Fic!
Title: Knockin' on Heaven's Door (Five times Sam hates his dad and one time he doesn't)
Fandom: SPN (Gen)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Five times Sam hates his dad. Post-IMTOD.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author Notes: Beta'd by agent_jl36 who is awesome and put up with my terrible communication skills.
Sam is eight, Dean twelve and they're woken at four in the morning by hammering on the motel door. Dean is out of bed like a shot, knife in one hand, sawn off in the other. He waits until Sam gives him a nod, pulling his own .45 from under his pillow before calling out.
"Yeah?"
"It's me Dean. Open the fucking door." It's Dad and he's pissed.
"Who's me?" Dean asks, ignoring their father's tone. "I'm not letting some fucking stranger into my room at night."
"Language Dean." Dad snaps. "You know who it is, now open the damn door." Dad never did follow his own rules.
Thankfully for Sam, Dean's better at following orders. He steps towards the door, but doesn't open it. "How'd I know you're you?" He asks, reasonable. "I'm not opening the door until you give me the codeword."
There's a pause and a muffled curse for the other side of the door. Another moment passes before the door vibrates with a thud; Dad's head coming to rest against the cheap plywood. "I can't, Dean." Dad's quiet, quieter than Sam's ever heard him be and Dean's hand tightens on the shotgun. "I can't remember. Something about Yoda, or Zeppelin maybe?" It's not either, not this time and Sam catches a flash of panic on Dean's face before it's hidden behind the mask he usually wears. "Can you give me a clue?"
"Kinda defeats the point, don't it?" Dean's voice is steady, but his knuckles are white where he grips the weapons and suddenly Sam is filled with a flush of white hot hatred for his Dad; for moving them around, for never being there, for not letting him have any friends, but most of all for doing this to Dean.
He slips out of bed, gun pointed down and away, like Dad, like Dean taught him and he takes position at the door, nods at Dean who backs up to take proper covering position and what sort of twelve year old knows how to do that? Sam thinks, with the part of him not focused on the danger, that no kid should know how to do this. No kid should know how to cover a door so that a shotgun will take out anything that comes through it without harming the person who opens it. No kid should have to.
Sam waits for Dean's nod, slides the chain off, carefully quiet and listens to the silence on the other side of the door. He unlatches the door and leaps back, .45 up and pointed before the door can open.
The door swings and their father falls through. Sam moves forward, but pauses at the shake of Dean's head. He watches as Dean goes through the motions; Dad's fallen over the salt, but Dean dowses him in Holy Water and nicks him with a silver blade before he'll let Sammy near.
It's that moment, watching Dean cut their unconscious father just to make sure Sam is safe that he acknowledges just how much he hates his dad.
************
The second time Sam feels that flash of hatred, Sam is trying to study by torchlight.
He has a test first period, but whatever it is that Dad is hunting this time doesn't respect salt lines and Dad won't leave him alone in the motel. He's been dragged out to the middle of nowhere and left in the car while Dad and Dean trudge around looking for whatever has been killing the locals.
He's halfway through the third chapter when he hears the growl. It's not loud, not particularly ominous and Sam thinks that if he were a normal kid he'd probably ignore it completely. Instead he flicks off the flashlight and picks up his .45, clicking off the safely and letting his eyes adjust to the dark in the clearing outside.
He sees it after a moment, just a clump of fur and a flash of eyes and he stills, watching it circle the car. He thinks for a moment that it may just leave, but it creeps closer and Sam knows it smells him. It circles once more; looking for weak spots he thinks now, then goes from a gentle pace to a mad scramble in one terrifying second. It throws itself against the windshield once, twice, and the glass cracks; jaws snapping through and Sam stops thinking. The gun is already pointed and his finger tightens on the trigger. He shoots twice before the animal even seems to notice, but the third bullet takes it right between the eyes and it backs away, yelping.
He's lost sight of it now; he's fairly sure it's not dead and all he knows is that he's left huddled in a car, glass shattered on the seats with a weapon that doesn't work.
Dad and Dean show up half an hour later, victorious and crowing until they see the car. Dad goes quiet and Dean starts bitching about the state of her, but he puts an arm around Sam and rides in the back for once.
Next day Sam aces his test despite having been up all night, too scared to study, but when they go out to dinner that night they're not celebrating Sam's test results but Dean's successful hunt and all Sam can think is that it's not fair for their father to be so obvious in his favouritism.
************
Sam is twelve, in his fourth school of the year and for the first time ever a girl has asked him out. Dean spends the whole walk home teasing him about the fact it's the girl who did the asking, but Sam's too excited to care. They're not going to do much, just go and see a movie then have a milkshake at the Dairy Queen, but she's really pretty and she's smart too; she asked Sam, she told him, because he's the only one who's ever managed to beat her on a math test.
They get to the corner of their road and Dean goes silent. Sam looks up to see Dad loading the car.
