Special, 5/?
Title: Special, 5/?
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading_is_in
Characters: Sam, Dean, John, Pastor Jim.
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All recognized characters from ‘Supernatural’ are property of Eric Kripke/CW. This fan fiction is not for profit.
Summary: All teenagers believe they're different. Somewhat AU in terms of power revelations.
The rest of the day passed in mindless manual labour. Dean assigned Sam a first task of cleaning the windows: suitably physical but, Sam supposed, fairly hard to fuck up or to injure oneself by, given a sturdy stepladder. The grime came away slowly, revealing somber big- eyed figures in bright robes, chunky haloes behind their heads, faces turned to heaven. Some were Bible scenes, mostly Christ’s life: birth, baptism, crucifixion. Teachings to the disciples. And he asked them, "But who do you say that I am?"
Dean was pulling up the cracked tiles, predictably claiming the only job which required breaking something. When he found a tile to be removed, he shattered it with a hammer, called up to draw Sam’s attention to ‘explosions’ that particularly pleased him, and gathered the loose pieces. For some reason it didn’t annoy Sam today. It was almost - his mouth quirked - endearing.
They called it a day around 6.30, and since it was still sunny out, they sat on the lawn with glasses of lemonade that the pastor’s housekeeper had left in the refrigerator. It was - nice -, Sam thought, with the warmth and bodily tiredness, and the prickly feel of grass through his jeans. It was easy to believe the whole key episode was a figment of his imagination. ‘Everything is okay,’ he told himself suddenly, forcibly. 'Everything’s okay as long as you don’t think about it. There’s no need to make problems. You and your crazy brain’. Dean glanced at him sideways, shading his face from the sun, then expressed his satisfaction by lightly punching Sam in the upper arm.
“Get a vocabulary,” Sam suggested.
“Get a girlfriend,” Dean returned. “Or at least, get laid once in a while. It might help you loosen up.” Sam scowled. It was only a throwaway comment - the kind of thing Dean said all the time. It didn’t mean anything. Yet Sam knew that his brother had been sexually active at his age, and his father - well, John Winchester had been thirteen months older than Sam when he’d quit school for the Marines. Jesus. His family.
Shortly before 7, the Impala’s familiar rumble announced their father’s return. Pastor Jim was in the shotgun seat, a weird sight, a dirty pickup followed. Dad and Jim got out the car, and exchanged brief words with the drover. Sam caught a glimpse of an older black man in the cab of the truck, but couldn’t hear their conversation. The older man nodded a couple of times, Dad and Jim stepped back, and the pickup rumbled off.
“Who was that?” Sam asked Dad as he stood up.
“A hunter,” Dad said unhelpfully. “Go wash up. Hope you boys have been at the chores.”
“We have.”
Dinner was defrosted chilli and cornbread, once again made ahead by the mysterious housekeeper. Even though the only component that was technically fresh was a salad, Sam enjoyed the ritual of a meal coming out of the oven, the sitting around a table to eat - for one thing it made Dad uncomfortable, which was always entertaining. As they were putting the dishes away, Dad said,
“You up for a salt and burn, Dean?”
“What like - now?” His brother stopped in surprise.
“Possible restless spirit at the town library - more annoying than dangerous. Still I thought we could clear it up - done the research, and the cemetery we need’s only fifteen minutes away.”
“Well - sure! I mean, yes sir. Shall I get-”
“Everything’s in the car, just bring your shotgun.”
Dean nodded smartly and exited, heading for the stairs.
“I don’t have to come, right?” Sam asked.
“I don’t think we need you. Stay here and be a good guest to Jim. That means no attitude,” Dad said. Sam made an expressive face at his back, which the pastor saw and smiled quietly.
* * *
“So. Young Samuel,” The pastor settled himself in his lounge chair and turned to
Sam, apparently all benevolent attention. “A good Hebrew name.”
“I’m uh, called Sam,” he said awkwardly.
“Sam it is then. Who are you?”
“Um,” Sam blinked.
“Well, forgive me,” the pastor gave a small smile, “But I’ve known your father for a long time, and your brother long enough to gain a significant impression. The last time I saw you you were as high as the coffee table, and gave me a dissertation on dinosaurs. It was most edifying.”
Sam blushed.
“You must be - fourteen now?”
“I was fifteen in May.”
“Oh that’s right. I am sorry. And - do correct me if I’m wrong - I get the sense that you’re - less the devoted career hunter than the rest of your family?”
“That’s for sure.” Sam stopped himself before he could say any more.
“So what do you like? What interests you?”
Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again. There were lots of things he could say. He didn’t think the question had ever been put to him so directly.
