Bread and Circuses 2/2
Bread and Circuses - 2/2
Rating: P/G, Gen
Word Count: 6,858/12,593
Summary: Television can be dangerous to your health.
Part 1 | Part 2
Part 2
Nobody didn’t like John Winchester. He was mean.
Before dawn they’d all been woken by a squeal of brakes as a car skidded to a stop outside and sent the dogs berserk. He and the kid had been buried under what seemed like a mountain of pillows which just added to the confusion. By the time they’d gotten untangled and had the door to their room open, Bobby was halfway downstairs with his gun.
Their visitor was a big man, tall, broad-shouldered and bulky, without carrying any excess weight. He was all lean anger looking for something to shoot. Nobody could tell from the way Bobby stood in the doorway with his gun firmly raised that he was expecting him to do just that.
‘Now, John, just calm down a second before you bust in here scaring the kids,’ Bobby ordered, lifting the gun to emphasize his point.
‘Get out of my way now, Bobby.’
‘Dad!’ the kid yelled, plummeting down the stairs.
Sammy! Nobody jerked him up short just before he managed to duck under Bobby’s weapon.
John Winchester stepped right up to the muzzle before slapping it aside. ‘No one gets between me and my boys,’ he growled and punched Bobby out cold.
‘Manners!’ Nobody said primly.
~~~
John Winchester picked up the gun and stepped over Bobby’s body ignoring the snarls coming from the miss-matched pair of dogs that were desperately trying to choke themselves free from where they were chained up to Bobby’s tow-truck.
Sammy eeled out of Nobody’s protective custody and threw himself at his father. ‘You came!’
‘Yeah, kiddo,’ John said, ruffling his hair. He let Sammy hang off him as he walked towards Nobody. Despite his gentleness with Sammy his eyes were flat with anger. The man was so full of hate and rage that Nobody found himself taking an unwitting step backwards in self-defence.
‘You … hit Bobby,’ he stammered.
‘Do worse next time,’ came the terse reply. If I have to.
Nobody knew he meant it. This man would kill anything that dared get in his way. And this was his supposed to be his father?
‘Uh,’ his voice was still shaking. He didn’t think it was a good idea to show fear in front of this man but he couldn’t help it. The man terrified him in a way that Bobby never had, for all he had done to him. John Winchester just had to look at him, and Nobody wanted to scream out everything he’d ever done wrong in his life if he could remember it in time, and beg for forgiveness before the end.
Nobody tried to stand his ground and work out just what he should be doing, as this angry stranger - his father - closed the final distance between him before setting the gun down on a nearby stack of books. What he didn’t anticipate was seeing him flinch when Nobody looked back at him without any recognition at all. What he couldn’t imagine was the feeling of utter panic and loneliness that came over him the moment his father swept him into a sudden bear hug.
Nobody didn’t know what to think about John Winchester.
~~~
It turned out that John Winchester was a cold, hard man.
He’d gone from hugging Nobody to shaking him and yelling ‘Damn it, Dean, what did you do, boy?’ so loud that Nobody wasn’t surprised when Bobby started to groan his way back to full consciousness.
Nobody was grateful for the interruption, an angry John Winchester just made him want to run away and hide under Sammy’s bed. He was fairly sure he could fit if he held his breath.
John shot a look at Sammy that had him dashing into the kitchen while Nobody just stood there wondering what he’d missed and why that made he feel so disconnected. John frowned at Nobody for a second before collecting Bobby’s gun on his way to the door where he proceeded to lean menacingly. He looked like he was considering using a bullet to shut Bobby up.
‘I’m not going to kill him, boy. Not yet anyway.’
Nobody hadn’t realised he’d looked that nervous. Bobby had tied him up, and tried to drown him, and exorcise him all in the space of an hour, but he’d kind of left him alone after that, and his cocoa really was as awesome as Sammy said. Sammy.
Sammy, who was coming back out of the kitchen juggling an icepack between his hands.
Nobody guessed he had a lot to learn about John Winchester.
~~~
Naturally, being men, it took ten minutes before Bobby stopped yelling and threatening to let the dogs loose, and John stopped offering to demonstrate how quick he could put a bullet through them.
‘Fucking, Marines!’ Bobby said, finally taking the proffered dripping icepack and holding it to his jaw.
Sammy snickered, then spelt out the reason why on seeing Nobody’s confusion. ‘They both are.’
John just grunted at Bobby. ‘Does this mean you’re not giving me a beer?’
‘No wonder I always want to shoot you,’ Bobby grouched, signalling the dogs before setting them free. He stomped into the house without bothering to stay to watch the carnage.
Nobody jerked Sammy inside and reached out to pull Sammy’s father to safety, but the dogs got there first.
‘Hey, Tonto,’ John said wincing away from the tongue in his face.
Nobody jumped as Sammy let out a piercing whistle from behind him. ‘Here, guys. Breakfast!’
‘They didn’t kill him.’
‘Not unless Bobby tells them to,’ Sammy answered as he moved past him to get outside. He barely had time to place the two brimming dishes on the ground before he was enveloped in a black and white maelstrom. ‘Who’s been a good boy then? Is it you? Is it you?’
‘Kill me now,’ Bobby said stepping over them to hand John a beer. ‘Been training guard dogs forever, and now I’m the laughing stock of every hunter I know because your sons insisted on naming these two after the damned Lone Ranger.’
‘Don’t blame me,’ John said coolly. ‘You couldn’t make up your mind between Semper and Fi, and Fubar and Howitzer. I was all for naming them Fluffy and Fang. Besides, Dean called them Batman and Mr Freeze for three weeks straight before Sammy’s names stuck. It probably helped that he kept sneaking them treats.’
Bobby took a long swallow from his bottle. ‘Last time I let a Winchester corrupt any of my babies.’
~~~
Nobody couldn’t stand the way John Winchester kept looking at him as if he wanted something; expected something from him. It made him nervous, and he could feel his headache starting to come back. In the end he found it simpler to slip away.
Every time they found him, brought him back, and the questions began again.
‘What’s your name?’
‘When’s your birthday?’
‘Where were you born?’
‘What year is it?’
‘Who’s President?’
‘What day is it?’
‘What’s the last thing you remember?’
‘What year were you born?’
‘Where are we?’
‘Who am I?’
‘How old are you?’
‘Where are you from?’
‘What’s the first thing you remember?’
‘What do we do?’
‘What’s your first name?’
‘Last name?’
‘Middle name?’
‘Name?’
‘Name?’
‘Name?’
The same questions, in infinite variation, over, and over again.
~~~
In the afternoon the testing took a different form.
They showed him signs, talismans, books written in Latin; asked him about terrible things that no one should ever have to know about. They let Sammy stay, but wouldn’t let him help.
Then they started the questions again. Over and over, and faster and faster until he didn’t know what to do, he was looking at Sammy and holding on …
And then they stopped and asked a something different. ‘What are you holding?’
And Nobody didn’t know what they meant. He just kept looking at Sammy, trying to hold on to something - anything.
‘What are you holding in your hand?’
And Nobody glanced down, and he still didn’t understand, and he looked back at Sammy crying, and he couldn’t let go.
‘What’s the amulet, Dean?’
‘Who gave it to you, Dean?’
‘Why don’t you give it to us, Dean?’
Dean. Dean. Dean. ‘My name isn’t Dean! I’m Nobody!’
‘ … the amulet, Dean!’
‘No! No! No!’ And Nobody was on the floor screaming, and Sammy was there, holding on.
~~~
That night they gave him weapons. Dark, awful things he didn’t want to touch.
They laid knives in front of him; asked him to name them, explain the differences between them, say what each could do best.
Then they showed him guns. Asked him calibre, number of bullets, weight, muzzle velocity, and on. They gave him one in pieces and asked him to put it together again as if it were a jigsaw puzzle. And he didn’t understand. Then they took Sammy away and the lights went out.
Sammy. Sammy. Sammy.
And Sammy screamed, and he was running in the dark through a house as if he knew it. In a room shooting a gun he couldn’t possibly know how to reassemble at the man holding Sammy. And John Winchester wouldn’t go down.
And Nobody screamed, and he was fighting in ways he didn’t know, and he couldn’t win. And it went on until Sammy ended it.
And Sammy screamed, ‘No!’
And Nobody still didn’t understand.
Nobody had no idea of the things John Winchester would do for his family.
~~~
Sammy left the lights on for them both that night while Nobody tried to forget.