"I'll have a word." Dean offers quietly, but they both know it won't do any good.
Sam never did get to see that film.
****************
Sam is fourteen the first time he kills something. He's done simple things before; salt and burns, an overly helpful brownie that managed to bleach it's house's whites while the old lady was still wearing them, but this is the first time he's been on a real hunt.
Dad didn't want to bring him and Sam didn't want to come, but Dean insisted. There were three exits to the place and there was no way he and Dad could cover them by themselves. Sam was stuck covering the coal chute; they all knew it wouldn't come out that way, but he was stuck there because Dad had drilled 'cover all your bases' into Dean so thoroughly that he refused to be overruled.
He'd been here an hour already and he was beyond bored. He was cold, hungry and tired and he was pissed at being dragged out of a potentially warm bed just to put down a ghoul. It wasn't even hurting anyone alive.
There was a scuffle inside and three shots; something was happening and Sam didn't doubt that he'd have to listen to Dad regale him with yet another tale of Dean's amazing exploits on the way home.
There was another shot, then the coal chute shot open and a young girl crawled out. She couldn't have been more than about eight, blonde hair in pigtails and even in the flashlight Sam could see she had the biggest blue eyes a girl could wish for.
"Sammy!" Dean's voice bellowed through the open chute and the girl flinched. "Shoot the damn thing, I can't fit up."
The girl, the ghoul, flinched again and looked at him with those big eyes.
"Sammy." His Dad voice accompanied the opening of the front door and the girl turned and ran.
It wasn't even hurting live people. It looked like a tiny little girl and it wasn't hurting people but Sam was a Winchester. He raised the gun and one shot took it in the back of the head.
Dad appeared around the side of the house in time to see Sam lower the gun and the girl topple to the ground. "Well done boy."
Dad and Dean burnt the body and on the way home Dad bragged about the fact his youngest son was man enough to shoot a little girl in the head.
*********
Sam has never failed a test. No matter what school, what subject, Sam has never pulled less than an A since he was old enough to see that those test results were his way out. He has a 4.0 GPA and has even managed to accumulate a few extra-curricular activities in between being dragged across the country.
That morning a letter from Stanford arrived in the post.
Sam never goes back.
*********
Sam can't remember a time when he didn't hate his Dad. When he didn't question every decision, every move. He's never trusted his judgement, never liked following orders.
Dad is dead and Dean is alive and Sam hates himself for thinking it's the best decision his Dad ever made.
Fandom: SPN (Gen)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Five times Sam hates his dad. Post-IMTOD.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author Notes: Beta'd by agent_jl36 who is awesome and put up with my terrible communication skills.
Sam is eight, Dean twelve and they're woken at four in the morning by hammering on the motel door. Dean is out of bed like a shot, knife in one hand, sawn off in the other. He waits until Sam gives him a nod, pulling his own .45 from under his pillow before calling out.
"Yeah?"
"It's me Dean. Open the fucking door." It's Dad and he's pissed.
"Who's me?" Dean asks, ignoring their father's tone. "I'm not letting some fucking stranger into my room at night."
"Language Dean." Dad snaps. "You know who it is, now open the damn door." Dad never did follow his own rules.
Thankfully for Sam, Dean's better at following orders. He steps towards the door, but doesn't open it. "How'd I know you're you?" He asks, reasonable. "I'm not opening the door until you give me the codeword."
There's a pause and a muffled curse for the other side of the door. Another moment passes before the door vibrates with a thud; Dad's head coming to rest against the cheap plywood. "I can't, Dean." Dad's quiet, quieter than Sam's ever heard him be and Dean's hand tightens on the shotgun. "I can't remember. Something about Yoda, or Zeppelin maybe?" It's not either, not this time and Sam catches a flash of panic on Dean's face before it's hidden behind the mask he usually wears. "Can you give me a clue?"
"Kinda defeats the point, don't it?" Dean's voice is steady, but his knuckles are white where he grips the weapons and suddenly Sam is filled with a flush of white hot hatred for his Dad; for moving them around, for never being there, for not letting him have any friends, but most of all for doing this to Dean.
He slips out of bed, gun pointed down and away, like Dad, like Dean taught him and he takes position at the door, nods at Dean who backs up to take proper covering position and what sort of twelve year old knows how to do that? Sam thinks, with the part of him not focused on the danger, that no kid should know how to do this. No kid should know how to cover a door so that a shotgun will take out anything that comes through it without harming the person who opens it. No kid should have to.
Sam waits for Dean's nod, slides the chain off, carefully quiet and listens to the silence on the other side of the door. He unlatches the door and leaps back, .45 up and pointed before the door can open.
The door swings and their father falls through. Sam moves forward, but pauses at the shake of Dean's head. He watches as Dean goes through the motions; Dad's fallen over the salt, but Dean dowses him in Holy Water and nicks him with a silver blade before he'll let Sammy near.
