Rafikiven's Fanfic

SPN Fic: Abandoned (1/1)

rafikiven — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 01:33:11 GMT

Title: Abandoned
Category/genre: Gen, pre-series, hurt!dean
Rating: R for violence and swearing
Characters: Dean, John, mentions of Sam
Summary: Set immediately after Sam leaves for Stanford. John and Dean aren’t handling it well.
Warnings: Abusive!John, themes of past child abuse

Word Count: 1170
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters aren’t mine in any way. Boo.
Thanks to jackfan2 for the beta!

Abandoned

It’s as if the air got sucked out of the place with the slamming door. Neither he nor Dad move. Just stare at the empty cabin, not believing it really happened.

It feels all wrong. Sour. Sickly.

The feeling hangs there and roars in his ears. He only dares shallow breaths, as if maybe he doesn’t move that door will open and Sam will stroll back in and everything will be fine.

But soon the truth sinks in.

He’s gone.

Gone.gone.gone.gone.

He should have been able to stop him. Stop the fight. Smooth things over like always.

He belongs with us. Dad Dean Sam--fighting the good fight. Dean tries taking a deep breath but his chest won’t expand and where.the.fuck.is.all.the.air ?

He dares a look at Dad. He’s pacing now, then stops to pick up something, then changes his mind and goes back to pacing. Dad’s breathing so heavily his shoulders and chest rise with each breath. Probably about to hyperventilate. Seems he’s getting enough air for both of them.

Dad can’t handle this. Dean knows he can’t, not after Mom. Not after everything he’s done to protect them. Take care of them. And Sam threw it all back in his face. There’s a word for what Sam did to Dad. Betrayal. The word feels like a rotten knot of flesh lodged in his throat. Dean knows that’s how Dad sees it. Knows it’s killing him inside.

Knows what’s coming next.

And Dean’s glad for it.

The fight earlier got Dad all riled up. The anger’s pent up and ready to explode. Only a matter of when. Hell, it’d happen even without that half bottle of whiskey pumping through his veins.

Finally he stops pacing and hurls a lamp across the room. Crash. Bits of ceramic rain onto the TV. The end table is next. Dean’s disappointed it doesn’t break, it would have felt better if it’d broken.

He’s going for another lamp when Dean steps in front of him.

“Get outa my way.” Dad tries shoving him but Dean gets right back in his space.

His eyes are so full of hurt and rage that Dean bets he can’t even see straight.

“Get the fuck out of my way.” Dad’s hands curl into fists.

He doesn’t have to respond, just stand his ground for…one, two, three seconds. The punch lands on his cheek--bright light and pain radiates to the back of his head and he falls against the counter.

“You goddamn stay there if you know what’s good for you,” Dad says. But his eyes say differently.

He won’t be stopping.

Dean shakes the cloudiness from his vision and gets back in his face. Dad grabs him by the shirt and knocks him against the cabinets.

“I’m sorry about Sam,” he says and knows it’ll add fuel to the fire.

“Shut up,” Dad yells. Dirty dishes crash as Dad lifts him and throws him back again. Again and again. Swings him around and Dean catches his balance on the back of the couch and Dad’s on him again, throwing punches.

Dad needs this.

Dean needs this.

Should have been able to stop him from leaving. Sammy.Sammy.Sammy.Sammy. Another punch as the white lights explode behind his eyes.

In the drift he hears a soft, familiar sob coming from the next room. It’s just a memory, but it feels so real that he can almost picture him there, waiting it out, as Dean told him to do. That when it’s over, he’ll go in there and find him hiding under his covers. Wipe his tears and tell him it’s all right.

A knee to the gut knocks the wind out of him and Dad’s showing no signs of stopping.

Maybe this time he won’t stop until he’s gone too far.

Dean’s oddly okay with that thought. He smiles, his face half squished into the dingy carpet. And when did he land on the floor anyway?

“Disloyal. Little. Bastard.”

Dad’s not talking about him. He tunes out the rest.

He’s lost in his safe little pain-induced daze when a coherent thought floats by.

I’ve missed this.

And damn, then his brain is thinking again because who in their right mind would miss getting the shit beat out of them?

And then another thought pops in: He never realized the beatings had stopped. But they had. It’s been years since Dad has so much as slapped him.

When was the last time? Sante Fe? Boise? It was around the time Sam was learning to play the trumpet. Annoying as hell. All Sam did in those days was complain, play that damned instrument from hell, and eat them out of house and home. Though figures he ate so much since he grew to the size of fuckin’ Paul Bunyan that year.

Dean wakes up again because something’s different. It takes him a minute to figure it out--it’s over. He tries to move, but there’s no.fucking.way. He can’t get his eyes to cooperate, but can hear Dad near him. Hear him crying. Why’s he crying? Oh yeah. Sam. Sam left them. And oh hell that hurts, don’t think about that.

Then Dad’s right next to him, hand on his shoulder. Gentle fingers check his neck for a pulse. I’m fine, Dad. No biggie. Good as new in no time.

“Fuck,” Dad says and doesn’t make it to the bathroom before he’s throwing up.

He’s handling the Sam thing worse than Dean thought.

All in all, it’s not that bad. Some stitches, maybe a cracked rib or two. Dad’s got him propped up in front of the TV, remote in one hand, whiskey bottle in the other.

“Can you walk?” Dad asks.

“I think so.”

“Think so?”

“No, I can. I can walk.” Almost certain.

“Listen, there’s a week’s worth of TV dinners in the freezer.” Dad kneels in front of him, peels back the bandage over his temple and curses. “This one needs a couple of stitches after all.”

Dad pulls the kit back out and goes to disinfect the needle, but has trouble with the lighter.

He gets the nerve to mention it by the time Dad is finishing the stitches. “You broke your hand.”

Don’t feel so bad about it. Dad’s hunted with worse. It’s not your fault. It’s not. Not really.

He inspects his swollen knuckles, puts his hand in his coat pocket, and stands up, looking anywhere but at Dean. He leaves the first aid kit open on the coffee table with plenty of fresh bandages and finishes packing his bag in two minutes flat.

“I’ll see you in a couple of days,” he says and closes the door.

Dean stares at the closed door with an unsettling feeling that he ought to know something, but he can’t put his finger on it. Like that he should have put two and two together years ago. Something about Sam’s big growth spurt. About something stopping. He turns on the TV and settles into the couch, his head pounding. He’d rather not know.

.

Vid Rec: Come Little Children

rafikiven — Fri, 07 Oct 2011 17:44:36 GMT

This blew my mind.

Thanks to tahire for sharing.

TSCC Fic: Of Uncles and Canned Goods

rafikiven — Sun, 10 May 2009 15:55:33 GMT

Title: Of Uncles and Canned Goods

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Derek Reese and John Connor

Summary: John never would have guessed he’d come to understand Derek through cans of baked beans.

Warnings/Spoilers: Season 1 stuff

Word Count: 1600

Disclaimer: Terminator and its characters are not mine in any way. :-(

Author’s Note:

This story takes place some time in the first third of season two after they’ve settled in a bit into the new house and before Jessie comes into the picture. Thanks so much to missnyah for the awesome beta!

Part 1: Of Fathers and Grocery Stores

In his mind, the two looked the same—Derek and Kyle. He knew they didn’t really. He also knew he was being childish, imagining Derek as his father. No, he didn’t really do that. He didn’t cling to the fact that Derek was the closest he’d ever gotten to knowing Kyle. John was tagging along with him because he could learn from him. Derek knew about the resistance, he was a tool in John’s preparation. He wasn’t trying to get some time alone with Derek and pretend at being a normal guy, hanging out with the cool uncle.

Away from Mom and Cameron, Derek was that though: his uncle.

“I thought you had homework or something.” Derek was talking to him, cutting through the radio and the streams of thought in John’s head.

“Since when do you care about my homework?”

“I don’t. I figure you’d have something better than do than tag along on one of your mom’s menial errands.”

“Maybe I could use more “menial” in my life.”

Derek pulled into a parking place at the empty side of the lot.

“Maybe I wanted to get out of the house.”

Derek chuckled. “Can’t blame you on that one.” This, this was the Derek that never came around at home.

Derek grabbed a cart as they walked in.

“I thought Mom just sent you to get more moth balls.”

“Yeah, well, the pantry is getting bare and as much as I enjoy making explosives, you can’t eat the ingredients.”

When it came to shopping, Derek was oddly picky for a guy who seemed happy to eat anything. He was still on edge, he was always on edge. But it was just that he seemed more…content here among a hundred boxes of Rice-a-Roni. He read each box carefully before deciding on what to buy. In produce every piece of fruit was scrutinized.

“You act like you’ve never been to a grocery store before.”

Derek looked at him seriously. “I’ve been shopping. A couple of months ago.” He tossed a package of rice into the cart. This rice must have passed his inspection.

Yeah, John knew that Derek had shopped before. The guy shopped with confidence, efficiency. He insisted on certain standards. John figured he’d be that kind of soldier too, a good guy to have on your team.

But when they got to the canned foods section Derek’s scrutiny ended. He grabbed an armful of tuna in yellow cans and didn’t give the other options a second glance. He took every can they had of that one particular brand. John stood there with his mouth half-open as Derek moved passed tuna and armful after armful of canned goods landed in the cart.

When Derek had finally placed his last armful in he glanced at John for the first time. “What?”

“Uh, I think now I know why Mom never sent you shopping before.”

Derek elected not to respond, but a couple of seconds later made a show of taking a single can of baked beans out of the cart and placing it back on the shelf. “There. Happy now?”

John laughed. “I hate baked beans. Look at this cart, you have about 20 cans of baked beans, more than anything else.”

“Do I?” Derek looked down at the cart. “You know what? I hate them too.”

“Let’s put ‘em back,” John said.

Derek’s grin faded and he watched a lady with a couple of kids hanging out of her cart pass them before he spoke. “You’re right. I should put them back.”

He just stood there, staring at the cans. Finally he took a deep breath and started putting them away, slamming each can back on the shelf.

“We don’t have to put them back. Mom might like them.”

Derek snorted and kept stacking cans.

“Give them to Cameron. She’ll eat anything.”

That earned a glare from Derek. John looked around nervously. For some reason Derek was angry at himself for stocking up on baked beans.

“The beans…you got them for Kyle, didn’t you?”

Derek gripped the edges of the cart, but then shrugged and looked back up as if nothing had happened. “You know,” he said, grinning, “I almost forgot the moth balls.”

Part 2: Of Brothers and Tuna Fish

After the baked beans incident and they came back home with enough food to feed an army…or survive a nuclear holocaust, Mom started sending Derek to the store more often. It seemed everyone was a lot happier with a fully-stocked fridge. Not that Mom had kept the cupboards bare, she just had other things to do and wasn’t used to feeding a sixteen-year-old, a cyborg, and a half-starved soldier from the future. Besides, her priorities at the store were always bomb-making supplies first, easiest thing for dinner second.

