FIC: Someone Else's Story (3/?)
Title: Someone Else’s StoryPart: 3/? - Year Three
Author: Miss ‘Drea
Rating: NC-17 (probably, eventually)
Word Count: ~3000
Summary: AU - John gives the boys up for adoption, and at an early age Dean and Sam are separated then later adopted into two different families, in two different states. By a chance of Fate (whose name is Castiel) the two brothers find each other - Sam’s in 10th grade, the youngest in his class having skipped several grades, and Dean, also in 10th grade is his ‘penpal’. Dean thinks the whole thing is dumb, Sam’s just glad to have a friend.
Year One
Year Two
Year Three: June 7th 1996 - April 24th 1997
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“Hello, this is Kyle.”
“Hi, Mr. Hastings, can I talk to Sam please?”
“Sure, Dean. Let me get him.” Pause. “SAM!”
Wince. “Thanks, Mr. Hastings.”
Pause. Clattering. Muffled words. “Dean! Hi!”
“Sammy, I have a very important question to ask you.”
Pause. Terror. Gasp. “What, Dean?” Too quiet.
“Why is there a letter from you, addressed to my sister sitting on my kitchen table?”
Pause. Sigh. Relief. “She wrote me first.” Too loud.
“What did she want to know?”
“They.”
“They?”
“Yes. They. All four of them wrote me.”
Pause. Confusion. “All of them?”
Pained. “Uh huh.”
“How did they get your address?!”
Pointed. Silence.
“Oh, me huh?”
“Duh, Dean.”
“Well, what did they want to know? They had to want to know something, otherwise they would have just asked me how you were. Right?”
“They wanted to ask about my art.”
“Your...art?”
“Yeah. They saw the picture I’d done up of you, said you had it on your dart board and wanted to know if I did commissions.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
“What did you say?”
“I do commissions if I like the media.”
“So you like me, huh?” Sly.
“Shut up, jerk.”
“Make me, bitch.”
Pause. Muffled words.
“I have to go Dean, so I’ll make you later.”
“Bye Sam. Be good.”
Smirk. “Always.”
Click.
*
“Sorry you’ve missed us, please leave a message and we’ll back to you later. Maybe.”
“Hi Dean, it’s Sam, I just wanted to call and wish you luck on the game tonight but apparently I screwed up my time zones, again, so you can hear my lame-ass luck when you get back in. Call me tomorrow and give me all the details.”
Beep.
“Hi, Dean, this is Sarah. I’m a little annoyed you, like, you were supposed to call me last night and when you didn’t, I figured you were just busy. But like, when I called? You were totally on the phone. You weren’t talking to Madison were you, ‘cause like, that’s only a rumor, right?”
Beep.
“Hi, Dean. It’s Madison. You promised to call me last night...and you didn’t. Again. Look, I don’t care if you’re screwing Sarah on the side, okay? Everyone already knows about it and no one can keep a secret here anyhow. Call me okay? We’ll work it out. Just don’t tell Sarah.”
Beep.
“Dean, Ruby. Call me. You so owe me some make-up dinner, asshole.”
Beep.
“Um...hi Dean, this is Lily. I just wanted...well, I wanted to see what you were doing tomorrow night. I don’t know if you have a date to the Sadie Hawkins dance, and the girls have to ask, so I’m asking. I just...you’re the only decent guy in school. Please call me back.”
Beep.
“Hi Dean, it’s Sam again. I know I just called like, twenty minutes ago but I forgot to tell you that I won’t be around on Tuesday - they’ve upped my hours at SAF, so I’ll call you when I get out okay? Should be around 7 or 8 your time. Sorry!”
Beep.
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“Sorry you’ve missed us, please leave a message and we’ll back to you later. Maybe.”
Beep.
“Hi Dean, it’s Sam...you must be sleeping or something, sorry it’s so late that I called. I just wanted to keep my promise. SAF got out way late, because one of the local theaters is renting out the upstairs as a practice and rehearsal space and they wouldn’t leave, you have no idea it was so annoying. So yeah, I didn’t get out until 9, and dad was pretty pissed. So it’s probably 12 your time, I just didn’t want to freak you out, or whatever. Call me tomorrow sometime, okay? Bye, sleep well.”
