Supernatural fic
Title: Asking the Stars (part 1/?)
Author: shouldsleep
Rated: PG 13 (no language in this one, but that may change in the next part)
Disclaimer: I don’t own Supernatural. This story is just for my amusement.
Summary: Wee!chesters (Sam is six, Dean is ten) The pressures of the hunting life affect Dean. The boys stay with a family friend and get a taste of normalcy.
This is my first Supernatural fic. I admit I haven’t seen all the episodes, but this is preseries and fiction, so I hope you’ll excuse any inaccuracies. I do plan on continuing my AU ‘The OC’ story ‘Camp Mendinghell’, but exactly when the next chapter will materialise is anyone’s guess. Sorry to those who are waiting, my muses aren't always consistent!
Reviews welcome as always. I’m a little intimidated to post in this fandom; I have read some breathtaking pieces.
It was little things, really.
Just a phone call from an elementary school teacher in Illinois, and a few uneaten meals- not much in the scheme of things; barely worth a second thought in a world fraught with other evils.
The teacher had called him on his cell during the boys’ first week, asking him to stop by her classroom after school. It was a bit aggravating really, being halfway to Chicago at the time, but John knew better than to miss a meeting with a teacher. He knew the frequent moving drew some unwanted attention to the boys whenever he enrolled them at a new school, combining the constant upheaval with signs of neglect and social services would surely come a knocking.
…
Sitting at her desk grading papers, the tiny dark haired woman jumped when John cleared his throat in the doorway, the sudden appearance of the giant man taking her by surprise.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you Mrs…Carrow,” the large man apologized, scanning his eyes around the room until he saw her name printed on the board in loopy cursive.
“Olivia,” she said, extending her hand which was dwarfed in a firm handshake.
“John Winchester.”
“Oh, Dean’s father, thank you for coming.”
“You wanted to talk about my son’s behaviour? Has he been giving you trouble?”
“Oh no, nothing like that; he’s actually very well behaved- quiet, but he takes direction well, very obedient.”
John smiled and nodded, that sounded like Dean, he knew how to fly under the radar.
“Actually, I wanted to show you something.” She motioned him over to the large bulletin board papered in children’s artwork. One piece stood out in stark relief to the others, and made his breath catch in his throat.
“I’m guessing this is his,” John said gravely, moving closer to study the painting.
“They were drawing their dreams. See how happy the others are? Michael dreamed he could fly, and Sarah dreamed she had a pink pony… Dean’s is a nightmare.”
“Kids have bad dreams. He’s probably watching horror movies at his babysitter’s house,” John lied.
Dean was the babysitter, and he and Sammy laughed at horror movies- pointing out the inaccuracies and shaking their heads at the characters’ poor decision making.
Mrs. Carrow nodded, but the concerned look didn’t leave her face.
“He doesn’t join in with the other children. Every recess he just sits by the fence; he keeps an eye on your other son- a first grader, right? I asked him if he wanted to play with his classmates, but he declined- politely of course.”
“He’s a little shy, moving around a lot, it’s hard to make friends. He could also be catching a bug; his little brother is quite the germ magnet…”
“The lunch monitor said he doesn’t bring a lunch,” she continued.
“He must have forgotten it. He’s off in his own little world half the time…” John said, smiling unconvincingly.
“Forgive me if I’m overstepping my bounds, Mr. Winchester, but I’m worried about your son,” Mrs. Carrow said quietly.
…
They stayed in Carbondale another week, before John decided it was time to move on. He’d banished the angry janitor spirit from a group of office towers in Chicago, and he wanted to leave Illinois before Dean’s teacher could cause any trouble.
Dean was fine.
A painting was a painting, and his son had always been a bit of a loner- there was nothing wrong with that.
He’d talked to a contact, Will Hammond, in Durango Mountain, Colorado, where there’d been a suspicious number of rock climbing accidents. Hammond needed backup to eradicate a family of sasquatches living in the mountain’s foothills. Maybe the boys could even learn to ski.
…
They were driving anyway, so when John read about the disappearances in Omaha, they made a slight detour to the cornhusker state.
Sam was restless in the car, and Dean entertained him with endless games of I Spy and Twenty Questions. His oldest was a good son and a good brother- Dean was fine.
Settling the boys in a seedy motel on the outskirts of the city, John reiterated the rules that Dean had heard so many times before.
Don’t answer the door.
Lay the salt lines before you go to bed.
Keep your gun under your pillow.
Look after Sammy.
He hadn’t thought to add, ‘come and save my ass at three in the morning’ to the list.
…
It was his own damned fault.
If he’d done his homework he would have known that the werewolf he was hunting had a mate. An angry mate that would try and rip his leg off in the millisecond before John managed to put a silver bullet between its eyes. Bleeding like a stuck pig, and half a mile from the impala, he gritted his teeth and dialled his cell.
Mary would have ripped off his other leg if she had known that he would call their boys in the middle of the night to help him out of this mess.
He was in too much pain to wonder what a cabby would think about driving two kids to an abandoned car in their pyjamas at three in the morning, but later he would be glad that money was good for buying silence, and a big tip could persuade most people to look the other way.
Back at the motel, Dean had watched from the bed as John stitched his own wound, biting on a rag soaked with whiskey as he sealed up the cut with thread. Dean crawled out from the covers, careful not to wake Sammy, and brought John a glass of water. His son helped him into bed, and he drifted off almost immediately.
Dean sat in the chair by the window; wakefully, he looked up at the stars, silently thanking whoever was in charge for making everything turn out okay. After a few minutes he headed into the bathroom to wash the blood from his hands.