat, Dad smells like blood, and Sam smells like tears. Dean and Dad take the car and go back out. They come back smelling like more sweat, and more blood, but Sam's through with tears. Now that he's ten.
--
He still has to go back to school on Monday. They are too busy to have a party but not too busy to stick around for another couple months.
Sam doesn't know what Dean does at the middle school (whatever it is involves very little homework and a lot of smoky 7-11 receipts), but Sam watches him disappear down the street and this is the first time Sam wants to follow him.
--
Donna and Lauren transferred to a private academy, even though it's the middle of the year. Chris and Sean won't make eye contact. Frank and Luc, Sam's not even sure about. They're around.
But it's Gordon who asks.
--
"So how come you never had that party, Sammy?"
end.
a/n: Working on that thing called 'understatement' to variable success, ahaha. Constructive criticism is, as always, loved and utilized!