spn_hols, prompt # 5
he promised he’d always come back
Prompt: #5 candy canes (spn_hols)
Fandom: Supernatural (pre-series & season 2 gen)
Rating: PG
Word Count: approx. 1270
Warnings: spoilers for season 2
Author’s Notes: oh my god, is that ANGST?! tied in with schoomp but nonetheless, ANGST.
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December 24th, 1988
“Sam, get away from the window.”
“Ah, he’s alright there, Uncle Jim.”
Jim frowned doubtfully, staring down his reading glasses to Dean’s curved back. He caught a glimpse of a smile from the boy as he turned his head slightly before looking back to his magazine. Jim raised his head to look at Sam, just five-years-old, face pressed against the snow-stained window. Sam had been sitting there like that for hours, kneeling on the chair, face and hands pressed to the glass; he was definitely determined about something.
“Sam,” Jim called, hoping that the sternness would make Sam look but his head only twitched and he went on like he hadn’t heard Jim at all. “Santa won’t come if you don’t go to bed.”
Dean clicked his tongue. “’S’not gonna work. Sam doesn’t believe in Santa.”
Jim shot a look at the cocky young boy and then back to Sam: his hair was sticking up at all ends and in the reflection of the glass, Jim could see his large blue eyes stare blankly at the night. Jim saw nothing but a five-year-old boy who had nothing left but to believe in Santa. “What? How could he not?” Jim demanded.
Dean looked up at Jim, as innocent as though he were baby Jesus himself. Jim hated how he could do that, the manipulative mini-John.
“You can’t believe in something if you’ve never heard of it, Uncle Jim,” Dean said quietly. Jim felt his chest tighten a little. Dean looked back to Sam, his hands resting on the sports magazine in front of him. “He’s just missing Dad. It’s his first Christmas without him, you know.”
Jim’s hands trembled as he closed his Bible and stood. It was one of those hunts where John told him that there wasn’t a guarantee of anything. John had asked Jim not to tell the boys. “I think it’s best to head off to bed. Come along, Samuel.”
Dean snickered below him. He stood also, barely reaching Jim’s waist, but holding all the authority and age a man could ever possess. “He won’t answer to Samuel.”
Jim cocked an eyebrow.
“I’ll get him.” Dean was across the small, dimly lit den, hands clasped behind his back. He sat down on the chair, shoving Sam over gently to have room. He leaned against the window, resting his chin in his hand. “Hey, Sammy.”
Sam’s head twitched but he didn’t look at Dean. His tiny index finger pointed at the dark abyss beyond the white snowflakes and dirty glass, but let it slide down, defeated. Dean caught a flash of headlights out of the corner of his eye and let himself feel a little defeated too.
“Dad’s coming back,” Dean whispered. “You know that, Sammy.”
Sam’s bottom lip trembled and his forehead pressed against the glass. His eyes were wider now as a few tears slipped past and dripped into his pajama bottoms. “Daddy.”
“I know bud,” Dean murmured. He wrapped his arm around Sam’s shoulder. “I know.”
Sam’s face scrunched up and he threw his arms back, knocking Dean’s arm away. “No!” Sam yelled, his face falling back to the glass. “You don’t!”
“Hey, I miss him too!” Dean said. “But you gotta go to bed. Dad’ll be back soon.”
“I gotta wait,” Sam murmured.
Dean sighed. His eyes wandered across the room unilt they rested on the Christmas tree. It was poorly done since Sam had decided to decorate it as soon as they had got to Pastor Jim’s place two days before. It was gaudy and covered in construction paper and bits of glitter. The decorations Jim had set out were left forgotten. Sam did manage to keep one traditional part of decorating a Christmas tree - there were tons of candy canes, all at his level, but nevertheless, there were candy canes.
Dean grabbed Sam’s hand and dragged him away from the window, Sam kicking and grunting the entire time. “Here,” Dean said, placing a writihing Sam in front of the tree. “If you take a candy cane and go to bed, by the time you finish it, Dad’ll be back.”
Sam stopped moving; his curled fists loosened and he let his arms drop to his side. He looked at Jim with wide eyes, who nodded and urged him towards the tree. Sam stepped forward hesitantly and reached out for the red and white candy cane. He unhooked it from the tree and held it close to his chest.
“You shouldn’t lie to your brother like that,” Jim scolded Dean as he followed the two boys towards their rooms, Sam giggling and twirling the candy cane between his fingers.