John tagged along whenever he could. Derek didn’t seem to mind. They developed a routine: go to target practice or shopping for ammo or occasionally have some ice cream at a park, then get groceries. Derek still stocked up on ridiculous amounts of canned goods every single time they shopped. It seemed he was running out of places to store it all because John had recently discovered a case of cans under his bed.

Most of the time, these outings were when Derek was at his most peaceful. He’d joke and occasionally tell John stories about the future, about Kyle. Some days, though, Derek was somewhere else. He’d be quiet and irritable the whole time, if he let John tag along at all. Those were the days he bought the most cans.

This was one of those days. Cameron was off following some dead-end lead on the Turk, which would normally put Derek in a better mood simply by nature of her absence, but John heard Mom and Derek yelling, fighting over God knows what.

A half an hour later John heard the front door slam and the truck start. He ran out just as Derek was pulling out.

“Can I come with you? We’re out of shampoo.”

Derek gestured with his head toward the passenger side and John hopped in.

They drove in silence but John didn’t mind. He pictured the people in the other cars seeing them and assuming they were father and son. It was beyond stupid, but he did it anyway. Sometimes stupid things feel good.

Derek finally broke the silence in the store when he said, “Do you think red or green peppers are healthier?”

John felt like cracking up but restrained himself. “Buy both.”

Derek nodded and placed the veggies in a bag.

At the canned foods section Derek went into auto-pilot again. This time instead of letting him do his own thing, John grabbed a can of tuna out of his hand and placed it back on the shelf.

“What’re you doing?”

John grabbed a can for different brand of tuna. He liked this brand better than those damned yellow cans Derek kept buying, but that wasn’t really the reason he did it. “I like these better.”

“Oh yeah? Try it in 10 years and see how you like it.”

“I’m planning on eating it a bit sooner than that.”

“That kind’s no good. They cheaped out on it and it doesn’t last.”

“But I’m eating it tomorrow.”

“Damn it, Kyle! You want to get sick?”

Kyle?

Recognition hit Derek’s face. He looked around anxiously, but also, John thought, with realization of where he was, when he was. Derek turned and stormed off.

John found him outside later, after putting back the un-bought groceries they didn’t need anyway. Derek was sitting in front of the store, looking up at the sky. John stood next to him, unsure what to say.

“I’m sorry, John. For that.” Derek kept squinting towards the sun.

“You ready to drive me home?”

In the car Derek said, “we didn’t get that shampoo.”

“Yeah, that’s okay. I figure we can steal Mom’s.”

And that made Derek smile.

Part 3: Of Uncles and Canned Goods

A couple of weeks later Derek was showing John around the tunnels under the city, helping him become familiar with the layout and discussing the logistics of defending an attack.

They came across one spot, some kind of old utilities access box where Derek stopped mid-sentence and stared at the box. He ran his hands over it and looked around.

“What?”

“I remember this. I found a stash of food here when I was a kid.”

“Really? Here?”

“Yeah, it was good timing, too. We wouldn’t have made it much longer going without it.” Derek pried off the door. It was empty. No utilities and definitely no food.

“Someone probably stashed it there after judgment day,” said John.

“Yeah.”

“Or some homeless guy will.”

“Yeah.”

Derek snapped the door back on the box and went back to talking about tunnels as if the incident had never happened.

The next morning John woke up to the smell of waffles—Mom was expanding her breakfast repertoire.

“Oh, so you decided not to sleep all day?” Mom said.

John just grumbled and sat at the table. A certain someone who could always be counted on to show up whenever food was cooking was missing. “Where’s Derek?”

“Not here.” Mom and her damned non-answers.

Halfway through second helpings it dawned on John where Derek may be. He checked and his hunch was correct—a couple of cases of cans were missing.

When Derek got home, an empty baked beans case in hand, John said, “What if someone else was going to stash it there?”

Derek pulled a beer out of the fridge and took a swig. “I’d rather not risk it.”

End

T:SCC Fic: The Crazy 88

rafikiven — Tue, 11 Nov 2008 15:22:44 GMT

Title: The Crazy 88

Rating: PG

Characters: Derek Reese and Kyle Reese

Summary: A couple of years after Judgment Day, Derek shares memories of before with Kyle.

Warnings/Spoilers: None

Word Count: 400

Disclaimer: Terminator and its characters are not mine in any way. L I’m just borrowing the characters for this story.

Author’s Note: My first T:SCC fic! This is just a little ficlet that wanted to be written. Thank you to sabaceanbabe for the beta!

It was the little things he missed the most. Sure, you might say that he had a whole lot more to miss than Oreos and baseball games, but it was best not to think about the rest.

“Tell me again.”

Derek sighed and squinted at his brother in the near darkness. “Tell you again about what?”

Kyle pulled his knees to his chest and rocked forward on the balls of his feet. “I wanna hear about that movie again—the part with the Crazy 88.”

Derek grinned. His brother was nothing if not consistent. “So the Bride is in the hall, surrounded by the Crazy 88, armed only with her sword--”

“The best sword fight ever, right, Derek?”

“The best. So the music in this part is rockin’, right? And the Bride is in the center, yellow jumpsuit, see-through floor beneath her feet, a bunch of guys wearing black masks creeping towards her. Then…the music stops.”

“And they attack!” There was a pause while Kyle thought about the movie. “Lots of blood, right, Derek?” He rocked back and forth with excitement.

“Tons.” There was a part of him that felt guilty about sharing all these violent old movies with his kid brother, but Kyle loved hearing about them almost as much as Derek loved remembering them.

“And the Crazy 88, they just kept coming, didn’t they?”

Derek nodded.

“And the Bride, she fought every single one of them off, didn’t she?”

“Every last one.”

“Other people might have given up.”

“But she didn’t.”

“And you watched it with Dad, right?”

Derek didn’t say anything and Kyle changed the subject. “And what kind of junk food did you eat? Did you have popcorn?”

“Yep, popcorn and Junior Mints. Nothing better than popcorn and Junior Mints.”

Kyle closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tunnel wall. “That sounds so good right now.” He swallowed and that familiar feeling crept into Derek’s gut as he thought about how sunken his brother’s face looked, how unhealthy.

“Thirsty?”

Kyle shook his head, but Derek screwed off the lid to the Thermos anyway and held it to the boy’s lips. Kyle drank slowly and finally opened his eyes. “I was too young to watch that movie, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah Kyle, you were too young.”

SPN Fic: The Wellington Fort (Part 3/3)

rafikiven — Sat, 13 Sep 2008 00:42:13 GMT

Hi, been having a lot of trouble posting this and have done a lot of cutting and pasting. I've read through it, but if u see anything wonky plz let me know!

Title: The Wellington Fort
Category: Gen, pre-series

Rating: PG-13 to R (for subject matter and language)

Characters: Dean, Sam, John
Summary: The way Dean told it that summer was the best of their lives. For Sam, it was the summer he stopped believing in heroes. 9-year-old Sam and 13-year-old Dean.

Warnings: Swearing. Themes of child abuse. Hurt Dean and Hurt Sam. Some serious Dean angst in this chapter, folks.

Word Count: 2440 (this section), 6400 (whole story)
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of its creators and the CW network.

Author’s Note:

This is Part 3 of a 3 part story. Part 1 can be found here and Part 2 can be found here. A big thanks to kokoda2007 for the beta.

Part 3

Sam enjoyed the clink-ring sound of his cereal hitting glass as he poured it into his bowl. He was happy and looking forward to the day. He and Dean were finally going check out the new Batman movie and then Dean was going to buy him some little army men to play with at the fort. He’d seen a whole bag of them for a dollar at the corner store the week before. They hadn’t had any money with them then, but Dean promised they’d come back and buy them later.

“Dude, you better not have finished off my frosted flakes!” Dean said as he trudged into the kitchen. Dean and mornings weren’t friends.

Sam slurped some flakes, “waa waa.”

Dad came through the room carrying his duffle. He stopped halfway out the backdoor. “I need you boys to pack and be ready to go by tonight. Pete called about a spook near Salt Lake City and has a place for us to stay for a while.”

“Today? I thought we were going to stay here longer!” Sam was not happy anymore. Not one bit.

Dean just stood staring at Dad halfway between the cupboard and the table with cereal bowl in one hand and spoon in the other.

“That’s just how it goes, son.” said Dad.

“But our fort’s here.” said Dean with no inflection in his voice. This had to have been the first time Dean ever expressed a desire to stay longer in one place.

Dad just pulled the door shut behind him and hollered back, “make sure you boys get packed and stay close to home!”

They’d never lived in a place as cool as Wellington and they had their fort and Sam was going to parachute army men off its wall! He slid his cereal bowl across the table as hard as he could so it slammed into the cabinet and fell to the floor in a satisfying crash.

“You’re cleaning that up,” said Dean absently. He was still staring at the back door as if he was still trying to process what Dad had said.

Tears streamed down Sam’s face and he laid his head against the table and covered it with his arms. He cried until he felt Dean’s hand rubbing his back.

“It’s okay, Sammy. How about we get our stuff all packed and then we’ll stop by the fort real quick before Dad gets back.”

Sam sniffled. He still wasn’t happy.

Dean stroked the wood’s smooth surface and scrubbed some bird crap off one of the logs with his sleeve. After Dean had wiped away Sam’s tears and helped him clean up his mess, he’d talked Sam into going over to the fort to see it one last time.

“Think about how happy some kid’s gonna to be when he finds this fort.” said Dean.

Sam didn’t like the idea of anyone else playing there.

“You don’t want it to just sit here going to waste, do you?”

He sniffled. “I guess not.”

“They’ll probably think of games to play here even you didn’t think of.”

“Ha.”

“Okay, maybe not. Think we should leave some kind of manual for them?” Dean asked. Sam laughed and Dean went with it. “The Wonderful Adventures at Wellington Fort.”

“Don’t forget Proper Care and Treatment.”

“Oh, of course. We won’t forget that. She must be washed at least once a week. And re-stained, what? Every other month okay?”

“No Dean, you built the fort for them, the least they could do is stain it every month.”

They sat shoulder to shoulder for several minutes, enjoying their last moments there.

“We’ll come back here one day, Sam. We’ll come back to Wellington Fort.”

“Okay.”

“You wanna race me back to the house?”

Sam got up and started running. “Last one there’s a rotten egg!”

It was times like these he knew Dean would let him win.

Dad was waiting for them and came outside as soon as they came into the yard. He didn’t look happy. “Where the hell have you been? I said I needed you boys to get packed and ready to go!”

Sam put his head down and looked at the hole at the end of his tennis shoe. He knew Dean would answer, knew Dean would help calm Dad down.

“Sorry, Sir, we were at the fort,” said Dean.

“Oh, you were playing--” Dad yelled.

Sam wanted to make him understand “Dad! We just wanted to go there one last time!”

