What’s in a Name?, for tesserae_
Title: What’s in a Name?
Recipient: tesserae_
Rating: PG
Warnings: mild language
Author’s Notes: Show never really says when Sam ran away, so let’s pretend it’s while he was a teenager, okay?
Summary: When Sam ran away, he found a new friend with no name. Sam chose one for him.
Sam looked around at the dingy shack with about equal parts trepidation and pride. He was on his own now, and he could make all the choices, make the right ones, unlike his dad.
The old man would be furious that Sam had managed to escape, but Sam couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad about pissing off the hardened hunter. He did feel a little bad about Dean, though. His brother was probably tearing his hair out, worrying about whether Sam was okay. Dean would probably also get in trouble for failing to “take care of Sam,” but maybe that would finally bring his stubborn older brother to realize that their father’s demands were ridiculous and that he should make his own decisions.
Sam gave his head a sharp shake, banishing all thoughts of his family. He was making a fresh start, so there was going to be no stewing about the past. He was smart enough to know that his freedom probably wouldn’t last, so he had to make the most of it.
He’d spent a large chunk of the funds he’d scraped together over a matter of months on the bus ticket out here and the deposit and first month’s rent on this place, but he pulled a ten dollar bill from the remaining funds to go buy some supplies to fill the empty cupboards in the kitchenette. He hid the rest of the money in a space he found behind a loose wall panel.
He forced himself not to look for the Impala, sure that he’d left few enough traces by paying in cash to earn himself at least a few weeks. Plus, he’d gotten off at a stop before the final destination on his ticket, so there was that, too.
On the way home from the closest mini mart, Sam paused to open one of the bottles of Mr. Pibb. The heat here was insane, and he had already worked up a good sweat after walking only a few blocks. He heard a whine behind him and turned to see a thin and rather dirty golden retriever watching him. The dog had a rope tied to his collar that had been snapped--or maybe chewed--off in the middle, leaving a trailing piece about six feet long.
“Hey, boy,” Sam greeted, squatting down to hold out a hand to the animal. It looked friendly enough. “Did somebody leave you tied up out in this weather?”
Sam frowned at the thought of somebody neglecting such a nice dog as it slobbered all over the offered palm.
“You’re running away too, aren’t you, buddy?” Sam ruffled the dog’s ears. “You can come stay with me.”
He’d always wanted a dog, but he’d never been allowed to have one. Well, if now wasn’t the time for indulging in all the things he’d always wanted, Sam couldn’t imagine when it would be!
His landlord didn’t seem to much care what his residents chose to do, so Sam didn’t bother hiding the dog as he led him into his new home. He pulled one of the plastic bowls that had come provided in the “fully furnished home” down and filled it with water for the dog. Then he liberated a bit more of his money stash and headed out again, this time for some dog food. He was sure the dog would love Funyuns and beef jerky, but if he was going to be a better owner than the previous people, he needed something more nutritious for his new roommate.
***
As the dog eagerly dug into a bowl of kibble, Sam rotated the old, worn collar around his neck, looking for tags. There were none. That was just unacceptable--everybody deserved a name!
At first he considered the usual dog names, Fido, Rover, Spike, in accordance with his quest for “normal,” but the harsh truth was that those names were all pretty lame.
“Don’t worry,” Sam promised his new friend, “we’ll find you a great name.”
***
A few hours later, they were both sprawled on the ratty couch, bellies full. Sam turned on the crappy, old television, not expecting too much in the way of options. “On a good day you can get three channels,” the landlord had told him like it was a major selling point, “if’n your antenna is pointed properly.”
He flipped through several channels of wavy static before he came across one that was intermittently passable. Unfortunately, it was an episode of Star Trek, the original series, and that just made him think of Dean again. He flipped past it, but none of the other channels seemed to be coming in at all, and he wanted some mindless distraction.
“Sorry, fella,” Sam apologized as he switched it back to the sci-fi classic. “It looks like this is our only option, unless you know how to adjust an antenna!”
