[SPN Fics]: You'll Be Okay + Carry On - T - 1/1
A/N: I was looking through some old comment-fics I did and found these two. I enjoyed re-reading them, so I thought I'd finally share. They're both about 1k and nothing but dewy-eyed bromance - because as fun as two kissing guys are, you gotta love family, right?
Title: You'll Be Okay
Disclaimer: I, ladyknightanka, do not own Supernatural. Underlined things and pop-culture references aren't mine. Please don't replicate my silly work without permission.
Warnings: K+ for very little triggery content. Mentioned character death and mourning. Spoilers for JtS.
Other Notes: ~1k. Stanford-era AU. Adam's thirteen. For doylescordy.
Summary: John sends Dean to pick up a young Adam when Kate suddenly dies.
-
You'll Be Okay
-
The woman is nice, she really is, but Adam hates the feeling of her breathing down his neck, staring at him with those pitying eyes.
Just go away, he wants to scream, and does so mentally, desperate for her to get away from him. She doesn't, of course. It's her job not to, no matter how much he pushes and prods.
The beeping on the other end of the phone mocks him. Beep, beep, it says, signaling that it's ringing, but that no one will pick up - that no one cares enough to.
He screws his eyes shut, feeling the tears burn behind them, and gulps in a shuddering intake of air, begging, "Please, please," under his breath.
A few minutes tick by, but it feels like a year, maybe two. Finally, finally, a gruff voice answers, muttering, "Kate?" hesitantly. She doesn't usually call him, unless she has to.
"Dad?" Adam's voice quivers in a way he hates, a way that makes him seem so weak and young. "Dad," he repeats, unable to help it, when there's no immediate response, "Mom's dead..."
That silence drags on, and all he hears is the pounding of his own heart, all he feels is the woman placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.
He almost gives up, almost resigns himself to group homes and foster care, to a life of anticipating how he'd be kicked out as soon as he turned eighteen, with no place to call home. But then John says, the words practically a sigh, "Don't do anything. You'll be okay soon," and Adam feels such relief.
Dad won't abandon him, Dad cares, or so he hopes.
-
The woman cooks him dinner, but can't really hang around. "There's a cruiser watching the house, dear," she appeases, "and I'll come see you tomorrow, so I can make sure your new family will treat you right. You'll be okay."
Dad said the same thing. Adam's hopeful, but not so sure. He still eats the pasta she made him, and though it's good, really good, he has to try hard to prevent his salty tears from mixing in with the food, has to keep his throat from closing up as he swallows. Mom was never a good cook, but he'd prefer her burnt macaroni to this any day. If only, he thinks, If only...
Dad doesn't come that night. Adam goes to bed mechanically, eyes staring blankly up at his dark blue ceiling, where a colorful propeller spins, model airplanes his mom helped him build hanging off of it. His eyes follow the motion without really meaning to. He remembers how much he complained when, last night, his mother kissed him goodnight. I'm not a kid, he had whined, and now he couldn't be, anyway. His wish was granted. She wasn't coming back, and he doubted John Winchester would ever tuck him in.
He doesn't sleep - not really. The next morning, he's sitting up at the window by four a.m., his palms pressed against the glass, his face barely inches away from following them. At about seven a.m., his dad's Impala, the car Adam's loved since he first laid eyes on it, slowly creeps up the walk.
Without even pausing to think, Adam barrels out the door, adrenaline pumping in his veins so that even the morning chill doesn't bother him. He runs until he's inches away from the parked classic, where he can see a shadowed figure behind the wheel. He stops there, panting with his hands pressed against his knees, and doesn't chance looking up until he hears the clank of the door being opened and shut.
A young man, definitely not Dad, stands there, hunching in on himself awkwardly, hands tucked into his pockets. He's handsome, with dark blond hair, his face littered with freckles that are highlighted by the pale morning sunlight, and his eyes are hooded. Adam stares at him stupidly, and the man eventually looks up, revealing startlingly emerald orbs, perhaps two shades darker than Adam's own blue-green.
Breaking the silence, the man asks, “Uh, you Adam?”
The thirteen year old snaps his jaw shut and his lips begin to quiver, unbidden. Everything he's held back since the cops called, bringing him news of his mom's death, bursts like a dam, and he buries his head in his hands, feeling them rapidly becoming wet as he sobs desperately into them.
