Supernatural fic - Sometimes
Okay, here is a new fic, this time from the world of Supernatural! Just click on the cut.
Title: Sometimes
Rating: G, gen
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, unfortunately.
Summary: Dean often wonders who to blame for Sam leaving.
Sometimes
Sometimes Dean thought it was his Dad’s fault. The long hours of training got to him, and he actually enjoyed testing himself, trying to measure up to his Dad. Sam never really seemed to care. The moving around and single-minded zeal for revenge probably didn’t help, come to think of it. Sam always had been a people person, unlike Dad and himself. They could turn on the charm when it was needed, but essentially all they needed was themselves. Although - sometimes Dean thought he probably needed Sammy too.
***
Sometimes Dean thought it was Sam’s fault. Never mind the fact that he purposely antagonised Dad, but he never stopped reading. Seeing and imagining other worlds. Better worlds. Where families had a mum that baked and a dad who worked in an office and a dog called Spot. Families where children were encouraged to have freedom and adventures in their village like it were still the 1940s. These were worlds that made Sammy crave normal like it was caffeine. Worlds that pushed him away from his domineering hunter-Father and weird, soldier-brother. Dean got his idea of a normal life from the occasional soap opera played on a motel TV. It didn’t look like he was missing much.
***
And sometimes Dean thought it was his own fault. There was only one time he could remember when he had ever acted against his father, and, of course, it was because of Sammy.
It was before Sam had ever started questioning their dad, back in the golden days when Dean followed Dad and Sam followed Dean, like a family of ducks crossing the road. There were no arguments except those over the last cookie, and even those were few and far between. Dean never could say no to Sam, and it was because of this that he may, inadvertently, have planted a seed of doubt into his little brother’s mind.
It was a summer day. They were staying in a rental house in a non-descript mid-Western town. They had been there for a few months while the boys finished the school term, and now the house was being packed up for a summer of hunting. Except this time, Sam didn’t want to leave. “But the lady across the road says I can walk Sandy for her sometimes-”
It is probably worth mentioning here that Sandy is a golden retriever that Sam had become quite attached to.
“-You’re too young Sammy-“
“-But Dean can come with-“
It wasn’t quite an argument. More a frustrated, busy parent with a whining child. However, it still got out of hand.
“Sam, that is enough! You are a Winchester, and we do not walk dogs for old ladies. We hunt. We’re spending the summer hunting, and that’s final.” Sam pouted at his father’s tone of voice, but didn’t quite recognise it as the warning sign it was meant to be. Dean felt like jumping around, waving, or holding up a big placard saying ‘STOP SAMMY’ but felt they might all be a bit obvious. And so Sam, a six-year old for whom whining still actually worked most of the time, started again.
“But she needs me, other Sandy might die from lack of exerci-“
“Sam I said no and that’s it,” John Winchester’s voice was no longer a warning tone, but a promise. Dean felt himself looking around for shelter for the inevitable explosion. “Now go to your room.”
Sam huffed and banged his way out of the room, but his muttered, “won’t even have a room soon-“ was clear as day. Luckily, Sam had already disappeared.
“Get out Dean.” Dean didn’t hesitate to comply.
By lunchtime however, Sam was still moping around doing a good impression of a kicked puppy. Dean was tempted to crack a joke that Sam didn’t need a dog when he practically was one already, but he didn’t think it would be appreciated. Eventually, Dean succumbed to the eyes.
“Alright, we can walk the damn dog,” he said. At ten, Dean felt cussing would make people think he was older. It worked too. He regularly got mistaken for eleven.
Sam’s eyes lit up, but then faded again. “But Dad says no,” he replied in a small voice.
“Well Dad doesn’t have to know, does he?” Dean tried to keep that waver out of his voice. It’s not like he’d never disobeyed his father…okay it kinda was. He was pretty sure anything under the age of two didn’t count. “He’s gonna be out getting more bullets this afternoon, we can go then.” This time, the shine stayed in Sam’s eyes, and Dean was sure he’d made the right decision.
The two of them crept out of the house that afternoon, darting across the street like the cartoon burglars they had seen in their shows. Knocking at the door, Dean put on his most innocent face (Sammy still had the advantage of appearing as if he could do no wrong - Dean would be upset to learn that this would not diminish with age) and explained to Mrs Router that they were free to walk the dog is she wished. The grey-haired woman stooped a bit to thank them, fetching a lead and whistling into the house. As soon as the lead was clipped into Sandy’s collar, Dean deposited it into Sam’s hand, with a gruff “your job, you wanted to do this”. He couldn’t help but smile at the grin that spread over his younger brother’s face, holding the lead with focused concentration as the dog shuffled obediently at his side. They walked Sandy every day until they left town the following week.
And so that seed had grown, and flourished as Sam did, until he was eighteen years old, and over two thousand miles away. Until he was no longer a son, or a brother, or Sammy, but just Sam Winchester. College student.