SPN FIC - The Champ
Three? Did anybody say three? \O/ Hope Verse, 2018.
Sam's been hooting and cheering and shouting so loud, they can probably hear him up near the Canadian border. Yeah, it's nice that he's so enthusiastic, but it's kind of giving Dean a headache. And it's not like Lizzie is Sam's kid, anyway.
Characters: Dean, Sam, Lizzie
Genre: Gen
Spoilers: none
Rating: G
Length: 1214 words
THE CHAMP
By Carol Davis
Sam's been hooting and cheering and shouting so loud, they can probably hear him up near the Canadian border. Yeah, it's nice that he's so enthusiastic, but it's kind of giving Dean a headache. And it's not like Lizzie is Sam's kid, anyway.
"Go!" Sam screams. "Go, go, GO!"
"Dude," Dean winces.
Sam blinks at him, clueless. "What?"
Dean opens his mouth to say You're killin' me, here, but before he can get any of that out, Sam bursts up onto his feet, ginormous hands cupped around his mouth, and bellows, "GO!!!!"
Yeah. They heard that in Argentina.
Okay, so Sam's got a little bit of a vested interest in the outcome of this. He's been coaching Lizzie for months: one-on-one when he's at the Lodge, by phone or e-mail when he's down in Atlanta. He hasn't actually played soccer for about eight hundred years, but it must stay with you, like riding a bike. For somebody who's so crazy huge, he's still good at kicking that ball around. Kind of graceful, really - even more so than he was way-back-when, when Dean would sit in the stands and watch him run around with all those other kids.
Dad was there, too, a few times. And Pastor Jim, once. They took Sam out for burgers after his team won the game.
He looks up at Sam, hand bladed over his eyes against the bright afternoon sun, smiling a little at the way his brother is whooping and cheering. Sam's definitely louder than anybody else in the stands, and for sure Lizzie can hear him.
If Lizzie's team wins, Sam's gonna levitate right up off the bleachers, like he's freakin' Superman.
Maybe he kind of is, a little bit.
Dean could have provided some coaching, if Lizzie had picked softball, or even basketball. It's not like he's got a huge amount of experience at either one of those things, but at least he's played. Knows the feel of it. Soccer? That was Sam's game.
Still is Sam's game.
And that's it, the game's over, and Sam's screaming loud enough for them to hear him on Jupiter. Dean blinks against the noise; when his eyes open - and, jeez, they were only shut for a second - Sam's already down on the field, to hell with the rules, scooping Lizzie up and whirling her around like she's three again. "You did it!" he whoops, like she's the only one on the team. But what the hell - the other parents are doing the same thing with their kids (except for the couple of nutballs Lizzie's told him about, who think this is the World Cup or something, and not a bunch of little girls with ponytails).
Lizzie's gonna get a trophy, like Sam got all those years ago. The one they found in Dad's storage locker in Buffalo.
The one that's up on Lizzie's dresser.
"Dad! Dad!"
He squints into the sun. He's not at all prepared for her to collide with him, and it almost takes him off his feet.
"We won! Did you see?"
Sam moves up behind her, and he blocks the sun enough for Dean to see. "Yeah," Dean says with a little bit of a lump in his throat. "I saw. You were awesome."
There are echoes behind him, of another day, another place, another game. Another voice saying, "Did you see?" Dad and Pastor Jim standing on either side of him, Dad's hand on his shoulder, Pastor Jim reaching out to congratulate Sam, shake his hand, give him a hug. It's funny, he thinks, that Sam is so damn much bigger now, but he's still got the moves. There's as much joy on Sam's face now as there was that day when Sam was 12, when Dad and Jim were with them, when they all went out for burgers and Sam fell asleep still wearing his uniform.
An arm slides around his waist, and his daughter rests her head on his shoulder. There's dirt on her face and wisps of hair are sweat-stuck to her temples. She's still breathing hard, in little huffs.
"You rock, kiddo," he says.
"Aw, Dad," she groans. "Nobody says that any more."
She runs off, then, to rejoin her teammates, to do some high-pitched, girly squealing about their victory. Dean and Sam watch her go, ponytail bobbing, each step bouncing her off the ground like she's on the moon. After a moment Dean turns to his brother and says quietly, "Thanks, man."
"For what?"