The dog gave him a blank look just as Dr. McCoy berated Kirk for something, and Sam could just imagine the dog telling him, “Dammit, Sam, I’m a dog, not a handyman!”
Dean’s favorite character had always been Captain Kirk, and he’d always teased Sam about being like his Mr. Spock, since he was so smart. He felt like the dog would be a sympathetic ear for his tales of exasperation with his cocky, reckless older brother.
“I think I’m gonna call you Bones,” he announced. It made sense for a dog, right? They liked bones! Plus, the poor guy had been practically skin and bones when Sam found him. Yeah, he liked that idea.
He settled back to watch the rest of the episode. It wasn’t one he remembered, and it was nice to watch something without Dean’s running commentary.
It didn’t fully sink in until after he shut off the television how quiet it actually was living alone. Dean was a fairly constant source of background noise, and things tended to get pretty loud when Sam’s opinion clashed with their dad’s. In the absence of any other people, the only sounds inside the room were Sam’s own heartbeat and breathing and panting from Bones.
“I’m glad you’re here, Bones,” Sam confessed. He ran his fingers through the dog’s fur. “I’ve never really been on my own before now, but I don’t have to be with you here. I bet you and I won’t fight over stupid things, either. You won’t call me dumb nicknames, or borrow my stuff without asking, or try to make me blindly follow arbitrary rules, or keep me from being normal like I want.”
Of course, a dog also couldn’t provide advice about dealing with shady property owners willing to let teens rent a place on their own, or figure out a way to make that crappy antenna pick up five channels perfectly using tinfoil, duct tape, and sheer willpower, or always have a plan ready to make some quick cash when his supply ran down. Sam huffed out a disgruntled sigh.
The dog sighed back and quirked his furry brows.
“Yeah, yeah.” Sam smiled. “I know--you’re a dog, not a therapist!” He snuggled up to the dog and let his mind drift off into sleep. Bones being just a dog was enough for him.
Recipient: tesserae_
Rating: PG
Warnings: mild language
Author’s Notes: Show never really says when Sam ran away, so let’s pretend it’s while he was a teenager, okay?
Summary: When Sam ran away, he found a new friend with no name. Sam chose one for him.
Sam looked around at the dingy shack with about equal parts trepidation and pride. He was on his own now, and he could make all the choices, make the right ones, unlike his dad.
The old man would be furious that Sam had managed to escape, but Sam couldn’t find it in himself to feel bad about pissing off the hardened hunter. He did feel a little bad about Dean, though. His brother was probably tearing his hair out, worrying about whether Sam was okay. Dean would probably also get in trouble for failing to “take care of Sam,” but maybe that would finally bring his stubborn older brother to realize that their father’s demands were ridiculous and that he should make his own decisions.
Sam gave his head a sharp shake, banishing all thoughts of his family. He was making a fresh start, so there was going to be no stewing about the past. He was smart enough to know that his freedom probably wouldn’t last, so he had to make the most of it.
He’d spent a large chunk of the funds he’d scraped together over a matter of months on the bus ticket out here and the deposit and first month’s rent on this place, but he pulled a ten dollar bill from the remaining funds to go buy some supplies to fill the empty cupboards in the kitchenette. He hid the rest of the money in a space he found behind a loose wall panel.
He forced himself not to look for the Impala, sure that he’d left few enough traces by paying in cash to earn himself at least a few weeks. Plus, he’d gotten off at a stop before the final destination on his ticket, so there was that, too.
On the way home from the closest mini mart, Sam paused to open one of the bottles of Mr. Pibb. The heat here was insane, and he had already worked up a good sweat after walking only a few blocks. He heard a whine behind him and turned to see a thin and rather dirty golden retriever watching him. The dog had a rope tied to his collar that had been snapped--or maybe chewed--off in the middle, leaving a trailing piece about six feet long.
