Happy Birthday Jane Davitt. A SPN Gift Fic
Hey, Jane. Happy Belated Birthday to an awesome SPN enabler.
Title: Blast From the Past
Fandom: Supernatural
Genre Gen, Sam, Dean.
Comments Set during Season One. Written for Jane Davitt's birthday.
Rating pg-13 for some minor cussing.
Word Count 2315 words.
Summary
Sam is an awesome brother.
THEN
Sam is one of four kids left standing for the final round of the second grade spelling bee when they stop for lunch. He's done his research - that's what Dad calls it when his father is doing Dad kind of homework, newspapers and old, dusty smelling books scattered on his motel bed and dresser. He knows all the words on the list, and he's going to win the prize. He can see it laid out on Miss Jameson's desk, all shiny and silvery, and he itches to open the package and loop the string around his finger and make the yo-yo do all the tricks the big boys and girls do during recess.
Sam goes with his class to the lunchroom, and he eats everything on his tray, and all of John's and Ben's carrot sticks since they don't like them. Sam likes them fine. Dean never gets him carrot sticks for supper, so they're kind of a treat.
Miss Jameson told them a toy store donated the yo-yo for their big spelling bee, and she made them all write letters to the store to say 'thank you' and said they could draw whatever they wanted on the back of the letter. Sam decorated his letter with a picture of their car, The Impala, with his dad standing next to the driver's door and his brother holding Sam's hand because Dean is always holding his hand, dragging him around everywhere and keeping him from getting lost. He drew a road, too, and colored it till it was very black and shiny. Miss Jameson really liked his letter and picture. She looked at it a long time before putting it in the envelope with all the other kids' letters.
Dean thinks Miss Jameson is cool because he said she conned that toy store into giving her a real Silver Bullet-2 yo-yo, and it cost a lot of money, seventy-five dollars at least. Miss Jameson sometimes gives Dean and Sam a snack when Dean stops by his classroom to pick him up after school. Dean likes to eat, and so he likes people who feed him. Especially if it's Little Debbie snack cakes. Dean buys him and Sam those from the gas station down the street when Dad has to go out on a hunt. But he's not supposed to call it that to anybody other than Dean and Dad. He's not supposed to let anybody know that Dad leaves him and Dean in the motel room and that Dean takes care of him.
So he doesn't tell Miss Jameson about that, not even when she asks him about where he's staying and what his daddy does for a living. He just shrugs his shoulders and tells her what Dean has told him to tell nosy people: his dad fixes cars. He's not really sure what his dad does on a hunt, but he knows he takes knives and guns with him and he never brings back anything to eat, like deer meat. Dean tells him to just shut up when he asks questions about where does Dad go when he's hunting, and why do they have to keep going to new places all the time. And sometimes he'll pester Dean about stuff, and Dean will let him have the last bowl of cereal or fix him what he wants to eat, but when Dean tells him to shut up like that - he shuts up. Dean likes to make jokes and he's a jerk about teasing Sam, but when he uses his serious voice and calls him Sammy, then Sam does what he says. Because he's his big brother.
All the kids go back into Sam's classroom, crowded with three classes of second graders, and the spelling bee starts up again; Sam kicks butt because he spells all the words right, and he's the winner.
Miss Jameson tell him he can have the yo-yo when school is out, and she gives him a certificate with his name on it that says he's the Second Grade Spelling Bee Champion - that's what it says on the colored paper with the big letters - and he doesn't have to do any more school work or homework today. He can play on the computer or he can read or color. Because he is 'too cool for school' today. That's what Dean would tell him.
He chooses to color, uses the biggest piece of drawing paper Miss Jameson has in the classroom, and he draws his very special picture. He shows it to his teacher and explains why today is a special day. Miss Jameson really likes his picture, and when the bell rings and school is done she gives him his yo-yo and a sack with a surprise to go along with his picture.
He runs out the classroom door when he sees Dean, and grabs his hand. They aren't supposed to run in the hall, but Sam is so full of good feelings from winning the spelling bee and drawing his picture that his legs can't just walk so he pulls at Dean's hand and together they're flying past other kids and even teachers, but nothing can stop them because they are Winchesters and they are brothers and today is a really special day.
