Special, 7/?
Title: Special, 7/?
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: All teenagers believe they're different. Somewhat AU in terms of power revelations.
A/N: This week you can has two parts :)
*
BLUE EARTH HERALD
Monday, June 12, 1972
DOUBLE TRAGEDY CLAIMS SECOND LIFE
SISTER OF DROWNED BOY IN SUICIDE
Amelia Louise Richardson, 16, sister to the late Harold ‘Harry’ Richardson, was found dead at the Richardson home early yesterday morning. Coroners recorded a verdict of suicide.
Harry, 18, who was severely retarded
- “It says retarded,” Dean observed, leaning over Sam’s shoulder to look at the microfiche.
“It was the seventies,” Sam said absently. “People did.”
drowned in a tragic accident at Fisher’s Pond last week, as the Herald’s Jim Frank reported. Amelia, who is said to have been
devoted to the boy, died from a massive overdose of painkillers and sleeping tablets, which had been prescribed to her mother.
“She protected him throughout his life,” said father Jack Richardson. “He was like her reason. They were the most important people in each other’s world. Amelia felt like she’d failed Harry, and I guess she felt she couldn’t go on without him.”
A weird feeling snaked its way down Sam’s spine. Amelia Richardson, sweet and dark eyed, smiled serenely from what looked like a high school photograph, hands folded demurely in the pleats of her knee-length skirt.
“That’s the chick alright,” Dean affirmed in a low voice. “Except you know. Restless spirit style.” He made a glaring-eyed facial
expression and raised his hands into claws in what Sam assumed was an approximation of the spirit. “She was all, don’t touch him, tried to stop us from burning the bones. Which makes sense, I guess.” He looked uncomfortable. “The retarded ghost was just, knocking crap over, but I get the feeling this one will get nasty if we don’t do something about her.”
“She’s tormented,” said Sam softly. Dean said,
“Yeah.”
They continued reading. The Richardsons had been devout Catholics; Amelia wore a discreet crucifix in the photograph. The next few months’ papers revealed that the parents had tried for burial on hallowed ground, but the Church had overruled them: Amelia’s remains lay in a field beyond city limits, marked by an apple tree.
“That’s pretty shitty,” Dean said. “Don’t get me wrong, ghosts are ghosts. No doubt she’s twisted from sticking around, but they shoulda buried her right. Wasn’t her fault.”
Sam looked up in surprise. It was rare that his brother expressed sympathy for the dead. “It was against the rules,” Sam said.
“They were Catholic. She believed suicide was a deadly sin but she did it anyway. You can’t change the rules when it doesn’t suit you.”
“Some sin. What about when you’re no good to anyone? Like, a deadbeat on drugs or whatever? Seems like more of a favour.”
Sam’s mouth hung open a little. Dean’s tone was light, and he was still flicking through microfiche, but they were almost having a philosophical debate here.
“It’s - giving up,” Sam said carefully. “Giving in. Quitting on your responsibilities.”
“Her responsibility was dead,” Dean pointed out. “Find a town map. We need a co-ordinate on this field.”
* * *
They worked through lunch, and got everything done in one day. Just as they were wrapping up, Dean received a text message. The cell phone was a new acquisition: expensive, but damn useful, and the credit card of one Thaddeus B. Clement was paying for it anyway. This will take the night. Jim and I will be back in the morning. Be ready to salt and burn tomorrow night. Dad.
“Free night, Sammy,” Dean said, and caught the eye of the young female library assistant.
Having spent two days at Jim’s with no further manifestation of - whatever, Sam was felt more relaxed, and vaguely as though he should apologize to Dean for being a general bitch, but the thought of apologizing made him annoyed all over again. So he just said,
“Knock yourself out,” and went to wait in the car, closing his eyes and fantasising about dinner. There was no chilli left, but he distinctly remembered seeing Hawaiian pizza in the freezer box. When his brother to slid into the driver’s seat, he was grinning and brandishing the young woman’s phone number like a trophy. Sam rolled his eyes and smiled at the same time. Dean punched him in the arm.
