Fic: The First Hoodie
Title: The First Hoodie
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mild language
Characters: Dean, Sam and John
Summary: Written for the sixth challenge hoodie_time. Fourteen year old Dean is suffering from cancer - but he's getting better. Much better. The doctors say he can come home soon. Even though it's almost summer, Sam knows his big brother is going to need something to help keep him warm. Dad stated he just needed new jeans - but Sam figured a little something extra couldn't hurt. The knitted hat with the skull pattern was just the icing on the cake. Prompt by turquoisetumult: Dean has cancer at a fairly young age (teenage years maybe). I want to see how John and Sam interact and comfort him. Do you stay with him during chemo, help him shave his hair, all that good H/C stuff. (Supportive!John, please, not jerk!John.) This is what my muse came up with.
It was Orange Jell-O day. Dean Winchester was fourteen and he knew his days of the week and months of the year, (He had known them since he was six, thank you very much stupid doctors who kept asking him what day it was.) but time ran together in the hospital and he never knew how long he slept or when he woke up. Thus the complete pointlessness of the aforementioned doctors and nurses asking what day it was. Let's drug them with painkillers and chemotherapy and then stick them in bed for hours on end and see how well they keep track of time, especially without a television or calender. The only way to really measure time was with lunch - and the flavor of Jell-O that was served. It was always served with lunch, separating it from dinner, which came with ever-changing canned fruit. It could get confusing, because there were two Red days, but they weren't right after each other - Green and Yellow day separated them. The first Red Jell-O day was his version of Monday - since it was Orange Jell-O, it was 'Friday' - then there was No Jell-O day, followed by Pudding Day - Sunday. He stabbed at the macaroni and cheese on his tray, eating it one noodle at a time. It hurt to chew today - something the nurses and doctors must have figured out, because there was nothing but soft food on his lunch plate. He ate one last spoonful of the pudding before putting the utensil down and leaning back against the pillows.
“Not hungry today, Champ?” A voice came from the doorway and Dean shifted his head, smiling wanly.
“Not really, sir.” His smile became a little more certain as his little brother Sammy looked out from behind their father, always looking frightened for some reason. “Hi, Sammy.”
Sam grinned. “Hi, Dean.” He looked up at their father, his smile fading rapidly. “Uh... guess you're not coming home again today...”
Dean snorted. “Wish I could come home Sam.” He pushed his tray away, so it no longer hung over his bed. Sam knew the invitation when he saw it and pulled himself up next to his brother, grinning. He gave Sam a half hug. “You been behaving yourself?” Sure, at ten Sam was way to old to be acting like a little kid, but at times like this, things could be overlooked.
“Dean...” He replied indignantly.
“Just checking.” Dean grinned over Sam's head at their dad. “I won't be sick for to much longer, Sammy. You'll see - I'll be out of here in no time.”
John shook his head. “That's my optimist.” He kept himself from reaching over to touch his eldest, the hair he used to ruffle is gone - chemotherapy took his boy's locks the same way it had taken what was left of his baby fat. Dean now looks gaunt and small - so much so that Sam looks thriving and plump. “Nothing that lots of fresh air and sunshine can't fix, right?”
“And pie.” Dean adds, with a hopeful smile. “Pie helps, right?”
John grinned. “Doctors still won't let you have any of that - but as soon as they say, we'll start on pie therapy.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.
Sam rolled his eyes and moved so he was sitting on the foot of the bed, his feet dangling over the side. “Pie is junk food.”
“And your point?” Dean folded his arms, glaring at his brother.
“I'm just saying that... it's...” His determined expression slowly faded. “It's...”
“Are you or are you not the same Sam Winchester who used to think Lucky Charms were good for you?” Dean arched a barely-there eyebrow at him.
Sam went pink as their dad started to chuckle. “That's - I wasn't sick.”
“Nonsense.” Dean lifted his chin, looking smug. “I let you eat nothing but Lucky Charms, spaghetti rings and Funyuns when you had the chicken pox, and you got better.”