Dad looked at Sam for the first time in all of this and Dean very slightly shifted so he was between them. Dad pulled Sam away from Dean by his arm. His grip was tight and his face so close to Sam he could feel Dad’s breath, “you get your ass inside and finish packing. Dean and I need a serious talk.”

The pressure let up on his arm and Sam ran into the house, straight to his lookout at the window. Dad didn’t even look back to see if he was spying this time.

“Dad, it’s hard on Sam to just pick up and leave without even one day’s notice.”

Dad just stood there with his hands on his hips and Sam figured Dean was really brave to be trying to explain at a time like this.

Finally Dad spoke, his voice sounded calm, but was vibrating with barely-contained anger. “Go on.”

Dean glanced up, but went back to looking at his toes real quick when he saw Dad’s expression. “Wellington has been special Dad. We have our fort here.”

“Aha, that’s what I was waiting to hear. You know what I think?”

Dean shook his head.

“I think this isn’t about Sammy at all. I think it’s about this obsession you have with the fort.”

Dean looked up at him, not understanding what he was talking about.

“You think I don’t know how much time you spend there? You’re fucking NOT a little kid anymore. God, your 13 years old and acting like you’re younger than Sam, running to your hiding place any time things go wrong. I asked you to stay at home. Do you know what your childishness has cost? Do you know?” Dad grabbed Dean by his jaw and forced him to look up at him.

“No, Sir!”

“I tried to call you from town, but there was no answer at home. When I ask you to stay at home until I get back I expect that order to be followed. How long were you gone?”

“It couldn’t have been fifteen minutes!”

Dad slapped Dean across the face and he fell to the ground, but Dean didn’t cry. He just got up and stood in front of Dad, hands clasped behind his back and his head down.

Dad seemed a bit calmer. “Those are fifteen damn minutes when I needed you, Dean. I thought I’d made a breakthrough in the case research and needed to call a hoo doo expert, but the number was at home. You need to decide if you want to be a damn kid or if you’re going to step up and be a real help to this family.”

“Yes, Sir,” said Dean.

“Clean yourself up and get inside. It’s time for lunch.”

“Yes, Sir.” Dean brushed the dirt off his jeans and t-shirt and wiped his nose where Sam was pretty sure it was bleeding.

Sam ran to the fridge and pretended to be searching for food when Dad came in.

“Get the hotdogs out, Sammy.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Throughout lunch it was pretty easy to see that Dean wasn’t okay. His hands shook and he barely ate anything.

Even after lunch when they went to their room Dean refused to say anything at all and he just lay down on his bed and pulled a pillow over his head. About twenty minutes later they were both roused by Dad’s angry voice coming from the living room.

“Dean! Get your ass in here!”

Dean jumped up and told Sam to stay there.

Sam gripped his book, listening to Dad yelling to Dean about needing to grow up, but finally couldn’t just hide in his room anymore. He was just in time to see Dad going to hit Dean and Sam flinched because he knew the blow was going to be bad, but it didn’t happen. On instinct, Dean had avoided the blow and struck back, a move Dad had them practice a thousand times. To use it now, though, it was the unthinkable.

Dean gasped at what he’d done and Dad was furious. He went full force at Dean and shoved him into the end table and its contents crashed to the floor.

“Get out the Hell out of my sight!” Dad yelled at Dean. After the screen door slammed and Dean’s footsteps could no longer be heard, Dad turned to Sam and said, “what are you looking at?”

A half an hour later Dean still hadn’t come back. Dad drove off and told Sam to stay there until he got home, but Sam was worried about Dean.

He ran down the path towards the fort but slowed down before he got there when he heard the noise. It sounded like that deer they’d found caught in a snare in Minnesota. He crept towards the noise and realized it was the sound of someone pounding, of wood splintering, and worst was the sound of his brother.

“Son of a bitch. Mother-fucker.” Dean was saying through tears.

Sam wanted to run up to Dean and scream at him to stop. Stop cursing, stop hitting, stop crying. But he didn’t because he’d never seen his brother like this before. He hid in the trees and got close enough to see that his brother had taken a two by four to the fort.

“Fucker,” slam, “Piece of shit,” slam. The front wall was nearly down.

Dean was destroying their fort, their hiding spot. The place Dean loved more than any place in the world. Dean dropped the two by four and used his body to attack what was still standing, as if using a two by four wasn’t personal enough, he had to use his own body. He wanted to feel it.

Sam stood there in horror as Dean finally collapsed, laboring to breathe. He cradled his own head and blood streamed down his arms. He was sweaty and he was sobbing. Dean didn’t cry. Never. Not like this.

Dad did this. Dad did this to Dean. Sam’s fists clenched and his knuckles turned white. If Dad really did know everything he’d know how much he hurt Dean and he would stop. So Dad couldn’t possibly know everything. So if Dad didn’t know everything that also meant he wasn’t always right. And Dad wasn’t right in this.

He waited quietly until Dean finally stopped crying and headed back toward the house. For a long time after Dean was gone Sam just stood there in the woods.

This was important, what happened in their lives that day and something told him that his life would never be the same. He’d never look at Dad the same way. He wandered back to the house near dinner time, nervous about facing Dean knowing what he now knew.

His brother was freshly showered and the only evidence from the incident at the fort was Band-Aids on Dean’s knuckles.

“Hey bitch! Where did you come from? I figured you’d left with Dad.”

“I didn’t.”

Dean’s expression said ‘well, duh.’

“Oh, dude. You know what I found out about Utah? Polygamy. That means lots of chicks for one guy!” Dean was shoving his dirty clothes into his bag.

“Dean, don’t you want to talk?”

“About what?” Dean grinned as he showed Sam the Playboy he was packing.

“About what happened with Dad?”

“Oh, geez, Sam. You better not want to talk about feelings. Don’t worry about Dad.” Dean shrugged. “I don’t.”

“Yes you do.”

“Jesus, Sam. You keep talking like this and you really will turn into a girl.”

“What happened to your hands?”

Dean’s smile faded, but came back just as quickly. “Oh, this? That dick with the skateboard--I had to teach him a lesson.”

Sam kicked the doorframe. “Stop it, Dean. Dad’s not right all the time don’t you get that?”

Dean stopped smiling for real this time and sat down on the stained mattress. “So what if Dad’s not always right?”

“What?”

“Nobody’s perfect. He tries his best. And for that we grit our teeth and try our damndest to do what he needs us to do. We’re family.”

They heard the Impala pulling up. “That’ll be Dad,” said Dean. “Listen, Sam. I know how much you want the world to be perfect but it isn’t. There are going to be a lot of changes. I’m not a kid anymore.”

Dad’s voice came from the front door. “It’s quittin’ time! Come on boys, let’s hit the road. Utah is calling!”

“Be right there!” Dean got up and shouldered his bag.

“So you’re all right?”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I got my kid brother right here to carry my bag for me.” Dean tossed the bag at Sam who barely caught it in time.

As they drove away Sam watched the back trail as it meandered through the field. Dad and Dean were discussing the latest hunt. When they passed the forest Sam strained to get one last look. If Dean noticed what they were passing he made no indication, made no attempt at one final goodbye. There, through the trees, Sam saw the small clearing and the pile of lumber that had once been their Wellington Fort.

Tears stung Sam’s eyes and he closed them and laid his head back against the seat. It was going to be a long drive.

End

SPN Fic: The Wellington Fort (Part 2/3)

rafikiven — Thu, 11 Sep 2008 17:31:48 GMT

Title: The Wellington Fort
Category: Gen, pre-series

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Swearing. Themes of child abuse. Hurt Dean

Word Count: 1560 (this section)
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of its creators and the CW network.

Author’s Note:

This is Part 2 of a 3 part story. Part 1 can be found here. A big thanks to kokoda2007 for the beta.

Part 2

Sam sat bored out of his mind in the backseat of the Impala. Dad got a call about some killings in North Dakota and had needed to leave without much notice. He needed Dean’s help so that meant Sam got to go along too since they wouldn’t have time to drop him off with anyone. As if he wasn’t nine years old and old enough to take care of himself.

“So then Caleb stumbles inside, completely wasted by this point, and yells ‘don’t turn on the chipper.’ ” Dad finished his story and Dean threw his head back against the headrest and laughed.

Dad’s eyes were bright and he winked at Sam in the rear-view mirror. “What do you think about that, kiddo? Pretty good, right?”

“Yeah.” Sam laughed a bit, but hadn’t been paying attention.

“Oooh, Dad, how about that time in the corps when that guy super-glued his hand to his rifle?”

“Oh yeah, that’s a good one. So it was fuckin’ hot that day and…”

Sam let the voices of his dad and brother and the rumble of the engine lull him to sleep.

“Sammy, wake up! Bathroom break. I already let you stay sleeping while I went in.”

He woke up to Dean tossing his shoe at him. “Gross, you jerk. I don’t want your stinky shoe.” He pretended to choke. “Can’t breathe. Need. Air.”

“Hurry and pee, dude, Dad’s already done pumping the gas.”

“I don’t have to pee.”

“Go when you can not when you have to,” said Dean.

Sam groaned. That was one of Dad’s favorite lines. “Fine, DAD.”

“When did my adorable little brother turn into such a smart ass? You’re not going to help me pick up chicks being a smart ass. You need to stay adorable. ‘Oh, what a cute little brother you have there. Why don’t we go make out?’” Dean said using an overly high-pitched voice. He pinched Sam’s cheeks a lot harder than any girl would.

“Quit it.”

“Fine, I’m going in to the gas-mart to grab something for dinner. What do you want, cutie-pie?” That last bit came out all high-pitched again. For some reason Dean’s girl voice had a southern accent.

“Boys!” came Dad’s voice from the gas pumps. “Stop messing around!”

Sam and Dean jumped out of the car and started towards the building.

“Dean, come here.” Dad pointed to the ground right in front of his feet.

Before Sam went into the store he looked back and saw Dad grab a hold of Dean’s arm and yank him close enough to talk to him right in his face. He hurried in the bathroom and when he came back outside Dad still held Dean’s arm with one hand and was shaking his finger at him with the other.

“Get in the damn car,” said Dad.

He got in the backseat and knew better than to ask about dinner. Dean and Dad got in shortly after and they were back on the road. Everyone was silent and hardly moved for several minutes until Dean went through their backpack and pulled out a couple of granola bars for him. “Sorry, Sam. That’s all we have.”

Dad said, “Maybe next time you’ll remember we don’t have all damn night to get to Bismarck. That spook could kill someone else tonight, you know.”

Sam stopped chewing his bar, not hungry anymore. His brother was sitting tensely in the front seat, staring straight ahead. He used to think that nothing ever got to him. He and Dad could take anything. Sam realized that Dean was acting just like he did whenever he felt bad and hid out at the fort. Dean was hiding now, right there in the front seat. Even though Dean didn’t cry or say anything or do anything like Sam would have, he still had those feelings.

Sam dropped the second granola over the seat so it landed next to Dean.