NOW
Dean is tired. It's two in the morning and they've laid a ghost to rest tonight. He aches a little from digging out the grave and breaking open the coffin and shoveling all that dirt back on top of the burned bones. The stink of the smoke clings to his shirts, and he's longing to get back to the motel and take a shower. They'll leave in the morning, like he's done so many times in his life. Another town, another cheap motel, another hunt. It's his life, and his job, and the good that they do outweighs the not so good things that his conscience wants to berate him about late at night. Things like stealing, and credit card fraud, and lying, and one night stands. He tells his conscience to shove it. The stuff that he and Sam and his dad do that is technically illegal is just plain necessary. And he learned his lesson about not giving a woman expectations past a night of rolling around in the sheets a long time ago. He'd been careful about that since he'd hurt a girl he'd liked a lot when he was in high school. He'd known nothing would come of their dating, that he'd be fucking gone as soon as Dad got back from the prolonged hunt he'd disappeared on, and when she'd started making noises about meeting the parents he'd panicked and switched to another girl, one he didn't give a flip about. The girl he'd actually cared about caught him and what's her name making out in the janitor's closet and had spoken some truths to him in front of half the school.
She'd been right. He'd been an asshole, but he did get the message. So he switched to one night stands after that, except for those three weeks with Cassie. Sam had gone to Stanford, had made a life for himself and was serious about a girl. And Dean had thought, why not me, why not try again, and hadn't that worked out just great. Cassie had thought he was mental when he'd explained about his life, and dumped him. He wasn't going to try again to have a real girlfriend. He'd just be satisfied with sex. He liked sex. He liked the cheat of intimacy without really being intimate. Touching, being skin to skin with another human being, it soothed something in him, something needy. But it was all on the surface. Nine tenths of the people, mostly women, but sometimes men, that he'd fucked didn't even know his real name.
He sighed and felt like honking the horn for Sam to finish dicking around at the Minnit Mart and get his ass back in the Impala so they could go home. Home. A synonym for another cheap motel room. He didn't particularly like them, but he was comfortable with them. He'd grown up with their crappy decor, moldy bathrooms, and broken pavement. Usually where they'd stayed had been the next thing to no-tell motels, and people minded their own damn business, and the day to day rent was cheap, or even cheaper by the week.
He was half dozing in the car when Sam finally plunked his ass down in the shotgun seat. He shoved Dean in the shoulder and Dean muttered “Bitch” at him halfheartedly and grinned a little when Sam replied “Jerk.” It was familiar and that made it good. They drove back to the motel and tiredly moved into the room.
Dean called first dibs on the shower and when Sam protested that they should do rock, paper, or scissors to see who got to go first, he fell back on his best time-honored rationalization.
“I get to go first because I'm the oldest.”
Sam snorted, but didn't protest any more. Dean grabbed clean boxers and a t-shirt, and soon he was enjoying the feel of hot water on his skin. Mostly his life kind of sucked, but he tried to ignore that because Dad had taught him not to be a whiny brat; so, he made the most of things that didn't suck. Fucking was awesome. So was playing darts or pool. His music - loud enough to rattle windows. The Impala, his baby. Sam -- always and forever his little brother, never mind that he towered over Dean now. Being with Sam, his family, was right. They'd find Dad. Dad had to have his reasons why he was playing this cat and mouse game with them, and Dean respected his father so he wasn't going to second guess the guy, but he longed for the day when he and Sam would be able to join their father again.
He supposed he should leave some hot water for his brother, so he ended his shower and dressed. He opened the bathroom door and Sam tossed something at him.
He caught it, of course. Man, he had reflexes and he knew how to use them.
He looked at what Sam had thrown at him, and then he looked over at Sam, who was grinning at him, shaggy dark hair falling in his eyes.
“Happy birthday, Dean.”
His birthday. Dean hadn't celebrated his birthday for so long that he didn't even pay attention to it anymore. Sometimes he had to stop and think to remember exactly how old he was.
And what Sam had gotten him - well, wasn't that a blast from the past.
He smiled back at Sam, and slipped his finger through the string of the yo-yo Sam must have bought at the Minnit Mart.
“Hey, Sammy. Watch. Bet I can still do all my old tricks.” He played around spinning the yo-yo up and down, then out and back. He walked the dog and then attempted to do an around the world, but was unsuccessful.