“She’s got a little sister,” Dean offered.
“No.”
“She thought you were cute. In a dorky little kid kind of way, I mean.”
Sam felt himself blush.
“I don’t need you to get me dates.”
“Really? Because no offense, Sammy, but I don’t exactly see the ladies hurrying to-”
“Oh my God! If I want to ask a girl out, then I’ll ask her out, okay?”
“I’m just saying you should have a little fun once in a while. Dude, you’re too serious. It’s not good for your brain,” he ruffled Sam’s hair.
“Drive,” Sam said.
Later that night, pizza eaten and Dean off on his recreational pursuits, Sam got the key to the Church basement and went to look at the books there. He had already started to sort them, but there were some he wanted to look at leisurely: compilations on the occult that looked like the work of fellow hunters. Hand-bound, but better kept and more organized than Dad’s journal, they were obviously meant to be passed around, but not for broad public consumption. Some had alphabetical indexes. Sam opened the first one and almost without volition, and his eyes skipped to
HUMANS; ABILITIES.
Something seemed to rise in his chest. He had a sneaking suspicion that if Dad were here, he would take the book out of Sam’s hands. Well, tough. Jim had told him to come down here and look at the books. Sam turned to the appropriate entry.
The text had been printed using an old-fashioned typewriter. It wasn’t a professional job. There were smudges, and the margin was on a slant. Sam read:
IN OUR EXPERIENCE, HUMANS WITH SUPERNATURAL ABILITIES ARE ALMOST ALWAYS DANGEROUS. THEIR POWERS TYPICALLY RESULT FROM HELL-DEALS, OR MORE UNUSUALLY, A SKILLED NECROMANCER CAN APPROPRIATE DEMONIC OR SUPERNATURAL POWER WITHOUT NEGOTIATION. IN JULY 1969, SHORTLY BEFORE OUR ASSOCIATION, LORENCO KILLED A WITCH WHO HAD BEEN TORTURING FAMILIES IN NEW YORK, NEW YORK, IN TWISTED RETRIBUTION FOR THE LOSS OF HIS OWN DAUGHTER. WE ARE IN NO DOUBT HE WAS ONCE A NORMAL HUMAN.
Sam put the book down hard. Then he picked it up again and went back to the index. This time he tried,
HUMANS; DREAMS.
MOST DREAMS APPARENTLY PREDICTING OR INFLUENCED BY SUPERNATURAL EVENTS ARE COINCIDENCE AND SELECTIVE MEMORY. SEVERAL HUNTERS RECOUNT FOLLOWING UP SUPPOSED PSYCHIC DREAMS TO FIND THE DREAMER EITHER LYING OR DELUSIONAL. THEY ARE RARELY DANGEROUS. ON OCCASION, HOWEVER, DEMONS HAVE MANIFESTED IN THE DREAMS OF HUMANS IN THEIR POSESSION, OR IN WHOM THEY HAVE SPECIAL INTEREST.
Oh, God. No. It couldn’t be. What would a demon want with him? ‘Everything. You know, you’ve always known how different you are, how special, and it came to your nursery…’. Bullshit. He slammed the book closed and ran back up the staircase, barely remembering to lock the door behind him. He stood in the living room, panting, trying to calm himself. He tried to remember if there was any kind of alcohol in the house. He had rarely drunk, but a few months ago when he’d needed some stitches, Dad had given him a shot of Jack and he could really use the numbed out, fuzzy feeling right about now. He found a few bottles of in a cabinet next to the chest of drawers. He uncapped one that looked dusty and seldom used, and chugged a few mouthfuls of something awful, sweet and burning and cloying. It did the trick. Fifteen minutes later he was feeling comfortably numb, fell asleep on the couch, and didn’t wake up until Dean started hammering on the front door around three o clock in the morning.
