Special, 4/?
Sorry for the day late - I'm sure you know, LJ was down :(.
Title: Special, 4/?
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading_is_in
Characters: Sam, Dean, John, Pastor Jim.
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All recognized characters from ‘Supernatural’ are property of Eric Kripke/CW. This fan fiction is not for profit.
Summary: How Sam met Pastor Jim. Somewhat AU in terms of power revelations.
The most notable thing about Blue Earth, Minnesota, was a full-color statue of the Jolly Green Giant. Much to Dean’s amusement, the Giant appeared to be wearing some kind of dress made out of leaves, and Sam could practically see the wheels turning as his brother looked back and forth from the monument to Sam, formulating some witty remark about separation at birth, but Sam forestalled him with a glare, and he dropped it. Blue Earth was a whitebread county if Sam ever saw one: tidy middleclass houses with neat lawns, smiling neighbours, modestly Romanesque civic buildings in perfect upkeep. A banner advertised ‘Moms and Preschoolers Meetup Morning’ outside a community centre.
“There are hunters here?” Sam asked dubiously.
“Would it look like this if there weren’t?” Dad returned, and Sam conceded the point.
They pulled off the main drag, turned through a few smaller side streets and Sam realized their destination: a moderately sized church with a small house and garage attached, plain bricked but with ornate touches in the stained glass windows and steeple. A sign on the front lawn read:
Welcome to Blue Earth Episcopalian Church.
Pr. Dr. Jim Murphy.
The kingdom of God is within you. - Luke 17:21.
“Doctor?” Sam asked.
“God stuff,” said Dad shortly: “Theology.” Neither of them had mentioned the previous night’s fight, and Sam was inclined to keep it that way. He was having enough trouble keeping down the memories of what happened afterwards - convincing himself it was nothing, a misjudgement, just his stupid brain being overactive as usual. They parked, and Dad marched up to the rectory like he owned the place; Dean actually looked a little awkward, hanging a few steps behind Dad and vigorously messing Sam’s hair up as a distraction to both of them. Sam ducked out from under his brother’s hand and ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to restore some kind of order. He remained at the bottom of the porch steps with Dean, whilst Dad knocked loudly.
The man who opened the door was, for one thing, younger than Sam expected. He actually did a double take, wondering if this was a friend or relative, but the collar under the ordinary black shirt marked the man of the Church. Sam hadn’t met a lot of priests, but those he had were - well, old. Definitely older than Dad. This one was probably younger. The pastor was slight, with a round, mild face, and quick dark eyes that didn’t blanch at confrontation by John Winchester on his doorstep.
“John,” he said pleasantly. “How nice to see you again.”
“Jim,” said John gruffly, and shook the pastor’s hand.
Jim Murphy’s eyes travelled down the few steps: “And this couldn’t be Dean and Sammy, could it? My goodness, they’re practically young men!”
Sam felt his brother tense instinctively beside him. Dean didn’t like anybody to have an advantage on him, and having known him as a child was a definite advantage. Plus he probably didn’t appreciate the qualifier ‘practically’.
“Boys, get your stuff from the car,” said Dad.
“Oh, let them come in first,” said the pastor, in direct contradiction of John Winchester: “There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Dad paused, then nodded and gestured for the boys to follow him. The rectory was modest, neat, and quietly welcoming - the pastor led them through to a sitting room with a couch, two chairs, a coffee table and a fully-stocked bookcase. A small television, looking unused, perched on a chest of drawers. It was all completely contrary to the little Sam knew about how hunters lived - he thought of Uncle Bobby’s sprawling, chaotic, rooms, cluttered with books, papers, artefacts, dog hair and half-empty coffee mugs. Sam and Dean exchanged pointed glances.
“I expect the boys are hungry,” said the pastor without a pause, “I’m afraid the housekeeper hasn’t been in, but there are sandwiches in the refrigerator, and plenty of odds and ends. Please, make yourselves at home.” He gestured in what Sam supposed was the direction of the kitchen. Embarrassingly, Sam’s stomach growled. Damn growth spurts. The pastor hid a smile. Dean looked at Dad:
“Go on,” John nodded, and they beat a hasty retreat in the direction the pastor had pointed, neither particularly comfortable in the neat suburban dwelling.
“So,” said Dean through a mouthful of salami, bread and cheese. “You should be happy, Frances. Get to play house for a few days at least. Bet the pastor has a whole bunch of boring shit you haven’t read yet.”
“Close your mouth,” said Sam disgustedly. “Yeah…I dunno. This is - weird.”
“Weird how?”
“I just….I mean, does this guy seem like a hunter to you? Can you see him up against a werewolf or a wendigo?”