~~~
The next morning it was different. He kept drifting away, sometimes even from Sammy, and John didn’t try to hold him, or bring him back. But still, every now and then Nobody would look up from whatever he was doing to find John Winchester standing there. Watching.
Nobody got a lot done avoiding John. By the time another day had gone past Nobody had gone a long way towards reorganizing the entire house.
‘He coloured my sheets, John!’ Bobby hissed over a full cooked breakfast on Thursday.
‘All your sheets are white,’ John said, eyeing his Spanish omelette in confusion.
‘Yeah, now they are. He bleached them. And now I have a linen closet with sets of sheets tied up with freaking ribbon!’
‘It’s not ribbon,’ Sammy stopped devouring his cinnamon-sugared Fruit Loops long enough to interrupt helpfully. ‘Dean wanted ribbon, but we didn’t have any. I found a roll of old legal tape to use instead.’
Nobody nodded, smiling. He liked the pink. And he’d been able to use up the remainder to make up a handy ribbon board for Bobby’s “office” before he made breakfast. Admittedly, he hadn’t found any invitations to put up, but he’d inserted bills (with the amounts and due dates neatly printed on the outside of the envelopes), along with a few of the more artistic of those weird diagrams Bobby had all over the place. He knew as soon as Bobby saw it he’d realise how eminently practical it was.
Bobby snarled. ‘And Suzy Fucking Homemaker also found the time to sort my Popular Mechanics magazines chronologically.’
John laughed a little uncomfortably. ‘Next thing you’ll be telling me that he’s done up a roster of chores.’
Bobby pointed silently at the front of the fridge.
Nobody decided not to mention that he’d used a staple gun to attach 4 old pillowcases to the laundry wall. He’d written Bobby’s name on one in permanent marker, Sammy’s and John’s names were on cards pegged to the front. He’d left his own blank. He was really looking forward to seeing everyone’s faces when he showed them later.
Bobby glumly stuffed another piece of French toast in his mouth. ‘I never even had a linen closet before yesterday.’
~~~
Nobody was going crazy every time he stopped to think, because he simply couldn’t remember. So he tried not to stop. Luckily, watching television somehow calmed him down, stopped him worrying, and stopped him even having to think.
Television never seemed to expect anything from him. Out of everything, he found he liked the home shows the best, especially the cooking segments. All that food. He loved the way you could make absolutely anything you wanted, whenever you wanted it, if you just had the right ingredients and equipment.
Unfortunately Bobby had very little in the way of anything that Nobody needed. Even though he’d found a 1960 copy of Mrs Beeton’s Cookery and Household Management, tucked behind a shelf of what Sammy called grimoires, and he’d taken pages of notes from his favourite programme, he was running out of things he could make with what Bobby had available.
Nobody was glad that the only two things he needed to worry about now were how to improve the television reception, and get more ingredients. He really wanted to try his hand at making cupcakes.
~~~
Nobody was getting used to overhearing incomprehensible bits of whispered conversations that kept turning into fights between Bobby and John. The more he heard, the more wrong he felt. It made him start to think, and he wasn’t supposed to do that.
He was concentrating so hard on blocking one argument out while he waited impatiently for Sammy to get back inside that he completely managed to miss the sound of John Winchester leaving the house.
‘Sammy! What in ever-fucking Hell are you doing on the roof?’
Nobody was glad that he’d already managed to pull the wire through the window and attach it to the television. He just wished he hadn’t been too scared to go outside and get on the roof himself. He’d tried. He’d stood in the doorway, and he couldn’t leave. Inside he was safe, outside was he was something else.
‘What are you doing with that hubca … is that …? Dean!’
~~~
The next argument wasn’t held at a whisper. But what confused Nobody the most was the way Sammy kept trying to take the blame. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want to do that for somebody they didn’t even know.
He also couldn’t work out why Sammy’s father was more upset about the hubcap than Sammy being on the roof.
~~~
Nobody expected to be grounded, especially after Bobby had a talk to him about John and his car. He could almost begin to understand why John went up onto the roof to retrieve his property. But it didn’t explain why he then spent a long hour up there carefully unwinding the yards of wire Nobody had neatly threaded through the vents in the Chevy’s hubcap and rewinding it through one from a mere Ford.
When the first thing John suggested after he’d replaced his hubcap was a road trip Nobody realised he’d never understand John Winchester.
‘Got to drive into Deadwood, pick-up some ... supplies.’
John was standing at the door swinging a car key around his right index finger like nothing had happened. By rights that shouldn’t have made Nobody nervous. But by then, everything John Winchester did bothered him. Nobody could feel the drag of the undercurrents even from across the room where he was huddled in front of the television.
‘... melts in your mouth - not in your hand,’ he sang along with an ad desperately.
‘Dean?’
And then he was there, standing right over him. John. Couldn’t call him Father, or Dad. Or family. No matter what Nobody did, nothing fit. He looked up at John, feeling this sense of loss so great, that he just wanted to run. ‘Not in my head,’ he sang, head drawn back to his lifeline. ‘Nothing in my mind …’
‘Dean?’
It was Sammy now, hand gentle on the back of his neck. Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. The one name he didn’t have trouble with any more. At times it was the only clear thought he could find amongst the chaos. Sammy. Brother. The latter was harder to focus on; it had to be worked at. Sammy. He turned around into Sammy’s hold. It’s okay, it’s just Sammy. ‘Nobody in me.’
‘Dad?’ Sammy choked out.
‘I got it,’ John said, squatting down next to them both. ‘Nobody?’
‘Yes?’ Thank you. Nobody wasn’t sure how John knew that calling him by that other name hurt so much.
‘Just going for a drive,’ John said easily. ‘Fresh air’ll do you good.’
Do me good. ‘I …’ Something was wrong. He kept turning, caught between two poles. He couldn’t think. Something was out there.
‘Won’t take long.’
I don’t know what to do. ‘No?’ Something …
‘Please, Dean?’ Sammy again. Anxious. Scared.
Something was close. ‘Just … no.’
John was silent. Not pushing, not yet. Watching, calculating.
‘Come on, Dean,’ Sammy cajoled. ‘We can get all those things you said you wanted.’
His list. So much he needed, had to have. But … ‘Martha’s on in ten minutes.’ He’d meant to just say no. The Martha explanation came out by itself. Out of nowhere. Stay.
Bobby coughed from behind them. ‘I could … tape it for you.’ He had a very strange look on his face.
Nobody perked up. ‘You could?’ It wasn’t like watching it, but … ‘It’s a special.’
‘Yeah, I … could … do that for you.’ Bobby’s voice sounded even worse than he looked. Maybe he was coming down with something. Nobody made a mental note to make him a nice hot lemon, honey, and ginger drink when they got back. As a kind of thank you. He nodded to himself. That was the right thing to do. The Martha thing to do.
But in the end even the thought of shopping for all those ingredients still wasn’t enough. Stay. He stood in the doorway again, looking outside into all that emptiness, and back inside at the only things he knew.
‘You two go. You don’t need me.’
~~~
Sammy didn’t go. And that should have been enough.
~~~
It was quiet without John Winchester. Peaceful. The monotonous sound of Sammy continuously reciting a passage from one of Bobby’s books created a comforting background hum. He wafted past one of the front windows again, checking for the fifth time that hour. No John. Just glimpses of Bobby scuffing around the yard, idly dragging a stick through the dirt to amuse the dogs who were still trailing cautiously behind as if they were guarding against something. So, all Nobody had to worry about was whether John Winchester was any good at grocery shopping. It had been a very long list.
~~~
Deadwood had to be a long way from anywhere. By midnight Nobody was circling the house constantly, inspecting the darkness from every window. Waiting. Something …
At first he had been content to sit down in front of the television soaking up the comfort of having someone tell you exactly what to do, and how to do it. But after that first hour was up none of the other shows was enough distraction to keep him from roaming fretfully around the house. He felt like he was being stretched out and was going to break without ever knowing the reason why. He needed to know.
If Bobby or Sammy knew, they weren’t telling. They seemed content to follow Nobody from room to room. If he hadn’t felt so on edge, Nobody might have felt reassured by their presence. Instead he was beginning to feel hemmed in, as if they were trying to manipulate him. What was everyone hiding from him?
When Bobby put a mug on the windowsill in front of him, he couldn’t help eyeing it suspiciously.
‘Just milk and cocoa this time,’ Bobby said, catching the look. ‘You need to settle down, boy, you’re upsetting your brother.’
Sammy. Nobody looked down to where Sammy was curled up against the wall beside him. The kid’s eyes were bleary, but fixed anxiously on him. It was obvious that Sammy was going to stay up with him all night if he had to.
