(no subject)
Title: lying by omission isn't really lying at all (but it certainly makes you feel just as shitty)
Characters/Pairings: Sam, slight Dean, slight Sam/Jess
Rating: G
Summary: Sam hates lying about his father's job, even at six years old.
When Sammy's first grade teacher asked him where his father worked, he hesitated before answering. Sammy knew that Dean would have lied and said their dad had gotten a new job and he had gotten a new job and he had forgotten where it was, but Sammy wasn't Dean and his teacher had such a friendly smile and smelled so nice, that he didn't know what to say.
His teacher must have interpreted his awkward silence as embarrassment, because she asked softly, "Are you embarrassed about what he does?"
The question was completely unexpected and Sammy honestly didn't know the answer to it. He knew his dad wasn't embarrassed about anything. He was proud of being a hunter, just as he had been about being a military man.
His dad was brave and strong and fearless, but even at six, Sammy knew that if he told anyone except the men his dad met in bars that his dad was a hunter, they would feel embarrassed for him--or worse, pity him for having to raise his sons alone--and Sammy knew his dad hated that more than anything, except, of course, the demon that had killed his mom.
And knowing the pains his dad went to to avoid having conversations exactly like the one he was currently having with his teacher made Sammy feel embarrassed for his father, so he swallowed slowly and nodded and felt a little braver through his confession.
"You live with your father and your older brother, right?" asked his teacher sweetly. "What's your brother's name again, Derrick?"
"Dean," Sammy corrected her softly.
"Dean wouldn't be embarrassed about your father's job."
Sammy knew she was right. Dean was just like their father; brave and strong and not embarrassed about anything, either.
"He would tell me," said his teacher.
Sammy hesitated again. Dean kept secrets better than anyone Sammy knew. Once, at one of their old schools, Sammy had accidentally ruined a sixth grader's science project and when the boy found out, he had threatened to beat Dean up unless Dean told him who had ruined his project, but Dean wouldn't give Sammy up, not even when their dad interrogated him that evening about how he had gotten a black eye.
But Sammy's teacher was so friendly and so nice and so sweet that he couldn't help asking, "Really?"
"Really," promised his teacher and she offered him her finger. "Pinky-promise."
Sammy curled his pinky around his teacher's and they shook on it, and in light of a deal that was as strong as a blood pact made with a demon in a six-year-old's mind, all of Sammy's doubts concerning his teacher's trustworthiness vanished.
So when she asked, "What does your dad do, Sammy?" he replied readily.
"He kills things."
This startled his teacher, but she quickly recovered, although her brow furrowed slightly.
"He kills things?" she asked hesitantly.
"Demons and monsters and spirits," clarified Sammy. "You know, things."
"You mean things like monsters beneath your bed and in your closet, right?"
"Sometimes," said Sammy. "Sometimes they're in other people's homes, too."
His teacher was frowning by now and Sammy faltered slightly when she asked, "But what does he do--for a living, I mean?"
"He - " started Sammy, but he stopped abruptly. His face crumpled, perplexed.
He had told her the truth because she had seemed so nice that he thought she wouldn't laugh at him or say mean things about his dad, but she didn't believe him and Sammy didn't understand why.
"He works as a guard at the factory across town. Night shift, which is why he can never make it to any of the school functions."
At the sound of his brother's voice, Sammy's face lit up.
"Dean!" cried Sammy, forgetting all about his teacher.
"After he got the job, he told Sammy he hunts demons, because Sammy is afraid of the dark and thinks that the monsters will get him. He figured that if Sammy thought he could kill monsters, then he wouldn't stay up all night, worrying about him."
"Oh," said Sammy's teacher. The explanation caused her face to smooth out and the frown to disappear. "Well, your brother certainly has an active imagination.
Dean smiled smoothly and said, "Sammy and I have a bus to catch, if you don't mind."
Then he placed a hand on Sammy's shoulder and steered him out the door.
When they were far enough away from Sammy's teacher that Dean was sure she couldn't hear them, he pulled Sammy aside.
"What do you think you were doing, telling her everything like that?" he asked, eyes burning.
Sammy looked down at his feet. The elation he had felt when had Dean saved him vanished and he appeared on the verge of crying.
Dean sighed.
"I know it's hard," he said, "but you can't tell anyone about what Dad does, no matter how nice or pretty they are."
Then Dean ruffled Sammy's hair and smiled again. "Come on, we have a bus to catch."
*
When Jess asked Sam what his father did for a living eighteen years later, he thought about telling her the truth.
But he knew what Dean would say if he could hear that. After all, he had told him what he had to do eighteen years ago.
You can't tell anyone about what Dad does, no matter how nice or pretty they are.
Almost as strong as the sound of his brother's voice, however, was the memory of his first grade teacher's face after he told her the truth. Sam would never forget the look of disbelief, or how it crushed him.
Sam had to close his eyes and wait for the nauseating feeling to pass before he could speak again without throwing up.
"I don't want to talk about it."
He saw the muscles in Jess's face tense as if to ask him something else, but then she relaxed and touched his face with one hand and after that, they didn't talk about much at all.
As Sam laid awake an hour later, watching Jess sleep lightly, he realized that lying by omission wasn't really lying at all, but it certainly made him feel just as shitty.