“That’s kind of you, Sam, but Dean has a lesson to learn here.”

Why was it always Dean who had to learn these lessons? “I’m not hungry anymore.”

“Fine. Dean, put it away for Sam to eat when he decides he is hungry.”

Dean went to put the granola bar away and it made Sam so mad he couldn’t stand it. Why did Dean just take it when Dad was like this?

His eyes burned and his heart thumped. “No, that’s stupid! Why can’t Dean have it if I can? We’re sorry we were slow. Dean’s sorry!”

“That’s enough!”

He shut up but tears streamed down his face.

“You’re nine years old, damn it. You’re too old to be acting like this.”

So he was too old to act like a baby but still too young for anything else? His frustration got the better of him and he kicked the back of the seats.

Dad swatted his leg. “If I have to stop this car, so help me God…” He didn’t finish.

“I’ll take care of him,” said Dean as Sam curled up in the backseat crying. Dean jumped over the seats and pulled Sam’s legs into his lap. “Sammy, I ever tell you about that time in Arkansas when that kid tried to take my backpack?”

He didn’t answer, but Dean wasn’t looking for a response.

“That kid had serious issues, man. Warner. Ha, even his name sounds like a Jackass.”

So just like that, things went back to normal. Sam woke up some time later when Dean climbed back into the front seat.

“He asleep?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks, Dean. I can always count on you, son.” Dad clapped his hand on Dean’s leg and Dean smiled.

Maybe Sam had overreacted. Dad did his best, right? Dean always got the worst of it and he always made sure Sam knew Dad always did what was best for them. There weren’t a lot of dads that took care of their kids like Dad did. He fell asleep promising himself he’d try harder.

They’d been home from the salt and burn in North Dakota for a couple of days and were jogging on the trail in the early-morning sun when Sam started thinking about it again. Sam picked up on a lot that went on with his family, a lot more than even Dean knew. He knew that Dad never got mad at him like he got mad at Dean. He always thought it was because Dean was such a screw-up, but he was beginning to realize that a lot of things that he did, had Dean done them, he’d have gotten in big trouble for. It must be because Dean’s older. Dad will probably be this hard on him when he gets to be Dean’s age.

Dean had slowed his pace so Sam could catch up. He pumped his legs harder and ran up along his brother.

“Don’t be a pussy now, Sammy, we’re almost done.”

“I’m not. Being. A.” huff “Pussy.” Thankfully Dean slowed to a stop and Sam leaned over with his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

“Whew, some run, huh? We ran for longer today.”

“No shit.” said Sam.

“Boy!” Dean did a perfect impression of Dad. “God damn it, you watch your language!”

Sam laughed as much as he could given he was out of breath, but then got serious and looked up at Dean who was sporting more evidence that he’d gotten in trouble with Dad some time this morning. “Why’d he hit you?”

Dean stopped smiling and brushed sweat off his brow and leaned back against a tree. “Shit, Sam, why d’you always have to bring up stuff like that? I got in trouble of course, why else would he hit me?”

Of course. Why else did Dad ever hit them? Sam could count on one hand the times Dad had hit him and even though he didn’t like admitting it, he probably deserved it every time. The last time was around Christmas time when he got mad because Dad wouldn’t let him go to a friend’s Christmas party. He’d jumped out of the Impala at a stop light and ended up getting in some trouble in a bad neighborhood. What did this breach in obedience and subsequent trouble illicit from Dad? A stern warning and a calm “this is for your own good” before getting a few wallops from the belt. Sitting down wasn’t pleasant afterwards, but he doubted if it even bruised. Had Dad said “this is for your own good” and calmly hit Dean across the face? Sam doubted it. Had Dean done something as bad as the Christmas stop-light incident? Sam really doubted that one.

Click here to continue to Part 3

SPN Fic: The Wellington Fort (Part 1/3)

rafikiven — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 21:12:02 GMT

Title: The Wellington Fort
Category: Gen, pre-series

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Themes of child abuse. Swearing.

Word Count: 2700 (this section)
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of its creators and the CW network.

Author’s Note: The John in this story is by no means a monster, but an imperfect parent who is dealing with his problems in the wrong way. Please don’t think that this is my only view of John. This is just a possible John.

This fic was beta’d by the fabulous kokoda2007 and today happens to be her birthday. Happy birthday!

The Wellington Fort

Years later, when Sam thought about the most significant periods of his life, he’d always come back to that summer they’d spent in northern Colorado. Dean would occasionally tell stories about it and always start the story with “remember that summer with the Wellington fort…” The way Dean told it, the summer was the best of their lives. They both did a lot of growing up during those months and Sam figured it was in essence the last summer of Dean’s childhood. Perhaps that was why Dean only remembered the good parts.

For Sam, it was the summer he stopped believing in heroes.

He sat on the ground wiggling his loose tooth and tried to pay attention. He and Dean sat facing their dad, who was sitting on a tree stump teaching them something that was probably important. Dean leaned forward, nodding and concentrating on Dad’s every word. Sam figured the cloud behind Dad’s head looked like a sword and Dad’s head was about to get chopped off.

“You listening, Sam? Because I don’t wanna say all this again.”

“Yes, sir.” He straightened up.

Dean snickered.

“Don’t underestimate the value of fortification. I can think of three examples from the last six months where I’d have been toast if I’d forgotten the tactics of fortifying my position.”

“Like with that werewolf when we stacked the desks in the corner,” Dean said.

“Precisely,” Dad said absently and continued.

Dean grinned and shoved Sam who had gone back to wiggling his tooth. Dean always got everything. It especially wasn’t fair now because Sam didn’t even get to go on that hunt with the werewolf, how was he supposed to know about it?

He decided he liked May in Wellington, Colorado. It was a lot warmer than May in St. Paul where they’d finished out the school year. Dad said they could stay here for a while and Sam was glad. Dad also said they were going to get a surprise and it had to have something to do with that pile of lumber they’d hauled out here.

Dean elbowed him.

He and Dad were both staring at him.

“What?”

“I just asked you if you know the two types of fortifications?”

Sam did his best impression of Dean’s thinking face and was wondering if he looked like him when Dad said, “well?”

Two types of fortifications, two types of fortifications. “Castles and forts?”

“Good try…”

Dean leaned over to him. “Sammy, I’m so glad we’re not in this field permanently.

Dean could really make it hard to concentrate sometimes.

“Did I ask you to help him?” Dad said.

“No, sir.”

“Good forts and bad forts?”

Dean laughed and even Dad cracked a smile. “Well, I guess that’s probably true, son. But the two types are permanent fortifications and field fortifications.” Dad paused to make sure Sam was still paying attention. “Field fortifications are built in the field with whatever materials are available and will only be used for a short period of time.”

“Like the desks!”

“Good, Sammy.”

He loved it when he made Dad happy, truly happy. When that happened Dad’s eyes smiled. Dean adjusted his shirt and fidgeted. He was jealous but he didn’t know anyone caught on to that, especially not Sammy.

“We don’t have much use for permanent fortifications, but it’s important to learn about them nonetheless and the fighting tactics are the same regardless.”

Sam sighed. It was important for them to learn about everything. The sword in the clouds above Dad’s head had morphed into a crown. He leaned over to one side so the crown fit over Dad’s head. Dad needed a crown, heroes need crowns.

Dad kept talking about fort tactics, but Sam’s mind wandered again. They’d only been in Wellington for a couple of days, but he figured it was just about perfect. Wellington was good for hunting because it was close to a lot of things like Denver and the Rocky Mountains and Wyoming. Best of all though, Dad had said, it was still in the country so the boys could train easier. Their house wasn’t too bad. It didn’t have a TV, but Sam wouldn’t miss it since the yard backed up to the countryside. There was a trail which cut through the fields and into a wooded area and then looped back again.

“OK, so here’s my surprise. We brought these tools and lumber out here for a reason…”

Sam figured it out. “Are we going to get to build a fort?”

“That you are, Sammy.” Dad was smiling again. “Though it’s not all fun and games, boys. We’ll be using it to train. You’d better build it to last.”

Dean got up and inspected the lumber and Dad clapped his hand down on Dean’s shoulder and smiled. “Every boy needs a fort some time, Dean. It’s a requirement of childhood.”

Sam couldn’t wait to start building, but Dad explained the strategic importance of location and he and Dean spent an hour figuring out the best place to put the darn thing. Dean finally settled on a spot in the woods that was on the top of a little hill. From there it was possible to see the occasional car passing on the road, but only barely because of the trees. It also wasn’t too far from the back path that they ran laps on every day.

Dad helped for the first hour or so but then left them to it. Dean gave Sam baby jobs like ‘hold this board here while I nail it’ or ‘organize the nails by size.’

“Why do you keep writing notes, just build it! Dad’s not watching anymore.”

“Everything in its own time, Sammy. Every piece has to fit exactly to the plan.”

“God. And you call me a nerd.”

Dean smacked him on the back of his head.

His brother spent every free moment of the next week working on that fort. He loved it. Sam loved it too, but for Dean it was different. He wanted it to be perfect. He sanded every inch so that it was baby-smooth. “Splinter-free” he’d said. He’d even cut out a few secret hiding places, “for ammo.” Sam knew of one of them, but was pretty sure there were more, although try as he might, he never found them.

Training was always hardest in the summer and this was no different, but Dad gave them special training around the fort which was fun and the fort itself became their spot. Whenever they didn’t have to do anything else, that’s where they’d go. Dean called it their “secret spot” but secret from whom he never really said. Sam thought it was because, just like how every kid needed a fort, every kid also needed a secret spot, a safe spot that was theirs alone.

Training continued even when Dad was away. Dean made sure of it.

“Come on, one more try, Sammy.”

Sam let himself collapse, breathing heavily. Dean was trying to teach a hand-to-hand combat combination Dad had said Sam should have already learned. They’d started working on the darn combo back in St. Paul and despite working on it for hours, he still didn’t have it.

“Dean, I’m too tired.”

“Naw, you can do it. Think about how happy Dad’ll be with you when you can do it by the time he gets home.”

“I’m never going to get it.” Sam smacked his hand on the dirt.

“Sure you will.”

“Dean, how old were you when you learned it?”

“That doesn’t matter. Besides, how the hell should I know how old I was?”

“But you do, Dean. I heard Dad telling you that you learned this move when you were seven!” Sam’s breath caught in his chest. He was never going to be as good as Dean.

“Come on, don’t feel bad. Think about how good you are at Latin compared to me and I’m thirteen.”

“Dad’s going to be pissed I don’t have it yet.”

“Don’t worry about Dad. Let me deal with him. Just do it for me because I know you can do it. Do it so that one day you’ll kick my ass. How’s that sound?”

Sam sniffled. “Pretty good.”

Sam couldn’t believe it, but Dean was right, he did get the combo down by the time Dad got home. Even after he got it Dean made them keep practicing it so he would get it perfect. He was really excited to show Dad, but knew Dean was even more excited, not that Dean would ever want to actually let on how excited he was. Dean was much too cool for that.

