SPN FIC - Separation Anxiety
catsbycat -- happy birthday, dude! Hope you enjoy -- Daddy!Dean and RJ, on the first day of school.
CHARACTERS: Dean and RJ (Hope Verse)
GENRE: Gen
RATING: G
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 916 words
SEPARATION ANXIETY
By Carol Davis
“Dad?” RJ asks. “What I’m s’posed to do in there?”
Dean shifts his weight and peeks through the open doorway into a room bright with primary colors.
A long time ago, he peered into another room, much the same as this one, and felt the same trepidation.
He remembers saying, “Dad?” And looking up. Looking up and up and up because Dad was so very, very tall. He remembers Sammy up there, engulfed in Dad’s arms, snuggled close to Dad’s chest.
He remembers wanting to be up there, where Sam was, nestled under Dad’s chin, safe and warm.
He remembers wanting to be a baby again, because apart was too much to bear.
“You do cool stuff in there,” he says with a wobble in his voice he hopes his son doesn’t notice. “Play games. Sing songs.”
“I can do that home.”
“Sure you can. But look at all the other kids. They’d be fun to make friends with, huh?”
RJ frowns skeptically at him, and for a moment he’s tempted to scoop him up, hold him close, hold him safe and warm. But that wouldn’t do much for RJ’s rep, being held like a baby on the day when he’s supposed to start being a Big Boy. Dean settles for crouching, bringing the two of them almost head to head that way.
“It’s an adventure,” he suggests.
Dad told him the same thing.
And Dad told him this, too: “When you come out? I’ll be right here.” That wobble’s worse now, as he repeats he words he heard back then. For sure, he thinks, Dad’s voice didn’t wobble like this. Dad didn’t wuss out like this, didn’t feel like he was going to cry. Didn’t have to remind himself, You’re not sending him off to war. It’s kindergarten.
Didn’t have to bury the thought that This is how it starts.
This is the first goodbye.
“Dad?” RJ says. “You look funny.”
“It’s those little desks,” Dean says. “That pee-wee furniture. It’s weirdin’ me out. If I had to sit there -“
RJ giggles softly. “You wouldn’t fit, Dad.”
“I guess not.”
“I can fit.”
“Yeah,” Dean says softly, his gaze sweeping the room, the bright colors, the toys, the maps, the big soft ball that’s painted like the Earth, the dozen-odd little boys and girls, some of them a little bigger than RJ, some of them a little smaller. It’s an entirely different room from the one he remembers (and for the life of him he can’t remember where that room was, what town, what state) but still, it’s the same.
He remembers being intrigued by that room.
Remembers wanting to step away, to see what those other little kids were doing.
And he remembers that that wanting was just a little bit stronger than the need to stay close to Dad, to Sammy.
“Why don’t you check it out?” he asks.
RJ frowns again - but yeah, he’s curious.
He wants to step away.
There’s another thing: Dean remembers knowing that back then, Dad’s promise was a promise. If he said he would be here, in the corridor, when Dean came back out of that bright-colored room, then it would be true. Dad would be here.
That day - that whole year - Dad kept his promise. He was there when Dean came out, with Sammy in his arms. It wasn’t until later that he started bending his promises. He always came back, sure - but later. Sometimes, a lot later.
Not gonna do that, Dean thinks. Never gonna do that.
John Winchester would want that, he thinks. Would want Dean to do better than he did. To be better than he was.
“You gonna be okay, here, dude?” Dean asks softly.
If you’re not, he thinks, we can bail.
RJ ponders the question. Takes a good long look inside that room. “Yeah,” he says with a long breath of skepticism.
Dean smiles and ruffles his hair. “Check it out, then.”
When you come out, I’ll be right here.
His son doesn’t say goodbye. He takes one step, then another, then builds up some speed and goes on in. The teacher already knows him; they were introduced a few days ago, and she greets him with a big smile, then looks out into the corridor and nods a confirmation to Dean. Got it under control, she says without saying anything. It’s only been a few seconds, but RJ’s already become a part of what’s going on in that room. He’s lost interest in Dean, pretty much.
Jesus, that hurts.
But not as much as straightening up and turning away from that room.
Dad? Dean thinks. What ‘m I s’posed to do now?
There’s no one else in the corridor. It seems long and broad and empty, and there’s an empty car waiting for him outside. He wanted to do this alone, and Morgan caved to that because she’s got a cold. Didn’t make sense for her to walk a bunch of germs into the school.
He should have let her come.
He glances over his shoulder, into that room full of bright colors and little kids.
His son is there, chattering away at another boy. For a moment, Dean thinks RJ has forgotten him entirely - but RJ stops talking and looks toward him.
Smiles.
I’ll be here, Dean mouths. When you come out.
RJ nods.
And waves goodbye.
