SPN Fic: One Job
Category: Supernatural, Wee!chesters, pre-series
Title: One Job
Author: Rafikiven
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1700
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of its creators and the CW network (which is not me).
Summary: Inspired by Dean’s “one job” monologue in All Hell Breaks Loose Part II. A young Dean tries to take care of Sam even when the situation becomes too tough to handle.
Author’s Note: This is a companion piece to my story “ I Wish,” but both can be read as standalones. Thanks a bunch to my betas
gestaltroseand
erynnbeth!
One Job
There are a lot of jobs in the world. Some people have more than one job, but others only have one. There are firemen and scientists and astronauts and bakers. Pastor Jim is a hunter and a pastor. Bobby is a hunter and owns a junk yard. Mrs. Billings is a teacher and takes care of her daughters. Dad is a hunter and takes care of me and Sam.
Mrs. Billings said kids have jobs too. All kids have the same job: to play and learn, and one day they’ll grow up and get grown-up jobs. That’s not entirely true though. That isn’t my job.
“Hey New Kid, pass that ball!”
I toss the kids their ball, sit back against the tree and watch them play. That’s their job, not mine. Sure, I could play if I wanted to, but it’s better not to make friends. Friends ask questions I don’t want to answer and make me feel bad when it’s time to move. Besides, I have Sammy. He may be an annoying little squirt attached to a stuffed bear but he’s still my friend. One friend is enough for me.
I grab a twig and start jabbing the dirt with it. Sam should be like all the other kids. Sam’s job should be to play and learn and grow up and get a grown-up job.
After school, I slam the empty cupboard a bit harder than I mean to and the mirror rattles. If only I wasn’t such a screw-up.
I haven’t seen Dad for two days. I have a big bruise on my forehead, but I’m hiding it pretty well because my hair is long enough to cover it up. I got the bruise two nights ago because I screwed up then, too.
Sam’s sitting at the table singing and coloring in his Smurfs book. “Honk honk rattle rattle rattle crash beep beep. Honk honk rattle rattle rattle rattle rattle…” Thankfully, Sam is oblivious to my dilemma.
The fridge is even worse than the cupboard. All that’s edible in there is a little bit of milk.
Two nights ago, we left Sam asleep in the motel and Dad let me go with him on a hunt. The creature came after me, I got a knock on the head, but the creature got away. It was all my fault, too, because I’d fallen asleep waiting for it to show up and broke the salt line with my foot. Dad was mad and said I should have been more careful. He said he didn’t know what he’d do if something happened to me. I think he said that because he needs me to take care of things.
I dump out the emergency money on the bedspread and only a couple of bucks and some coins fall out. It must have been a while since Dad refilled it. Something tightens in my throat as I remember why Dad didn’t know it was empty. Last week I took a twenty to buy Sam the new bear. Dad had told me we couldn’t afford it, but when he was out on a hunt I got into the emergency money and bought it anyway. Dad must not have wondered where Sam’s new bear came from.
“I’m a four-door I am four. Honk honk rattle rattle rat-”
“Sam, why don’t we play a game?” I don’t think I can stand hearing the song one more time.
“Yippee!” He jumps up onto the bed where I’m sitting and I shuffle the cards.
“And the song goes, ‘I’m a four-door, I’m a ford, ford not four.”
“But I’m four.” He giggles at his joke. I laugh too.
I wish Dad would just come home. He does this sometimes when a hunt goes badly--disappears for a few days.
At dinnertime I feed Sam the rest of the milk and we both eat some crackers. That’s all we have, but Sam seems happy enough. I hope he’ll be able make it on crackers until school lunch tomorrow and hopefully by the time school gets out Dad will be home.
After playing most of the evening I get Sam ready for bed. It looks like he’s about to fall asleep when he sits up.
“Dean, I’m hungry.” One look into those eyes and I know we can’t wait until school lunch tomorrow. Sammy has a special talent for looking really pitiful when he wants to.
“I’m going to have to go out and get us something to eat.”
“Don’t leave me alone. There’s a Wendgo under Dad’s bed.” Sam clutches his bear close to his chest.