Characters/Pairings: Sam, slight Dean, slight Sam/Jess
Rating: G
Summary: Sam hates lying about his father's job, even at six years old.
When Sammy's first grade teacher asked him where his father worked, he hesitated before answering. Sammy knew that Dean would have lied and said their dad had gotten a new job and he had gotten a new job and he had forgotten where it was, but Sammy wasn't Dean and his teacher had such a friendly smile and smelled so nice, that he didn't know what to say.
His teacher must have interpreted his awkward silence as embarrassment, because she asked softly, "Are you embarrassed about what he does?"
The question was completely unexpected and Sammy honestly didn't know the answer to it. He knew his dad wasn't embarrassed about anything. He was proud of being a hunter, just as he had been about being a military man.
His dad was brave and strong and fearless, but even at six, Sammy knew that if he told anyone except the men his dad met in bars that his dad was a hunter, they would feel embarrassed for him--or worse, pity him for having to raise his sons alone--and Sammy knew his dad hated that more than anything, except, of course, the demon that had killed his mom.
And knowing the pains his dad went to to avoid having conversations exactly like the one he was currently having with his teacher made Sammy feel embarrassed for his father, so he swallowed slowly and nodded and felt a little braver through his confession.
"You live with your father and your older brother, right?" asked his teacher sweetly. "What's your brother's name again, Derrick?"
"Dean," Sammy corrected her softly.
"Dean wouldn't be embarrassed about your father's job."
Sammy knew she was right. Dean was just like their father; brave and strong and not embarrassed about anything, either.
"He would tell me," said his teacher.
Sammy hesitated again. Dean kept secrets better than anyone Sammy knew. Once, at one of their old schools, Sammy had accidentally ruined a sixth grader's science project and when the boy found out, he had threatened to beat Dean up unless Dean told him who had ruined his project, but Dean wouldn't give Sammy up, not even when their dad interrogated him that evening about how he had gotten a black eye.
But Sammy's teacher was so friendly and so nice and so sweet that he couldn't help asking, "Really?"
"Really," promised his teacher and she offered him her finger. "Pinky-promise."
Sammy curled his pinky around his teacher's and they shook on it, and in light of a deal that was as strong as a blood pact made with a demon in a six-year-old's mind, all of Sammy's doubts concerning his teacher's trustworthiness vanished.
So when she asked, "What does your dad do, Sammy?" he replied readily.
"He kills things."
This startled his teacher, but she quickly recovered, although her brow furrowed slightly.
"He kills things?" she asked hesitantly.
"Demons and monsters and spirits," clarified Sammy. "You know, things."
"You mean things like monsters beneath your bed and in your closet, right?"
"Sometimes," said Sammy. "Sometimes they're in other people's homes, too."
His teacher was frowning by now and Sammy faltered slightly when she asked, "But what does he do--for a living, I mean?"
"He - " started Sammy, but he stopped abruptly. His face crumpled, perplexed.
He had told her the truth because she had seemed so nice that he thought she wouldn't laugh at him or say mean things about his dad, but she didn't believe him and Sammy didn't understand why.
"He works as a guard at the factory across town. Night shift, which is why he can never make it to any of the school functions."
At the sound of his brother's voice, Sammy's face lit up.
"Dean!" cried Sammy, forgetting all about his teacher.
"After he got the job, he told Sammy he hunts demons, because Sammy is afraid of the dark and thinks that the monsters will get him. He figured that if Sammy thought he could kill monsters, then he wouldn't stay up all night, worrying about him."
"Oh," said Sammy's teacher. The explanation caused her face to smooth out and the frown to disappear. "Well, your brother certainly has an active imagination.
Dean smiled smoothly and said, "Sammy and I have a bus to catch, if you don't mind."
Then he placed a hand on Sammy's shoulder and steered him out the door.
When they were far enough away from Sammy's teacher that Dean was sure she couldn't hear them, he pulled Sammy aside.
"What do you think you were doing, telling her everything like that?" he asked, eyes burning.
Sammy looked down at his feet. The elation he had felt when had Dean saved him vanished and he appeared on the verge of crying.
Dean sighed.
"I know it's hard," he said, "but you can't tell anyone about what Dad does, no matter how nice or pretty they are."
Then Dean ruffled Sammy's hair and smiled again. "Come on, we have a bus to catch."
*
When Jess asked Sam what his father did for a living eighteen years later, he thought about telling her the truth.
But he knew what Dean would say if he could hear that. After all, he had told him what he had to do eighteen years ago.
You can't tell anyone about what Dad does, no matter how nice or pretty they are.
Almost as strong as the sound of his brother's voice, however, was the memory of his first grade teacher's face after he told her the truth. Sam would never forget the look of disbelief, or how it crushed him.
Sam had to close his eyes and wait for the nauseating feeling to pass before he could speak again without throwing up.
"I don't want to talk about it."
He saw the muscles in Jess's face tense as if to ask him something else, but then she relaxed and touched his face with one hand and after that, they didn't talk about much at all.
As Sam laid awake an hour later, watching Jess sleep lightly, he realized that lying by omission wasn't really lying at all, but it certainly made him feel just as shitty.