Part Eight
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: All teenagers believe they're different. Somewhat AU in terms of power revelations.
A/N: This week you can has two parts :)
*
BLUE EARTH HERALD
Monday, June 12, 1972
DOUBLE TRAGEDY CLAIMS SECOND LIFE
SISTER OF DROWNED BOY IN SUICIDE
Amelia Louise Richardson, 16, sister to the late Harold ‘Harry’ Richardson, was found dead at the Richardson home early yesterday morning. Coroners recorded a verdict of suicide.
Harry, 18, who was severely retarded
- “It says retarded,” Dean observed, leaning over Sam’s shoulder to look at the microfiche.
“It was the seventies,” Sam said absently. “People did.”
drowned in a tragic accident at Fisher’s Pond last week, as the Herald’s Jim Frank reported. Amelia, who is said to have been
devoted to the boy, died from a massive overdose of painkillers and sleeping tablets, which had been prescribed to her mother.
“She protected him throughout his life,” said father Jack Richardson. “He was like her reason. They were the most important people in each other’s world. Amelia felt like she’d failed Harry, and I guess she felt she couldn’t go on without him.”
A weird feeling snaked its way down Sam’s spine. Amelia Richardson, sweet and dark eyed, smiled serenely from what looked like a high school photograph, hands folded demurely in the pleats of her knee-length skirt.
“That’s the chick alright,” Dean affirmed in a low voice. “Except you know. Restless spirit style.” He made a glaring-eyed facial
expression and raised his hands into claws in what Sam assumed was an approximation of the spirit. “She was all, don’t touch him, tried to stop us from burning the bones. Which makes sense, I guess.” He looked uncomfortable. “The retarded ghost was just, knocking crap over, but I get the feeling this one will get nasty if we don’t do something about her.”
“She’s tormented,” said Sam softly. Dean said,
“Yeah.”
They continued reading. The Richardsons had been devout Catholics; Amelia wore a discreet crucifix in the photograph. The next few months’ papers revealed that the parents had tried for burial on hallowed ground, but the Church had overruled them: Amelia’s remains lay in a field beyond city limits, marked by an apple tree.
“That’s pretty shitty,” Dean said. “Don’t get me wrong, ghosts are ghosts. No doubt she’s twisted from sticking around, but they shoulda buried her right. Wasn’t her fault.”
Sam looked up in surprise. It was rare that his brother expressed sympathy for the dead. “It was against the rules,” Sam said.
“They were Catholic. She believed suicide was a deadly sin but she did it anyway. You can’t change the rules when it doesn’t suit you.”
“Some sin. What about when you’re no good to anyone? Like, a deadbeat on drugs or whatever? Seems like more of a favour.”
Sam’s mouth hung open a little. Dean’s tone was light, and he was still flicking through microfiche, but they were almost having a philosophical debate here.
“It’s - giving up,” Sam said carefully. “Giving in. Quitting on your responsibilities.”
“Her responsibility was dead,” Dean pointed out. “Find a town map. We need a co-ordinate on this field.”
* * *
They worked through lunch, and got everything done in one day. Just as they were wrapping up, Dean received a text message. The cell phone was a new acquisition: expensive, but damn useful, and the credit card of one Thaddeus B. Clement was paying for it anyway. This will take the night. Jim and I will be back in the morning. Be ready to salt and burn tomorrow night. Dad.
“Free night, Sammy,” Dean said, and caught the eye of the young female library assistant.
Having spent two days at Jim’s with no further manifestation of - whatever, Sam was felt more relaxed, and vaguely as though he should apologize to Dean for being a general bitch, but the thought of apologizing made him annoyed all over again. So he just said,
“Knock yourself out,” and went to wait in the car, closing his eyes and fantasising about dinner. There was no chilli left, but he distinctly remembered seeing Hawaiian pizza in the freezer box. When his brother to slid into the driver’s seat, he was grinning and brandishing the young woman’s phone number like a trophy. Sam rolled his eyes and smiled at the same time. Dean punched him in the arm.