I’m sorry. He felt as if he’d let everyone down, and wished he knew what he was doing wrong. He’d been doing his best to hold it all in, and pretend he was coping. ‘Come on, Sammy.’
‘m fine,’ Sammy yawned, straightening and doing his best to look alert.
‘Bed,’ Nobody ordered, hauling him upwards. ‘The dark will still be here in the morning.’
~~~
Nobody had Sammy’s treasure box carefully pulled out from under the bed by the time he heard the shower start up down the hall at 7am. It took him a minute to get up the courage to open it, and longer to make himself start sifting through the contents. All those old school ID cards, his as well as Sammy’s. Every single one a different school, a different state, a different name. What were they running from? Surely the stories they’d told him couldn’t be real? And those snapshots he couldn’t stop touching. His family. The longer he looked, the more his head hurt. It was too much to think about.
Nobody blamed the headache for the fact that it took him some time to realise that logically he must have had his own stash of mementos. It turned out that he was a lot more devious than Sammy. With the aid of an easily dismantled pair of scissors he took the room apart quicker than he would have thought possible. He couldn’t believe the places he thought to look in, and the strange assortment of things he found. The Playboys rolled up in the metal bedposts made him blush, and he stuffed them in the rubbish bin fast before he could think any more about them. He almost missed the real hiding place in his haste to be done before Sammy returned. In the end it was the over-solid construction of the top shelf of the wardrobe that finally caught his attention. The thickness disguised a hinged panel that dropped down to reveal a narrow cavity. A space just big enough for the old cigar box that held his life.
In its own way it contained an even more peculiar and surprisingly small group of items. A gleaming metal Chevrolet insignia - the car? Nobody guessed he must have had at least one small thing in common with John. Five carefully folded school reports overflowing with an astonishing amount of As. Why had he kept Sammy’s report cards? There was a worn brass Zippo lighter with an eagle engraved on one side, and John Winchester’s name on the reverse that he put quickly aside. At the bottom lay a small bundle of photos, some which duplicated those in Sammy’s collection. The final ones though, were completely new. Photos of John and a woman. His mom? The mother he’d been too afraid to ask about? Looking at those smiling faces of his family was too hard. Everything hurt. There was too much to think about. Don’t.
He was sitting on the floor between the beds, the contents of both boxes scattered around him when Sammy found him. Hunched over, arms clenched around his knees, struggling to repeat a list over and over again in order to prevent himself feeling anything at all.
‘Agar-agar, amaretti, anchovies, angel cake, artichokes, aubergines …’
Something close … Can’t let it get Sammy!
‘Agar-agar, amaretti …’
Have to keep it in …
~~~
It took a long time to come back. John returned before Nobody did.
~~~
The first thing that made sense to him was warmth, security, and the musky aftertaste of bergamot. There was a blanket, and Sammy, hanging off his shoulders, hugging him close; and John Winchester on his knees in front of him, hands cocooned around his own, helping him drink. They were in the kitchen and the Deadwood shops had clearly been ransacked for Earl Grey tea.
He was back, and he still scared Nobody nigh to death, but he was here.
There were so many questions Nobody knew he had to ask, regardless of that voice in his head that told him it was safer not to know. That he should stop worrying, give up this foolish sense that he was somehow responsible for everything. That he should just sit back and live a smaller, more carefree, life. In the end that voice won. For now.
‘Did you remember my yeast?’
~~~
Nobody was in heaven. Surrounded by everything he’d asked for, the heels of his hands busy kneading dough away from him and then back again. Life couldn’t get any better. Still … ‘It looked easier when she did it,’ he muttered somewhat peevishly.
Sammy looked up from where he was idly doodling in the flour that had somehow got scattered all over the table and too much of the floor. ‘Maybe because she knows what she’s doing?’ he suggested.
‘Bitch,’ Nobody retorted automatically before he could take back the offensive comment.
‘Jerk,’ Sammy said with a pout that suddenly vanished to be replaced by the most incandescent grin Nobody had ever seen. ‘Dean!’
‘I’m sorry,’ Nobody said contritely. ‘I don’t know where that bad language came from.’
When Sammy answered his apology by jumping up and wrapping his arms around him, he truly didn’t know how to react.
‘Dude,’ Nobody squeaked. ‘I can’t breathe.’
That comment got him squeezed so tight that flour ended up in his hair.
He didn’t know what to do with all that messy emotion, it certainly wasn’t tidy or proper, it twisted him up inside and confused him too much. Sammy seemed to have this way of breezing through his barriers as if they didn’t exist. He - all of them - kept acting as if they knew him, the person that he couldn’t remember.
Nobody couldn’t comprehend how one person could inspire this much love, anger, rage and devotion. How could anyone live up to that kind of expectation? This Dean that they talked about simply didn’t exist except in their heads. He couldn’t be that person for them. No one could. And the closer they tried to get to him, the more he knew he had to run before the darkness inside him broke free and swallowed them all.
He was only sure of one thing now - it wasn’t safe to let Sammy in. He couldn’t leave, some part of him needed to hide, to build those walls up again fast before anyone else got hurt. He had to put on a mask, pretend that everything was fine, for their sake. He just wished he knew why. Showtime.
‘My buns!’
~~~
It wasn’t until much later when he was removing the trays from the oven that Nobody realised he had somehow managed to pipe that same strange symbol Sammy had been drawing in the flour onto the tops of the buns in flour paste in lieu of the more traditional Easter cross. What was even uncannier was that the sign felt right.
The only normal thing was how good those Hot Cross Buns tasted. As everyone fought to grab more than their fair share of the food Nobody knew he’d been born to be a baker.
Surreptitiously edging the tea towel-lined basket closer to his side of the table Bobby leant over to whisper to his long-time antagonist. ‘Well, if all else fails he’ll make someone a mighty fine wife one day. And in the meantime …’
‘In the meantime, what?’ John asked dangerously as he buttered another bun with a very sharp knife.
‘You’ll be the best catered hunters in these United States.’
~~~
The next morning Nobody crept out of bed at sunup congratulating himself on not waking the ungainly mound that was Sammy thankfully not snoring for once in the opposite bed. He’d spent the night staring into the darkness inside himself and fighting off an almost uncontrollable need to go downstairs and turn the television on just so he could have something else in his head. Nothing made any sense.
He needed to try something again without anyone else around to witness how much it hurt.
‘Going somewhere?’ John asked quietly.
‘Not today,’ Nobody finally said with a sigh.
They were all out there, even Sammy who must have stuffed pillows in his bed, sitting casually on Bobby’s front porch as if they were waiting for the neighbours to drop by for coffee, biscuits and a good gossip. Nobody might not remember anything, but he knew that this sham of normality was aimed at him. The weapons in easy reach were the only jarring notes, but for all Nobody knew they might just be the standard Holy Saturday accessory in South Dakota. He wouldn’t like to put money on that bet though.
He didn’t want to know how long he’d been standing sweating in the doorway trying to take that next step before he noticed they were sitting there, quietly watching him. There was no condemnation, or judgement, they were just there. Bobby looked tired and grumpy which seemed to be his default expression even when he was making cocoa so Nobody knew it wasn’t aimed at him. Sammy was half-up out of his chair evidently wanting to come and help, John’s firm hand clamped onto his shoulder was clearly the only thing keeping him from Nobody.
Nobody tore his gaze away from Sammy before he could break, and kept his eyes fixed resolutely on John’s, there was a whole frightening world in there that he was overwhelmed to find he wanted badly to be a part of. Darkness … close. He couldn’t stop shaking. Keep away; step back. So he did. He needed something else to concentrate on, fast.
‘Time to move this party inside,’ Bobby grunted. ‘So what’s for breakfast, Betty Crocker?’
Cupcakes?
~~~
Nobody decided that although the cupcakes had been a raging success (astonishingly with Bobby most of all), that tinting the icing, drop by careful cochineal drop, to get precisely the right shade of pink was more trouble than it was worth. And two hours later he was still picking silver cachous (sue him for cheating and using bought decorations, he just couldn’t get the hang of adding tiny blobs of icing with a toothpick not matter how easy she made it look) up off the kitchen floor. ‘Whose damned idea was it to make star patterns on the top anyway?’ he asked himself rhetorically. He sighed happily as that bit of profanity slipped out unnoticed. At least the design had looked pretty, and it certainly got almost as much attention from everyone as the symbols on his fruit buns had the day before.