John cleared his throat, not wanting to go into the fact that when Sam had the chicken pox, his boys had been left alone in a motel in the middle of the summer in Mississippi with no air-conditioning. The last thing he needed was for him and Sam to have one of their arguments in front of Dean. He didn't know what it was, but for some reason, the two of them had somehow stopped getting along after nearly ten years of peace. If he were to hazard a guess, after being left in Dean's care for so long, Sam was used to Dean's version of parenting - which he still couldn't figure out. He looked at his two boys and braved a smile. “Yeah, yeah you did, Sammy.”
Sam huffed, hating the feeling of being double teamed. “Well, anyone who knows anything knows that the Pie Diet is completely worthless without hamburgers and french fries.”
Dean fell back against his pillow and laughed. “That's right!”
John chortled. “I knew I was sending you to school for a reason, Sam.”
The youngest Winchester looked smug. “So now can I do Dean's homework?”
“Sure you can Sammy. I don't want to.”
“Nope.” John recovered from his mirth. “Sorry Dean-o, you can't get out of doing it.” He shot Sam a look. “Although...”
“Dad.” Dean's voice took on a serious tone. “I was only joking, I'll do my homework and get caught up. Promise.”
He shook his head. “What am I going to do with you two?”
**
Sam was looking forward to Dean's return home. The doctors said it'd be at the end of next week, provided he didn't get sick. While he hated for his brother to be sick, he had been glad that at least they were staying in Blue Earth - okay, so Dean was at a St. Jude's Hospital in Mankato and it was an hour's drive to get there, but it could be much, much worse. Dad had even picked up some work in Blue Earth. For now, however, Sam was left with a long, lonely Saturday - wandering around the Goodwill Store, under assignment to find some new clothes for his brother - the ones he owned were a little too big for him at the moment.
Dad was working on that construction site and Pastor Jim was helping a floral company get the church ready for a wedding tonight. Sam flipped through a rack of jeans, pulling out two pairs in his brother's current size. Pants were the only thing dad was really adamant about - shirts could be overlong and overlarge and it wouldn't matter. He'd found a third pair - in black, no less - when he caught sight of something in the isle next to his. He went around to the rack of heavy shirts and pushed several back so he could get a better look at the item in question.
There, almost as if it was waiting for him to find it, was a hunter green hooded sweatshirt - it had fleece inside of it and Sam felt warm all over just looking at it. He pulled it from the rod and held it up. It was big - not Dad size, but at least two sizes to big for Dean's old size. Dean was thin now - he got cold in the hospital all the time - who knew what would happen when fall set in and it got cold constantly? Grinning, he added the hoodie to the jeans and then spotted the knitted cap with a skull and cross-bones worked into the pattern.
Perfect.
**
While dad worked on signing Dean out of the hospital, Sam helped his brother get dressed. Sam grinned as he tied his brother's shoes in good double knots, the way Dean had taught him. “Dad says we're going to have pizza for dinner tonight.”
“Awesome.” Dean pulled on his favorite Led Zeppelin T-shirt, shivering slightly. “You don't have to do that.” He indicated the shoes.
“It'll be quicker if I do it.” He opened the bag and pulled out the sweatshirt. “I mean...”
“It's fine, Sam.” He took the hoodie from his brother and pulled it down over his head, grinning. “This thing is great. We should make sure we always have one of these. Both of us.” He pulled the hood up and leered at his brother. “Jedi.”
Sam laughed. “It'd need to be black for that to work, I think...” He knocked the hood back and pulled out the knitted cap. “How about we try this for now?”
Dean took the hat and put it on. “You're such a girl. Caring about fashion like this.”
The younger Winchester rolled his eyes. “Well, if you don't like it, I can go back and get the pink one with carousel horses.”
“No.” Dean stood up and draped an arm around his brother. “I could use some pizza, how about you?”