And there’s nothing left for Dean to do but follow his father’s footsteps and go on out to the car.
* * * * *
CHARACTERS: Dean and RJ (Hope Verse)
GENRE: Gen
RATING: G
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 916 words
SEPARATION ANXIETY
By Carol Davis
“Dad?” RJ asks. “What I’m s’posed to do in there?”
Dean shifts his weight and peeks through the open doorway into a room bright with primary colors.
A long time ago, he peered into another room, much the same as this one, and felt the same trepidation.
He remembers saying, “Dad?” And looking up. Looking up and up and up because Dad was so very, very tall. He remembers Sammy up there, engulfed in Dad’s arms, snuggled close to Dad’s chest.
He remembers wanting to be up there, where Sam was, nestled under Dad’s chin, safe and warm.
He remembers wanting to be a baby again, because apart was too much to bear.
“You do cool stuff in there,” he says with a wobble in his voice he hopes his son doesn’t notice. “Play games. Sing songs.”
“I can do that home.”
“Sure you can. But look at all the other kids. They’d be fun to make friends with, huh?”
RJ frowns skeptically at him, and for a moment he’s tempted to scoop him up, hold him close, hold him safe and warm. But that wouldn’t do much for RJ’s rep, being held like a baby on the day when he’s supposed to start being a Big Boy. Dean settles for crouching, bringing the two of them almost head to head that way.
“It’s an adventure,” he suggests.
Dad told him the same thing.
And Dad told him this, too: “When you come out? I’ll be right here.” That wobble’s worse now, as he repeats he words he heard back then. For sure, he thinks, Dad’s voice didn’t wobble like this. Dad didn’t wuss out like this, didn’t feel like he was going to cry. Didn’t have to remind himself, You’re not sending him off to war. It’s kindergarten.
Didn’t have to bury the thought that This is how it starts.
This is the first goodbye.
“Dad?” RJ says. “You look funny.”
“It’s those little desks,” Dean says. “That pee-wee furniture. It’s weirdin’ me out. If I had to sit there -“
RJ giggles softly. “You wouldn’t fit, Dad.”
“I guess not.”
“I can fit.”
“Yeah,” Dean says softly, his gaze sweeping the room, the bright colors, the toys, the maps, the big soft ball that’s painted like the Earth, the dozen-odd little boys and girls, some of them a little bigger than RJ, some of them a little smaller. It’s an entirely different room from the one he remembers (and for the life of him he can’t remember where that room was, what town, what state) but still, it’s the same.
He remembers being intrigued by that room.
Remembers wanting to step away, to see what those other little kids were doing.
And he remembers that that wanting was just a little bit stronger than the need to stay close to Dad, to Sammy.
“Why don’t you check it out?” he asks.
RJ frowns again - but yeah, he’s curious.
He wants to step away.
There’s another thing: Dean remembers knowing that back then, Dad’s promise was a promise. If he said he would be here, in the corridor, when Dean came back out of that bright-colored room, then it would be true. Dad would be here.
That day - that whole year - Dad kept his promise. He was there when Dean came out, with Sammy in his arms. It wasn’t until later that he started bending his promises. He always came back, sure - but later. Sometimes, a lot later.
Not gonna do that, Dean thinks. Never gonna do that.
John Winchester would want that, he thinks. Would want Dean to do better than he did. To be better than he was.
“You gonna be okay, here, dude?” Dean asks softly.
If you’re not, he thinks, we can bail.
RJ ponders the question. Takes a good long look inside that room. “Yeah,” he says with a long breath of skepticism.
Dean smiles and ruffles his hair. “Check it out, then.”
When you come out, I’ll be right here.
His son doesn’t say goodbye. He takes one step, then another, then builds up some speed and goes on in. The teacher already knows him; they were introduced a few days ago, and she greets him with a big smile, then looks out into the corridor and nods a confirmation to Dean. Got it under control, she says without saying anything. It’s only been a few seconds, but RJ’s already become a part of what’s going on in that room. He’s lost interest in Dean, pretty much.
Jesus, that hurts.
But not as much as straightening up and turning away from that room.
Dad? Dean thinks. What ‘m I s’posed to do now?
There’s no one else in the corridor. It seems long and broad and empty, and there’s an empty car waiting for him outside. He wanted to do this alone, and Morgan caved to that because she’s got a cold. Didn’t make sense for her to walk a bunch of germs into the school.
He should have let her come.
He glances over his shoulder, into that room full of bright colors and little kids.
His son is there, chattering away at another boy. For a moment, Dean thinks RJ has forgotten him entirely - but RJ stops talking and looks toward him.
Smiles.
I’ll be here, Dean mouths. When you come out.
RJ nods.
And waves goodbye.
And there’s nothing left for Dean to do but follow his father’s footsteps and go on out to the car.
* * * * *