He was so busy working his way backwards through the room with a mop that he almost ran into Sammy who was standing in the doorway. Waiting. Smiling. Hands patiently hidden behind his back. Ooh. Nobody hoped it was something nice. He was almost positive that he liked surprises.
‘Hi, Sam.’
‘Sammy.’
Right. Teenagers. It was always hard to tell which way to go. ‘What’s up, Sammy?’ See? He could do normal.
Definitely smiling. ‘We got you something!’ It tumbled out in a rush. He was just about bouncing he was so excited.
‘You did?’ Nobody wasn’t sure what that feeling was inside him. It was similar to how he’d felt when he opened the oven earlier to see that everything had risen perfectly, only better.
‘Here!’ It was a squashy, crumpled package inexpertly wrapped in brown paper, with what looked like an entire roll of tape holding it together.
‘Thanks, Sammy.’ Nobody turned the parcel over in his hands a few times. A present.
‘You can open it any time, you know,’ Sammy said, grinning up at him.
Oh. Yes. Opening. He could do that. Totally. Well, maybe not, that was a lot of tape.
‘Here’
‘Land sakes, child!’ Now that was a knife. Nobody hadn’t even seen him bring it out, and had no idea where he’d managed to conceal it. Was it at all safe for the kid to be carrying around something that looked like it would do a good job of carving a turkey? Forget turkey, it looked like it could gut a cow!
‘Good knife,’ Nobody said with reluctant approval as it sliced through the tape like butter. He eagerly ripped the rest of the wrappings off and threw them onto the clean floor behind him.
Oh, my God. Nobody unfolded the contents. It was an … ‘You got me an apron! That is like so cool!’
Sammy’s smile was once again bright enough to light up all of the state’s Black Hills. ‘That’s the back, turn it around, stupid.’
Nobody decided not to frown at him, because, like present. He turned the apron around. Black. Nice. That was timeless and elegant. And … oh. It was decorated, in pink. Okay, maybe not so classic, but pretty. But it was the words that had Nobody’s full attention now - Martha Winchester. That was so … He didn’t know why the only thing he could think of to do was to whack Sammy gently up the back of his head. Strangely that action only made Sammy smile even wider if that were possible. Weird kid.
‘Dad bought it, and I personalised it,’ Sammy said with a smirk.
‘This is the best present ever.’ Nobody said blithely ignoring the fact that it was the only present he could remember getting. He examined the small, surgically neat, stitches securely anchoring the pink tape to the apron’s bib right next to another one of those mysterious symbols, this one made of what looked like silver wire, that kept turning up everywhere. ‘Where on earth did you learn to sew like that?’
When Sammy’s face immediately closed down Nobody knew he’d hit a nerve. Why do I have to keep hurting them?
‘You must have had a great teacher,’ He said carefully, while he tried to think of anything to defuse the tension. ‘You know what we have to do now don’t you?’
‘What?’
‘We’ve got to christen it! Come on. Anything you want, just name it. What do you like?’
Dean couldn’t work out why Sammy’s face just went blank again for an instant, before he forced out another grin. ‘Chocolate, I like chocolate.’
‘Hell, of course you like chocolate. Have I got the recipe for you! How do you like the sound of tombstone cupcakes?’
~~~
In hindsight, maybe embellishing them with R.I.P. in lemon icing wasn’t the most tasteful idea Nobody had ever had. Not to mention the fact that he knew the calorie over-load was definitely going to be the death of him.
Sammy, on the other hand, was still surfing a sugar wave at nightfall and his exuberant continuous tacking around Nobody in some complicated mad design had everyone on edge.
So much so, that John and Bobby had spent the last hour just keeping out of Sammy’s way. They were currently in the next room having another one of their long telephone conversations with some work colleague and all Nobody managed to catch was an occasional phrase - ‘It’s not working,’ ‘Damnit Miss…’ ‘We need something stronger,’ ‘… need you here’ and finally a muttered ‘Can’t bring him to Kansas, he can’t seem to leave the house.’ That was when Nobody realised exactly what, and who they were talking about and got very nervous. Somehow he didn’t think there were enough cupcakes in the world to fix his problem.
~~~
11pm saw all the lights in the house turned out, and Bobby and John lighting an enormous bonfire in the yard. Nobody got the disturbing feeling that it was more than a conventional religious observance.
Nobody patted Sammy on the shoulder more to soothe himself than calm his younger brother down, and turned away to sit back down on the living room floor in front of the television. He went back to nervously switching between all of the channels his homemade satellite dish was capable of receiving, but typically, no matter how many channels there were, there only ever seemed to be the one thing on. And after a week, even Nobody was beginning to feel that there was something a little too perfect about his favourite presenter’s assured smile.
Nobody remained there all night with Sammy curled up around his feet, contentedly napping, while the fire burnt to embers outside.
~~~
They wouldn’t let him eat or drink the next morning. Worse yet, they wouldn’t let him cook, or clean, or even turn the television on. The three of them stood there watching him turn desolately between them. None of them said anything, even Sammy. They just stood guard around him; not hurting him, just turning him firmly back into the centre of the room every time he tried to get out of the invisible bonds he could feel tightening around him with every passing minute.
After two hours he was crying, and his hands were clenched into fists so tight that the nails cut into his skin. He was bleeding and sobbing, smearing blood and salt over his face and eyes as he tried vainly to see, to understand why they were doing this to him. And still they stood firm.
Another hour passed before they finally all stepped quietly aside and something in him shattered; and he broke free.
And he was outside, stumbling through the choking dust, dodging the dogs who seemed to be herding him towards something. And he still couldn’t see.
And then he could.
John … in the middle of Bobby’s yard. He was standing in front of a car. A big, dusty black muscle car that looked like trouble, just like its owner.
John moved closer. Nobody wanted to keep on running, but he took a step back, then another, only stopping when he ran into someone else - Sammy.
Nobody got the unmistakable feeling that he was being surrounded once more. He had to get out, no matter what happened.
But he was trapped between them again. He couldn’t escape without hurting himself, without hurting them. ‘No!’ He couldn’t do it. He was screaming and couldn’t move as every part of him continued to disintegrate into salt, and dust, and blood.
Then he was being dragged through the dirt and propelled into what felt like a metal cage and he went wild trying to get free again, not caring this time who he hurt in the process.
Nobody just needed …
… that.
The comforting scents of leather, gun oil and sweat; the sound of the engine rumbling beneath the desperate voices of his family; and the familiar warmth of a metal steering wheel under his torn hands as he bled once more, and not for the last time, in the Impala.
He sat there as everything that was him cascaded back into place at long last. And Sammy and Dad were holding on. And Dean was home.
~~~
‘Blood. That’ll do it every time,’ Bobby said with grim satisfaction.
~~~
‘Fucking cupcakes!’ Dean was swearing much more than a mile a minute, making up for lost time as he caught the final piece luggage his father tossed out of the house at him and rammed it into the Impala’s trunk. He wanted nothing more than to get on the road and just drive. He never wanted to be trapped in the one place ever again, even Bobby’s.
‘I’m going to destroy that bitch,’ Dean yelled, slamming the trunk shut and turning to go back into the house they’d been determinedly keeping him out of. She took my family away from me.
‘You’re not going within six feet of that television,’ John ordered as he slid into the driver’s seat. ‘Bobby will deal with her.’
‘I can’t believe she almost turned me into a chick!’ Dean muttered as he stomped back to the car.
‘Well, you did look good in that apron,’ Sammy snickered joyfully as he skipped out of reach of Dean’s slap.
‘Stop playing around and get in the Goddamn car, boys!’ John bellowed out of the driver’s window as he revved the engine impatiently. ‘I’ve got a hunt to get back to and we’ve already wasted too much time on this little holiday.’
‘Dad!’ Both boys complained in sympathetic unison.
‘Car! Now!’ John yelled, and that was the end of that familiar argument.
Bobby whistled Tonto and Silver back from the dust cloud that was kicked up by the Chevy’s wheels as the Winchesters raced the setting sun through his gates.
He’d only just managed to talk John out of razing his house to the ground, before convincing him it was better to get his entire family away from temptation as fast as possible. For once John Winchester had actually listened to reason, which is probably why it was the first time ever that he’d left South Dakota without Bobby threatening to shoot him.
In the eerie silence that always followed a plague of Winchesters Bobby walked slowly back inside to unplug the possessed television and cart it outside to be burnt.