“H-hey,” the man says, nervous and caught with his arm still reaching out toward the boy. He regards him uncomfortably, as if unsure what to do, but Adam eventually feels a hand drop onto his skinny shoulder. He looks up, his lips pressed shut and his nostrils flaring as he sucks in air with them. “I'm Dean,” the man says, not removing the large appendage. After a moment, as if having qualms with the very idea, he adds, “Your, uh, brother.”
Adam's dewy eyes widen briefly in surprise, but he can't help his bitterness when he says, “Dad couldn't be bothered to come himself, huh?”
The man, Dean, frowns, the expression severe, his hand tightening on his little brother's shoulder, and Adam winces, hoping he hasn't made this guy, at least thrice his size, upset enough to hurt him. He throws his arms up over his face protectively when Dean's fist lifts up, but all the guy does is wrap him into his bigger arms, making him gape up in surprise.
Noticing his dumbstruck expression, Dean wryly says, “Just don't expect anymore chick-flick moments, and I'm sure you'll be okay.” And even though his voice is husky, not exactly friendly, maybe even a little scared, he doesn't let go. Instead, his arms tighten and he repeats, “You'll be totally okay.”
Adam feels more inclined to believe him, more so than the social worker or even John, for whatever reason. I'll be okay, he murmurs to himself, against the leather of his big brother's jacket.
-
End
-
Title: Carry On
Disclaimer: I, ladyknightanka, do not own Supernatural. Underlined things and pop-culture references aren't mine. Please don't replicate my silly work without permission.
Warnings: T for coarse language. Spoilers for the S5 finale.
Other Notes: ~1k. Written before S6 aired so no spoilers for it. For nights_fang.
Summary: After being pulled out of Hell by Sam, Adam goes on a road-trip with him, and learns that he hates sharing his big brother, even with Dean.
-
Carry On
-
Hell is like nothing Adam ever imagined.
Then again, he never thought Heaven would be prom or that angels could be dicks, and look where that got him.
Hell is filled with blood and pain and torture, filled with endless tears and bloodcurdling screams. The only relief offered - and this is probably the only positive of being a dick's prom-dress - is that old Mikey's grace always suppresses Adam's very being so that he can barely feel, barely see, barely hear. He sees enough, anyway.
He's still happy when Sam's little rebellion - if a rebellion against the devil himself can be called 'little' - pans out, and his older brother drags him out of Hell just as he dragged him in - which he's still a bit bitter about, actually.
But the fact of the matter is, because of John, Sam, Dean and those asshole angels, Adam's life is fucked - and even sadder, they're all he has. So, when they dig themselves out of the corpse-packed ground at Stull Cemetary - where Adam can't help thinking digging? Again? God hates me - and Sam asks, “Will you come with me? You don't have to, Adam,” while staring at him with his stupidly serious face, with those overeager eyes, he mentally bitches, but still says, “Yes.”
It feels like the consent-form from Hell - or Heaven, to be more accurate - all over again.
And here they are, driving in some stolen car Sam hot-wired, after assuring Adam, “No, we won't get caught,” on their way to who the fuck knows where. Even though no one forced him on the trip - and though he would've been pretty damn pissed if Sam had even considered dumping him somewhere without giving him the option - he sits sulking and silent in the passenger seat as Sam drives, ignoring the murky green eyes that occasionally flick over to him with something like curiosity or maybe regret written in them. Too damn bad.
They arrive to bumfuck, Indiana for who knows why - to be honest, he's got a pretty good idea why, but it pisses him off to think about it, so he won't - and Sam drops him off at Cicero Pines Motel, ordering him to, “Stay put. Don't wait up. Take my credit card and get yourself something to eat, if you want,” like some clueless little kid. He says it all nicely and that only makes it worse, somehow.
“Fuck you and your patronizing,” Adam wants to say, but he doesn't. Instead he nods, clicks the TV on, and wonders if the hotel orders porn while chugging on a beer he swiped from the mini-fridge. Maybe that would upset Sam. Maybe.
A few hours later, Sam is back, and the burgers Adam bought him are cold as hell - no pun intended - while the teenager berates himself for waiting up like he gives a damn, even though the older man had told him not to. He wishes could say he'd done it out of spite, but he can't.
