OhSam Triple Play 2015!
The comm hosted this little event a couple of years ago, and as November 2 is an auspicious day for our darling Sam, today would be the perfect time to revisit this challenge. Welcome to the Triple Play 2015!
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Author: Septembers_coda
Rating: PG-13
Genre/pairing: Gen, wee!chesters, casefic
Characters: Sam, Dean, John, hunter-OC
Word count: ~1,400
Summary: Something’s in wee! Sam.
Disclaimer: No ownership of anything Supernatural.
Sam woke up with sticks and gravel poking his legs, and his first thought was that the ground was very cold-and why was he dressed only in underwear?-but he was too hot under the old Army sleeping bag draped over him. Dad’s-he recognized it by the slightly mildewed smell that featured in some of his earliest memories.
Or was this one of his earliest memories? No, he was nine now, too old for childish reminiscing. As he blinked open his eyes, sights and sounds slowly gained volume and clarity. The weird, flickering light shadowed more than it illuminated, but Sam gradually made out the shapes of several men around the fire-and the sound of low chanting.
He felt a thrill of fear, but it was almost rote-and wasn’t that strange, that at nine years old, it wasn’t that unexpected to wake up this way? But why couldn’t he move? And what was that strange, awful sensation in his belly, a squirming inside like he needed to throw up, but with no sick feeling gathering in his throat, and something tamping down his muscles, like cords tied around each one of them and a whisper made physical, all through his body, be still, be still…
He tried to scream for Dad or Dean, but it was like thinking about a scream from a long way away, and then he was born up, strong arms lifting him, and Dad’s face slid into view. “Sam?”
The voice was an intense relief, and Sam opened his mouth to ask what was happening, and found that he could only say, “Dad…” and then he was weeping, and oh God, they were on a hunt, they’d gone together because there was no time to drop Sam somewhere safe and he didn’t want to be dropped, he wanted to stay with Dean, and if Dean could hunt, why couldn’t he, even if Dad still pretended it wasn’t all real and he wasn’t supposed to know, he’d known for years now…
“Take it easy, buddy. I’ve got you. Just hang in there. Damn it, Aidan! Why isn’t it working? I would never have come to your god damned podunk shithole if you’d told me-”
“Relax, John. I’m sorry one got in. I’ve done this ritual a thousand times, and if it only got in him today-”
The stream of invective that John launched at Aidan was full of words he never said where Sam could hear; words Dean had started saying lately too but which always got him in trouble, and Sam felt Dad’s arms shaking with fury where they held him, and for some reason he liked it, so though his insides churned horribly, and even poked against the sleeping bag from inside his belly, like they were reaching, he sat still, wanting only to stay where he was, and maybe go to sleep and wake up somewhere different, better, but still in Dad’s arms.
“…you’re damned, damned to hell if you think it’s OK for one of my boys to get taken like this, and it’ll be your death, Aidan, unless…”
Sam knew Aidan, one of dad’s weird hunter friends who said things Sam didn’t like, but Dean did; Dean always asked him questions and didn’t seem to care that he was kind of off, weird and creepy like too many people Dad talked to, but Dean always wanted to know what weapon killed what, and Aidan would always tell him, saying things Sam, and even Dean, wasn’t supposed to hear, if Dad wasn’t there…
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“Dean’s fine, buddy. He… took care of some business for me, and now he’s resting, don’t worry-”
“Can’t have him nearby when we get this thing out of you,” said Aidan, his ugly face suddenly appearing next to Dad’s. “He’s prob’ly too old to get took, but best not to risk it; nearest kid could-”
There was a violent stirring and a curse from Aidan and “I will end you” from Dad, and Sam was afraid Dad would drop him to beat up Aidan, but suddenly a shriek came from inside him, and he was flailing wildly, screaming screams that tore his throat, and Dad held him crushingly tight from behind, stumbled to his feet and held Sam belly outwards, toward the fire whose heat scalded Sam’s legs, and the chant had become shouts, and Sam felt his belly tear open, but not really because he looked down and it was whole, normal except for the green smoke pouring from his belly button that formed into the shape of a cartoon devil, horns, barbed tail and all, and the flames leaped up to grab the devil and it hissed and screamed and sparked and there was a little explosion, and everything got fainter and farther away as dad held him, so tight, crushed him and said “Oh, thank God. My boy. My boy…” as Sam slipped away.
He woke again to Dean’s voice, cracking with puberty. Sam opened his eyes to the dim outline of Dean, but he seemed a weird shape, and was squirming violently; fear clenched Sam again as Dad laid him down next to his brother.
“So he’s OK?” Dean was saying. His voice bristled with resentment. “You didn’t have to tie me up; I’m old enough, and I was the one who killed the first one-”
“Shut it, Dean,” said John, but with no heat. “I’ll untie you now. Just be quiet so Sam can rest. He’s worn out.”
“So would you be, if you’d had an imp in you all day,” Dean muttered, but he quieted abruptly when Dad turned toward him, and Sam heard the whispers of rope being untied.
“You boys stay in the tent. I know this weird camp gives you the creeps, but the town set it up to deal with this imp problem. Used to be a Bible camp, so I guess it had the right energy-”
“Dad,” said Sam suddenly. He was remembering an argument in the car, yesterday, or the day before. He wanted to go back to school. They’d left his last school so soon, and Dad had promised that the next town would have a school he could go to, but- “I don’t want to go to school in this town. Can we go to a different town soon?”
There was a short silence, as Dean scrambled out of his untied bonds and sleeping bag and moved closer to Sam, peering into his face. When Dad spoke, Sam was surprised to hear his voice crack.
“Don’t worry, son. By breakfast tomorrow this town will just be a bad memory. Come Monday you’ll be in school, somewhere much better. I promise.”
“You can write a hell of an essay about how you spent Halloween,” joked Dean.
“I hate Halloween,” Sam said reflexively.
He really did. But right now, with the memories of the thing inside him flitting away like moths after he turned off a lamp, it seemed OK. He liked sleeping in a tent, better than gross hotel rooms, and for once he knew Dad was near and all right, because he could hear him distantly, shouting at Aidan, and it was better than a lullaby, somehow. Dean was all right. Sam was all right too, he guessed, as he drifted in and out listening to Dean brag about how he’d killed the imp; he was faster than Aidan and even Dad and the blessed arrows had worked just like the town pastor had said they would, and what a shot! Sam should let Dean show him how to shoot the grown-up sized bow as soon as he was tall enough… it was better than trick or treat…
It really was. This part was better, any day.
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I adored John's anger, and the hint of sadness that of course Sam can go to school, in a different town. Dean was perfect; having to tie him up, and all his gentle banter to sooth Sam.
I really enjoyed this! Thanks for sharing :)
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YEP. I love this, this little insight into Sam's Day in the Life :D
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