“Guess I'll need to practice up.” He slid the string off of his finger and came over to where Sam was seated on one of the twin beds and placed it on the bedside table. He sat down next to his brother, their thighs almost, but not quite, touching. Sam had two glasses out and a damn fine bottle of whiskey, and Dean watched as Sam filled both glasses up and handed one to Dean.
They clinked the glasses together, not finding it necessary to make an actual toast, and then they both downed the whiskey in several gulps. Winchesters were not delicate drinkers.
“I remember the yo-yo you gave me for my birthday when you were seven, Sammy. You won it in a spelling contest. You told me that your teacher said that hunters in the Philippines would use a yo-yo to hunt, and since I was going to be a hunter like Dad you wanted me to have it. It was really cool, way too expensive for Dad to buy, and it had ball bearings and was adjustable. Man, I could really do some tricks with it. And you gave me Little Debbie snack cakes, too.”
“Those were from my teacher. I showed her the picture of the birthday cake I drew for you, and I guess maybe I told her there wasn't going to be a real birthday cake because she sent along the snack cakes. And when Dad got back he gave you knives, and I remember he taught you how to throw them.”
Dean laughed. “That was a great birthday, Sammy. And hey, thanks for my new yo-yo. Kind of takes me back, ya know.”
Sam's whole face took on a delighted expression, and Dean felt warmed to know that his brother had done this for him. More than just picking up a toy, he'd reminded Dean of a good memory. That birthday when he'd turned twelve had surprised him -- he hadn't expected anything; after all, he was pretty much grown up already and expecting cake and presents was for kids.
Tomorrow he and Sam would resume hunting -- stopping monsters and saving people. They'd be doing what their father had taught them to do, and maybe this time John would answer his cell phone, maybe he'd want to wish his eldest son happy birthday.
Dean grabbed the bottle and refilled their glasses. Whiskey, a new yo-yo - he'd had to leave the old one behind years ago when they'd had to peel out of town fast, leaving their clothes and duffel bags still in their motel room - and the company of his brother.
Best birthday since he was twelve. Unless there could be strippers...
Nah. He could go watch strippers anytime.
He was right the first time. Best birthday ever.
The End.
Title: Blast From the Past
Fandom: Supernatural
Genre Gen, Sam, Dean.
Comments Set during Season One. Written for Jane Davitt's birthday.
Rating pg-13 for some minor cussing.
Word Count 2315 words.
Summary
Sam is an awesome brother.
THEN
Sam is one of four kids left standing for the final round of the second grade spelling bee when they stop for lunch. He's done his research - that's what Dad calls it when his father is doing Dad kind of homework, newspapers and old, dusty smelling books scattered on his motel bed and dresser. He knows all the words on the list, and he's going to win the prize. He can see it laid out on Miss Jameson's desk, all shiny and silvery, and he itches to open the package and loop the string around his finger and make the yo-yo do all the tricks the big boys and girls do during recess.
Sam goes with his class to the lunchroom, and he eats everything on his tray, and all of John's and Ben's carrot sticks since they don't like them. Sam likes them fine. Dean never gets him carrot sticks for supper, so they're kind of a treat.
Miss Jameson told them a toy store donated the yo-yo for their big spelling bee, and she made them all write letters to the store to say 'thank you' and said they could draw whatever they wanted on the back of the letter. Sam decorated his letter with a picture of their car, The Impala, with his dad standing next to the driver's door and his brother holding Sam's hand because Dean is always holding his hand, dragging him around everywhere and keeping him from getting lost. He drew a road, too, and colored it till it was very black and shiny. Miss Jameson really liked his letter and picture. She looked at it a long time before putting it in the envelope with all the other kids' letters.
Dean thinks Miss Jameson is cool because he said she conned that toy store into giving her a real Silver Bullet-2 yo-yo, and it cost a lot of money, seventy-five dollars at least. Miss Jameson sometimes gives Dean and Sam a snack when Dean stops by his classroom to pick him up after school. Dean likes to eat, and so he likes people who feed him. Especially if it's Little Debbie snack cakes. Dean buys him and Sam those from the gas station down the street when Dad has to go out on a hunt. But he's not supposed to call it that to anybody other than Dean and Dad. He's not supposed to let anybody know that Dad leaves him and Dean in the motel room and that Dean takes care of him.