“I’m good at school,” he said.
“A scholar,” Jim nodded approvingly. “Well, they’re not incompatible, you know. He gestured briefly towards the bookshelves.
“But it’s not like I get any of that,” Sam said before he could help himself.
“What do you mean?”
“Well we never stay in one place long enough. I start at a school, then I leave. I don’t have anywhere to keep books. We need the trunk for weapons.” Appalled that so much had come out at once, he closed his mouth forcibly. Sam didn’t know this guy, and the last thing he needed was him interceding with Dad, thinking he was doing Sam a favour. All that would earn him was a lecture and more drills.
“I imagine life must be difficult,” the pastor looked sympathetic. “It’s - a terrible thing. What happened to Mary.”
And that threw Sam, because he somehow hadn’t registered that the pastor knew about that - but of course, if he’d known Dad since the Marines, he’d known him when he got married.
“Your father’s a driven man,” the pastor said.
“I hate it,” said Sam. “It’s no way to live . Always running to or from something, always fighting, never anywhere long enough to do good a school, or hey, make a friend once in a while. Someone normal. Plus my dad hates me.” That last part wasn’t true, and Sam knew perfectly well it wasn’t true - or fair. He just felt like it right now, and with everything tumbling out of him he might as well express it.
“I’m quite certain he doesn’t,” the pastor said.
“You don’t live with him.”
“True,” Jim tilted his head thoughtfully. “But I know what lengths he went to to
keep you two safe - and the three of you together, not incidentally. Still goes to. Which isn’t to say I don’t appreciate that you don’t want to be a hunter.”
It was the first time anybody except Sam had said that out loud, acknowledged and affirmed that Sam was different from the rest of his family. Dad dismissed what he wanted; Dean seemed to live under the perpetual illusion that one day Sam would wake up and realize that hunting was what he was supposed to be doing after all.
“I really don’t,” Sam said. “I want to go to college.”
Jim looked thoughtful. “This probably isn’t my place,” he said, “But let me re-iterate that studying and hunting are not incomptabile. I know a thing or two about colleges. f you ever need a reference, or help acquiring books…”
He let it trail off.
“Um,” Sam said. “Um, thank you.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Jim said. “What sort of books do you like best?”
Picture credit: St Thomas Episcopal Church in Greenville Rhode Island (Smithfield). By Swampyank 2008.Licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
Part Six
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading_is_in
Characters: Sam, Dean, John, Pastor Jim.
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All recognized characters from ‘Supernatural’ are property of Eric Kripke/CW. This fan fiction is not for profit.
Summary: All teenagers believe they're different. Somewhat AU in terms of power revelations.
The rest of the day passed in mindless manual labour. Dean assigned Sam a first task of cleaning the windows: suitably physical but, Sam supposed, fairly hard to fuck up or to injure oneself by, given a sturdy stepladder. The grime came away slowly, revealing somber big- eyed figures in bright robes, chunky haloes behind their heads, faces turned to heaven. Some were Bible scenes, mostly Christ’s life: birth, baptism, crucifixion. Teachings to the disciples. And he asked them, "But who do you say that I am?"
Dean was pulling up the cracked tiles, predictably claiming the only job which required breaking something. When he found a tile to be removed, he shattered it with a hammer, called up to draw Sam’s attention to ‘explosions’ that particularly pleased him, and gathered the loose pieces. For some reason it didn’t annoy Sam today. It was almost - his mouth quirked - endearing.
They called it a day around 6.30, and since it was still sunny out, they sat on the lawn with glasses of lemonade that the pastor’s housekeeper had left in the refrigerator. It was - nice -, Sam thought, with the warmth and bodily tiredness, and the prickly feel of grass through his jeans. It was easy to believe the whole key episode was a figment of his imagination. ‘Everything is okay,’ he told himself suddenly, forcibly. 'Everything’s okay as long as you don’t think about it. There’s no need to make problems. You and your crazy brain’. Dean glanced at him sideways, shading his face from the sun, then expressed his satisfaction by lightly punching Sam in the upper arm.
“Get a vocabulary,” Sam suggested.
“Get a girlfriend,” Dean returned. “Or at least, get laid once in a while. It might help you loosen up.” Sam scowled. It was only a throwaway comment - the kind of thing Dean said all the time. It didn’t mean anything. Yet Sam knew that his brother had been sexually active at his age, and his father - well, John Winchester had been thirteen months older than Sam when he’d quit school for the Marines. Jesus. His family.