‘I always knew she was the anti-Chr…’
~~~~~
Sequel: Blood and Cupcakes - Part 1 | Part 2
Rating: P/G, Gen
Word Count: 6,858/12,593
Summary: Television can be dangerous to your health.
Part 1 | Part 2
Part 2
Nobody didn’t like John Winchester. He was mean.
Before dawn they’d all been woken by a squeal of brakes as a car skidded to a stop outside and sent the dogs berserk. He and the kid had been buried under what seemed like a mountain of pillows which just added to the confusion. By the time they’d gotten untangled and had the door to their room open, Bobby was halfway downstairs with his gun.
Their visitor was a big man, tall, broad-shouldered and bulky, without carrying any excess weight. He was all lean anger looking for something to shoot. Nobody could tell from the way Bobby stood in the doorway with his gun firmly raised that he was expecting him to do just that.
‘Now, John, just calm down a second before you bust in here scaring the kids,’ Bobby ordered, lifting the gun to emphasize his point.
‘Get out of my way now, Bobby.’
‘Dad!’ the kid yelled, plummeting down the stairs.
Sammy! Nobody jerked him up short just before he managed to duck under Bobby’s weapon.
John Winchester stepped right up to the muzzle before slapping it aside. ‘No one gets between me and my boys,’ he growled and punched Bobby out cold.
‘Manners!’ Nobody said primly.
~~~
John Winchester picked up the gun and stepped over Bobby’s body ignoring the snarls coming from the miss-matched pair of dogs that were desperately trying to choke themselves free from where they were chained up to Bobby’s tow-truck.
Sammy eeled out of Nobody’s protective custody and threw himself at his father. ‘You came!’
‘Yeah, kiddo,’ John said, ruffling his hair. He let Sammy hang off him as he walked towards Nobody. Despite his gentleness with Sammy his eyes were flat with anger. The man was so full of hate and rage that Nobody found himself taking an unwitting step backwards in self-defence.
‘You … hit Bobby,’ he stammered.
‘Do worse next time,’ came the terse reply. If I have to.
Nobody knew he meant it. This man would kill anything that dared get in his way. And this was his supposed to be his father?
‘Uh,’ his voice was still shaking. He didn’t think it was a good idea to show fear in front of this man but he couldn’t help it. The man terrified him in a way that Bobby never had, for all he had done to him. John Winchester just had to look at him, and Nobody wanted to scream out everything he’d ever done wrong in his life if he could remember it in time, and beg for forgiveness before the end.
Nobody tried to stand his ground and work out just what he should be doing, as this angry stranger - his father - closed the final distance between him before setting the gun down on a nearby stack of books. What he didn’t anticipate was seeing him flinch when Nobody looked back at him without any recognition at all. What he couldn’t imagine was the feeling of utter panic and loneliness that came over him the moment his father swept him into a sudden bear hug.
Nobody didn’t know what to think about John Winchester.
~~~
It turned out that John Winchester was a cold, hard man.
He’d gone from hugging Nobody to shaking him and yelling ‘Damn it, Dean, what did you do, boy?’ so loud that Nobody wasn’t surprised when Bobby started to groan his way back to full consciousness.
Nobody was grateful for the interruption, an angry John Winchester just made him want to run away and hide under Sammy’s bed. He was fairly sure he could fit if he held his breath.
John shot a look at Sammy that had him dashing into the kitchen while Nobody just stood there wondering what he’d missed and why that made he feel so disconnected. John frowned at Nobody for a second before collecting Bobby’s gun on his way to the door where he proceeded to lean menacingly. He looked like he was considering using a bullet to shut Bobby up.
‘I’m not going to kill him, boy. Not yet anyway.’
Nobody hadn’t realised he’d looked that nervous. Bobby had tied him up, and tried to drown him, and exorcise him all in the space of an hour, but he’d kind of left him alone after that, and his cocoa really was as awesome as Sammy said. Sammy.
Sammy, who was coming back out of the kitchen juggling an icepack between his hands.
Nobody guessed he had a lot to learn about John Winchester.
~~~
Naturally, being men, it took ten minutes before Bobby stopped yelling and threatening to let the dogs loose, and John stopped offering to demonstrate how quick he could put a bullet through them.
‘Fucking, Marines!’ Bobby said, finally taking the proffered dripping icepack and holding it to his jaw.
Sammy snickered, then spelt out the reason why on seeing Nobody’s confusion. ‘They both are.’
John just grunted at Bobby. ‘Does this mean you’re not giving me a beer?’
‘No wonder I always want to shoot you,’ Bobby grouched, signalling the dogs before setting them free. He stomped into the house without bothering to stay to watch the carnage.
Nobody jerked Sammy inside and reached out to pull Sammy’s father to safety, but the dogs got there first.
‘Hey, Tonto,’ John said wincing away from the tongue in his face.
Nobody jumped as Sammy let out a piercing whistle from behind him. ‘Here, guys. Breakfast!’
‘They didn’t kill him.’
‘Not unless Bobby tells them to,’ Sammy answered as he moved past him to get outside. He barely had time to place the two brimming dishes on the ground before he was enveloped in a black and white maelstrom. ‘Who’s been a good boy then? Is it you? Is it you?’
‘Kill me now,’ Bobby said stepping over them to hand John a beer. ‘Been training guard dogs forever, and now I’m the laughing stock of every hunter I know because your sons insisted on naming these two after the damned Lone Ranger.’
‘Don’t blame me,’ John said coolly. ‘You couldn’t make up your mind between Semper and Fi, and Fubar and Howitzer. I was all for naming them Fluffy and Fang. Besides, Dean called them Batman and Mr Freeze for three weeks straight before Sammy’s names stuck. It probably helped that he kept sneaking them treats.’
Bobby took a long swallow from his bottle. ‘Last time I let a Winchester corrupt any of my babies.’
~~~
Nobody couldn’t stand the way John Winchester kept looking at him as if he wanted something; expected something from him. It made him nervous, and he could feel his headache starting to come back. In the end he found it simpler to slip away.
Every time they found him, brought him back, and the questions began again.
‘What’s your name?’
‘When’s your birthday?’
‘Where were you born?’
‘What year is it?’
‘Who’s President?’
‘What day is it?’
‘What’s the last thing you remember?’
‘What year were you born?’
‘Where are we?’
‘Who am I?’
‘How old are you?’
‘Where are you from?’
‘What’s the first thing you remember?’
‘What do we do?’
‘What’s your first name?’
‘Last name?’
‘Middle name?’
‘Name?’
‘Name?’
‘Name?’
The same questions, in infinite variation, over, and over again.
~~~
In the afternoon the testing took a different form.
They showed him signs, talismans, books written in Latin; asked him about terrible things that no one should ever have to know about. They let Sammy stay, but wouldn’t let him help.
Then they started the questions again. Over and over, and faster and faster until he didn’t know what to do, he was looking at Sammy and holding on …
And then they stopped and asked a something different. ‘What are you holding?’
And Nobody didn’t know what they meant. He just kept looking at Sammy, trying to hold on to something - anything.
‘What are you holding in your hand?’
And Nobody glanced down, and he still didn’t understand, and he looked back at Sammy crying, and he couldn’t let go.
‘What’s the amulet, Dean?’
‘Who gave it to you, Dean?’
‘Why don’t you give it to us, Dean?’
Dean. Dean. Dean. ‘My name isn’t Dean! I’m Nobody!’
‘ … the amulet, Dean!’
‘No! No! No!’ And Nobody was on the floor screaming, and Sammy was there, holding on.
~~~
That night they gave him weapons. Dark, awful things he didn’t want to touch.
They laid knives in front of him; asked him to name them, explain the differences between them, say what each could do best.
Then they showed him guns. Asked him calibre, number of bullets, weight, muzzle velocity, and on. They gave him one in pieces and asked him to put it together again as if it were a jigsaw puzzle. And he didn’t understand. Then they took Sammy away and the lights went out.
Sammy. Sammy. Sammy.
And Sammy screamed, and he was running in the dark through a house as if he knew it. In a room shooting a gun he couldn’t possibly know how to reassemble at the man holding Sammy. And John Winchester wouldn’t go down.
And Nobody screamed, and he was fighting in ways he didn’t know, and he couldn’t win. And it went on until Sammy ended it.
And Sammy screamed, ‘No!’
And Nobody still didn’t understand.
Nobody had no idea of the things John Winchester would do for his family.
~~~
Sammy left the lights on for them both that night while Nobody tried to forget.