“No Sammy, trust me,” Dean was suddenly serious. “Jim’s badass. He was in the Marines with Dad.”
Sam stared at him in surprise.
“They’ve hunted together a few times,” Dean went on. “He had like, a whole arsenal in the basement. Bet it’s even bigger now. ” He grinned at the prospect of a room filled entirely with weapons.
“Holy shit,” said Sam and hit his forehead quietly against the table. “Hunters are freaks.”
“Totally,” Dean agreed, and crunched a handful of chips.
“Boys,” said the pastor, appearing in the door silently behind them, and Sam jumped. “If you’re done here, you might want to put your things in your room now. Dean, you remember where it is?”
“Yes sir,” said Dean.
“Jim, please,” the pastor smiled, and looked suitably beneficent. “That goes for you too, Sammy - we must have a talk later and get to know each other. Do you still want to be an astronaut when you’re older?” Sam felt himself blushing and Jim chuckled. “Your father and I have some business in town. Nothing exciting. Settle in, then you can get started.”
“Started on what?” Sam asked.
“You’ll see,” said Jim in an even tone, and Dean groaned.
“Manual labour is good for the soul, Dean,” said Jim mildly.
They got their bags from the car and deposited them in an attic bedroom - one bed on either side of the small room and a single wardrobe. Afternoon sunlight slanted through a single window, lighting dust motes in the air. It smelled like wood. Sam predicted smacking his head on the roof beams when he got up in the morning.
“Huh,” Dean blinked. “This place has shrunk.”
“You’ve grown,” Sam rolled his eyes.
A piece of paper with the church heading was tacked to the wall with a pushpin. At
the top it said,
CHORES: BOYS.
- SORT BASEMENT BOOKS BY SUBJECT
- WASH CHURCH WINDOWS (ladder in basement)
- SAND PEWS - REVARNISH
- REPLACE CRACKED TILES
- POLISH ALTAR STATUES
- RE- PLASTER AND PAINT NORTH ALCOVING
It went on.
“So I guess this is to keep us busy and stop us from knowing what’s going on,” said Sam.
“Come on dude,” said Dean. “He’s feeding us. This stuff has got to be done. Hell, I’ll even let you do the books. They’re probably old. You’ll be in heaven.”
“Whatever,” Sam said, and went to lie on his bed for a bit.
As predicted, he smacked his head on the beam when he ducked.
Part Five
Title: Special, 4/?
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: reading_is_in
Characters: Sam, Dean, John, Pastor Jim.
Genre: Drama
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: All recognized characters from ‘Supernatural’ are property of Eric Kripke/CW. This fan fiction is not for profit.
Summary: How Sam met Pastor Jim. Somewhat AU in terms of power revelations.
The most notable thing about Blue Earth, Minnesota, was a full-color statue of the Jolly Green Giant. Much to Dean’s amusement, the Giant appeared to be wearing some kind of dress made out of leaves, and Sam could practically see the wheels turning as his brother looked back and forth from the monument to Sam, formulating some witty remark about separation at birth, but Sam forestalled him with a glare, and he dropped it. Blue Earth was a whitebread county if Sam ever saw one: tidy middleclass houses with neat lawns, smiling neighbours, modestly Romanesque civic buildings in perfect upkeep. A banner advertised ‘Moms and Preschoolers Meetup Morning’ outside a community centre.
“There are hunters here?” Sam asked dubiously.
“Would it look like this if there weren’t?” Dad returned, and Sam conceded the point.
They pulled off the main drag, turned through a few smaller side streets and Sam realized their destination: a moderately sized church with a small house and garage attached, plain bricked but with ornate touches in the stained glass windows and steeple. A sign on the front lawn read:
Welcome to Blue Earth Episcopalian Church.
Pr. Dr. Jim Murphy.
The kingdom of God is within you. - Luke 17:21.
“Doctor?” Sam asked.
“God stuff,” said Dad shortly: “Theology.” Neither of them had mentioned the previous night’s fight, and Sam was inclined to keep it that way. He was having enough trouble keeping down the memories of what happened afterwards - convincing himself it was nothing, a misjudgement, just his stupid brain being overactive as usual. They parked, and Dad marched up to the rectory like he owned the place; Dean actually looked a little awkward, hanging a few steps behind Dad and vigorously messing Sam’s hair up as a distraction to both of them. Sam ducked out from under his brother’s hand and ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to restore some kind of order. He remained at the bottom of the porch steps with Dean, whilst Dad knocked loudly.