“Pizza sounds great.” Sam put his arm around Dean's back and they headed out into the corridor. “No Jell-O, right?”
“Right. I think I've had enough Jell-O to last me a while.”
*
The rich smell of cheese, oregano and garlic were heavy in the air as the Winchesters settled into a booth at the Godfather's Pizza in Blue Earth. John glanced over the menu at his boys, grinning. “Now let's see... we want one that's just covered in vegetables, don't we?”
“Dad!” They both said at the same time, their faces twin expressions of horror.
“Kidding.” John grinned. “You guys should know better by now.” His expression turned serious as the waitress set down water glasses on the table.
“Are you ready to order?” The woman smiled brightly at the three of them.
John glanced at the menu and then at her, noting that her name tag read 'Nancy'. “One large original crust with pepperoni, mushrooms, onions, black olives and extra cheese.” He grinned at his sons. “And could we start off with an order of bread sticks?”
“Not a problem.” She collected the menus and went to relay their order to the kitchen.
Once the food showed up, all chances of conversation was brought to a close. John didn't say anything as Dean ate his pizza slowly with a fork - he knew this was a lot heavier food than his boy was used to eating. Sam was halfway through his third slice when his expression suddenly turned dark. “What is it, Sammy?”
“Those people over there are staring at Dean.” He sounded angry and John turned to see a family of four at the table across from theirs suddenly duck their heads.
“Sam, let it go.” Dean said, more to his plate than to anyone.
“They're just rude people.” John stated and then turned back around. “Eat your dinner.” He noted that Sam did as asked, but he kept catching his youngest shooting dark glances across the dinning room. After the fifth time it happened, he put his fork down.
“Dad...” Dean swallowed the last of the crust of his second piece. “It's okay, really...”
John straightened his shoulders and pulled serious face and stated in an loud whisper. “Have I told you two what good manners you have? I don't have to remind you that it's very rude to stare.” There was a sound behind them of someone spewing soda followed by laughter. Out of the corner of his eye, John saw the father at the table of starers flush red.
Sam squeezed Dean's hand under the table. “Dad, it's fine. I'm just glad my brother is in remission.”
It was Dean's turn to blush - but he saw the woman at the table across from them turn white. Clearly, they thought he was sick from something other than cancer. “Sorry I didn't take my hat off Dad. But I think people might be... offended at seeing a bald kid.”
“It's fine.” John replied as the waitress returned to fill their water glasses. “I think we're going to need a box, Nancy.”
“Not a problem.” She gave both of the boys smiles. “Anything else?”
“No, we're good.” John replied. “But I think the family sitting behind us might need some extra napkins.”
*
Dean didn't care that people stared at him wearing a hooded sweatshirt in the middle of August. He was still rail thin and got cold so easily - and the air-conditioning in places rarely helped. So he had to go to summer school to catch up. He didn't care - he was getting better and while he'd never admit it, he liked the fact that he and Sam had time to do - non-hunting things. He rubbed his nose absently as he flipped through the rack at the Goodwill, hoping to find what he was searching for. After a good twenty minutes he did.
A maroon hoodie with USMC emblazoned on the front, a few sizes too big for Sam. So he could grow into it - his little brother had hit puberty and, if Dean was any indication, would soon be growing like a weed. He'd been in the hospital on Sam's birthday - so this was a late gift. True, his little brother wouldn't need to wear it until September, but it never hurt to be ready.