“She’s got a little sister,” Dean offered.
“No.”
“She thought you were cute. In a dorky little kid kind of way, I mean.”
Sam felt himself blush.
“I don’t need you to get me dates.”
“Really? Because no offense, Sammy, but I don’t exactly see the ladies hurrying to-”
“Oh my God! If I want to ask a girl out, then I’ll ask her out, okay?”
“I’m just saying you should have a little fun once in a while. Dude, you’re too serious. It’s not good for your brain,” he ruffled Sam’s hair.
“Drive,” Sam said.
Later that night, pizza eaten and Dean off on his recreational pursuits, Sam got the key to the Church basement and went to look at the books there. He had already started to sort them, but there were some he wanted to look at leisurely: compilations on the occult that looked like the work of fellow hunters. Hand-bound, but better kept and more organized than Dad’s journal, they were obviously meant to be passed around, but not for broad public consumption. Some had alphabetical indexes. Sam opened the first one and almost without volition, and his eyes skipped to
HUMANS; ABILITIES.
Something seemed to rise in his chest. He had a sneaking suspicion that if Dad were here, he would take the book out of Sam’s hands. Well, tough. Jim had told him to come down here and look at the books. Sam turned to the appropriate entry.
The text had been printed using an old-fashioned typewriter. It wasn’t a professional job. There were smudges, and the margin was on a slant. Sam read:
IN OUR EXPERIENCE, HUMANS WITH SUPERNATURAL ABILITIES ARE ALMOST ALWAYS DANGEROUS. THEIR POWERS TYPICALLY RESULT FROM HELL-DEALS, OR MORE UNUSUALLY, A SKILLED NECROMANCER CAN APPROPRIATE DEMONIC OR SUPERNATURAL POWER WITHOUT NEGOTIATION. IN JULY 1969, SHORTLY BEFORE OUR ASSOCIATION, LORENCO KILLED A WITCH WHO HAD BEEN TORTURING FAMILIES IN NEW YORK, NEW YORK, IN TWISTED RETRIBUTION FOR THE LOSS OF HIS OWN DAUGHTER. WE ARE IN NO DOUBT HE WAS ONCE A NORMAL HUMAN.
Sam put the book down hard. Then he picked it up again and went back to the index. This time he tried,
HUMANS; DREAMS.
MOST DREAMS APPARENTLY PREDICTING OR INFLUENCED BY SUPERNATURAL EVENTS ARE COINCIDENCE AND SELECTIVE MEMORY. SEVERAL HUNTERS RECOUNT FOLLOWING UP SUPPOSED PSYCHIC DREAMS TO FIND THE DREAMER EITHER LYING OR DELUSIONAL. THEY ARE RARELY DANGEROUS. ON OCCASION, HOWEVER, DEMONS HAVE MANIFESTED IN THE DREAMS OF HUMANS IN THEIR POSESSION, OR IN WHOM THEY HAVE SPECIAL INTEREST.
Oh, God. No. It couldn’t be. What would a demon want with him? ‘Everything. You know, you’ve always known how different you are, how special, and it came to your nursery…’. Bullshit. He slammed the book closed and ran back up the staircase, barely remembering to lock the door behind him. He stood in the living room, panting, trying to calm himself. He tried to remember if there was any kind of alcohol in the house. He had rarely drunk, but a few months ago when he’d needed some stitches, Dad had given him a shot of Jack and he could really use the numbed out, fuzzy feeling right about now. He found a few bottles of in a cabinet next to the chest of drawers. He uncapped one that looked dusty and seldom used, and chugged a few mouthfuls of something awful, sweet and burning and cloying. It did the trick. Fifteen minutes later he was feeling comfortably numb, fell asleep on the couch, and didn’t wake up until Dean started hammering on the front door around three o clock in the morning.
Part Eight