The man who opened the door was, for one thing, younger than Sam expected. He actually did a double take, wondering if this was a friend or relative, but the collar under the ordinary black shirt marked the man of the Church. Sam hadn’t met a lot of priests, but those he had were - well, old. Definitely older than Dad. This one was probably younger. The pastor was slight, with a round, mild face, and quick dark eyes that didn’t blanch at confrontation by John Winchester on his doorstep.
“John,” he said pleasantly. “How nice to see you again.”
“Jim,” said John gruffly, and shook the pastor’s hand.
Jim Murphy’s eyes travelled down the few steps: “And this couldn’t be Dean and Sammy, could it? My goodness, they’re practically young men!”
Sam felt his brother tense instinctively beside him. Dean didn’t like anybody to have an advantage on him, and having known him as a child was a definite advantage. Plus he probably didn’t appreciate the qualifier ‘practically’.
“Boys, get your stuff from the car,” said Dad.
“Oh, let them come in first,” said the pastor, in direct contradiction of John Winchester: “There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Dad paused, then nodded and gestured for the boys to follow him. The rectory was modest, neat, and quietly welcoming - the pastor led them through to a sitting room with a couch, two chairs, a coffee table and a fully-stocked bookcase. A small television, looking unused, perched on a chest of drawers. It was all completely contrary to the little Sam knew about how hunters lived - he thought of Uncle Bobby’s sprawling, chaotic, rooms, cluttered with books, papers, artefacts, dog hair and half-empty coffee mugs. Sam and Dean exchanged pointed glances.
“I expect the boys are hungry,” said the pastor without a pause, “I’m afraid the housekeeper hasn’t been in, but there are sandwiches in the refrigerator, and plenty of odds and ends. Please, make yourselves at home.” He gestured in what Sam supposed was the direction of the kitchen. Embarrassingly, Sam’s stomach growled. Damn growth spurts. The pastor hid a smile. Dean looked at Dad:
“Go on,” John nodded, and they beat a hasty retreat in the direction the pastor had pointed, neither particularly comfortable in the neat suburban dwelling.
“So,” said Dean through a mouthful of salami, bread and cheese. “You should be happy, Frances. Get to play house for a few days at least. Bet the pastor has a whole bunch of boring shit you haven’t read yet.”
“Close your mouth,” said Sam disgustedly. “Yeah…I dunno. This is - weird.”
“Weird how?”
“I just….I mean, does this guy seem like a hunter to you? Can you see him up against a werewolf or a wendigo?”
“No Sammy, trust me,” Dean was suddenly serious. “Jim’s badass. He was in the Marines with Dad.”
Sam stared at him in surprise.
“They’ve hunted together a few times,” Dean went on. “He had like, a whole arsenal in the basement. Bet it’s even bigger now. ” He grinned at the prospect of a room filled entirely with weapons.
“Holy shit,” said Sam and hit his forehead quietly against the table. “Hunters are freaks.”
“Totally,” Dean agreed, and crunched a handful of chips.
“Boys,” said the pastor, appearing in the door silently behind them, and Sam jumped. “If you’re done here, you might want to put your things in your room now. Dean, you remember where it is?”
“Yes sir,” said Dean.
“Jim, please,” the pastor smiled, and looked suitably beneficent. “That goes for you too, Sammy - we must have a talk later and get to know each other. Do you still want to be an astronaut when you’re older?” Sam felt himself blushing and Jim chuckled. “Your father and I have some business in town. Nothing exciting. Settle in, then you can get started.”
“Started on what?” Sam asked.
“You’ll see,” said Jim in an even tone, and Dean groaned.
“Manual labour is good for the soul, Dean,” said Jim mildly.
They got their bags from the car and deposited them in an attic bedroom - one bed on either side of the small room and a single wardrobe. Afternoon sunlight slanted through a single window, lighting dust motes in the air. It smelled like wood. Sam predicted smacking his head on the roof beams when he got up in the morning.
“Huh,” Dean blinked. “This place has shrunk.”
“You’ve grown,” Sam rolled his eyes.
A piece of paper with the church heading was tacked to the wall with a pushpin. At
the top it said,
CHORES: BOYS.
- SORT BASEMENT BOOKS BY SUBJECT
- WASH CHURCH WINDOWS (ladder in basement)
- SAND PEWS - REVARNISH
- REPLACE CRACKED TILES
- POLISH ALTAR STATUES
- RE- PLASTER AND PAINT NORTH ALCOVING
It went on.
“So I guess this is to keep us busy and stop us from knowing what’s going on,” said Sam.
“Come on dude,” said Dean. “He’s feeding us. This stuff has got to be done. Hell, I’ll even let you do the books. They’re probably old. You’ll be in heaven.”
“Whatever,” Sam said, and went to lie on his bed for a bit.
As predicted, he smacked his head on the beam when he ducked.
Part Five