*
John pulled out of Blue Earth on a cold October morning with both of his boys asleep in the backseat. They were headed for a relatively easy hunt in western South Dakota - salt and burn and then they'd turn around and go to Sioux Falls. As he glanced at the pair of them, both in those hooded sweatshirts they were so damn fond of Mary would have called it cute, he smiled faintly. Sam was leaning against Dean, his big brother's arm draped protectively over his shoulder. He might be a hardened hunter and not even in the running for father of the year, but even he had to admit, they did look innocent in their sleep. Not that he'd ever voice it out loud.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mild language
Characters: Dean, Sam and John
Summary: Written for the sixth challenge hoodie_time. Fourteen year old Dean is suffering from cancer - but he's getting better. Much better. The doctors say he can come home soon. Even though it's almost summer, Sam knows his big brother is going to need something to help keep him warm. Dad stated he just needed new jeans - but Sam figured a little something extra couldn't hurt. The knitted hat with the skull pattern was just the icing on the cake. Prompt by turquoisetumult: Dean has cancer at a fairly young age (teenage years maybe). I want to see how John and Sam interact and comfort him. Do you stay with him during chemo, help him shave his hair, all that good H/C stuff. (Supportive!John, please, not jerk!John.) This is what my muse came up with.
It was Orange Jell-O day. Dean Winchester was fourteen and he knew his days of the week and months of the year, (He had known them since he was six, thank you very much stupid doctors who kept asking him what day it was.) but time ran together in the hospital and he never knew how long he slept or when he woke up. Thus the complete pointlessness of the aforementioned doctors and nurses asking what day it was. Let's drug them with painkillers and chemotherapy and then stick them in bed for hours on end and see how well they keep track of time, especially without a television or calender. The only way to really measure time was with lunch - and the flavor of Jell-O that was served. It was always served with lunch, separating it from dinner, which came with ever-changing canned fruit. It could get confusing, because there were two Red days, but they weren't right after each other - Green and Yellow day separated them. The first Red Jell-O day was his version of Monday - since it was Orange Jell-O, it was 'Friday' - then there was No Jell-O day, followed by Pudding Day - Sunday. He stabbed at the macaroni and cheese on his tray, eating it one noodle at a time. It hurt to chew today - something the nurses and doctors must have figured out, because there was nothing but soft food on his lunch plate. He ate one last spoonful of the pudding before putting the utensil down and leaning back against the pillows.
“Not hungry today, Champ?” A voice came from the doorway and Dean shifted his head, smiling wanly.
“Not really, sir.” His smile became a little more certain as his little brother Sammy looked out from behind their father, always looking frightened for some reason. “Hi, Sammy.”
Sam grinned. “Hi, Dean.” He looked up at their father, his smile fading rapidly. “Uh... guess you're not coming home again today...”
Dean snorted. “Wish I could come home Sam.” He pushed his tray away, so it no longer hung over his bed. Sam knew the invitation when he saw it and pulled himself up next to his brother, grinning. He gave Sam a half hug. “You been behaving yourself?” Sure, at ten Sam was way to old to be acting like a little kid, but at times like this, things could be overlooked.
“Dean...” He replied indignantly.
“Just checking.” Dean grinned over Sam's head at their dad. “I won't be sick for to much longer, Sammy. You'll see - I'll be out of here in no time.”
John shook his head. “That's my optimist.” He kept himself from reaching over to touch his eldest, the hair he used to ruffle is gone - chemotherapy took his boy's locks the same way it had taken what was left of his baby fat. Dean now looks gaunt and small - so much so that Sam looks thriving and plump. “Nothing that lots of fresh air and sunshine can't fix, right?”
“And pie.” Dean adds, with a hopeful smile. “Pie helps, right?”
John grinned. “Doctors still won't let you have any of that - but as soon as they say, we'll start on pie therapy.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees.
Sam rolled his eyes and moved so he was sitting on the foot of the bed, his feet dangling over the side. “Pie is junk food.”
“And your point?” Dean folded his arms, glaring at his brother.
“I'm just saying that... it's...” His determined expression slowly faded. “It's...”
“Are you or are you not the same Sam Winchester who used to think Lucky Charms were good for you?” Dean arched a barely-there eyebrow at him.
Sam went pink as their dad started to chuckle. “That's - I wasn't sick.”
“Nonsense.” Dean lifted his chin, looking smug. “I let you eat nothing but Lucky Charms, spaghetti rings and Funyuns when you had the chicken pox, and you got better.”