Beep.
*
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“Hello, Charleston Residence.”
“Hi Dean.” Smile.
Grin. “Sammy.”
“Do you ever get really weird dreams that you just...know mean something but you can’t figure out what because they make no sense, really? But you can’t help but wonder because they’re so vivid you wake up wondering why you aren’t where you fell asleep?”
“Uh...” startled laughter “not especially. Maybe once or twice...why?”
“Because I keep having them. And I keep seeing these symbols...I draw them as clearly as I can but I can’t find them anywhere in any book I’ve ever looked in and the librarians in my town think I’m fucking nuts.”
“Well, what’s happening?”
“Scary shit, Dean. I mean it. Like, wake up screaming scary.”
Pause. Quiet. “Like what?”
“Like, I dreamed I died, dude. Some really, really, inhumanly, x-men like strong black guy in army fatigues came up behind me and sliced my spine. I felt it, Dean. I could feel every inch of that knife in my back and it hurt. You aren’t supposed to feel pain in dreams.”
“Dude, you aren’t supposed to die in dreams either.”
“Yeah but I didn’t stay dead. Some guy brought me back. He had really green eyes and wore a leather jacket. He kept screaming my name. And it didn’t bother me when he called me Sammy, either. Maybe it was you?”
“Maybe. But dude, no freaky black man in fatigues with Superman strength is ever going to kill you while I’m around. Get it?”
“Got it.”
“Good.”
Pause.
“Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Smile. “You’re welcome, Sammy.”
Click.
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"Yo.”
Snort. Rolled eyes. “Hi, Dean.”
Grin. “Sammy. I got your messages last night. Thanks for the luck. We needed it.”
“You didn’t win?”
“Oh we won...by the skin of our teeth. Bubba lost a few of those in a particularly rough tackle.”
Wince. “Well...that sucks.”
“Beyond the telling.” Shifting. Groan. “I am so sore, you have no idea.”
“Well at least you won.”
Laugh. “Yeah, I suppose. So what’s up on your side of the country? How’s soccer and the SAF?”
“Eh, we lost our last game, so we’re out of the Finals. Couch is ready to split a seam but no one else seems to care.”
Snort. “That’s because you play a girly sport.”
“Says the man who gets his ass slapped daily.”
“Bite me.”
“Later, maybe. SAF is good, but I really wish Bertha would stop renting out the top floor to persnickety assholes who think they own the world. I’m going to be sixteen in like, two days, I don’t want to spend my time running around after him.”
“Shit, two days? Man, I don’t even think about Halloween anymore.”
“Aren’t we too old?”
“You more than me.”
“Shut up, you dick, you’re three years older than me.”
“So?” Silence. “What are your parents getting you for this years birthday?”
Quiet. “A therapist.”
“...What?”
“Um. I haven’t really been sleeping that great. I have nightmares. Dean, I’m so freakin’ tired...”
“Shit Sammy, why didn’t you tell me?”
“You have other things to worry about.”
“Like what?”
“Like Sarah, and Madison, and Lily and Ruby and all those other girls you’re seeing.”
Pause. “Who told you?” Resigned.
“Claudia.”
“So, she’ll die tomorrow. Got it.”
“No, Dean, it’s okay. I didn’t tell you about Jo, and how we’re seeing each other again. And there’s this girl named Ava who keeps sitting with me at lunch. She’s a Freshman though. And Cassie, the editor for the paper, she’s real nice. So don’t feel bad okay? Just don’t get hurt.”
“But, a therapist?”
“My dad thinks it will help, since I won’t talk to him. I’m covered in charcoal, Dean.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I’m drawing out what I feel and dad says it’s not healthy. So I have to go to therapy for at least six months or they’re pulling me out of school and making me finish the year at home.”
“So fake it, for six months.”
“If it helps, I don’t want have to fake it.”
Contemplating. “Think it will really help?”
“I don’t know...maybe? Something has to.”
“You’ll let me know if you need anything?”
Small smile. “Yeah Dean. Thanks.”
Click.
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“So, Sam, I’m Dr. Webb, but you can call me Zak okay?”