So he doesn't tell Miss Jameson about that, not even when she asks him about where he's staying and what his daddy does for a living. He just shrugs his shoulders and tells her what Dean has told him to tell nosy people: his dad fixes cars. He's not really sure what his dad does on a hunt, but he knows he takes knives and guns with him and he never brings back anything to eat, like deer meat. Dean tells him to just shut up when he asks questions about where does Dad go when he's hunting, and why do they have to keep going to new places all the time. And sometimes he'll pester Dean about stuff, and Dean will let him have the last bowl of cereal or fix him what he wants to eat, but when Dean tells him to shut up like that - he shuts up. Dean likes to make jokes and he's a jerk about teasing Sam, but when he uses his serious voice and calls him Sammy, then Sam does what he says. Because he's his big brother.
All the kids go back into Sam's classroom, crowded with three classes of second graders, and the spelling bee starts up again; Sam kicks butt because he spells all the words right, and he's the winner.
Miss Jameson tell him he can have the yo-yo when school is out, and she gives him a certificate with his name on it that says he's the Second Grade Spelling Bee Champion - that's what it says on the colored paper with the big letters - and he doesn't have to do any more school work or homework today. He can play on the computer or he can read or color. Because he is 'too cool for school' today. That's what Dean would tell him.
He chooses to color, uses the biggest piece of drawing paper Miss Jameson has in the classroom, and he draws his very special picture. He shows it to his teacher and explains why today is a special day. Miss Jameson really likes his picture, and when the bell rings and school is done she gives him his yo-yo and a sack with a surprise to go along with his picture.
He runs out the classroom door when he sees Dean, and grabs his hand. They aren't supposed to run in the hall, but Sam is so full of good feelings from winning the spelling bee and drawing his picture that his legs can't just walk so he pulls at Dean's hand and together they're flying past other kids and even teachers, but nothing can stop them because they are Winchesters and they are brothers and today is a really special day.
NOW
Dean is tired. It's two in the morning and they've laid a ghost to rest tonight. He aches a little from digging out the grave and breaking open the coffin and shoveling all that dirt back on top of the burned bones. The stink of the smoke clings to his shirts, and he's longing to get back to the motel and take a shower. They'll leave in the morning, like he's done so many times in his life. Another town, another cheap motel, another hunt. It's his life, and his job, and the good that they do outweighs the not so good things that his conscience wants to berate him about late at night. Things like stealing, and credit card fraud, and lying, and one night stands. He tells his conscience to shove it. The stuff that he and Sam and his dad do that is technically illegal is just plain necessary. And he learned his lesson about not giving a woman expectations past a night of rolling around in the sheets a long time ago. He'd been careful about that since he'd hurt a girl he'd liked a lot when he was in high school. He'd known nothing would come of their dating, that he'd be fucking gone as soon as Dad got back from the prolonged hunt he'd disappeared on, and when she'd started making noises about meeting the parents he'd panicked and switched to another girl, one he didn't give a flip about. The girl he'd actually cared about caught him and what's her name making out in the janitor's closet and had spoken some truths to him in front of half the school.
She'd been right. He'd been an asshole, but he did get the message. So he switched to one night stands after that, except for those three weeks with Cassie. Sam had gone to Stanford, had made a life for himself and was serious about a girl. And Dean had thought, why not me, why not try again, and hadn't that worked out just great. Cassie had thought he was mental when he'd explained about his life, and dumped him. He wasn't going to try again to have a real girlfriend. He'd just be satisfied with sex. He liked sex. He liked the cheat of intimacy without really being intimate. Touching, being skin to skin with another human being, it soothed something in him, something needy. But it was all on the surface. Nine tenths of the people, mostly women, but sometimes men, that he'd fucked didn't even know his real name.
He sighed and felt like honking the horn for Sam to finish dicking around at the Minnit Mart and get his ass back in the Impala so they could go home. Home. A synonym for another cheap motel room. He didn't particularly like them, but he was comfortable with them. He'd grown up with their crappy decor, moldy bathrooms, and broken pavement. Usually where they'd stayed had been the next thing to no-tell motels, and people minded their own damn business, and the day to day rent was cheap, or even cheaper by the week.