Adam wants to take all of his pent up anger and bitch, he really does, but Sam just looks so wrecked that he can't. He wonders if Sam's kicked-puppy face worked such wonders on Dean, who'd always seemed like a hard-ass to Adam. Probably. They've got a fucking connection, after all.
Still, he thinks he's gotten to know Sam well enough in the time they've spent in the big-house - despite the fact that most of it was blurry, filled with the clash of the freaking titans as it was - as well as all the time they've spent on the road together. He knows what kind of food Sam orders from the shit diners they always eat at, he knows the guy's orderly to a fault since he always fixes up his bed even when he knows the hotel-staff will do it, he knows Sam sprawls out like a giant koala when he's asleep, drooling and molesting the pillows. With all that in mind, he doesn't ask if Sam's okay - his huge brother doesn't need that.
“He ain't coming home, huh?” he inquires instead, although it's really not a question. Sam's sad eyes flick up to meet his - haha, Sad Sam, and he definitely needs more sleep - knowing and surprised all at once. As he shakes the thought away and stares back, Adam wonders when he started to think of this - all this endless traveling and feeling second best - as home. He sits down beside Sam so that their sides are touching, he feels the heat radiating off of Sam's large body. “I'm not that sorry,” he adds truthfully, staring down at his laced hands.
Sam blinks, surprised, before sighing, but there's a slight smile dawning on his face, for whatever reason. “We wouldn't have left you behind, you know?” he says, but Adam doesn't, so he doesn't respond. “Where to next, kiddo?” Sam asks instead, changing the subject when he realizes this tiny insecurity that his younger brother had been hiding.
Adam smiles back, a wan twisting of his lips. Sam hasn't ever let him pick, has always had his own agenda in mind, and he thinks this is somehow monumental. Completely serious, and once again locking eyes with his taller brother, Adam says, “I thought we'd go to Disneyland.” Sam laughs.
It's not the perfect family - not a fucking chance - but he won't give it up. Not for Dean; not for anyone.
-
End
-
A/N: I posted these two together because there's a fun contrast. One was written right after JtS, meaning Adam is an adorable woobie, and the other after we saw his lovable, bitchy, snarky self in PoNR. Plus, there's bonding with both Dean and Sam. Hope you liked. 8D
Title: You'll Be Okay
Disclaimer: I, ladyknightanka, do not own Supernatural. Underlined things and pop-culture references aren't mine. Please don't replicate my silly work without permission.
Warnings: K+ for very little triggery content. Mentioned character death and mourning. Spoilers for JtS.
Other Notes: ~1k. Stanford-era AU. Adam's thirteen. For doylescordy.
Summary: John sends Dean to pick up a young Adam when Kate suddenly dies.
-
You'll Be Okay
-
The woman is nice, she really is, but Adam hates the feeling of her breathing down his neck, staring at him with those pitying eyes.
Just go away, he wants to scream, and does so mentally, desperate for her to get away from him. She doesn't, of course. It's her job not to, no matter how much he pushes and prods.
The beeping on the other end of the phone mocks him. Beep, beep, it says, signaling that it's ringing, but that no one will pick up - that no one cares enough to.
He screws his eyes shut, feeling the tears burn behind them, and gulps in a shuddering intake of air, begging, "Please, please," under his breath.
A few minutes tick by, but it feels like a year, maybe two. Finally, finally, a gruff voice answers, muttering, "Kate?" hesitantly. She doesn't usually call him, unless she has to.
"Dad?" Adam's voice quivers in a way he hates, a way that makes him seem so weak and young. "Dad," he repeats, unable to help it, when there's no immediate response, "Mom's dead..."
That silence drags on, and all he hears is the pounding of his own heart, all he feels is the woman placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly.
He almost gives up, almost resigns himself to group homes and foster care, to a life of anticipating how he'd be kicked out as soon as he turned eighteen, with no place to call home. But then John says, the words practically a sigh, "Don't do anything. You'll be okay soon," and Adam feels such relief.
Dad won't abandon him, Dad cares, or so he hopes.
-
The woman cooks him dinner, but can't really hang around. "There's a cruiser watching the house, dear," she appeases, "and I'll come see you tomorrow, so I can make sure your new family will treat you right. You'll be okay."
