Contact 1/36
I figured since I said in my Sweet Charity description that you could find examples of my stories here, that I oughta actually, you know, put some of those stories here. So I'm making good on my threat of months back to move the rest of my stories over from ff.net. This isn't new. (And I have not abandoned An Ancient Pitch.)
Title: Contact 1/36
Author: Deanish
Rating: PG13
Length: 1,778 / 60,700 words
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam/Jess (but I'd still say it's more gen than het)
Summary: A 'what might have been.' What if the demon had stayed in hibernation for just a little longer?
Chapter 1
Sam took a deep breath, dialed the number and began to pray: Please let it be Dean, please let it be Dean.
“Hello?”
Shoot. Not Dean.
“ … Dad?”
“Sam? Is that you?”
“Yeah, Dad, it’s me.”
“What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
Huh, Sam mused. He almost sounds sincerely concerned.
“Nothing’s wrong, Dad. I’m fine.”
Pause … long pause.
“Oh. OK,” John finally said.
Not ‘thank God,’ Sam noted, or even ‘oh, good.’ He wondered if his Dad would rather something was wrong. It would give him a chance to say, ‘I told you so.’ Sam swallowed a growl and decided not to dwell on it.
“Uh, actually, Dad, I was hoping to talk to Dean.”
Another pause, not quite as long though. Maybe that was progress?
“Dean, huh?” John said - and Sam wondered if he had heard disappointment that time. “He’s, uh - he’s not here.”
This time it was Sam’s turn to pause as his heart began to race. Why wouldn’t Dean be there? Where else would he be? Had something happened? Surely John would have called … wouldn’t he? Shoot. Had Sam ignored any calls from him lately? Had John tried to call?
”What -“ Sam’s voice squeaked a little, so he started over. “What do you mean, he’s not there? What happened?”
“What happened?” John seemed confused by the question.
“Why isn’t he there?” Sam spit out impatiently.
“He’s not here because he’s got a job in South Carolina,” John said - still confused, but moving toward anger.
That stopped Sam again.
A job? Had Dean left, too?
“A … job?”
“Yeah. A job.”
“What … kind of … job?”
What would Dean do? Sam tried to remember something from childhood - a career Dean had expressed interest in - but he came up blank. All he could remember Dean saying he wanted to be as a child was “just like my Daddy.”
“A poltergeist, Sam,” and Sam could hear the irritation. “What’s going on? I didn’t think you and Dean talked much.”
A poltergeist. Not a Job job. A job. A regular hunting job. Dean must just be doing them by himself now.
Sam wondered why he felt relieved instead of disappointed.
“Sam?” John asked. He must have surpassed the pause time limit that time.
“Yeah. Sorry Dad. I just thought …” Sam sighed. “Never mind.”
John’s answering sigh was more like a growl.
“Sam,” he snapped. “Answer me. What’s going on. Why’d you call? Far as I knew, you and Dean hadn’t talked since you left.”
The ‘either’ was only implied. Sam hadn’t talked to anyone in his family for four years. Something in the back of his throat began burning at that thought.
He felt guilty. But not guilty enough to tell his Dad the news. He wasn’t ready for that yet. He was afraid John would somehow manage to suck all the good out.
“Uh … nothing, Dad. I just need- wanted to talk to Dean.”
Another pause. Sam could almost hear John’s teeth grinding. ‘Dean and not me,’ he would be thinking.
“Fine,” John finally bit out. “555 381 9201. That all?”
Sam swallowed. Maybe he should go ahead and tell him.
His stomach flipped at the thought.
No. He’d practice on Dean first. Heck, maybe Dean would even be willing to break the news.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks. I’ll … uh.” He’d almost said talk to you later. But after four years, the standard sign off seemed ludicrous. “Thanks, Dad. ‘Bye.”
He hurried to hang up, then leaned against the wall feeling out of breath.
Shoot. And he still hadn’t gotten it over with. He still had to call Dean.
He took a deep breath, tried to stop panting and started dialing the numbers Dad had rattled off. It was harder than normal because his hands were shaking.
Just before hitting send, he paused, finger over the button. After a slight hesitation, he changed course, slowing pushing down the save button instead. D-E-A-N, he typed. And then, after another hesitation, hit save again.
For some reason, putting his brother’s number into his phone book felt uncomfortable. Like something wedged into the toe of your shoe so that your feet didn’t fit in right. Or a small pebble lodged under a fingernail. Maybe a piece of ice caught in your throat. It just didn’t feel like Dean fit into his life anymore.
Maybe he shouldn’t call after all.
BRRRRIIIINNNGGG.
Sam jumped a mile, then looked down at the phone vibrating in his hand.
‘Dean,’ the display said. Dad must have called him.
To ignore the call would be unthinkably cruel, but Sam thought about it anyway. Thought about it, but couldn’t do it. Without his mind’s permission, Sam’s hand was pushing the button to accept the call.
“Hello?” There was that squeak again.
“Sam? You OK?”
Sam snorted. His family seemed to have given up on hello - welfare inquiries were now the customary greeting.