Shortly before 7, the Impala’s familiar rumble announced their father’s return. Pastor Jim was in the shotgun seat, a weird sight, a dirty pickup followed. Dad and Jim got out the car, and exchanged brief words with the drover. Sam caught a glimpse of an older black man in the cab of the truck, but couldn’t hear their conversation. The older man nodded a couple of times, Dad and Jim stepped back, and the pickup rumbled off.
“Who was that?” Sam asked Dad as he stood up.
“A hunter,” Dad said unhelpfully. “Go wash up. Hope you boys have been at the chores.”
“We have.”
Dinner was defrosted chilli and cornbread, once again made ahead by the mysterious housekeeper. Even though the only component that was technically fresh was a salad, Sam enjoyed the ritual of a meal coming out of the oven, the sitting around a table to eat - for one thing it made Dad uncomfortable, which was always entertaining. As they were putting the dishes away, Dad said,
“You up for a salt and burn, Dean?”
“What like - now?” His brother stopped in surprise.
“Possible restless spirit at the town library - more annoying than dangerous. Still I thought we could clear it up - done the research, and the cemetery we need’s only fifteen minutes away.”
“Well - sure! I mean, yes sir. Shall I get-”
“Everything’s in the car, just bring your shotgun.”
Dean nodded smartly and exited, heading for the stairs.
“I don’t have to come, right?” Sam asked.
“I don’t think we need you. Stay here and be a good guest to Jim. That means no attitude,” Dad said. Sam made an expressive face at his back, which the pastor saw and smiled quietly.
* * *
“So. Young Samuel,” The pastor settled himself in his lounge chair and turned to
Sam, apparently all benevolent attention. “A good Hebrew name.”
“I’m uh, called Sam,” he said awkwardly.
“Sam it is then. Who are you?”
“Um,” Sam blinked.
“Well, forgive me,” the pastor gave a small smile, “But I’ve known your father for a long time, and your brother long enough to gain a significant impression. The last time I saw you you were as high as the coffee table, and gave me a dissertation on dinosaurs. It was most edifying.”
Sam blushed.
“You must be - fourteen now?”
“I was fifteen in May.”
“Oh that’s right. I am sorry. And - do correct me if I’m wrong - I get the sense that you’re - less the devoted career hunter than the rest of your family?”
“That’s for sure.” Sam stopped himself before he could say any more.
“So what do you like? What interests you?”
Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again. There were lots of things he could say. He didn’t think the question had ever been put to him so directly.
“I’m good at school,” he said.
“A scholar,” Jim nodded approvingly. “Well, they’re not incompatible, you know. He gestured briefly towards the bookshelves.
“But it’s not like I get any of that,” Sam said before he could help himself.
“What do you mean?”
“Well we never stay in one place long enough. I start at a school, then I leave. I don’t have anywhere to keep books. We need the trunk for weapons.” Appalled that so much had come out at once, he closed his mouth forcibly. Sam didn’t know this guy, and the last thing he needed was him interceding with Dad, thinking he was doing Sam a favour. All that would earn him was a lecture and more drills.
“I imagine life must be difficult,” the pastor looked sympathetic. “It’s - a terrible thing. What happened to Mary.”
And that threw Sam, because he somehow hadn’t registered that the pastor knew about that - but of course, if he’d known Dad since the Marines, he’d known him when he got married.
“Your father’s a driven man,” the pastor said.
“I hate it,” said Sam. “It’s no way to live . Always running to or from something, always fighting, never anywhere long enough to do good a school, or hey, make a friend once in a while. Someone normal. Plus my dad hates me.” That last part wasn’t true, and Sam knew perfectly well it wasn’t true - or fair. He just felt like it right now, and with everything tumbling out of him he might as well express it.
“I’m quite certain he doesn’t,” the pastor said.
“You don’t live with him.”
“True,” Jim tilted his head thoughtfully. “But I know what lengths he went to to
keep you two safe - and the three of you together, not incidentally. Still goes to. Which isn’t to say I don’t appreciate that you don’t want to be a hunter.”
It was the first time anybody except Sam had said that out loud, acknowledged and affirmed that Sam was different from the rest of his family. Dad dismissed what he wanted; Dean seemed to live under the perpetual illusion that one day Sam would wake up and realize that hunting was what he was supposed to be doing after all.
“I really don’t,” Sam said. “I want to go to college.”
Jim looked thoughtful. “This probably isn’t my place,” he said, “But let me re-iterate that studying and hunting are not incomptabile. I know a thing or two about colleges. f you ever need a reference, or help acquiring books…”
He let it trail off.
“Um,” Sam said. “Um, thank you.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Jim said. “What sort of books do you like best?”
Picture credit: St Thomas Episcopal Church in Greenville Rhode Island (Smithfield). By Swampyank 2008.Licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License.
Part Six