They were at the fort when Dad got back, Dean was watching out for him and saw the Impala drive by down at the road so they jogged home to meet him. The road circled around the long way so they weren’t even winded by the time Dad pulled up.

Sam jumped over to him when the car rolled to a stop. “I learned it, Dad! I can do it now!”

“Good Sammy,” he patted Sam’s shoulder and strode passed him. “You got dinner ready yet, Dean?”

“Um, no sir. I didn’t know when you’d be home. Sam and I already ate, but there are leftovers in the fridge…”

“You couldn’t even wait until seven to eat?”

Sam and Dean stood just inside the door and watched their dad pull out the container and eat the cold spaghetti. Yuck, how could his dad eat things like that?

“So sparring after dinner, boys? Going to show me Sam’s new combo?”

“Yes sir!” Seems Dean forgot to act like Mr. Cool for a minute now that Dad was home.

Dad put the dish in the sink without rinsing it. Dad was allowed to do things like that. “Ready boys?”

Outside Dean circled Sam and after a few warm-up thrusts, led him into his combo. Sam did it! He might have had his form a little off, but he still got all the important stuff. Dean smiled big and they turned to Dad. His expression was hard to read.

“Good, Sam. When you practice it, work on keeping your left arm higher and don’t have your feet so close together. But I’m proud of you, son.”

Sam was happy, although he saw that Dean wasn’t smiling anymore. Sam went inside, but watched from the open kitchen window. Dad glanced back at the house but didn’t see him.

“Dean, I thought I told you how important it was that he learns this?”

Sam felt as if cement had been poured into his chest. He thought he had learned it.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“He was dropping his left arm. His feet were too close together. What, you just work on it for an hour and thought that was OK? I need you boys strong. I need you boys able to defend yourselves. I don’t need you slacking off when you should be helping your brother.”

I know I didn’t do it perfectly, but I could do it right next time, thought Sam. Dean should tell Dad he told me how to do it right and we practiced for hours and hours.

Dean kept his head down and his shoulders hunched forward. Why doesn’t Dean say anything?

Dad continued, “Listen, I had a tough hunt and I’m tired. I’m sorry I have to be hard on you, but I fucking expect more from you, Dean. Stop being such a disappointment and step up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sam jumped down and got to the kitchen sink just in time for Dad to come into the house. Dad went straight to his room and slammed the door and Sam looked out again and saw Dean wiping something off his cheek and then heading out along the trail. He turned off the faucet and ran out the back door. “Be back in a minute!” he yelled to Dad.

Sam followed Dean all the way to the fort where Dean just sat for what seemed like ages. Finally Sam came up to him.

“Hey.”

Dean looked up and grinned. “Hey there!” There was no sign of any tears. You’d think Sam had just imagined it.

Sam thought about asking why Dad got so mad and why Dean didn’t tell Dad how many times he’d made him practice that combo, but he knew there had to be a good reason and it would only piss off Dean if he asked.

“You shouldn’t have come out here all by yourself.” Dean sighed. “Do you wanna work on that combo a bit more, buddy?”

Sam didn’t really want to work on it anymore, especially not after Dad yelled, but he just shrugged.

Dean got to his feet and they sparred there at the fort until nightfall. Sam couldn’t believe how darn chipper Dean was acting as they did the combo over and over and over again until they heard Dad calling them to come in for the night.

A couple of days later they’d finished morning training and had a couple of hours to kill and went to the fort. Now that it was finished and not even Mr. Perfectionist could do any more tinkering, Dean would just hang out there, reading magazines or sharpening sticks with his knife. This day he just sat in it, watching the chipmunks scurry around and Sam playing a game he made up about pirates and pirate ships.

Finally Dean picked up a stick and did some sword fighting with Sam. It was great, Sam barely remembered a time when Dean actually played with him.

“Okay, Peg-leg Joe, Dad said to be back by two. Let’s get your ass back to the house before I decide to cut your other leg off.”

Sam laughed. “Thanks for playing, Dean. It was fun.”

Dean ruffled Sam’s hair. “Yeah, bitch, I guess it was.”

-O-

Sam knew he was a pretty smart kid, regardless of what Dean might say, and he picked up on a lot that went on around their house. He knew that Dean would do anything in the world to make Dad happy. Dad was his hero. He knew that nothing in the world made Dean feel worse than when Dad was mad at him.

That’s why they were sitting here now, at the fort. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that any time Dean felt bad he went to the fort. Sam and Dean had been here for a couple of hours now, not doing much. They were currently tossing a tennis ball back and forth.

Dean was sporting a nasty bruise on his left cheek and even though Sam wasn’t there to see it, he knew it was from Dad. Dean must have done something bad, because Dad only ever hit them when they were really bad.

“Wanna go into town later? We could sneak into the new Batman movie?” Sam said.

“Na, it’s better here.” Dean squinted up towards the sunlight filtering through the leaves.

“Damn right it’s better here!”

Both boys jumped at the sound of Dad’s voice.

Dean stood up quickly and brushed dirt off his jeans. “Sorry sir, I didn’t hear you come up.”

Dad was grinning. “Who needs movies when you’ve got a good old fashioned water balloon fight brewing with the old man?”

It was amazing how quickly Dad could go from irritable to this version of Dad. A red streak flashed past Sam and then a splash hit him as the water balloon hit Dean’s chest.

“Ah!” Dean squeezed the water out of his shirt and grinned. “Awesome!”

Dad handed Dean a couple of plastic bags filled with water balloons. “OK boys. It’s you two against me. Your base is the fort. Mine is that big tree trunk over there. You have five minutes to get ready.”

Excitement squeezed at Sam’s stomach. They had the best Dad ever.

On to Part 2...

SPN Fic 7 (1/1)

rafikiven — Thu, 04 Sep 2008 02:43:22 GMT

Title: The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep

Category: Futurefic, Darkfic

Rating: PG-13

Characters: Dean

Summary: Post-apocalypse snow, woods that are lovely and dark and deep…do I really need a summary for a 630-word fic?

Warnings: Post-apocalypse, Darkfic

Word Count: 630

Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of its creators and the CW network.

Author’s Note: I was reading Robert Frost and got inspired to write a fic. And this is what came out! Go figure.

A special thanks to my beta kokoda2007 who is so awesome.

The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost

Dean takes a deep breath and enjoys the feel of the air stinging his lungs as he trudges through the snow. The snow’s falling so thickly that it’s difficult to see the old road sign just a few feet ahead, but that doesn’t bother him. In a couple more years most of those signs will be gone anyway and he knows his way around.

Dean slings his rifle over his shoulder and lights himself a smoke. There’s blood smeared on the back of his hand, a splatter from earlier he’d neglected to clean off. For a moment that terrible pain’s back, the one that feels like a dozen fishhooks pulling inside his gut. He takes another deep breath and wills it to go away.

He kicks snow off a tree trunk and sits down so he can clean off the blood and finish his cigarette. He’s glad he’s on his last stop so he can head back before the snow gets too deep.

There are thick woods lining the old highway. In this light the bare trees look like wise old men, silent witnesses to the destruction of man. The utter stillness is so peaceful he could just stay here on this log, stay here and let the cold take him.

It’s almost Christmas. Dean can’t believe that it’s almost been two years since Sammy brought him back, since Sammy sacrificed everything.

He jogs the next quarter mile but slows to a walk again when he sees the lights of the farmhouse ahead. Looks like a God-damn Kinkade painting.

He circles around the house and there’s only an old man in there. The militia isn’t in the farmhouse then, but he knows they’re here.

He hammers on the door of a small shack behind the main house. “Bobby Singer sent me,” he yells.

There’s a sound of metal against metal as a barricade is lifted, this shack may look rickety, but it’s serious shit.

The door opens just a crack and someone splashes holy water on Dean. Then the door opens wider and he’s allowed to step over the salt line. He’s led into a cellar crammed full of people. There are boxes of food stacked in one corner and an arsenal hanging on the wall. There’s a picture of Sammy and written across his face in red paint is one word—antichrist.

There’s a small boy huddled in the corner holding on to his little sister, a blanket across their shoulders. Dean looks away from them and the pain in his stomach weakens to a dull ache. He un-slings his automatic and opens fire.

When he gets back on the road the snow is still falling in giant flakes. His hands shake, but he lights up a smoke and takes in a deep breath, enjoying the feel of the air in his chest. It’s strangely quiet out on the road where even his footsteps are muted by the powder. Dean imagines he can hear snowflakes hitting the earth.

End

Author's Note 2: I've never written something like this and am usually really stand-off-ish about writing description. My husband read this story and said he was surprised I'd written such crap (and he's usually really supportive so he gets props for honesty), my sister read this story and exclaimed "post it!" I sat on it for a month until I finally got up the guts to send it off to my buddy kokoda2007 who had some awesome suggestions and gave me the final push to post it. I'd really like to hear what you thought.

SPN Fic: Fifth Grade Wonder Girl (3/3)

rafikiven — Thu, 07 Aug 2008 16:21:30 GMT

Title: The Chronicles of Kate A. Lindqvist, Fifth Grade Wonder Girl (Part 3/3)

Rating: PG

Pairings/Characters: Gen. kid!Dean, wee!Sam, and original characters

Summary: Dean had never had a friend before, except for Sammy of course. Third Person POV of a fifth grade Dean.

Warnings/Spoilers: There might be a mild swear word or two

Word Count: 2500 (this section), 7500 (complete story)

Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of its creators and the CW network. No profit is being made from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

Author’s Note: Thanks a bunch to my beta kokoda2007! The earlier parts can be found here: Part One and here: Part Two

The Chronicles of Kate A. Lindqvist, Fifth Grade Wonder Girl

Part 3

The last time I saw Dean Winchester was Thursday, May 25^th. I know it was May 25^th because people remember the days they lose their best friends. I’m getting ahead of myself, though, because it was May 22^nd that should have clued me in.

Sammy and Dean weren’t on the bus that morning, but that in itself wasn’t a worry, they did tend to miss the bus a lot. We were having a late-spring cold spell and the rain was bordering on sleet. I couldn’t concentrate in class and kept looking out the window and wondered if Dean’s dad was home to give them a ride because I knew more often than not he wasn’t and they had to walk.

At quarter to eleven the classroom door swung open and Dean stomped in, threw his backpack near the hooks and slumped down into his chair, head down and hair dripping. He was obviously pissed off and Mrs. Chen had the good sense not to stop the lesson and ask him about it.

He crossed his arms trying to be tough but I think it was also to keep him from shivering. He was only wearing a soaking wet sweatshirt and his face and hands were bright red from the cold.

I tried to lighten the mood and whispered, “some weather, huh? It sucks you had to walk.”

“Whatever.”