John cleared his throat, not wanting to go into the fact that when Sam had the chicken pox, his boys had been left alone in a motel in the middle of the summer in Mississippi with no air-conditioning. The last thing he needed was for him and Sam to have one of their arguments in front of Dean. He didn't know what it was, but for some reason, the two of them had somehow stopped getting along after nearly ten years of peace. If he were to hazard a guess, after being left in Dean's care for so long, Sam was used to Dean's version of parenting - which he still couldn't figure out. He looked at his two boys and braved a smile. “Yeah, yeah you did, Sammy.”
Sam huffed, hating the feeling of being double teamed. “Well, anyone who knows anything knows that the Pie Diet is completely worthless without hamburgers and french fries.”
Dean fell back against his pillow and laughed. “That's right!”
John chortled. “I knew I was sending you to school for a reason, Sam.”
The youngest Winchester looked smug. “So now can I do Dean's homework?”
“Sure you can Sammy. I don't want to.”
“Nope.” John recovered from his mirth. “Sorry Dean-o, you can't get out of doing it.” He shot Sam a look. “Although...”
“Dad.” Dean's voice took on a serious tone. “I was only joking, I'll do my homework and get caught up. Promise.”
He shook his head. “What am I going to do with you two?”
**
Sam was looking forward to Dean's return home. The doctors said it'd be at the end of next week, provided he didn't get sick. While he hated for his brother to be sick, he had been glad that at least they were staying in Blue Earth - okay, so Dean was at a St. Jude's Hospital in Mankato and it was an hour's drive to get there, but it could be much, much worse. Dad had even picked up some work in Blue Earth. For now, however, Sam was left with a long, lonely Saturday - wandering around the Goodwill Store, under assignment to find some new clothes for his brother - the ones he owned were a little too big for him at the moment.
Dad was working on that construction site and Pastor Jim was helping a floral company get the church ready for a wedding tonight. Sam flipped through a rack of jeans, pulling out two pairs in his brother's current size. Pants were the only thing dad was really adamant about - shirts could be overlong and overlarge and it wouldn't matter. He'd found a third pair - in black, no less - when he caught sight of something in the isle next to his. He went around to the rack of heavy shirts and pushed several back so he could get a better look at the item in question.
There, almost as if it was waiting for him to find it, was a hunter green hooded sweatshirt - it had fleece inside of it and Sam felt warm all over just looking at it. He pulled it from the rod and held it up. It was big - not Dad size, but at least two sizes to big for Dean's old size. Dean was thin now - he got cold in the hospital all the time - who knew what would happen when fall set in and it got cold constantly? Grinning, he added the hoodie to the jeans and then spotted the knitted cap with a skull and cross-bones worked into the pattern.
Perfect.
**
While dad worked on signing Dean out of the hospital, Sam helped his brother get dressed. Sam grinned as he tied his brother's shoes in good double knots, the way Dean had taught him. “Dad says we're going to have pizza for dinner tonight.”
“Awesome.” Dean pulled on his favorite Led Zeppelin T-shirt, shivering slightly. “You don't have to do that.” He indicated the shoes.
“It'll be quicker if I do it.” He opened the bag and pulled out the sweatshirt. “I mean...”
“It's fine, Sam.” He took the hoodie from his brother and pulled it down over his head, grinning. “This thing is great. We should make sure we always have one of these. Both of us.” He pulled the hood up and leered at his brother. “Jedi.”
Sam laughed. “It'd need to be black for that to work, I think...” He knocked the hood back and pulled out the knitted cap. “How about we try this for now?”
Dean took the hat and put it on. “You're such a girl. Caring about fashion like this.”
The younger Winchester rolled his eyes. “Well, if you don't like it, I can go back and get the pink one with carousel horses.”
“No.” Dean stood up and draped an arm around his brother. “I could use some pizza, how about you?”