Dean grinned. “Don’t worry, Uncle Jim. It could take him days to finish that candy cane. Besides, he knows Dad’ll come back.” Dean stopped outside his bedroom door and looked up at Jim. “He promised he’d always come back, you know.”
Jim couldn’t bring himself to telling Dean that it always didn’t work out that way.
“Well, night Uncle Jim,” Dean said and was in the room, taking Sam by the shoulders and leading him to the bed.
The next morning, they found John laying on the couch, covered in mud and cuts. Sam wasted no time in jumping on his father’s stomach and hugging him around the neck, the incident of the night before forgotten.
Sam’s candy cane was lying on his night stand, not even unwrapped.
-
December 24th, 2006
Dean had been more quiet than usual that day. The stopped in this little shit town because they just needed to slow down. It wasn’t like they were going anywhere or were trying to get nowhere fast. Dean was just too quiet.
Sam watched him throughout the night, throwing him worried glances, but Dean never returned any signs of knowing Sam was even there. He couldn’t even drag himself from the motel bed to go out and get properly drunk - Sam thought he’d forget easier.
Sam had wandered around town for an hour to give Dean time to himself. Possibly let go of some pent up aggression or resentment. He came back to find the bed empty, a few things lying on the floor and dent marks in the walls. Sam toed the bathroom door open and found Dean leaning against the wall, eyes closed and hands clasped together.
“Dean,” Sam whispered, like he was going to disturb some natural peace. And maybe he was. He didn’t want to take away whatever solace Dean had found. “You okay?”
Dean shrugged and it was a vague attempt to tell Sam he was okay. Sam didn’t believe it, not even for a second. He slid down the wall, placing himself beside Dean. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the wrapped candy cane he had gotten from the skinny Santa on the street corner.
“Here,” Sam said and put the candy on Dean’s knee.
Dean’s eyes opened, blurry and blinking. He stared down at the candy before taking it in his hands. Sam knew the message it held between the two of them and no one else, but it held no promises this time. And even after all these years, after Sam had gotten over being alone and being separated from John, and after he thought Dean had forgotten… the wetness welling in Dean’s eyes told an entirely different story.
When Dean woke up the next morning, the entire candy cane was gone and John wasn’t there. He really expected no different, but seeing Sam walk in with two cups of coffee and a tired-happy smile was just about enough.
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Prompt: #5 candy canes (spn_hols)
Fandom: Supernatural (pre-series & season 2 gen)
Rating: PG
Word Count: approx. 1270
Warnings: spoilers for season 2
Author’s Notes: oh my god, is that ANGST?! tied in with schoomp but nonetheless, ANGST.
-
December 24th, 1988
“Sam, get away from the window.”
“Ah, he’s alright there, Uncle Jim.”
Jim frowned doubtfully, staring down his reading glasses to Dean’s curved back. He caught a glimpse of a smile from the boy as he turned his head slightly before looking back to his magazine. Jim raised his head to look at Sam, just five-years-old, face pressed against the snow-stained window. Sam had been sitting there like that for hours, kneeling on the chair, face and hands pressed to the glass; he was definitely determined about something.
“Sam,” Jim called, hoping that the sternness would make Sam look but his head only twitched and he went on like he hadn’t heard Jim at all. “Santa won’t come if you don’t go to bed.”
Dean clicked his tongue. “’S’not gonna work. Sam doesn’t believe in Santa.”
Jim shot a look at the cocky young boy and then back to Sam: his hair was sticking up at all ends and in the reflection of the glass, Jim could see his large blue eyes stare blankly at the night. Jim saw nothing but a five-year-old boy who had nothing left but to believe in Santa. “What? How could he not?” Jim demanded.
Dean looked up at Jim, as innocent as though he were baby Jesus himself. Jim hated how he could do that, the manipulative mini-John.
“You can’t believe in something if you’ve never heard of it, Uncle Jim,” Dean said quietly. Jim felt his chest tighten a little. Dean looked back to Sam, his hands resting on the sports magazine in front of him. “He’s just missing Dad. It’s his first Christmas without him, you know.”
Jim’s hands trembled as he closed his Bible and stood. It was one of those hunts where John told him that there wasn’t a guarantee of anything. John had asked Jim not to tell the boys. “I think it’s best to head off to bed. Come along, Samuel.”
Dean snickered below him. He stood also, barely reaching Jim’s waist, but holding all the authority and age a man could ever possess. “He won’t answer to Samuel.”
Jim cocked an eyebrow.