After a couple of minutes the classroom door opened again and a crying Sammy came in, his curly wet hair pressed flat against his head. He was wearing his thick coat so at least Dean had remembered to bundle him up. Sam stood bewildered for a second looking at all the unfamiliar faces before Dean stood up and said “what’s wrong, Sammy?” Sam came running to his brother and jumped into his arms.

“Dean!” Sam was crying loudly now that he was with his brother.

Dean held tightly to Sammy whose legs were dangling a foot off of the ground. Dean stroked the back of Sam’s head and Sam nuzzled his face into Dean’s shoulder.

A frantic-looking Mrs. Charles, Sam’s teacher, came into class next. “There you are, Sam! You can’t run off and worry us like that.”

Every kid in class was entranced by the scene. Heck, it’s not everyday something exciting happens. This wasn’t just some random excitement for me though, this was Sammy and Dean and I hated that I couldn’t think of anything to do to help.

“Let me stay here with you, Dean!” came Sam’s muffled voice.

Dean’s arms gripped Sam tighter. He glared at Sam’s teacher and said “What did you do?” His voice was so harsh it scared me.

“Wha-? I don’t know, I asked him to take his coat off and he just flipped out!” It sounded as if Dean had scared Mrs. Charles too.

Dean relaxed a bit and turned his attention back to Sam. “Why didn’t you want to take your coat off, buddy?” He put Sammy down so the kid could answer properly.

Sam sniffled and glanced at his teacher. “It’s my coat and I wanted to keep it.” He started whining louder and stomped his feet when he saw Dean didn’t understand his predicament. “I don’t have to hang up my coat if I don’t want to because it’s mine! We just moved here and it’s not fair! We should be able to stay here if we wanna and I can wear my coat if I wanna!”

During Sam’s tirade Principal Bran came in and spoke softly to Mrs. Charles and sent her back to class. He stood patiently at the door for Sam to finish yelling. Some of the kids in the class had started giggling and I wanted to slug them.

“Sam, just hold on a second!” Dean said to Sam to get him to stop his outburst and it worked enough that Sam buried his head in Dean’s torso and his yelling became a mumbled whine.

“Mr. Winchester, perhaps you can bring your brother out to the hall and we can chat about this so your class can get on with their lesson?”

Sam just clung to Dean and as Dean walked them to the door I heard Sam say, “Tell him we want to stay here, Dean! He’ll listen to you.”

I had thought Sam was referring to the principal, but in retrospect I realized he was talking about their dad who’d probably just told them they had to move again.

Sam got to stay in our class the rest of the school day and Dean must have given him a pretty good talking to because the little guy was actually pretty quiet for once. Dean coddled Sam all day, but towards everyone else, including me, he was a total grump. He also didn’t come over after school and he said their dad expected them home the whole week. I attributed the bad mood to the day’s bad start, but when the next day rolled around and Sammy was back in his own classroom and Dean was still acting totally weird, I suspected something else was up.

At lunch Dean sat away from where I was already sitting at our ordinary spot. We’d eaten together there every day for two months and I wasn’t about to let him do this without an explanation. I grabbed my tray and plopped right down across from him. He wouldn’t look at me.

“Spill it. What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.” He didn’t look particularly angry. In fact, those expressive eyes looked more guilty or hurt.

“Listen to me, Dean Winchester. I’m not going to just drop it and let my best friend be miserable.”

Dean’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth and he jerked his head up to look at me. I had no clue what his look was for. He looked as if I’d just told him that Sam had sprouted wings or something. No, not that exactly. There was a hint of fear in those green eyes.

He put down his fork and his hands were shaking. He glanced around and then looked me in the eye.

“What’s up with you?!” I said.

Dean said very quietly, “I’m your friend?”

Where did that come from? “Yeah, Dean. Do you see me hanging out with anyone else every day?”

“Oh yeah, of course.” Dean shook his head and smiled a little bit. “It’s just that…I’ve never really had a friend before. Except for Sammy of course.”

It wasn’t very often I was struck speechless. “Oh,” I said just to respond. What 11-year-old in the world hasn’t had a friend? Sure, there were kids who were socially awkward, but that was so not Dean.

-O-

Dean was really quiet the rest of the day, but found me on the playground before school the next morning. Mom had dropped us off that day so I hadn’t seen Dean on the bus.

“Hey, Kate.” He looked down at his feet where he was kicking a hole in the gravel.

“Oh, so you’re talking to me today, are you?”

“Yeah, listen--I’m sorry. I’ve been a jerk.”

“Totally. You’re one big jerk.” I wasn’t mad and this helped Dean relax.

“This week has really sucked and you have to understand that I never meant for you to feel bad. I never meant for us to be friends at all. I never wanted a friend.”

“And what’s so wrong with friends?”

“Just let me finish. I may not have wanted it to happen, but I’m glad it did. I’m glad you’re my friend.”

“See, friends aren’t too bad as a general rule. Don’t you think you’d like to have a few more?”

“No, I don’t.” Dean was dead serious.

“And your logic is…?”

Dean shifted his feet and quietly said, “No goodbyes.”

Oh. Dean had warned me a long time ago how they moved so often that one day he’d leave and not even say goodbye. I couldn’t help it, I felt so bad for my friend I did the unthinkable: I hugged Dean Winchester.

As soon as I wrapped my arms around him he stiffened. Then I rested my head on his shoulder and he relaxed in my embrace. I could feel that something inside him let go and he clung to me. I never expected this reaction from Dean, it was as if he needed this comfort, as if he hadn’t been hugged by anyone but Sammy in a very, very long time. I thought about how giving hugs to Sarah is not the same as a hug from Mom and I understood. Dean was still that lost little boy who lost his mother.

Several kids on the playground whistled and gave cat-calls. This was probably not the best location for spontaneous hugs.

On Thursday after school I waited outside for Mom to pick me up. Sarah was home sick that day and she and Mom were picking me up on the way to visit Grandma. They were going to be late because Sarah had a doctor’s appointment.

“Kate!” I turned around and saw Sammy running towards me.

“Hi, Sam!” I gave him a big hug and looked up at Dean who grinned at me. “Hi, Dean. You guys better hurry or you’ll miss the bus.”

Sam said, “Our Dad’s picking us up today, Kate! Hey hey Kate, Dean said Sarah is sick.” He wrinkled his nose. “Did she throw up all over you?”

“Uh…no.”

“One time I threw up all over Dean.” Sam put his hand over his mouth and giggled. “I had eaten a big bowl of—“

“Sammy, I have a couple of your Ninja Turtles in my bag. Why don’t go over there and play with them while we wait for Dad? He might’ve forgotten what time school gets out.”

“Did you bring Michelangelo?”

“I don’t know which one’s which! Just stop being so annoying, will you and go play?”

“Okay!” Sam sure was a good-natured little thing.

As soon as he left Dean smiled awkwardly at me and kept looking over to where Sammy was plopped down with the action figures. Dean was really nervous for some reason. “I didn’t expect to see you again,” Dean paused but quickly added, “after school, I mean.”

“I know, and we hardly had a chance to talk during class. If I didn’t know better I’d think you’ve been avoiding me.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes and then Dean said, “Kate?”

“Hmm?”

“When I move away, and someday I will…what do friends do when one moves away?”

“What do normal kids do or what will we do? Because we’re so not normal.”

Dean shrugged. “Normal kids.”

“Normal kids say goodbye to their friends.” I remembered that Dean had said he wouldn’t say goodbye and I said it to jab at him.

Dean put his head down and nodded. He felt guilty.

I felt a bit guilty myself for that comment so I tried to make him feel better as I continued. “Friends who live apart write letters to each other. Sometimes they talk on the phone if their parents are okay with it. I’m sure we’ll see each other again someday. Maybe we’ll go to the same college.”

Dean sighed. “And what happens when one friend gets busy and gets new friends and forgets about the other one? Don’t look at me like that, let me finish. When I leave we’re never going to see each other again and that’s all there is to it. There won’t be visits. There won’t be phone calls. Hell, we don’t usually even have a phone.”

“Dean, what are you say--?”

“I’m just trying to tell you it’s best for us to remember how much fun it was to be friends and cut it off there. We aren’t going to write to each other. If we don’t cut it off, if we try to stay friends, it’ll end badly. Either we feel bad that we're busy and not writing or we feel bad because we’re waiting for letters that aren’t coming. Just forget about me when I leave.”

“Where’s all this coming from all of a sudden, Dean? Is there something you need to tell me?”

“Hey, boys!” A really old black car had driven up and a man with a leather jacket was getting out of it.

“Daddy!” Sam ran over and jumped into his dad’s arms.

“Did you have a good day at school?” He tickled Sammy who squealed.

This was the enigmatic Mr. Winchester? He was scruffy and gruff, but not the mean dad I’d imagined. In fact, he reminded me a lot of Dean. An old, scruffy, leather-jacket version of my best friend.

“Dean, we need to get going. We’ve got a lot of work to do,” Mr. Winchester said.

“Yes, sir.” From Dean’s answer and his body language it was clear Dean respected his father a whole lot more than any teacher at school. Dean picked up the toys Sam had left on the grass and walked over to the car. On the way he stopped, looked at me in the eye and said, “thanks for everything.” His voice was very serious.

It felt like goodbye.

I whispered, “See you tomorrow” before Dean walked to the car, but in my gut I didn’t believe it.

“You got yourself a girlfriend, Dean?” Mr. Winchester didn’t necessarily say it loudly, but I could still hear him. I don’t know why it made me feel bad, but it did. Dean had never told his dad about me.

Dean looked terribly embarrassed.

“Nothing wrong with a little romance, son. You’re nearly a man, after all.”

Dean got in the car and slammed the door. As Mr. Winchester was putting Sammy into the backseat I heard Sam say, “I’ve got a girlfriend too, Dad!”

That was the last time I ever saw them. I was the first one to class Friday morning and Mrs. Chen told me that she’d received notice Dean had moved. It didn’t come as a surprise but I still burst into tears.

A few weeks later I got a package. Inside was a notebook and a letter. The letter was cute and so very Sam. I knew Sarah would appreciate it because she’d been upset when the boys left. I was sorry Dean hadn’t let Sam say goodbye in person, but I knew he’d had his reasons.

I knew right away that the notebook was from Dean. It was a comic book titled “The Chronicles of Kate A. Lindqvist, Wonder Girl.” The drawings and writing weren’t great, but it was 100% Dean. Wonder Girl was not only a caped crusader, she was also the first ever female president, though I believe Dean’s term was “chick president.” In one of the chronicles she even had the assistance of Batman and the Incredible Mop-head.

I smiled and wiped tears off my cheeks. “Goodbye to you too, my friend.”

End

</div>

SPN Fic: Fifth Grade Wonder Girl (2/3)

rafikiven — Tue, 05 Aug 2008 22:49:59 GMT

Title: The Chronicles of Kate A. Lindqvist, Fifth Grade Wonder Girl (Part 2/3)

Rating: PG

Pairings/Characters: Gen. kid!Dean, wee!Sam, and original characters

Summary: Dean had never had a friend before, except for Sammy of course. Third Person POV of a fifth grade Dean.