~~~
The next morning it was different. He kept drifting away, sometimes even from Sammy, and John didn’t try to hold him, or bring him back. But still, every now and then Nobody would look up from whatever he was doing to find John Winchester standing there. Watching.
Nobody got a lot done avoiding John. By the time another day had gone past Nobody had gone a long way towards reorganizing the entire house.
‘He coloured my sheets, John!’ Bobby hissed over a full cooked breakfast on Thursday.
‘All your sheets are white,’ John said, eyeing his Spanish omelette in confusion.
‘Yeah, now they are. He bleached them. And now I have a linen closet with sets of sheets tied up with freaking ribbon!’
‘It’s not ribbon,’ Sammy stopped devouring his cinnamon-sugared Fruit Loops long enough to interrupt helpfully. ‘Dean wanted ribbon, but we didn’t have any. I found a roll of old legal tape to use instead.’
Nobody nodded, smiling. He liked the pink. And he’d been able to use up the remainder to make up a handy ribbon board for Bobby’s “office” before he made breakfast. Admittedly, he hadn’t found any invitations to put up, but he’d inserted bills (with the amounts and due dates neatly printed on the outside of the envelopes), along with a few of the more artistic of those weird diagrams Bobby had all over the place. He knew as soon as Bobby saw it he’d realise how eminently practical it was.
Bobby snarled. ‘And Suzy Fucking Homemaker also found the time to sort my Popular Mechanics magazines chronologically.’
John laughed a little uncomfortably. ‘Next thing you’ll be telling me that he’s done up a roster of chores.’
Bobby pointed silently at the front of the fridge.
Nobody decided not to mention that he’d used a staple gun to attach 4 old pillowcases to the laundry wall. He’d written Bobby’s name on one in permanent marker, Sammy’s and John’s names were on cards pegged to the front. He’d left his own blank. He was really looking forward to seeing everyone’s faces when he showed them later.
Bobby glumly stuffed another piece of French toast in his mouth. ‘I never even had a linen closet before yesterday.’
~~~
Nobody was going crazy every time he stopped to think, because he simply couldn’t remember. So he tried not to stop. Luckily, watching television somehow calmed him down, stopped him worrying, and stopped him even having to think.
Television never seemed to expect anything from him. Out of everything, he found he liked the home shows the best, especially the cooking segments. All that food. He loved the way you could make absolutely anything you wanted, whenever you wanted it, if you just had the right ingredients and equipment.
Unfortunately Bobby had very little in the way of anything that Nobody needed. Even though he’d found a 1960 copy of Mrs Beeton’s Cookery and Household Management, tucked behind a shelf of what Sammy called grimoires, and he’d taken pages of notes from his favourite programme, he was running out of things he could make with what Bobby had available.
Nobody was glad that the only two things he needed to worry about now were how to improve the television reception, and get more ingredients. He really wanted to try his hand at making cupcakes.
~~~
Nobody was getting used to overhearing incomprehensible bits of whispered conversations that kept turning into fights between Bobby and John. The more he heard, the more wrong he felt. It made him start to think, and he wasn’t supposed to do that.
He was concentrating so hard on blocking one argument out while he waited impatiently for Sammy to get back inside that he completely managed to miss the sound of John Winchester leaving the house.
‘Sammy! What in ever-fucking Hell are you doing on the roof?’
Nobody was glad that he’d already managed to pull the wire through the window and attach it to the television. He just wished he hadn’t been too scared to go outside and get on the roof himself. He’d tried. He’d stood in the doorway, and he couldn’t leave. Inside he was safe, outside was he was something else.
‘What are you doing with that hubca … is that …? Dean!’
~~~
The next argument wasn’t held at a whisper. But what confused Nobody the most was the way Sammy kept trying to take the blame. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want to do that for somebody they didn’t even know.
He also couldn’t work out why Sammy’s father was more upset about the hubcap than Sammy being on the roof.
~~~
Nobody expected to be grounded, especially after Bobby had a talk to him about John and his car. He could almost begin to understand why John went up onto the roof to retrieve his property. But it didn’t explain why he then spent a long hour up there carefully unwinding the yards of wire Nobody had neatly threaded through the vents in the Chevy’s hubcap and rewinding it through one from a mere Ford.
When the first thing John suggested after he’d replaced his hubcap was a road trip Nobody realised he’d never understand John Winchester.
‘Got to drive into Deadwood, pick-up some ... supplies.’
John was standing at the door swinging a car key around his right index finger like nothing had happened. By rights that shouldn’t have made Nobody nervous. But by then, everything John Winchester did bothered him. Nobody could feel the drag of the undercurrents even from across the room where he was huddled in front of the television.
‘... melts in your mouth - not in your hand,’ he sang along with an ad desperately.
‘Dean?’
And then he was there, standing right over him. John. Couldn’t call him Father, or Dad. Or family. No matter what Nobody did, nothing fit. He looked up at John, feeling this sense of loss so great, that he just wanted to run. ‘Not in my head,’ he sang, head drawn back to his lifeline. ‘Nothing in my mind …’
‘Dean?’
It was Sammy now, hand gentle on the back of his neck. Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. The one name he didn’t have trouble with any more. At times it was the only clear thought he could find amongst the chaos. Sammy. Brother. The latter was harder to focus on; it had to be worked at. Sammy. He turned around into Sammy’s hold. It’s okay, it’s just Sammy. ‘Nobody in me.’
‘Dad?’ Sammy choked out.
‘I got it,’ John said, squatting down next to them both. ‘Nobody?’
‘Yes?’ Thank you. Nobody wasn’t sure how John knew that calling him by that other name hurt so much.
‘Just going for a drive,’ John said easily. ‘Fresh air’ll do you good.’
Do me good. ‘I …’ Something was wrong. He kept turning, caught between two poles. He couldn’t think. Something was out there.
‘Won’t take long.’
I don’t know what to do. ‘No?’ Something …
‘Please, Dean?’ Sammy again. Anxious. Scared.
Something was close. ‘Just … no.’
John was silent. Not pushing, not yet. Watching, calculating.
‘Come on, Dean,’ Sammy cajoled. ‘We can get all those things you said you wanted.’
His list. So much he needed, had to have. But … ‘Martha’s on in ten minutes.’ He’d meant to just say no. The Martha explanation came out by itself. Out of nowhere. Stay.
Bobby coughed from behind them. ‘I could … tape it for you.’ He had a very strange look on his face.
Nobody perked up. ‘You could?’ It wasn’t like watching it, but … ‘It’s a special.’
‘Yeah, I … could … do that for you.’ Bobby’s voice sounded even worse than he looked. Maybe he was coming down with something. Nobody made a mental note to make him a nice hot lemon, honey, and ginger drink when they got back. As a kind of thank you. He nodded to himself. That was the right thing to do. The Martha thing to do.
But in the end even the thought of shopping for all those ingredients still wasn’t enough. Stay. He stood in the doorway again, looking outside into all that emptiness, and back inside at the only things he knew.
‘You two go. You don’t need me.’
~~~
Sammy didn’t go. And that should have been enough.
~~~
It was quiet without John Winchester. Peaceful. The monotonous sound of Sammy continuously reciting a passage from one of Bobby’s books created a comforting background hum. He wafted past one of the front windows again, checking for the fifth time that hour. No John. Just glimpses of Bobby scuffing around the yard, idly dragging a stick through the dirt to amuse the dogs who were still trailing cautiously behind as if they were guarding against something. So, all Nobody had to worry about was whether John Winchester was any good at grocery shopping. It had been a very long list.
~~~
Deadwood had to be a long way from anywhere. By midnight Nobody was circling the house constantly, inspecting the darkness from every window. Waiting. Something …
At first he had been content to sit down in front of the television soaking up the comfort of having someone tell you exactly what to do, and how to do it. But after that first hour was up none of the other shows was enough distraction to keep him from roaming fretfully around the house. He felt like he was being stretched out and was going to break without ever knowing the reason why. He needed to know.
If Bobby or Sammy knew, they weren’t telling. They seemed content to follow Nobody from room to room. If he hadn’t felt so on edge, Nobody might have felt reassured by their presence. Instead he was beginning to feel hemmed in, as if they were trying to manipulate him. What was everyone hiding from him?
When Bobby put a mug on the windowsill in front of him, he couldn’t help eyeing it suspiciously.
‘Just milk and cocoa this time,’ Bobby said, catching the look. ‘You need to settle down, boy, you’re upsetting your brother.’
Sammy. Nobody looked down to where Sammy was curled up against the wall beside him. The kid’s eyes were bleary, but fixed anxiously on him. It was obvious that Sammy was going to stay up with him all night if he had to.
