SPN FIC - All in a Name
It's a just a dumb school project -- some construction paper, colored markers ... and information they don't have.
"Well, what difference does it make? Make something up! It's not like they're gonna know. What're they gonna do, check?"
CHARACTERS: Dean (age 12), Sam (age 8)
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 758 words
ALL IN A NAME
By Carol Davis
"I gotta," Sam insisted. "It's for school."
Which made no difference, as far as Dean was concerned. It could have been for the President of the United States, or the Queen or something, and that wouldn't have made a bit of difference. If he didn't know, he didn't know.
But Sam was standing there, wearing that stupid bitchface.
"I told you -" Dean started.
And Sam started to cry.
"Aw, would you quit that?" Dean sputtered.
"Nobody cares!" Sam said, and flung himself across the room to land face-down on the couch. "It's gonna be my whole grade!"
"For that?"
Now, that was just crazy. None of Dean's teachers - never, in his whole life - had ever cooked up the idea of doing a family tree, let alone making it a requirement to pass a dumb class. It was a family tree, for crying out loud! Not a test, or a paper.
He wandered over to the table, where Sam had assembled several sheets of construction paper, the colored markers Uncle Bobby had given him for his last birthday, a bottle of Elmer's Glue, a small tube of silver-and-gold glitter, and some shiny little leaves he'd collected out in the back yard. All that stuff (not the pens and the leaves, but the rest of it) had cost Sam all the spending money he had, over in the big dollar store. That was a serious waste of money, as far as Dean was concerned.
"You're just being a dick," Sam said into the couch cushions.
"Mouth," Dean muttered.
"You won't help me. I'd help you."
"Yeah, if I ever had to do anything as seriously dumb as this. Which I don't."
"It's not dumb."
"Well, what difference does it make? Make something up! It's not like they're gonna know. What're they gonna do, check?"
"I don't knooooooow," Sam wailed.
"They're not gonna know, dumbass."
"I'll know."
Scowling, Dean dragged a chair out from under the table and sat down, staring at the sheet of construction paper on which Sam had drawn a seriously half-assed tree in brown and green marker. "You know my name," he sighed. "And Dad's. And Mom's."
"That's not enough."
"Dad's dad's name was Jack."
Sam rolled his head to one side and peered at Dean.
"That's all I know," Dean said.
"What's his mom's name?"
"I told you, I don't know. She died before I was born. Her name was Grandma."
"What about Mom's mom and dad?"
"Grandma and Grandpa." When Sam turned on the bitchface again, Dean told him, "They died too. I never even met them. Nobody talked about them. I was a little kid, Sam. Why was I supposed to care about dead people?"
"Call Dad."
"I'm not calling Dad about this. He'd have a fit."
"Then call Uncle Bobby."
"How's Uncle Bobby supposed to know who we're related to? He's not related to us. And neither is Pastor Jim," Dean said, before Sam could suggest it. "Nobody knows. We just - nobody knows anything about us."
Over on the other side of the room, Sam sat up on the couch.
He looked like somebody had killed his dog.
"Come on, would you?" Dean said. "It's just a dumb project. They gotta know that some people don't have a regular family. There's divorced people. And people who got wiped out in a flood or something. Or a tornado. They can't give you points off because you don't have a bunch of grandparents and aunts and uncles and stuff." Sam didn't seem to buy that; he just sat there with his lower lip stuck out. "Come here," Dean told him. "We'll fix it up and make it look nice. It won't matter if there's a bunch of names on it or not."
"Don't wanna."
"I said, come ON."
Slowly, making a point of it, Sam shuffled across the room, dragged out another chair and pushed it up close to Dean's.
Dean picked up one of the markers. Considered the sheet of paper and its sickly-looking brown-and-green tree for a minute, then uncapped the marker and bent to work.
A minute later he had finished writing the name MARY WINCHESTER above one of the branches.
"That looks nice," Sam admitted.
"I told you," Dean said. "We'll make it look good."
He'd picked the nicest color in Sam's collection of markers, a pretty blue. She'd like it, he thought.
He'd done his best work. For her.
And for Sam.
"Do more," Sam said, leaning in to rest his head against Dean's shoulder.