“Pizza sounds great.” Sam put his arm around Dean's back and they headed out into the corridor. “No Jell-O, right?”
“Right. I think I've had enough Jell-O to last me a while.”
*
The rich smell of cheese, oregano and garlic were heavy in the air as the Winchesters settled into a booth at the Godfather's Pizza in Blue Earth. John glanced over the menu at his boys, grinning. “Now let's see... we want one that's just covered in vegetables, don't we?”
“Dad!” They both said at the same time, their faces twin expressions of horror.
“Kidding.” John grinned. “You guys should know better by now.” His expression turned serious as the waitress set down water glasses on the table.
“Are you ready to order?” The woman smiled brightly at the three of them.
John glanced at the menu and then at her, noting that her name tag read 'Nancy'. “One large original crust with pepperoni, mushrooms, onions, black olives and extra cheese.” He grinned at his sons. “And could we start off with an order of bread sticks?”
“Not a problem.” She collected the menus and went to relay their order to the kitchen.
Once the food showed up, all chances of conversation was brought to a close. John didn't say anything as Dean ate his pizza slowly with a fork - he knew this was a lot heavier food than his boy was used to eating. Sam was halfway through his third slice when his expression suddenly turned dark. “What is it, Sammy?”
“Those people over there are staring at Dean.” He sounded angry and John turned to see a family of four at the table across from theirs suddenly duck their heads.
“Sam, let it go.” Dean said, more to his plate than to anyone.
“They're just rude people.” John stated and then turned back around. “Eat your dinner.” He noted that Sam did as asked, but he kept catching his youngest shooting dark glances across the dinning room. After the fifth time it happened, he put his fork down.
“Dad...” Dean swallowed the last of the crust of his second piece. “It's okay, really...”
John straightened his shoulders and pulled serious face and stated in an loud whisper. “Have I told you two what good manners you have? I don't have to remind you that it's very rude to stare.” There was a sound behind them of someone spewing soda followed by laughter. Out of the corner of his eye, John saw the father at the table of starers flush red.
Sam squeezed Dean's hand under the table. “Dad, it's fine. I'm just glad my brother is in remission.”
It was Dean's turn to blush - but he saw the woman at the table across from them turn white. Clearly, they thought he was sick from something other than cancer. “Sorry I didn't take my hat off Dad. But I think people might be... offended at seeing a bald kid.”
“It's fine.” John replied as the waitress returned to fill their water glasses. “I think we're going to need a box, Nancy.”
“Not a problem.” She gave both of the boys smiles. “Anything else?”
“No, we're good.” John replied. “But I think the family sitting behind us might need some extra napkins.”
*
Dean didn't care that people stared at him wearing a hooded sweatshirt in the middle of August. He was still rail thin and got cold so easily - and the air-conditioning in places rarely helped. So he had to go to summer school to catch up. He didn't care - he was getting better and while he'd never admit it, he liked the fact that he and Sam had time to do - non-hunting things. He rubbed his nose absently as he flipped through the rack at the Goodwill, hoping to find what he was searching for. After a good twenty minutes he did.
A maroon hoodie with USMC emblazoned on the front, a few sizes too big for Sam. So he could grow into it - his little brother had hit puberty and, if Dean was any indication, would soon be growing like a weed. He'd been in the hospital on Sam's birthday - so this was a late gift. True, his little brother wouldn't need to wear it until September, but it never hurt to be ready.
*
John pulled out of Blue Earth on a cold October morning with both of his boys asleep in the backseat. They were headed for a relatively easy hunt in western South Dakota - salt and burn and then they'd turn around and go to Sioux Falls. As he glanced at the pair of them, both in those hooded sweatshirts they were so damn fond of Mary would have called it cute, he smiled faintly. Sam was leaning against Dean, his big brother's arm draped protectively over his shoulder. He might be a hardened hunter and not even in the running for father of the year, but even he had to admit, they did look innocent in their sleep. Not that he'd ever voice it out loud.