“I’ll get him.” Dean was across the small, dimly lit den, hands clasped behind his back. He sat down on the chair, shoving Sam over gently to have room. He leaned against the window, resting his chin in his hand. “Hey, Sammy.”
Sam’s head twitched but he didn’t look at Dean. His tiny index finger pointed at the dark abyss beyond the white snowflakes and dirty glass, but let it slide down, defeated. Dean caught a flash of headlights out of the corner of his eye and let himself feel a little defeated too.
“Dad’s coming back,” Dean whispered. “You know that, Sammy.”
Sam’s bottom lip trembled and his forehead pressed against the glass. His eyes were wider now as a few tears slipped past and dripped into his pajama bottoms. “Daddy.”
“I know bud,” Dean murmured. He wrapped his arm around Sam’s shoulder. “I know.”
Sam’s face scrunched up and he threw his arms back, knocking Dean’s arm away. “No!” Sam yelled, his face falling back to the glass. “You don’t!”
“Hey, I miss him too!” Dean said. “But you gotta go to bed. Dad’ll be back soon.”
“I gotta wait,” Sam murmured.
Dean sighed. His eyes wandered across the room unilt they rested on the Christmas tree. It was poorly done since Sam had decided to decorate it as soon as they had got to Pastor Jim’s place two days before. It was gaudy and covered in construction paper and bits of glitter. The decorations Jim had set out were left forgotten. Sam did manage to keep one traditional part of decorating a Christmas tree - there were tons of candy canes, all at his level, but nevertheless, there were candy canes.
Dean grabbed Sam’s hand and dragged him away from the window, Sam kicking and grunting the entire time. “Here,” Dean said, placing a writihing Sam in front of the tree. “If you take a candy cane and go to bed, by the time you finish it, Dad’ll be back.”
Sam stopped moving; his curled fists loosened and he let his arms drop to his side. He looked at Jim with wide eyes, who nodded and urged him towards the tree. Sam stepped forward hesitantly and reached out for the red and white candy cane. He unhooked it from the tree and held it close to his chest.
“You shouldn’t lie to your brother like that,” Jim scolded Dean as he followed the two boys towards their rooms, Sam giggling and twirling the candy cane between his fingers.
Dean grinned. “Don’t worry, Uncle Jim. It could take him days to finish that candy cane. Besides, he knows Dad’ll come back.” Dean stopped outside his bedroom door and looked up at Jim. “He promised he’d always come back, you know.”
Jim couldn’t bring himself to telling Dean that it always didn’t work out that way.
“Well, night Uncle Jim,” Dean said and was in the room, taking Sam by the shoulders and leading him to the bed.
The next morning, they found John laying on the couch, covered in mud and cuts. Sam wasted no time in jumping on his father’s stomach and hugging him around the neck, the incident of the night before forgotten.
Sam’s candy cane was lying on his night stand, not even unwrapped.
-
December 24th, 2006
Dean had been more quiet than usual that day. The stopped in this little shit town because they just needed to slow down. It wasn’t like they were going anywhere or were trying to get nowhere fast. Dean was just too quiet.
Sam watched him throughout the night, throwing him worried glances, but Dean never returned any signs of knowing Sam was even there. He couldn’t even drag himself from the motel bed to go out and get properly drunk - Sam thought he’d forget easier.
Sam had wandered around town for an hour to give Dean time to himself. Possibly let go of some pent up aggression or resentment. He came back to find the bed empty, a few things lying on the floor and dent marks in the walls. Sam toed the bathroom door open and found Dean leaning against the wall, eyes closed and hands clasped together.
“Dean,” Sam whispered, like he was going to disturb some natural peace. And maybe he was. He didn’t want to take away whatever solace Dean had found. “You okay?”
Dean shrugged and it was a vague attempt to tell Sam he was okay. Sam didn’t believe it, not even for a second. He slid down the wall, placing himself beside Dean. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the wrapped candy cane he had gotten from the skinny Santa on the street corner.
“Here,” Sam said and put the candy on Dean’s knee.
Dean’s eyes opened, blurry and blinking. He stared down at the candy before taking it in his hands. Sam knew the message it held between the two of them and no one else, but it held no promises this time. And even after all these years, after Sam had gotten over being alone and being separated from John, and after he thought Dean had forgotten… the wetness welling in Dean’s eyes told an entirely different story.
When Dean woke up the next morning, the entire candy cane was gone and John wasn’t there. He really expected no different, but seeing Sam walk in with two cups of coffee and a tired-happy smile was just about enough.
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