I’m sorry. He felt as if he’d let everyone down, and wished he knew what he was doing wrong. He’d been doing his best to hold it all in, and pretend he was coping. ‘Come on, Sammy.’
‘m fine,’ Sammy yawned, straightening and doing his best to look alert.
‘Bed,’ Nobody ordered, hauling him upwards. ‘The dark will still be here in the morning.’
~~~
Nobody had Sammy’s treasure box carefully pulled out from under the bed by the time he heard the shower start up down the hall at 7am. It took him a minute to get up the courage to open it, and longer to make himself start sifting through the contents. All those old school ID cards, his as well as Sammy’s. Every single one a different school, a different state, a different name. What were they running from? Surely the stories they’d told him couldn’t be real? And those snapshots he couldn’t stop touching. His family. The longer he looked, the more his head hurt. It was too much to think about.
Nobody blamed the headache for the fact that it took him some time to realise that logically he must have had his own stash of mementos. It turned out that he was a lot more devious than Sammy. With the aid of an easily dismantled pair of scissors he took the room apart quicker than he would have thought possible. He couldn’t believe the places he thought to look in, and the strange assortment of things he found. The Playboys rolled up in the metal bedposts made him blush, and he stuffed them in the rubbish bin fast before he could think any more about them. He almost missed the real hiding place in his haste to be done before Sammy returned. In the end it was the over-solid construction of the top shelf of the wardrobe that finally caught his attention. The thickness disguised a hinged panel that dropped down to reveal a narrow cavity. A space just big enough for the old cigar box that held his life.
In its own way it contained an even more peculiar and surprisingly small group of items. A gleaming metal Chevrolet insignia - the car? Nobody guessed he must have had at least one small thing in common with John. Five carefully folded school reports overflowing with an astonishing amount of As. Why had he kept Sammy’s report cards? There was a worn brass Zippo lighter with an eagle engraved on one side, and John Winchester’s name on the reverse that he put quickly aside. At the bottom lay a small bundle of photos, some which duplicated those in Sammy’s collection. The final ones though, were completely new. Photos of John and a woman. His mom? The mother he’d been too afraid to ask about? Looking at those smiling faces of his family was too hard. Everything hurt. There was too much to think about. Don’t.
He was sitting on the floor between the beds, the contents of both boxes scattered around him when Sammy found him. Hunched over, arms clenched around his knees, struggling to repeat a list over and over again in order to prevent himself feeling anything at all.
‘Agar-agar, amaretti, anchovies, angel cake, artichokes, aubergines …’
Something close … Can’t let it get Sammy!
‘Agar-agar, amaretti …’
Have to keep it in …
~~~
It took a long time to come back. John returned before Nobody did.
~~~
The first thing that made sense to him was warmth, security, and the musky aftertaste of bergamot. There was a blanket, and Sammy, hanging off his shoulders, hugging him close; and John Winchester on his knees in front of him, hands cocooned around his own, helping him drink. They were in the kitchen and the Deadwood shops had clearly been ransacked for Earl Grey tea.
He was back, and he still scared Nobody nigh to death, but he was here.
There were so many questions Nobody knew he had to ask, regardless of that voice in his head that told him it was safer not to know. That he should stop worrying, give up this foolish sense that he was somehow responsible for everything. That he should just sit back and live a smaller, more carefree, life. In the end that voice won. For now.
‘Did you remember my yeast?’
~~~
Nobody was in heaven. Surrounded by everything he’d asked for, the heels of his hands busy kneading dough away from him and then back again. Life couldn’t get any better. Still … ‘It looked easier when she did it,’ he muttered somewhat peevishly.
Sammy looked up from where he was idly doodling in the flour that had somehow got scattered all over the table and too much of the floor. ‘Maybe because she knows what she’s doing?’ he suggested.
‘Bitch,’ Nobody retorted automatically before he could take back the offensive comment.
‘Jerk,’ Sammy said with a pout that suddenly vanished to be replaced by the most incandescent grin Nobody had ever seen. ‘Dean!’
‘I’m sorry,’ Nobody said contritely. ‘I don’t know where that bad language came from.’
When Sammy answered his apology by jumping up and wrapping his arms around him, he truly didn’t know how to react.
‘Dude,’ Nobody squeaked. ‘I can’t breathe.’
That comment got him squeezed so tight that flour ended up in his hair.
He didn’t know what to do with all that messy emotion, it certainly wasn’t tidy or proper, it twisted him up inside and confused him too much. Sammy seemed to have this way of breezing through his barriers as if they didn’t exist. He - all of them - kept acting as if they knew him, the person that he couldn’t remember.
Nobody couldn’t comprehend how one person could inspire this much love, anger, rage and devotion. How could anyone live up to that kind of expectation? This Dean that they talked about simply didn’t exist except in their heads. He couldn’t be that person for them. No one could. And the closer they tried to get to him, the more he knew he had to run before the darkness inside him broke free and swallowed them all.
He was only sure of one thing now - it wasn’t safe to let Sammy in. He couldn’t leave, some part of him needed to hide, to build those walls up again fast before anyone else got hurt. He had to put on a mask, pretend that everything was fine, for their sake. He just wished he knew why. Showtime.
‘My buns!’
~~~
It wasn’t until much later when he was removing the trays from the oven that Nobody realised he had somehow managed to pipe that same strange symbol Sammy had been drawing in the flour onto the tops of the buns in flour paste in lieu of the more traditional Easter cross. What was even uncannier was that the sign felt right.
The only normal thing was how good those Hot Cross Buns tasted. As everyone fought to grab more than their fair share of the food Nobody knew he’d been born to be a baker.
Surreptitiously edging the tea towel-lined basket closer to his side of the table Bobby leant over to whisper to his long-time antagonist. ‘Well, if all else fails he’ll make someone a mighty fine wife one day. And in the meantime …’
‘In the meantime, what?’ John asked dangerously as he buttered another bun with a very sharp knife.
‘You’ll be the best catered hunters in these United States.’
~~~
The next morning Nobody crept out of bed at sunup congratulating himself on not waking the ungainly mound that was Sammy thankfully not snoring for once in the opposite bed. He’d spent the night staring into the darkness inside himself and fighting off an almost uncontrollable need to go downstairs and turn the television on just so he could have something else in his head. Nothing made any sense.
He needed to try something again without anyone else around to witness how much it hurt.
‘Going somewhere?’ John asked quietly.
‘Not today,’ Nobody finally said with a sigh.
They were all out there, even Sammy who must have stuffed pillows in his bed, sitting casually on Bobby’s front porch as if they were waiting for the neighbours to drop by for coffee, biscuits and a good gossip. Nobody might not remember anything, but he knew that this sham of normality was aimed at him. The weapons in easy reach were the only jarring notes, but for all Nobody knew they might just be the standard Holy Saturday accessory in South Dakota. He wouldn’t like to put money on that bet though.
He didn’t want to know how long he’d been standing sweating in the doorway trying to take that next step before he noticed they were sitting there, quietly watching him. There was no condemnation, or judgement, they were just there. Bobby looked tired and grumpy which seemed to be his default expression even when he was making cocoa so Nobody knew it wasn’t aimed at him. Sammy was half-up out of his chair evidently wanting to come and help, John’s firm hand clamped onto his shoulder was clearly the only thing keeping him from Nobody.
Nobody tore his gaze away from Sammy before he could break, and kept his eyes fixed resolutely on John’s, there was a whole frightening world in there that he was overwhelmed to find he wanted badly to be a part of. Darkness … close. He couldn’t stop shaking. Keep away; step back. So he did. He needed something else to concentrate on, fast.
‘Time to move this party inside,’ Bobby grunted. ‘So what’s for breakfast, Betty Crocker?’
Cupcakes?
~~~
Nobody decided that although the cupcakes had been a raging success (astonishingly with Bobby most of all), that tinting the icing, drop by careful cochineal drop, to get precisely the right shade of pink was more trouble than it was worth. And two hours later he was still picking silver cachous (sue him for cheating and using bought decorations, he just couldn’t get the hang of adding tiny blobs of icing with a toothpick not matter how easy she made it look) up off the kitchen floor. ‘Whose damned idea was it to make star patterns on the top anyway?’ he asked himself rhetorically. He sighed happily as that bit of profanity slipped out unnoticed. At least the design had looked pretty, and it certainly got almost as much attention from everyone as the symbols on his fruit buns had the day before.
