Martha--SPN fic
Title: Martha
Author: borgmama1of5
Wordcount: 987
Pairing: None
Spoilers: Teenchsters
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, it would be a very different show.
Inspired by the com: spnquotefic
2.02 Everybody Loves a Clown
Sam: "Oh. Yeah. I, uh - have to go. Over there. Right now."
Sam knew all about the first time Dean kissed a girl. At twelve. Amy Rybicki. Blonde hair, blue eyes …
As a matter of fact, Sam knew a lot more about his brother’s love life than he really ever wanted to know.
And so Sam was not going to tell him. Even though part of him was dying to share. He just didn’t want Dean to look smug and say way to go, Sammy or ‘bout time, bro or was wondering if you were ever gonna make your move …
This was his … experience, and he was not going to let Dean cheapen it. Dean would need to know part of it in order to help Sam make it happen, but one detail was Sam’s alone.
He hadn’t really noticed Martha until the day in English class when she answered Mr. Binyon’s question about Atticus Finch. She was ordinary, round-faced with long frizzy brown hair, and not exactly trim. Just normal, ordinary, the kind of classmate that left no impression in Sam’s transitory life.
Until she started explaining her view on Scout and Boo, and her passion for Lee Harper’s characters transformed her and Sam couldn’t stop watching her animated face.
He wondered what other things would make her eyes sparkle and her cheeks dimple.
He decided to use what he already knew she liked, and so the next day he’d sat opposite her in the lunchroom - he’d observed yesterday that she ate alone - and said casually, “I read To Kill a Mockingbird in another school. It’s one of my favorites. I’m Sam, by the way. Only been here a couple weeks.”
“I know.” Martha didn’t elaborate whether it was she knew his name or that he was a new student or both.
Sam smiled. “What other books do you like?”
And it just flowed from there. Martha loved books, and they were almost late for their next classes because they were telling each other their favorites.
She was in his last period science class as well, so Sam ended up talking at her locker every day for the next week. Which was how the subject of the junior high dance came up. The blue and white poster hung on the grungy tile post Martha was standing next to, and Sam didn’t know what was going to come out of his mouth until he’d said it.
“Are you going to the, uh, dance? I mean, uh, if you’re not, would you want to? Go? With me?”
Oh god, oh god, oh god, his chest constricted so tight Sam couldn’t breathe. Why had he asked her that?
What if she said …
“Yes.” Spoken so softly, staring at the floor, Sam could almost believe Martha hadn’t said anything. But then she raised her head and looked him in the eyes. “I would like to go to the dance with you, Sam.”
What is Dad gonna say was Sam’s first thought, followed immediately by a wash of anger that he should even have to worry about that. Sam was entitled to do something normal, something other thirteen-year-olds got to do.
Dad would never let him go.
But Dean, Dean would help him, right?
Then Sam shocked himself a second time by leaning forward and brushing Martha’s lips with his. Feather-light, not touching any other part of her, and now his heart was thrusting so hard against his ribs he thought for a moment of exploding monster innards and how upset Martha would be when his blood splattered her clothes.
And then Martha pushed her mouth back against his just for a moment, and tangled her hand with his and Sam pulled back and returned her smile with his, sure that his eyes looked equally amazed.
The dance was in two days.
Sam was going to take Martha to the dance as his first date.
He felt giddy. Maybe this was what smoking pot felt like.
“I gotta go, see you tomorrow,” he promised.
“Okay, Sam.” And then Martha shifted a tiny bit and extended her arm around Sam’s side and he instinctively knew what she was trying to do, so he quickly wrapped both arms around her shoulders and gave a light squeeze.
Whoa, girls were squishy.
By the time he’d reached the motel - Red Robin Inn, daily, weekly, and monthly rentals - Sam had decided he’d ask Dean if they could go to a thrift store tomorrow after school and Sam could get a nice button-down shirt. And maybe a tie. Dean had to know how to tie one, right?
“Jeez, Sammy, you been making out with the girls after school? You’re nearly an hour late, I was gonna come looking for you.”
Sam started guiltily how could Dean have known? and then he saw the duffel bags sitting on the faded bedspreads.
No.
“Dean, wha … we’re not …” Sam gestured futilely at the small pile of clothes next to Dean’s bag.
Dean huffed impatiently. “Dad’s picking us up at five. Something going on in Mississippi.”
Sam dropped on his bed and stared at the brown carpet.
“I’m not gonna pack your bag for you. So if you don’t want your favorite copy of whatever-the-heck you’re reading now left behind, you better get your butt moving!”
Sam knew it wouldn’t matter what he said. Dad had spoken, they were as good as gone.
As he divided his belongings between his duffel and his backpack, Sam wished he could re-do this afternoon and have come straight home from school without talking to anyone. Because that sparkle in Martha’s eyes? Just like Sam, it wouldn’t be there tomorrow.