Dad said the same thing. Adam's hopeful, but not so sure. He still eats the pasta she made him, and though it's good, really good, he has to try hard to prevent his salty tears from mixing in with the food, has to keep his throat from closing up as he swallows. Mom was never a good cook, but he'd prefer her burnt macaroni to this any day. If only, he thinks, If only...
Dad doesn't come that night. Adam goes to bed mechanically, eyes staring blankly up at his dark blue ceiling, where a colorful propeller spins, model airplanes his mom helped him build hanging off of it. His eyes follow the motion without really meaning to. He remembers how much he complained when, last night, his mother kissed him goodnight. I'm not a kid, he had whined, and now he couldn't be, anyway. His wish was granted. She wasn't coming back, and he doubted John Winchester would ever tuck him in.
He doesn't sleep - not really. The next morning, he's sitting up at the window by four a.m., his palms pressed against the glass, his face barely inches away from following them. At about seven a.m., his dad's Impala, the car Adam's loved since he first laid eyes on it, slowly creeps up the walk.
Without even pausing to think, Adam barrels out the door, adrenaline pumping in his veins so that even the morning chill doesn't bother him. He runs until he's inches away from the parked classic, where he can see a shadowed figure behind the wheel. He stops there, panting with his hands pressed against his knees, and doesn't chance looking up until he hears the clank of the door being opened and shut.
A young man, definitely not Dad, stands there, hunching in on himself awkwardly, hands tucked into his pockets. He's handsome, with dark blond hair, his face littered with freckles that are highlighted by the pale morning sunlight, and his eyes are hooded. Adam stares at him stupidly, and the man eventually looks up, revealing startlingly emerald orbs, perhaps two shades darker than Adam's own blue-green.
Breaking the silence, the man asks, “Uh, you Adam?”
The thirteen year old snaps his jaw shut and his lips begin to quiver, unbidden. Everything he's held back since the cops called, bringing him news of his mom's death, bursts like a dam, and he buries his head in his hands, feeling them rapidly becoming wet as he sobs desperately into them.
“H-hey,” the man says, nervous and caught with his arm still reaching out toward the boy. He regards him uncomfortably, as if unsure what to do, but Adam eventually feels a hand drop onto his skinny shoulder. He looks up, his lips pressed shut and his nostrils flaring as he sucks in air with them. “I'm Dean,” the man says, not removing the large appendage. After a moment, as if having qualms with the very idea, he adds, “Your, uh, brother.”
Adam's dewy eyes widen briefly in surprise, but he can't help his bitterness when he says, “Dad couldn't be bothered to come himself, huh?”
The man, Dean, frowns, the expression severe, his hand tightening on his little brother's shoulder, and Adam winces, hoping he hasn't made this guy, at least thrice his size, upset enough to hurt him. He throws his arms up over his face protectively when Dean's fist lifts up, but all the guy does is wrap him into his bigger arms, making him gape up in surprise.
Noticing his dumbstruck expression, Dean wryly says, “Just don't expect anymore chick-flick moments, and I'm sure you'll be okay.” And even though his voice is husky, not exactly friendly, maybe even a little scared, he doesn't let go. Instead, his arms tighten and he repeats, “You'll be totally okay.”
Adam feels more inclined to believe him, more so than the social worker or even John, for whatever reason. I'll be okay, he murmurs to himself, against the leather of his big brother's jacket.
-
End
-
Title: Carry On
Disclaimer: I, ladyknightanka, do not own Supernatural. Underlined things and pop-culture references aren't mine. Please don't replicate my silly work without permission.
Warnings: T for coarse language. Spoilers for the S5 finale.
Other Notes: ~1k. Written before S6 aired so no spoilers for it. For nights_fang.
Summary: After being pulled out of Hell by Sam, Adam goes on a road-trip with him, and learns that he hates sharing his big brother, even with Dean.
-
Carry On
-
Hell is like nothing Adam ever imagined.
Then again, he never thought Heaven would be prom or that angels could be dicks, and look where that got him.
Hell is filled with blood and pain and torture, filled with endless tears and bloodcurdling screams. The only relief offered - and this is probably the only positive of being a dick's prom-dress - is that old Mikey's grace always suppresses Adam's very being so that he can barely feel, barely see, barely hear. He sees enough, anyway.