"Okay," Dean told him.
* * * * *
"Well, what difference does it make? Make something up! It's not like they're gonna know. What're they gonna do, check?"
CHARACTERS: Dean (age 12), Sam (age 8)
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 758 words
ALL IN A NAME
By Carol Davis
"I gotta," Sam insisted. "It's for school."
Which made no difference, as far as Dean was concerned. It could have been for the President of the United States, or the Queen or something, and that wouldn't have made a bit of difference. If he didn't know, he didn't know.
But Sam was standing there, wearing that stupid bitchface.
"I told you -" Dean started.
And Sam started to cry.
"Aw, would you quit that?" Dean sputtered.
"Nobody cares!" Sam said, and flung himself across the room to land face-down on the couch. "It's gonna be my whole grade!"
"For that?"
Now, that was just crazy. None of Dean's teachers - never, in his whole life - had ever cooked up the idea of doing a family tree, let alone making it a requirement to pass a dumb class. It was a family tree, for crying out loud! Not a test, or a paper.
He wandered over to the table, where Sam had assembled several sheets of construction paper, the colored markers Uncle Bobby had given him for his last birthday, a bottle of Elmer's Glue, a small tube of silver-and-gold glitter, and some shiny little leaves he'd collected out in the back yard. All that stuff (not the pens and the leaves, but the rest of it) had cost Sam all the spending money he had, over in the big dollar store. That was a serious waste of money, as far as Dean was concerned.
"You're just being a dick," Sam said into the couch cushions.
"Mouth," Dean muttered.
"You won't help me. I'd help you."
"Yeah, if I ever had to do anything as seriously dumb as this. Which I don't."
"It's not dumb."
"Well, what difference does it make? Make something up! It's not like they're gonna know. What're they gonna do, check?"
"I don't knooooooow," Sam wailed.
"They're not gonna know, dumbass."
"I'll know."
Scowling, Dean dragged a chair out from under the table and sat down, staring at the sheet of construction paper on which Sam had drawn a seriously half-assed tree in brown and green marker. "You know my name," he sighed. "And Dad's. And Mom's."
"That's not enough."
"Dad's dad's name was Jack."
Sam rolled his head to one side and peered at Dean.
"That's all I know," Dean said.
"What's his mom's name?"
"I told you, I don't know. She died before I was born. Her name was Grandma."
"What about Mom's mom and dad?"
"Grandma and Grandpa." When Sam turned on the bitchface again, Dean told him, "They died too. I never even met them. Nobody talked about them. I was a little kid, Sam. Why was I supposed to care about dead people?"
"Call Dad."
"I'm not calling Dad about this. He'd have a fit."
"Then call Uncle Bobby."
"How's Uncle Bobby supposed to know who we're related to? He's not related to us. And neither is Pastor Jim," Dean said, before Sam could suggest it. "Nobody knows. We just - nobody knows anything about us."
Over on the other side of the room, Sam sat up on the couch.
He looked like somebody had killed his dog.
"Come on, would you?" Dean said. "It's just a dumb project. They gotta know that some people don't have a regular family. There's divorced people. And people who got wiped out in a flood or something. Or a tornado. They can't give you points off because you don't have a bunch of grandparents and aunts and uncles and stuff." Sam didn't seem to buy that; he just sat there with his lower lip stuck out. "Come here," Dean told him. "We'll fix it up and make it look nice. It won't matter if there's a bunch of names on it or not."
"Don't wanna."
"I said, come ON."
Slowly, making a point of it, Sam shuffled across the room, dragged out another chair and pushed it up close to Dean's.
Dean picked up one of the markers. Considered the sheet of paper and its sickly-looking brown-and-green tree for a minute, then uncapped the marker and bent to work.
A minute later he had finished writing the name MARY WINCHESTER above one of the branches.
"That looks nice," Sam admitted.
"I told you," Dean said. "We'll make it look good."
He'd picked the nicest color in Sam's collection of markers, a pretty blue. She'd like it, he thought.
He'd done his best work. For her.
And for Sam.
"Do more," Sam said, leaning in to rest his head against Dean's shoulder.
"Okay," Dean told him.
* * * * *