Small smile. “Hi Zak. I’m a little nervous.”
“Why?”
“I don’t...talk to people.”
“That’s understandable, especially in the here and now. And, as a fifteen year old senior at Pittsfield, I bet it’s hard to connect to your peers.”
“I’m either too smart for them to bother or too smart for them to try.”
“So who do you talk to?”
“Dean.”
“Who is Dean?”
“Well, that’s kind of a story.” Clears throat. “Last year, when I was a sophomore, I was in Mrs. Dillard’s English class. She had this silly idea that things were changing too fast around us and we were losing our ability to communicate. She got in contact with a sophomore English class in Breckenridge, Colorado. My pen-pal, such as he was, is Dean. We got to be pretty good friends, and now we talk every week on the phone.”
“So Dean is your best friend?”
Pause. “I guess so, yeah.”
“Dean is probably quite a bit older than you, isn’t he?”
“He’s eighteen. Will be nineteen in January.”
“And he doesn’t mind that you’re younger?”
“Hey!” Scowl. “I might only be sixteen but I’m way older than that in my head. Which, is probably my problem.”
“So if your parents weren’t worried about your social activities...why do you think you’re here, Sam?”
“I don’t sleep.”
“You don’t?”
“Well, not much anyway.”
Pause.
“Doctor? Have you ever felt like you’re supposed to be someone else? Or that everyone around was meant to be a stranger?”
“Sometimes, I suppose. Why, do you feel that way?”
“I have these...dreams.”
“Dreams? Tell me about them.”
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“Hi, you’ve reached the Hastings, neither Cindy, Kyle and Sam can answer the phone right now, but if you leave your name, your number and short message we’ll get back to you just as soon as we can. Oh! And don’t forget to wait for the beep, have a nice day and thanks for calling!”
Beep.
“Hi Sam, it’s Jo. Just confirming our date for tomorrow night. Good luck at the game tonight!”
Beep.
“Hey Sam, it’s Ava. Mrs. Jackson gave me your number so I could ask you about the Freshmen project, so give me a call back okay? 413-555-8211 Thanks!”
Beep.
“Sam, it’s Andy. Dude, seriously that goal you scored was amazing! Look, Ansem and I want to take you out after practice tomorrow. Don’t worry, it’s not creepy or anything.”
Beep.
“Sam, it’s Ansem, I don’t know if my brother called but if he didn’t, we’re so taking you for drinks tomorrow after practice. You’re pretty cool, for a sixteen year old. Let us know.”
Beep.
“Sam, it’s Anna, hey, I was just wondering how things were going. I know we haven’t talked since Sophomore Year Math but I was just wondering if you were sticking around after you graduation this year - and isn’t that strange to say? - anyway, we’re doing shout outs to seniors for Angel Radio so if you have any, let me know okay? Thanks, hon.”
Beep.
“Hi Sam, this is Cassie from the Yearbook. You haven’t filled out your questionnaire yet, so I mailed you a new one. Please, please, please get this to me before Christmas vacation. Thanks!”
Beep.
“Sam, it’s Dean. Dude, where are you? I’ve called like, ten times. It’s Tuesday, man. Where are you?”
Beep.
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“Charleston Residence?”
“Hi Dean.”
Relief. “Jesus, Sam. Where the hell have you been?”
“Zak moved our sessions to Tuesday, so now I’m there after practice and SAF on Tuesday and Thursday. I’m on sleeping pills, so its not so hard to sleep anymore.”
“That’s good, I guess. When can you call?”
“I’m calling now, aren’t I?” Amused. “I can call Mondays, Wednesday and any weekend. Fridays Andy and Ansem go out with me to the Pizza place by the school. I spend most of my time with them.”
“Andy and Ansem?”
“Yeah, they’re twin brothers who practically have the run of the school. They’re really smart but pretend not to be, kind of like you.”
Snort. “I’m glad you have friends, Sammy.”
“Don’t worry Dean,” grin “no one else can call me that.”
“Just me?”
“Mm-hmm. Just you.”
“Good.” Pause. “So how are the dreams?”
Pause. Confusion.
“What dreams?”
*
TBC Part Three
Year Three: May 3rd 1997 - June 19th 1998