"Helping. I suck at soccer."
Sam tilts his head in a way that says he's seeing the shadows of that other day as clearly as Dean is. His expression turns rueful for a second, then he smiles. "You suck at a lot of things," he says mildly.
"I'm also kinda deaf right now. I think my ears are bleeding."
"I was in the moment."
"Yeah," Dean concedes.
"It feels good, you know? To do this again. It feels kind of...normal."
And it is. Was, back when Sam said no to bow-hunting lessons and yes to running around on a field with a bunch of other kids, kicking a ball and sweating and radiating joy when they won. Dad argued every bit of it, pretty much - but in the end, he was there in the stands. And he kept that trophy.
"We buying burgers?" Dean asks his brother.
"What? Oh. I guess so. Is that what she wants?"
"Kinda thought it might be what you want."
Sam frowns at that. Then he grins, like the sun breaking through a bank of clouds. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah. I do."
"Okay, then."
All those little girls - and a lot of their parents - are still squealing as the Winchesters walk side by side out to the parking lot so they can wait near the car for Liz. The day seems very full, then, Dean thinks, but kind of empty at the same time. Like something's ended that won't start up again. Sam's headed back to Atlanta tomorrow, because that's where his life is now. A big chunk of it, anyway.
"Hey, Sam?" Dean says as they lean against the Impala, both of them looking back toward the field.
Sam raises a brow.
"Glad you came, man. For her. Means a lot to her."
"Just to her?"
"Don't press your luck," Dean snorts.
They're quiet for a while. All the squealing and cheering has finally died down, but Dean's ears are still ringing a little.
"I miss it," Sam says. He turns to Dean, and the truth of it is all there in his eyes: it's not just the game he's talking about. Not just the running around with those other kids, chasing a ball. It's not just that that he wishes he had back. Dean can't do much more than nod in response. What they've got now - that's got its own value. Which doesn't mean it takes the place of what they had then. "I miss him," Sam says with a catch in his voice.
And he shifts his feet, guiding an invisible ball across the dirt of the parking lot.
It's then that Dean remembers: Dad pretty much made him deaf that day. With the cheering.
The cheering Sam couldn't help but hear.
And can't help but remember.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sam's been hooting and cheering and shouting so loud, they can probably hear him up near the Canadian border. Yeah, it's nice that he's so enthusiastic, but it's kind of giving Dean a headache. And it's not like Lizzie is Sam's kid, anyway.
Characters: Dean, Sam, Lizzie
Genre: Gen
Spoilers: none
Rating: G
Length: 1214 words
THE CHAMP
By Carol Davis
Sam's been hooting and cheering and shouting so loud, they can probably hear him up near the Canadian border. Yeah, it's nice that he's so enthusiastic, but it's kind of giving Dean a headache. And it's not like Lizzie is Sam's kid, anyway.
"Go!" Sam screams. "Go, go, GO!"
"Dude," Dean winces.
Sam blinks at him, clueless. "What?"
Dean opens his mouth to say You're killin' me, here, but before he can get any of that out, Sam bursts up onto his feet, ginormous hands cupped around his mouth, and bellows, "GO!!!!"
Yeah. They heard that in Argentina.
Okay, so Sam's got a little bit of a vested interest in the outcome of this. He's been coaching Lizzie for months: one-on-one when he's at the Lodge, by phone or e-mail when he's down in Atlanta. He hasn't actually played soccer for about eight hundred years, but it must stay with you, like riding a bike. For somebody who's so crazy huge, he's still good at kicking that ball around. Kind of graceful, really - even more so than he was way-back-when, when Dean would sit in the stands and watch him run around with all those other kids.
Dad was there, too, a few times. And Pastor Jim, once. They took Sam out for burgers after his team won the game.
He looks up at Sam, hand bladed over his eyes against the bright afternoon sun, smiling a little at the way his brother is whooping and cheering. Sam's definitely louder than anybody else in the stands, and for sure Lizzie can hear him.
If Lizzie's team wins, Sam's gonna levitate right up off the bleachers, like he's freakin' Superman.
Maybe he kind of is, a little bit.
Dean could have provided some coaching, if Lizzie had picked softball, or even basketball. It's not like he's got a huge amount of experience at either one of those things, but at least he's played. Knows the feel of it. Soccer? That was Sam's game.