He was half dozing in the car when Sam finally plunked his ass down in the shotgun seat. He shoved Dean in the shoulder and Dean muttered “Bitch” at him halfheartedly and grinned a little when Sam replied “Jerk.” It was familiar and that made it good. They drove back to the motel and tiredly moved into the room.
Dean called first dibs on the shower and when Sam protested that they should do rock, paper, or scissors to see who got to go first, he fell back on his best time-honored rationalization.
“I get to go first because I'm the oldest.”
Sam snorted, but didn't protest any more. Dean grabbed clean boxers and a t-shirt, and soon he was enjoying the feel of hot water on his skin. Mostly his life kind of sucked, but he tried to ignore that because Dad had taught him not to be a whiny brat; so, he made the most of things that didn't suck. Fucking was awesome. So was playing darts or pool. His music - loud enough to rattle windows. The Impala, his baby. Sam -- always and forever his little brother, never mind that he towered over Dean now. Being with Sam, his family, was right. They'd find Dad. Dad had to have his reasons why he was playing this cat and mouse game with them, and Dean respected his father so he wasn't going to second guess the guy, but he longed for the day when he and Sam would be able to join their father again.
He supposed he should leave some hot water for his brother, so he ended his shower and dressed. He opened the bathroom door and Sam tossed something at him.
He caught it, of course. Man, he had reflexes and he knew how to use them.
He looked at what Sam had thrown at him, and then he looked over at Sam, who was grinning at him, shaggy dark hair falling in his eyes.
“Happy birthday, Dean.”
His birthday. Dean hadn't celebrated his birthday for so long that he didn't even pay attention to it anymore. Sometimes he had to stop and think to remember exactly how old he was.
And what Sam had gotten him - well, wasn't that a blast from the past.
He smiled back at Sam, and slipped his finger through the string of the yo-yo Sam must have bought at the Minnit Mart.
“Hey, Sammy. Watch. Bet I can still do all my old tricks.” He played around spinning the yo-yo up and down, then out and back. He walked the dog and then attempted to do an around the world, but was unsuccessful.
“Guess I'll need to practice up.” He slid the string off of his finger and came over to where Sam was seated on one of the twin beds and placed it on the bedside table. He sat down next to his brother, their thighs almost, but not quite, touching. Sam had two glasses out and a damn fine bottle of whiskey, and Dean watched as Sam filled both glasses up and handed one to Dean.
They clinked the glasses together, not finding it necessary to make an actual toast, and then they both downed the whiskey in several gulps. Winchesters were not delicate drinkers.
“I remember the yo-yo you gave me for my birthday when you were seven, Sammy. You won it in a spelling contest. You told me that your teacher said that hunters in the Philippines would use a yo-yo to hunt, and since I was going to be a hunter like Dad you wanted me to have it. It was really cool, way too expensive for Dad to buy, and it had ball bearings and was adjustable. Man, I could really do some tricks with it. And you gave me Little Debbie snack cakes, too.”
“Those were from my teacher. I showed her the picture of the birthday cake I drew for you, and I guess maybe I told her there wasn't going to be a real birthday cake because she sent along the snack cakes. And when Dad got back he gave you knives, and I remember he taught you how to throw them.”
Dean laughed. “That was a great birthday, Sammy. And hey, thanks for my new yo-yo. Kind of takes me back, ya know.”
Sam's whole face took on a delighted expression, and Dean felt warmed to know that his brother had done this for him. More than just picking up a toy, he'd reminded Dean of a good memory. That birthday when he'd turned twelve had surprised him -- he hadn't expected anything; after all, he was pretty much grown up already and expecting cake and presents was for kids.
Tomorrow he and Sam would resume hunting -- stopping monsters and saving people. They'd be doing what their father had taught them to do, and maybe this time John would answer his cell phone, maybe he'd want to wish his eldest son happy birthday.
Dean grabbed the bottle and refilled their glasses. Whiskey, a new yo-yo - he'd had to leave the old one behind years ago when they'd had to peel out of town fast, leaving their clothes and duffel bags still in their motel room - and the company of his brother.
Best birthday since he was twelve. Unless there could be strippers...
Nah. He could go watch strippers anytime.
He was right the first time. Best birthday ever.
The End.