“Hey, boy,” Sam greeted, squatting down to hold out a hand to the animal. It looked friendly enough. “Did somebody leave you tied up out in this weather?”
Sam frowned at the thought of somebody neglecting such a nice dog as it slobbered all over the offered palm.
“You’re running away too, aren’t you, buddy?” Sam ruffled the dog’s ears. “You can come stay with me.”
He’d always wanted a dog, but he’d never been allowed to have one. Well, if now wasn’t the time for indulging in all the things he’d always wanted, Sam couldn’t imagine when it would be!
His landlord didn’t seem to much care what his residents chose to do, so Sam didn’t bother hiding the dog as he led him into his new home. He pulled one of the plastic bowls that had come provided in the “fully furnished home” down and filled it with water for the dog. Then he liberated a bit more of his money stash and headed out again, this time for some dog food. He was sure the dog would love Funyuns and beef jerky, but if he was going to be a better owner than the previous people, he needed something more nutritious for his new roommate.
***
As the dog eagerly dug into a bowl of kibble, Sam rotated the old, worn collar around his neck, looking for tags. There were none. That was just unacceptable--everybody deserved a name!
At first he considered the usual dog names, Fido, Rover, Spike, in accordance with his quest for “normal,” but the harsh truth was that those names were all pretty lame.
“Don’t worry,” Sam promised his new friend, “we’ll find you a great name.”
***
A few hours later, they were both sprawled on the ratty couch, bellies full. Sam turned on the crappy, old television, not expecting too much in the way of options. “On a good day you can get three channels,” the landlord had told him like it was a major selling point, “if’n your antenna is pointed properly.”
He flipped through several channels of wavy static before he came across one that was intermittently passable. Unfortunately, it was an episode of Star Trek, the original series, and that just made him think of Dean again. He flipped past it, but none of the other channels seemed to be coming in at all, and he wanted some mindless distraction.
“Sorry, fella,” Sam apologized as he switched it back to the sci-fi classic. “It looks like this is our only option, unless you know how to adjust an antenna!”
The dog gave him a blank look just as Dr. McCoy berated Kirk for something, and Sam could just imagine the dog telling him, “Dammit, Sam, I’m a dog, not a handyman!”
Dean’s favorite character had always been Captain Kirk, and he’d always teased Sam about being like his Mr. Spock, since he was so smart. He felt like the dog would be a sympathetic ear for his tales of exasperation with his cocky, reckless older brother.
“I think I’m gonna call you Bones,” he announced. It made sense for a dog, right? They liked bones! Plus, the poor guy had been practically skin and bones when Sam found him. Yeah, he liked that idea.
He settled back to watch the rest of the episode. It wasn’t one he remembered, and it was nice to watch something without Dean’s running commentary.
It didn’t fully sink in until after he shut off the television how quiet it actually was living alone. Dean was a fairly constant source of background noise, and things tended to get pretty loud when Sam’s opinion clashed with their dad’s. In the absence of any other people, the only sounds inside the room were Sam’s own heartbeat and breathing and panting from Bones.
“I’m glad you’re here, Bones,” Sam confessed. He ran his fingers through the dog’s fur. “I’ve never really been on my own before now, but I don’t have to be with you here. I bet you and I won’t fight over stupid things, either. You won’t call me dumb nicknames, or borrow my stuff without asking, or try to make me blindly follow arbitrary rules, or keep me from being normal like I want.”
Of course, a dog also couldn’t provide advice about dealing with shady property owners willing to let teens rent a place on their own, or figure out a way to make that crappy antenna pick up five channels perfectly using tinfoil, duct tape, and sheer willpower, or always have a plan ready to make some quick cash when his supply ran down. Sam huffed out a disgruntled sigh.
The dog sighed back and quirked his furry brows.
“Yeah, yeah.” Sam smiled. “I know--you’re a dog, not a therapist!” He snuggled up to the dog and let his mind drift off into sleep. Bones being just a dog was enough for him.