SPN: "The Last Book I Read"
Category: Supernatural
Title: Conversation Pieces: "The Last Book I Read"
Words: 316
Spoilers: None major, just for the show's setup in general.
"Dean, did Dad teach me to read?"
Dean raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"I can't remember. Learning to read, that is. I never could."
"And now it's bugging you?"
Sam shrugged, though he had to admit that Dean had a certain point. "I've just been thinking about it lately."
Dean sighed. "No. Dad didn't."
"Pastor Jim?"
"No."
"I couldn't have taught myself."
"You didn't."
"Then--"
"I did, I guess."
Sam stared at him. "You?"
"I can read, Sammy. I'm not a total moron."
"I didn't say that, Dean, but--"
"It wasn't hard. You were a smart kid. Still are, occasionally."
"But why didn't--"
"Dad had other things on his mind. Hell, Sam, he was a year late putting you in kindergarten, remember?" Sam nodded, remembering that awkward first day--the lone six-year-old surrounded by four- and five-year-olds. "Mom told me stories before bed, but I didn't have any. So I'd read to you. I guess eventually you started picking up words on your own."
"What'd you read?"
Dean shot him a sardonic look. "Gideon Bibles."
"Oh, like you could read those at age--" Dean shot him another look, and Sam skidded to a stop. "My God. You could read that? At that age?" Dean grinned. "When did you learn--"
"I don't remember."
"Dean!"
"Honestly, Sam, I don't remember. What, you're the only one who gets to be a prodigy?"
"Dad?"
"Doubt it. I could read before--before Mom died."
"Mom?"
Dean shrugged. "Yeah. Maybe. I told you, I don't remember, just seems I always knew how."
"But you never read--"
"That's because I got it all out of my system when I was editing the story of Jericho for you. I got tired of you asking me what a prostitute was."
"But--"
"Sammy. I taught you to read in self-defense, okay? Can we concentrate on the case now, please?"
Title: Conversation Pieces: "The Last Book I Read"
Words: 316
Spoilers: None major, just for the show's setup in general.
"Dean, did Dad teach me to read?"
Dean raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"I can't remember. Learning to read, that is. I never could."
"And now it's bugging you?"
Sam shrugged, though he had to admit that Dean had a certain point. "I've just been thinking about it lately."
Dean sighed. "No. Dad didn't."
"Pastor Jim?"
"No."
"I couldn't have taught myself."
"You didn't."
"Then--"
"I did, I guess."
Sam stared at him. "You?"
"I can read, Sammy. I'm not a total moron."
"I didn't say that, Dean, but--"
"It wasn't hard. You were a smart kid. Still are, occasionally."
"But why didn't--"
"Dad had other things on his mind. Hell, Sam, he was a year late putting you in kindergarten, remember?" Sam nodded, remembering that awkward first day--the lone six-year-old surrounded by four- and five-year-olds. "Mom told me stories before bed, but I didn't have any. So I'd read to you. I guess eventually you started picking up words on your own."
"What'd you read?"
Dean shot him a sardonic look. "Gideon Bibles."
"Oh, like you could read those at age--" Dean shot him another look, and Sam skidded to a stop. "My God. You could read that? At that age?" Dean grinned. "When did you learn--"
"I don't remember."
"Dean!"
"Honestly, Sam, I don't remember. What, you're the only one who gets to be a prodigy?"
"Dad?"
"Doubt it. I could read before--before Mom died."
"Mom?"
Dean shrugged. "Yeah. Maybe. I told you, I don't remember, just seems I always knew how."
"But you never read--"
"That's because I got it all out of my system when I was editing the story of Jericho for you. I got tired of you asking me what a prostitute was."
"But--"
"Sammy. I taught you to read in self-defense, okay? Can we concentrate on the case now, please?"