Still is Sam's game.
And that's it, the game's over, and Sam's screaming loud enough for them to hear him on Jupiter. Dean blinks against the noise; when his eyes open - and, jeez, they were only shut for a second - Sam's already down on the field, to hell with the rules, scooping Lizzie up and whirling her around like she's three again. "You did it!" he whoops, like she's the only one on the team. But what the hell - the other parents are doing the same thing with their kids (except for the couple of nutballs Lizzie's told him about, who think this is the World Cup or something, and not a bunch of little girls with ponytails).
Lizzie's gonna get a trophy, like Sam got all those years ago. The one they found in Dad's storage locker in Buffalo.
The one that's up on Lizzie's dresser.
"Dad! Dad!"
He squints into the sun. He's not at all prepared for her to collide with him, and it almost takes him off his feet.
"We won! Did you see?"
Sam moves up behind her, and he blocks the sun enough for Dean to see. "Yeah," Dean says with a little bit of a lump in his throat. "I saw. You were awesome."
There are echoes behind him, of another day, another place, another game. Another voice saying, "Did you see?" Dad and Pastor Jim standing on either side of him, Dad's hand on his shoulder, Pastor Jim reaching out to congratulate Sam, shake his hand, give him a hug. It's funny, he thinks, that Sam is so damn much bigger now, but he's still got the moves. There's as much joy on Sam's face now as there was that day when Sam was 12, when Dad and Jim were with them, when they all went out for burgers and Sam fell asleep still wearing his uniform.
An arm slides around his waist, and his daughter rests her head on his shoulder. There's dirt on her face and wisps of hair are sweat-stuck to her temples. She's still breathing hard, in little huffs.
"You rock, kiddo," he says.
"Aw, Dad," she groans. "Nobody says that any more."
She runs off, then, to rejoin her teammates, to do some high-pitched, girly squealing about their victory. Dean and Sam watch her go, ponytail bobbing, each step bouncing her off the ground like she's on the moon. After a moment Dean turns to his brother and says quietly, "Thanks, man."
"For what?"
"Helping. I suck at soccer."
Sam tilts his head in a way that says he's seeing the shadows of that other day as clearly as Dean is. His expression turns rueful for a second, then he smiles. "You suck at a lot of things," he says mildly.
"I'm also kinda deaf right now. I think my ears are bleeding."
"I was in the moment."
"Yeah," Dean concedes.
"It feels good, you know? To do this again. It feels kind of...normal."
And it is. Was, back when Sam said no to bow-hunting lessons and yes to running around on a field with a bunch of other kids, kicking a ball and sweating and radiating joy when they won. Dad argued every bit of it, pretty much - but in the end, he was there in the stands. And he kept that trophy.
"We buying burgers?" Dean asks his brother.
"What? Oh. I guess so. Is that what she wants?"
"Kinda thought it might be what you want."
Sam frowns at that. Then he grins, like the sun breaking through a bank of clouds. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah. I do."
"Okay, then."
All those little girls - and a lot of their parents - are still squealing as the Winchesters walk side by side out to the parking lot so they can wait near the car for Liz. The day seems very full, then, Dean thinks, but kind of empty at the same time. Like something's ended that won't start up again. Sam's headed back to Atlanta tomorrow, because that's where his life is now. A big chunk of it, anyway.
"Hey, Sam?" Dean says as they lean against the Impala, both of them looking back toward the field.
Sam raises a brow.
"Glad you came, man. For her. Means a lot to her."
"Just to her?"
"Don't press your luck," Dean snorts.
They're quiet for a while. All the squealing and cheering has finally died down, but Dean's ears are still ringing a little.
"I miss it," Sam says. He turns to Dean, and the truth of it is all there in his eyes: it's not just the game he's talking about. Not just the running around with those other kids, chasing a ball. It's not just that that he wishes he had back. Dean can't do much more than nod in response. What they've got now - that's got its own value. Which doesn't mean it takes the place of what they had then. "I miss him," Sam says with a catch in his voice.
And he shifts his feet, guiding an invisible ball across the dirt of the parking lot.
It's then that Dean remembers: Dad pretty much made him deaf that day. With the cheering.
The cheering Sam couldn't help but hear.
And can't help but remember.
~~~~~~~~~~~~