“It’s not Wendgo, it’s Wendigo and no there isn’t. I won’t be gone long.”
“No, I don’t want to be left alone again!” Sam starts crying and I hate it when I make him cry.
I don’t want Sam to come along on this trip. This isn’t exactly the best neighborhood and it’s already really late. Besides, it’s not as if I can just stroll into the store and buy enough food with two dollars and sixty three cents.
“Don’t cry, it’s okay.” I stroke his head and try to get him to stop crying.
“So I can go?” Sometimes I can’t understand how Sam can go from upset and crying one second to bright-eyed the next.
“Oh okay, but you have to wait outside the store.”
Sammy grins at me. I’m not sure what’s so exciting about 7-Eleven.
I insist he leave the bear at home so I give in and let him go in pajamas and rain boots.
I decide he better stay just inside the store’s door because I’m worried about him staying outside by himself. The cashier hardly looks up from his magazine.
“Can I have an ice cream?”
“No, it’s too late for ice cream. Besides, you can’t get everything you want. Now stay right here by the door. Don’t move from this spot.”
Sam nods and leans up over the freezer to look at the ice cream inside.
The whole place is empty except for Sammy, me, and the cashier. I get everything we need and go up to the cashier. Everything inside me says to just run out the door, but I calmly put the milk and Sam’s ice cream bar on the counter. I glance over my shoulder at Sam and he smiles innocently, the same way he did when he slipped the bar into my hand.
The bell dings and a couple of cops stroll in, passing Sam who is standing by the comic books.
“Evening, Bob.” The bigger cop waves at the cashier.
“Evening, officer.” The cashier puts what I bought into a bag. “That’ll be $2.17.”
The big cop looks from me to Sam and back again and then looks around the store as if he’s looking for someone else.
I feel my hands start to shake and drop some of my coins.
“Let me help you with that.” The cop leans down in front of me and picks up the coins. As he gets up he stops at my eye level. He pulls the box of Rice-A-Roni out of my shirt. It must have been sticking out the collar.
He puts his hand on the side of my head and brushes some hair off my forehead. I stand as still as possible. There are tears glistening his eyes, but I’m not sure why.
“You boys are going to have to come with me.”
Now I’m sitting here in the police station with Sam sleeping next to me, and I know I’ve never screwed up this badly before. People shouldn’t mess up their jobs, especially if they only have one job like me.
“Son, please tell me where your parents are. Who was watching you?” The lady looks nice enough, but I know this can’t be good.
“Our babysitter was watching us and left for just a minute and then didn’t come back.” I’m trying hard to remember the story Dad made us learn just in case, but I’m having trouble concentrating on anything except for how much I messed up. Dad is the least of my problems, but I can’t help thinking about how he’ll look at me when he finds out.
“What’s your babysitter’s name?”
“Uh, Mr. Rogers.” Oh geez, it was the first name that came into my head.
She sighs. I don’t think she bought it.
“Can you explain what you and your little brother were doing out alone at 10:00 at night?”
No, I can’t explain it.
“And how about this bruise on your forehead? Can you explain that?”
This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening.
I know this lady is a social worker and she’s going to take Sammy away. I know stealing is wrong and they’ll put me in jail, and if I’m in jail I won’t be able to take care of Sammy.
“Don’t you have anyone we can call?”
“Yes, call this number.” I give her Pastor’s Jim number. It’s for emergencies.
How many people screw up their jobs this badly? I only have one job. Take care of Sam. That’s all I have to do.
A few hours later, Dad finds us and fixes my mess. We leave as soon as he’s able to pick us up, and we don’t stop driving until we’re out of the state. Dad checks us into a motel under the name of John Peters, an ID he’d been saving for an emergency.
Sammy cries that his bear got left behind again and Dad just hugs him. Sam melts into Dad and falls asleep on his lap. Dad tells me it’s going to be okay, but I don’t think I could face him if he knew everything. I don’t tell him about the stealing and he doesn’t tell me I can’t take care of Sammy.
End.
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