He was so busy working his way backwards through the room with a mop that he almost ran into Sammy who was standing in the doorway. Waiting. Smiling. Hands patiently hidden behind his back. Ooh. Nobody hoped it was something nice. He was almost positive that he liked surprises.
‘Hi, Sam.’
‘Sammy.’
Right. Teenagers. It was always hard to tell which way to go. ‘What’s up, Sammy?’ See? He could do normal.
Definitely smiling. ‘We got you something!’ It tumbled out in a rush. He was just about bouncing he was so excited.
‘You did?’ Nobody wasn’t sure what that feeling was inside him. It was similar to how he’d felt when he opened the oven earlier to see that everything had risen perfectly, only better.
‘Here!’ It was a squashy, crumpled package inexpertly wrapped in brown paper, with what looked like an entire roll of tape holding it together.
‘Thanks, Sammy.’ Nobody turned the parcel over in his hands a few times. A present.
‘You can open it any time, you know,’ Sammy said, grinning up at him.
Oh. Yes. Opening. He could do that. Totally. Well, maybe not, that was a lot of tape.
‘Here’
‘Land sakes, child!’ Now that was a knife. Nobody hadn’t even seen him bring it out, and had no idea where he’d managed to conceal it. Was it at all safe for the kid to be carrying around something that looked like it would do a good job of carving a turkey? Forget turkey, it looked like it could gut a cow!
‘Good knife,’ Nobody said with reluctant approval as it sliced through the tape like butter. He eagerly ripped the rest of the wrappings off and threw them onto the clean floor behind him.
Oh, my God. Nobody unfolded the contents. It was an … ‘You got me an apron! That is like so cool!’
Sammy’s smile was once again bright enough to light up all of the state’s Black Hills. ‘That’s the back, turn it around, stupid.’
Nobody decided not to frown at him, because, like present. He turned the apron around. Black. Nice. That was timeless and elegant. And … oh. It was decorated, in pink. Okay, maybe not so classic, but pretty. But it was the words that had Nobody’s full attention now - Martha Winchester. That was so … He didn’t know why the only thing he could think of to do was to whack Sammy gently up the back of his head. Strangely that action only made Sammy smile even wider if that were possible. Weird kid.
‘Dad bought it, and I personalised it,’ Sammy said with a smirk.
‘This is the best present ever.’ Nobody said blithely ignoring the fact that it was the only present he could remember getting. He examined the small, surgically neat, stitches securely anchoring the pink tape to the apron’s bib right next to another one of those mysterious symbols, this one made of what looked like silver wire, that kept turning up everywhere. ‘Where on earth did you learn to sew like that?’
When Sammy’s face immediately closed down Nobody knew he’d hit a nerve. Why do I have to keep hurting them?
‘You must have had a great teacher,’ He said carefully, while he tried to think of anything to defuse the tension. ‘You know what we have to do now don’t you?’
‘What?’
‘We’ve got to christen it! Come on. Anything you want, just name it. What do you like?’
Dean couldn’t work out why Sammy’s face just went blank again for an instant, before he forced out another grin. ‘Chocolate, I like chocolate.’
‘Hell, of course you like chocolate. Have I got the recipe for you! How do you like the sound of tombstone cupcakes?’
~~~
In hindsight, maybe embellishing them with R.I.P. in lemon icing wasn’t the most tasteful idea Nobody had ever had. Not to mention the fact that he knew the calorie over-load was definitely going to be the death of him.
Sammy, on the other hand, was still surfing a sugar wave at nightfall and his exuberant continuous tacking around Nobody in some complicated mad design had everyone on edge.
So much so, that John and Bobby had spent the last hour just keeping out of Sammy’s way. They were currently in the next room having another one of their long telephone conversations with some work colleague and all Nobody managed to catch was an occasional phrase - ‘It’s not working,’ ‘Damnit Miss…’ ‘We need something stronger,’ ‘… need you here’ and finally a muttered ‘Can’t bring him to Kansas, he can’t seem to leave the house.’ That was when Nobody realised exactly what, and who they were talking about and got very nervous. Somehow he didn’t think there were enough cupcakes in the world to fix his problem.
~~~
11pm saw all the lights in the house turned out, and Bobby and John lighting an enormous bonfire in the yard. Nobody got the disturbing feeling that it was more than a conventional religious observance.
Nobody patted Sammy on the shoulder more to soothe himself than calm his younger brother down, and turned away to sit back down on the living room floor in front of the television. He went back to nervously switching between all of the channels his homemade satellite dish was capable of receiving, but typically, no matter how many channels there were, there only ever seemed to be the one thing on. And after a week, even Nobody was beginning to feel that there was something a little too perfect about his favourite presenter’s assured smile.
Nobody remained there all night with Sammy curled up around his feet, contentedly napping, while the fire burnt to embers outside.
~~~
They wouldn’t let him eat or drink the next morning. Worse yet, they wouldn’t let him cook, or clean, or even turn the television on. The three of them stood there watching him turn desolately between them. None of them said anything, even Sammy. They just stood guard around him; not hurting him, just turning him firmly back into the centre of the room every time he tried to get out of the invisible bonds he could feel tightening around him with every passing minute.
After two hours he was crying, and his hands were clenched into fists so tight that the nails cut into his skin. He was bleeding and sobbing, smearing blood and salt over his face and eyes as he tried vainly to see, to understand why they were doing this to him. And still they stood firm.
Another hour passed before they finally all stepped quietly aside and something in him shattered; and he broke free.
And he was outside, stumbling through the choking dust, dodging the dogs who seemed to be herding him towards something. And he still couldn’t see.
And then he could.
John … in the middle of Bobby’s yard. He was standing in front of a car. A big, dusty black muscle car that looked like trouble, just like its owner.
John moved closer. Nobody wanted to keep on running, but he took a step back, then another, only stopping when he ran into someone else - Sammy.
Nobody got the unmistakable feeling that he was being surrounded once more. He had to get out, no matter what happened.
But he was trapped between them again. He couldn’t escape without hurting himself, without hurting them. ‘No!’ He couldn’t do it. He was screaming and couldn’t move as every part of him continued to disintegrate into salt, and dust, and blood.
Then he was being dragged through the dirt and propelled into what felt like a metal cage and he went wild trying to get free again, not caring this time who he hurt in the process.
Nobody just needed …
… that.
The comforting scents of leather, gun oil and sweat; the sound of the engine rumbling beneath the desperate voices of his family; and the familiar warmth of a metal steering wheel under his torn hands as he bled once more, and not for the last time, in the Impala.
He sat there as everything that was him cascaded back into place at long last. And Sammy and Dad were holding on. And Dean was home.
~~~
‘Blood. That’ll do it every time,’ Bobby said with grim satisfaction.
~~~
‘Fucking cupcakes!’ Dean was swearing much more than a mile a minute, making up for lost time as he caught the final piece luggage his father tossed out of the house at him and rammed it into the Impala’s trunk. He wanted nothing more than to get on the road and just drive. He never wanted to be trapped in the one place ever again, even Bobby’s.
‘I’m going to destroy that bitch,’ Dean yelled, slamming the trunk shut and turning to go back into the house they’d been determinedly keeping him out of. She took my family away from me.
‘You’re not going within six feet of that television,’ John ordered as he slid into the driver’s seat. ‘Bobby will deal with her.’
‘I can’t believe she almost turned me into a chick!’ Dean muttered as he stomped back to the car.
‘Well, you did look good in that apron,’ Sammy snickered joyfully as he skipped out of reach of Dean’s slap.
‘Stop playing around and get in the Goddamn car, boys!’ John bellowed out of the driver’s window as he revved the engine impatiently. ‘I’ve got a hunt to get back to and we’ve already wasted too much time on this little holiday.’
‘Dad!’ Both boys complained in sympathetic unison.
‘Car! Now!’ John yelled, and that was the end of that familiar argument.
Bobby whistled Tonto and Silver back from the dust cloud that was kicked up by the Chevy’s wheels as the Winchesters raced the setting sun through his gates.
He’d only just managed to talk John out of razing his house to the ground, before convincing him it was better to get his entire family away from temptation as fast as possible. For once John Winchester had actually listened to reason, which is probably why it was the first time ever that he’d left South Dakota without Bobby threatening to shoot him.
In the eerie silence that always followed a plague of Winchesters Bobby walked slowly back inside to unplug the possessed television and cart it outside to be burnt.
‘I always knew she was the anti-Chr…’
~~~~~
Sequel: Blood and Cupcakes - Part 1 | Part 2