Warnings/Spoilers: None

Word Count: 2100 (this section)

Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of its creators and the CW network. No profit is being made from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

Author’s Note: Thanks a bunch to my beta kokoda2007!

Part One

The Chronicles of Kate A. Lindqvist, Fifth Grade Wonder Girl

Part 2

Sam and Dean came home with us every day the rest of the week. Dean justified it by saying it was for Sammy’s project, but I know he enjoyed it. It was tough being an older sibling watching a little six-year-old every day and it was nice to have company.

“Kate, let’s play Wonder Girl!” Sarah said. “Don’t forget to do the voice!”

It was Friday afternoon and we were all bored. I was thoroughly sick of watching Wheel of Fortune every day even if it was with Dean and the little kids had run out of different ways they could compromise between killing Barbie with a lightsaber or playing house with Darth Vader.

“OK, Kate A. Lindqvist, Wonder Girl of the fifth grade and her trusty sidekick Sarah C. Lindqvist are off to battle Provem City’s worst criminals.” I grabbed a red towel out of the laundry basket and whipped it around my shoulders.

Sam was thoroughly engrossed, his eyes wide and his mouth open.

Instead of trying to act cool and indifferent, Dean actually looked kind of amused. “Kate A. Lindqvist, just Kate not good enough?”

“Shut up, I’m on a role. Besides, the full name with the initial is much more refined.”

Dean laughed and I put a pink towel around Sarah’s shoulders and grabbed a yellow one for Sam since we didn’t have blue.

“And Mr. Sam Winchester, otherwise known as…”

“The Incredible Mop-head,” Dean provided.

“The Incredible Mop-head, one shake of his head and his enemies cower in fear.”

The little kids giggled like crazy and Sam kept shaking his head so hard he couldn’t keep a hold of his cape.

With all three of us working our hardest, we were able to talk Dean into being Batman even if it was only for a little bit. He wasn’t very good at it, but he didn’t have much practice.

They left early that night, Dean saying their dad needed them home by five because they were going out of town for the weekend.

They weren’t in school on Monday and still hadn’t shown up by 9:30 on Tuesday, set-up time for the science fair. Luckily Sam’s project was at my house and I brought it with me and set it up for him.

“OK, do you remember everything we read in the Hopkin book?” This was the big day and Josh was freaking.

“Yes, I do.”

“’Kay, good. If the judges ask a chemistry question, you’re going to answer that one, right?”

“Yes, I got all the chemistry stuff down.” I was only half-listening to Josh because I was trying to get a look at everyone coming into the gym.

Five minutes before start time I saw a little guy with a moppy brown head of hair running towards me and there was no doubt it was Sam.

“Kate!” Sam jumped up into my arms and I was lucky I caught him in time. “Never fear, the Incredible Mop-head is here!”

“He hasn’t shut up about it since Friday.” Dean was standing there in his denim jacket and his hair freshly clipped. I wanted to hug him too, but thought better of it.

I ruffled the head in question and said, “you better hurry and stand by your project. Go over there and find Sarah, she’ll show you where it is.”

“I’ll be right there,” Dean hollered after Sam who was already halfway down the aisle.

After Sam was gone Josh said, “just what the world needs, another annoying pipsqueak.” He had five younger brothers and sisters so you couldn’t really blame him for being bitter.

Dean scowled at him and inspected our project. “Batteries and Electric Current by Josh Bird and Kate A. Lindqvist. So Joshy-boy, why’s your name first?”

I interrupted Josh before he could answer and got Dean out of there by reminding him that Sam needed his help.

“How could that dork’s project actually beat ours? Seriously, what kind of idiot judges were these?” It was ten past three, we were cleaning up our projects, and Josh was freaking.

Dean was there, leaning against the gym wall and grinning. He was loving every minute of Josh’s rant. It turns out we did a really great job on Sam’s project because the little tyke got first place for his grade. I have to admit, though, that it was 25% the project and 75% pure puppy-eyed genius. The kid really knew his stuff and the judges ate it up.

“Josh, relax. It doesn’t matter for regionals whether you got first or second at the school.” Again, I was only half paying attention to Josh and the other half was watching Sam and Sarah to make sure they didn’t decide to have a yeast-balloon fight with Sarah’s project.

“Arg! But the principal of the matter!” Josh grabbed fistfuls of his hair and looked as if he was about to cry.

“Hey Josh, isn’t that little blond terror one of yours?” Dean pointed to one of Josh’s little sisters as she was being chased across the stage by one of the teachers.

“Oh, no. Jill, get down from there!”

Dean didn’t exactly laugh as Josh ran towards the ruckus, but he was certainly enjoying himself.

I sighed and did my best to sound irritated, “You just going to stand there all day or you going to help me?”

“Oh, what? Sorry.” Dean grinned widely at me and the look on his face said ‘you couldn’t possibly be mad at me, could you?’

“Thanks.” I noticed that Sam and Sarah had indeed started playing with the yeast balloons and was worried I’d be too slow to catch them.

Dean whistled and said, “Sam!” Sam’s head shot up and Dean shook his head. Sam blushed and smiled as he put the yeast balloon back down. Luckily Sarah followed suit.

“I think that’s our cue to head out, huh?”

“Yes, definitely. Mom’s getting off work early to pick us up with our projects.”

“Oh, OK.” Dean looked disappointed.

I thought about it for a second and realized that Dean didn’t think he could come over again now that Sam was done with his project.

“You know, you guys could come over and I could help out Sammy with his homework.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean perked right up. “Sam could use some help from geek-girl.”

So that was that. Mom pulled up and was so happy about our success she announced it was ice cream for everyone. Dean tried to say they didn’t want any ice cream, but after Sam started freaking out and Mom and my continuous assurances that we didn’t mind treating them, Dean gave in. We all piled into Mom’s car and since mom insisted Dean take the front seat I was in the back with the two little rascals.

“Guess what, Mrs. Lungkiss, I got first place!”

“Oh Sam, I heard. That’s wonderful news! I’m so proud of you! I’m proud of all of you.”

“Yeah Mom, Sam got first place of everybody,” said Sarah.

“Of everybody. Everybody in the first grade,” said Sam.

“Yeah, everybody in the first grade. That’s a lot,” said Sarah.

“Probably about a hundred.”

“Or a thousand.”

“Or a million.”

“Yeah, or a million thousand.”

Dean groaned.

I leaned forward so I could have a more “grown-up” conversation. “Mom, Sam really did do a great job. He’s a natural.”

“That’s great, sweetheart. Dean, you must be so proud of your brother.”

“A zillion thousand million.” Came Sam and Sarah’s giggles.

“Yeah, that’s great. But what will it get him? Probably just beat up.” Dean sighed.

“Dean, don’t say that. Sure, he’s only a first-grader, but if he builds on his skills and keeps his grades up he can really get somewhere.”

“Yeah, like Harvard, Mom. Or Stanford.”

“Exactly. Heck, he could even get a scholarship. You could too you know. Kate told me how smart you are.”

I blushed and was glad I was in the backseat. “Dean, you guys should totally go to Stanford. It’s like, the best school out there. That’s where I’m going to go and I’m going to be the first woman president.”

“Gagazillion is to bigger than billion million zillion!”

“That’s not even a number! Deeeeaaaan!”

The noise level in the vehicle had suddenly jumped to an unpleasant decibel.

-O-

On May 8^th we fought.

“So when are you finally going to pick a book to read? Because I know you’d rather be going outside at recess.” I paused and hoped he wouldn’t get mad. “I know I asked before, but couldn’t I just help you pick out a book?”

Dean just shrugged and took a bite of his burger.

I was getting sick of Dean and his crap. “It’s like you want everyone to say ‘ooo, big bad Dean, let’s not mess with him’ but it’s all an act.”

Dean took another bite.

“And you have to be trying to get such bad grades.”

Dean didn’t even look at me and took a swig of milk.

I pulled his tray away from him. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

Now he’s mad. Good. “Why won’t I let you help me? Who said I wanted any help? You act all high and mighty all the time, but what about you? You keep worrying about everyone else’s problems because you don’t want to admit you have any! You always say you don’t care what everyone else thinks, but that’s bullshit.”

“I don’t care what people think about me!”

“Yeah, is that why you’re always trying to prove how smart you are? Is that why you read the longest books you can find and parade them around in everyone’s face just so they know what a long book you’re reading? You pretend you have all the answers, you’re just as screwed up as the rest of us!”

I picked up my tray and left. I was done with lunch anyway. Dean found me sitting in the shade on the playground where I was certainly not crying.

He sat down next to me.

I sniffled. “Some friend I am, huh?” After a couple of minutes of silence I spoke again. “You were right. There are so many possibilities out there and I have no idea what I want out of life. I want to be somebody, you know, like somebody who really means something. I want to be one of the characters in my books. I want to save people. I want to be somebody that doesn’t even exist.”

“I bet saving people is overrated.”

“Well, maybe saving people is the wrong way to put it. I at least want to help people.”

“You’ll help lots of people when you’re the first chick president.”

“Yeah right. I just say that, I’m not really going to be president.”

“Why can’t you be? First chick president and if that falls through you have the superhero gig to fall back on.”

I laughed and wiped the leftover tears from my eyes. “Loser.”

“Yeah, well, I suppose I am. So are you going to give me a book to read or what?”

“Wow, Dean Winchester is giving in? I never thought that would happen. And let me just say, I don’t pick long books to show off. I’m reading Battlefield Earth because it’s a great book--I couldn’t care less how many pages it has.”

“I’m sure that’s so. How many pages does it have?”

“1,092.”

“I rest my case.”

I finished writing my list and slid it across the table to Dean.

Dean glanced at it. “All of these books have the Wonder Girl seal of approval?”

“Yeah, I’ve read all of them and I’m sure you’ll like whichever one you choose. There are some really good scary ones.”

Dean snorted.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, just don’t think I’d find them scary. What else you got?”

“I bet you’d really like Deathwatch, it’s about a guy getting chased through the desert. Or maybe Hatchet--”

“Ooo, a book with a weapon as the title. Sounds like my kind of book. I pick that one.”

“Don’t you want to know what it’s about?”

“No, that’s the one.”

-O-

Part 3

</div>

SPN Fic: Fifth Grade Wonder Girl (1/3)

rafikiven — Mon, 04 Aug 2008 18:50:59 GMT

Title: The Chronicles of Kate A. Lindqvist, Fifth Grade Wonder Girl

Rating: PG

Pairings/Characters: Gen. kid!Dean, wee!Sam, and original characters

Summary: Dean had never had a friend before, except for Sammy of course. Third Person POV of a fifth grade Dean.

Warnings/Spoilers: None

Word Count: 2900 (this section)

Category: Gen (almost het in a little kid sort of way), pre-series

Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of its creators and the CW network. No profit is being made from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

Author’s Note: Thanks a bunch to my beta kokoda2007!