It's that moment, watching Dean cut their unconscious father just to make sure Sam is safe that he acknowledges just how much he hates his dad.
************
The second time Sam feels that flash of hatred, Sam is trying to study by torchlight.
He has a test first period, but whatever it is that Dad is hunting this time doesn't respect salt lines and Dad won't leave him alone in the motel. He's been dragged out to the middle of nowhere and left in the car while Dad and Dean trudge around looking for whatever has been killing the locals.
He's halfway through the third chapter when he hears the growl. It's not loud, not particularly ominous and Sam thinks that if he were a normal kid he'd probably ignore it completely. Instead he flicks off the flashlight and picks up his .45, clicking off the safely and letting his eyes adjust to the dark in the clearing outside.
He sees it after a moment, just a clump of fur and a flash of eyes and he stills, watching it circle the car. He thinks for a moment that it may just leave, but it creeps closer and Sam knows it smells him. It circles once more; looking for weak spots he thinks now, then goes from a gentle pace to a mad scramble in one terrifying second. It throws itself against the windshield once, twice, and the glass cracks; jaws snapping through and Sam stops thinking. The gun is already pointed and his finger tightens on the trigger. He shoots twice before the animal even seems to notice, but the third bullet takes it right between the eyes and it backs away, yelping.
He's lost sight of it now; he's fairly sure it's not dead and all he knows is that he's left huddled in a car, glass shattered on the seats with a weapon that doesn't work.
Dad and Dean show up half an hour later, victorious and crowing until they see the car. Dad goes quiet and Dean starts bitching about the state of her, but he puts an arm around Sam and rides in the back for once.
Next day Sam aces his test despite having been up all night, too scared to study, but when they go out to dinner that night they're not celebrating Sam's test results but Dean's successful hunt and all Sam can think is that it's not fair for their father to be so obvious in his favouritism.
************
Sam is twelve, in his fourth school of the year and for the first time ever a girl has asked him out. Dean spends the whole walk home teasing him about the fact it's the girl who did the asking, but Sam's too excited to care. They're not going to do much, just go and see a movie then have a milkshake at the Dairy Queen, but she's really pretty and she's smart too; she asked Sam, she told him, because he's the only one who's ever managed to beat her on a math test.
They get to the corner of their road and Dean goes silent. Sam looks up to see Dad loading the car.
"I'll have a word." Dean offers quietly, but they both know it won't do any good.
Sam never did get to see that film.
****************
Sam is fourteen the first time he kills something. He's done simple things before; salt and burns, an overly helpful brownie that managed to bleach it's house's whites while the old lady was still wearing them, but this is the first time he's been on a real hunt.
Dad didn't want to bring him and Sam didn't want to come, but Dean insisted. There were three exits to the place and there was no way he and Dad could cover them by themselves. Sam was stuck covering the coal chute; they all knew it wouldn't come out that way, but he was stuck there because Dad had drilled 'cover all your bases' into Dean so thoroughly that he refused to be overruled.
He'd been here an hour already and he was beyond bored. He was cold, hungry and tired and he was pissed at being dragged out of a potentially warm bed just to put down a ghoul. It wasn't even hurting anyone alive.
There was a scuffle inside and three shots; something was happening and Sam didn't doubt that he'd have to listen to Dad regale him with yet another tale of Dean's amazing exploits on the way home.
There was another shot, then the coal chute shot open and a young girl crawled out. She couldn't have been more than about eight, blonde hair in pigtails and even in the flashlight Sam could see she had the biggest blue eyes a girl could wish for.
"Sammy!" Dean's voice bellowed through the open chute and the girl flinched. "Shoot the damn thing, I can't fit up."
The girl, the ghoul, flinched again and looked at him with those big eyes.
"Sammy." His Dad voice accompanied the opening of the front door and the girl turned and ran.
It wasn't even hurting live people. It looked like a tiny little girl and it wasn't hurting people but Sam was a Winchester. He raised the gun and one shot took it in the back of the head.
Dad appeared around the side of the house in time to see Sam lower the gun and the girl topple to the ground. "Well done boy."
Dad and Dean burnt the body and on the way home Dad bragged about the fact his youngest son was man enough to shoot a little girl in the head.
*********
Sam has never failed a test. No matter what school, what subject, Sam has never pulled less than an A since he was old enough to see that those test results were his way out. He has a 4.0 GPA and has even managed to accumulate a few extra-curricular activities in between being dragged across the country.
That morning a letter from Stanford arrived in the post.
Sam never goes back.
*********
Sam can't remember a time when he didn't hate his Dad. When he didn't question every decision, every move. He's never trusted his judgement, never liked following orders.
Dad is dead and Dean is alive and Sam hates himself for thinking it's the best decision his Dad ever made.