He's still happy when Sam's little rebellion - if a rebellion against the devil himself can be called 'little' - pans out, and his older brother drags him out of Hell just as he dragged him in - which he's still a bit bitter about, actually.
But the fact of the matter is, because of John, Sam, Dean and those asshole angels, Adam's life is fucked - and even sadder, they're all he has. So, when they dig themselves out of the corpse-packed ground at Stull Cemetary - where Adam can't help thinking digging? Again? God hates me - and Sam asks, “Will you come with me? You don't have to, Adam,” while staring at him with his stupidly serious face, with those overeager eyes, he mentally bitches, but still says, “Yes.”
It feels like the consent-form from Hell - or Heaven, to be more accurate - all over again.
And here they are, driving in some stolen car Sam hot-wired, after assuring Adam, “No, we won't get caught,” on their way to who the fuck knows where. Even though no one forced him on the trip - and though he would've been pretty damn pissed if Sam had even considered dumping him somewhere without giving him the option - he sits sulking and silent in the passenger seat as Sam drives, ignoring the murky green eyes that occasionally flick over to him with something like curiosity or maybe regret written in them. Too damn bad.
They arrive to bumfuck, Indiana for who knows why - to be honest, he's got a pretty good idea why, but it pisses him off to think about it, so he won't - and Sam drops him off at Cicero Pines Motel, ordering him to, “Stay put. Don't wait up. Take my credit card and get yourself something to eat, if you want,” like some clueless little kid. He says it all nicely and that only makes it worse, somehow.
“Fuck you and your patronizing,” Adam wants to say, but he doesn't. Instead he nods, clicks the TV on, and wonders if the hotel orders porn while chugging on a beer he swiped from the mini-fridge. Maybe that would upset Sam. Maybe.
A few hours later, Sam is back, and the burgers Adam bought him are cold as hell - no pun intended - while the teenager berates himself for waiting up like he gives a damn, even though the older man had told him not to. He wishes could say he'd done it out of spite, but he can't.
Adam wants to take all of his pent up anger and bitch, he really does, but Sam just looks so wrecked that he can't. He wonders if Sam's kicked-puppy face worked such wonders on Dean, who'd always seemed like a hard-ass to Adam. Probably. They've got a fucking connection, after all.
Still, he thinks he's gotten to know Sam well enough in the time they've spent in the big-house - despite the fact that most of it was blurry, filled with the clash of the freaking titans as it was - as well as all the time they've spent on the road together. He knows what kind of food Sam orders from the shit diners they always eat at, he knows the guy's orderly to a fault since he always fixes up his bed even when he knows the hotel-staff will do it, he knows Sam sprawls out like a giant koala when he's asleep, drooling and molesting the pillows. With all that in mind, he doesn't ask if Sam's okay - his huge brother doesn't need that.
“He ain't coming home, huh?” he inquires instead, although it's really not a question. Sam's sad eyes flick up to meet his - haha, Sad Sam, and he definitely needs more sleep - knowing and surprised all at once. As he shakes the thought away and stares back, Adam wonders when he started to think of this - all this endless traveling and feeling second best - as home. He sits down beside Sam so that their sides are touching, he feels the heat radiating off of Sam's large body. “I'm not that sorry,” he adds truthfully, staring down at his laced hands.
Sam blinks, surprised, before sighing, but there's a slight smile dawning on his face, for whatever reason. “We wouldn't have left you behind, you know?” he says, but Adam doesn't, so he doesn't respond. “Where to next, kiddo?” Sam asks instead, changing the subject when he realizes this tiny insecurity that his younger brother had been hiding.
Adam smiles back, a wan twisting of his lips. Sam hasn't ever let him pick, has always had his own agenda in mind, and he thinks this is somehow monumental. Completely serious, and once again locking eyes with his taller brother, Adam says, “I thought we'd go to Disneyland.” Sam laughs.
It's not the perfect family - not a fucking chance - but he won't give it up. Not for Dean; not for anyone.
-
End
-
A/N: I posted these two together because there's a fun contrast. One was written right after JtS, meaning Adam is an adorable woobie, and the other after we saw his lovable, bitchy, snarky self in PoNR. Plus, there's bonding with both Dean and Sam. Hope you liked. 8D