“I’m fine, Dean. Geez. I told Dad that.”
“Yeah, well … ” Dean said, and Sam could hear the relief in his voice. Dean hadn’t been hoping for a ‘told you so’ opening.
His brother cleared his throat, then moved on. “So, what’s up?”
Sam huffed a sigh.
“OK, Tactless,” he said. “Geez, man - don’t you at least want to say hello? How’ve you been? Maybe even give me a chance to ask you the same?”
He heard Dean growl a little bit in the background.
“What, Sam? You really want to try and catch up on four years of small talk? I ain’t got time for that crap.”
Something froze in Sam’s chest at the words. He sighed again.
“So what? Straight to business? No niceties?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Dean said. He sounded tired.
“OK. Fine then. Straight to business.” He took a deep breath. Was he really ready for this?
“I’mgettingmarriedinJuneandIwantedyoutobemybestman.”
Apparently not.
Shoot. No way Dean understood that. Now he was going to have to say it again.
“Uh. Come again?” Dean said.
See?
Another deep breath, and this time let it out before you try and spit out the words.
OK. Maybe just one more deep breath.
“Sam?”
Right.
“I’m, uh, getting married in June. And I … uh … I wanted to see if you’d, you know … be-my-best-man.”
The last four words still came out kind of rushed, and Sam prayed Dean had understood them. He didn’t think he could say them again.
Pause.
More pause.
Very long pause.
“Dean? You there?”
Throat-clearing noises.
“Yeah. Uh.” Apparently the throat clearing didn’t work - Dean still sounded hoarse. “Married?”
“Yeah,” Sam softened, his voice relaxing a little at the sound of the word. “Married.”
“Wow, man. Uh. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” For some reason, that came out as a whisper.
“Married. Wow,” Dean repeated. “Who’s the girl?”
Sam felt a smile he couldn’t suppress spread across his face.
“Her name’s Jessica. And man - you should see her. She’s so out of my league. In every way. She’s … gorgeous. And smart - she’s pre-med. She’s going to med school here while I do law school. And she-”
“Law school?” Dean interrupted. He had that hoarse sound again.
‘Oh yeah,’ Sam thought. He didn’t know about that.
“Uh. Yeah. Law school,” he said. “I got officially accepted a few weeks ago. That’s … that’s when I proposed. She hasn’t officially gotten into med school here yet, but med schools, they take longer. There’s no doubt. She’s got a 4.0 and completely aced her MCAT … ”
He knew he was babbling, but he couldn’t stop.
“ … And her recommendations were stellar. So, you know. It’s going to happen. Med school takes longer than law school, but, you know. That’s OK. I mean, they need lawyers everywhere, right? I can go wherever she needs to for her residencies, and then when she’s done, we’ll find somewhere to settle down. Maybe a small town. And she’ll start a practice and I’ll start a practice. And after things get settled - you know. Maybe a baby.”
“A baby?” Dean asked, as if this was another announcement Sam was springing on him.
“Well … I mean … not yet, you know. Just. Someday.” Sam hurried to stipulate.
“Wow,” Dean said again. “Congratulations.” It sounded like he was the one having trouble catching his breath now.
“Yeah, man. Thanks,” Sam said, quietly. And then, “So will you?”
Pause.
“Will I … ?”
Sam rolled his eyes. That had been the whole point of the conversation.
“Will you be my best man?”
Pause.
“Sam … man … of course. I mean, if that’s what you want. But if … I mean … don’t you want to ask one of your college friends? I … I would understand.”
Sam sighed. He had thought about it. But it just hadn’t felt right. Like wearing a too-tight jacket. And since that ice caught in his throat seemed to be melting, this was better.
“Naw, man. It should be you. I mean - that’s what normal people do, right?” he asked, putting comical stress on the word normal. It was an old joke between them. “Normal people ask their brothers.”
Dean snorted. “And we both know how you feel about normal.”
It was a little lame for Dean, as jokes went. But only because four years ago it would have been too obvious to bother with.
“Yeah,” Sam agreed anyway. “So you’ll do it?”
“Uh. Yeah. I guess I will.”
“And …”
“And what?”
“And … what are the chances you’d tell Dad for me?”
“Sam!”
“I know. But … ”
“Sam!”
Sigh. “Yeah. All right. Had to ask.”
“Why? This kind of news should come from you.”
“Yeah,” he said. And again: “Yeah.” Another sigh.
A pause and then Dean echoed the sigh.
“Aw Sam. Come on. It won’t be that bad. This is good news, right?”
“I thought getting a full ride to Stanford was good news, too.”
“Yeah, but … this is different.”
“How?”
“I don’t know, but …”
“It’s not.”
Sighs from both ends this time.
“All right. I’ll tell him.”
“Really?!”
Sigh. “Yeah. But you owe me. You’re buying me a lap dance at your bachelor’s party.”
Sam grinned.
“All right. Deal.” And then, “Thanks, man.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Pause. “So. When do I get to meet the missus?”
Chapter 2