The Chronicles of Kate A. Lindqvist, Fifth Grade Wonder Girl

Part 1

On March 14^th I saw Dean Winchester for the first time. I remember it was March 14^th because it was exactly six months before my 12^th birthday. I was sitting on the tire swing, kicking gravel and listening to Josh Bird chattering about his science project.

Mom always dropped us off at school super early so I was used to bundling up on cold mornings for the long wait before school. I formed an “O” with my lips and blew out a white puff of air.

“…and that forms the static electricity. Hey,” Josh was looking over towards the swings. “You ever seen those kids before?”

There were two boys, probably brothers. The older one was about our age and had dark blond hair and was pretty good looking. His brother was a scrawny little guy, probably kindergarten or first grade and had a big grin with adorable dimples.

“Naw, they must be new.”

“Do you think he’s going to enter the science fair?”

I just rolled my eyes at Josh who looked embarrassed and ran off. I grabbed the swing’s chain and leaned my cheek against it. The older kid was keeping a really close eye on his brother—that I could see right away. He looked around with guarded indifference, if there is such a thing, but he didn’t let his brother more than about three feet from him. The little guy didn’t seem to notice his brother’s concern, as if he was used to it. He didn’t look scared either. My kid sister would sure be scared at a new school.

Neither boy seemed interested in talking to anyone and there were plenty of kids giving them curious looks. Everyone was probably too shy to go up to them. Well, I certainly wasn’t shy and was about to go introduce myself when the bell rang.

I always tried to be the first one to class and sometimes I had to race Josh or Lindsay there, but today was no contest.

“Good morning, Kate. How’s the book?” I liked Mrs. Chen a lot. She always had good books to recommend and didn’t care that I read weird stuff, not like my fourth grade teacher.

“It’s great! I finished four chapters last night.” I unpacked my backpack and plunked the book on my desk.

“Listen, can I count on you to welcome a new student we have coming in today?”

I squealed inside. The new kid was going to be in my class! “Sure, I’m always up for a challenge.”

His name was Dean Winchester, Winchester like the gun. Mrs. Chen assigned him to a desk next to me because I was good at helping kids who needed extra help and it didn’t take too long to figure out that he needed it.

“No, that’s the remainder. It gets put up here.” It was strange, but I liked the feel of his arm against mine as I erased his incorrect division.

“I’ve never had my own personal geek before.”

I looked up at him and he was smiling and his eyes were bright. He wasn’t being mean.

I grinned back. “Then welcome to Westview Elementary. It’s part of the package.”

It turned out Dean wasn’t too bad at long division after all, he just needed a little practice. By lunch he was a pro.

“When do the first graders eat?” Dean was abrupt, no small talk for him when we had a couple of minutes before the lunch bell.

“Oh? Your brother is in first grade? My kid sister Sarah is too! What teacher does he have?”

“Um, Mrs. Charles I think.”

“Oh darn, they aren’t in the same class. I saw him earlier. He’s cute.”

“The pipsqueaks eat earlier than us. They’re already done by now,” said Josh, who had wandered over.

“Oh okay.” Dean looked a bit worried. “I’m not so sure I’d call him cute, though.” He winked at me. Who does that, and especially who does that at me?

“Are you entering the science fair?” Josh gets overly excited about things sometimes.

“Josh! Give the guy a break, it’s his first day!”

Dean grinned. “Um, as much fun as growing mold and blowing up yeast balloons sounds, I think I’ll pass.”

On the playground after lunch I played foursquare for a while until I saw Dean sitting by himself next to the building. I gave up my spot and ran over to him.

“Hey, you wanna play foursquare? I could introduce you to some people.”

“No that’s okay.”

“Okay.” I sat down next to him and let out a huff of air as if I was winded from playing but I really wasn’t. “So, Dean, where’d you move from?”

He glanced at me and then looked hard over the playground. “Listen…Kate, right? I appreciate you trying to help me, but I’m not looking for any friends.”

“We don’t have to be friends. Can’t two people sit and talk?”

He just sat there not talking, running his fingers over the pendent around his neck.

“Okay, well, what’s your brother’s name?”

No answer.

Okay, if he didn’t want to talk I’d just talk to him. “I bet it’s hard moving around. My parents got divorced when I was little and we moved here with my mom. It was tough. Did you parents get divorced?”

I could tell right away that Dean was annoyed. “Did your dad leave because he couldn’t stand how much you talk?”

That stung. I’m tough, really I am, but I hate it when my body betrays me and decides it wants to start crying. I didn’t cry, but I had to fight really hard with that lump in my throat.

Dean glanced at me. “Listen. I’m sorry. It’s just I don’t want to answer any of your stupid questions. Just leave me alone.”

I didn’t leave. It’s a free country after all and as long as I wasn’t bugging him I had every right to sit here in the shade. I got control of those nasty tears and just sat there, not saying anything and he got restless. I guess he thought I would have gone away.

He sighed. “Sam. My brother’s name is Sam.”

“Sam. Okay.” Progress! I didn’t want to push it. “Well, I’m going to get back out there. I’ll see you later.”

I was nearly out of earshot when I heard him say, “later.”

-O-

Dean was all business again back in class, no small talk for him. Well, all business might not be the best way to describe it because he wasn’t very interested in the actual school work. He certainly wasn’t interested in getting to know anybody either, but the strange part was that he didn’t act like your normal shy kid. I suspected he wasn’t shy at all.

Over the next week I can’t say I got to know him any better, just that he and Sam rode our bus, but got off after me and Sarah so I didn’t know where they lived. The one thing I did learn was that Dean Winchester is about as stubborn as they come. He caught on pretty quickly to stuff when he actually let me help him, but that was only sometimes and he never let Mrs. Chen help him. The rest of the time he was doodling in his notebook or watching the clock until the bell rang.

The award for most stubborn Dean has to go to March 22^nd, when Mrs. Chen finally put her foot down during silent reading time.

“You have to pick a book to read on your own,” Mrs. Chen was saying. “This is for your personal reading time so you have to pick it. That’s all you have to do.”

“I’ll read my magazine.”

“For the last time, looking at pictures of cars is not reading.”

“Listen, Lady. I said I’d read this one and I will.” He tapped the book on his desk.

By this point everyone in class was peering over their books, pretending to read and holding their breath to see what Mrs. Chen would do.

“Call of the Wild is the class book. We’re reading it as a class. Would you like some help finding a book?”

Dean shook his head.

And so it went on until Dean got in trouble. He’d have to stay in during morning recess every day reading what Mrs. Chen assigned until he just chose a stupid book.

That was the same day Dean kept falling asleep in class. I asked him if he stayed up too late, but he said something sarcastic and left, not even asking Mrs. Chen for permission. He was gone the rest of the day and everyone got really worried, but he showed up again in time to catch the bus home with his brother.

After that I pretty much gave up and stuck with only talking to him when I helped him with schoolwork. He still wouldn’t choose a book so was stuck inside during morning recess which was too bad for him because spring had come and everyone had spring fever. I felt so sorry for him, but didn’t think I could help. There could be all sorts of terrible things happening in his home life. Maybe his parents beat him, maybe he didn’t have parents and he and Sam lived under an overpass, maybe his parents were polygamists and part of a cult or something.

On April 17^th, a week before the science fair, Josh and I were hard at work in the library and just about the last person in the entire world I expected to come up to me was Dean Winchester.

“Hi Kate…Josh. I need your help with some science fair stuff.” He spoke quietly as if he really did not want to be asking for help.

Josh started freaking out. The Westview Elementary School science fair was serious business and Josh had been planning on winning it for months, he even thought we had a chance of beating the sixth graders. “Why? You aren’t competing are you?”

“Relax, keep your tightywhities on.” Dean rolled his eyes then spoke to me. “It’s for my kid brother.”

“Oh…” I pretended as if I didn’t really remember his name, “Sam?”

“Yeah, everyone keeps talking about the fair and then he started crying saying he really wanted to enter, but I told him it might be too late. It’s too late, isn’t it?”

Heart. Melting. “No, not at all actually. The first grade projects are really simple. Mom and I just started Sarah on hers this week.”

He grinned and I think he knew he was charming. “I don’t know a thing about helping him. Would it be too much to ask for your--”

“Not at all! I’d love to.” My heart skipped a few beats. I’d never seen Dean look truly happy and it was great to see. Plus he was really cute when he smiled.

“Kate!” Josh took me by the arm. “What about our project?” Sometimes it amazes me how high-pitched Josh’s voice can get.

“I don’t want to impose--” said Dean.

“Nonsense. Josh, calm down! Our project has been done for weeks and you know it. Now we’re just messing around with it and you can do that just fine without me.”

Even Josh had to admit that this was true.

That afternoon the four of us sat together on the bus. It was the first time I’d really seen Sam because Sarah always insisted on sitting in the front of the bus while the Winchester boys always sat in back.

Sam was nothing like his big brother. He was a bundle of energy and talked a mile a minute. I don’t think he’d ever been to a friend’s house before and he bounced up and down and kneeled in the seat in front of us with his arms hanging over to our side.

“You’re supposed to sit facing forward, squirt.” Dean was sitting with his back against the window so he wasn’t practicing what he preached.

“But our friends are behind us.” Sam had just met Sarah and me and already adored us.

I was glad Sarah was such a good kid and didn’t say anything mean to the little guy because she was the most girly girl in the entire world and never once had a friend who was a boy.

It was also clear that Sam acted young for his age. “What’s your favorite ice cream? My favorite is strawberry and Dean’s favorite is strawberry too. What’s your favorite color? My favorite color is blue and Dean’s favorite color is blue too. What’s your favorite movie? My favorite movie is Star Wars. Dean likes Star Wars too, but he watches lots of scary movies I don’t like!”

During all of this Sam hadn’t stopped to catch a breath and Sarah stared up at him in shock and awe. Dean had turned in his seat so he was facing properly to the front and pretended not to notice Sam.

“So Sam, are you excited about the science fair?” I ruffled his hair. It was all soft and baby-like, like Sarah’s hair, but hers was usually in perfect little pigtails. Sam’s hair was long enough to cover his ears and was all over the place.

“Yippee!”

Not “yep,” not “sure,” but “yippee.” Boy, this kid needed to lay off the sugar. I laughed and so did Dean but he tried to hide it. This only encouraged Sam.

I thought he was pretty amusing, but I think Dean was glad when we finally got off the bus and started walking to my apartment.

“…and I love that part when Luke and Vader fight with their lifesavers!”

“I want a pink lightsaver!” Somewhere around State Street Sarah had given in to the insanity and the two of them hadn’t stopped talking since.

“And me and Dean will get blue ones!” Sam grabbed Dean’s arm with both hands and tried to swing.

“Dude, calm down! Sorry, he gets like this when he’s excited.”

“I think he’s sweet. It looks like he and Sarah are friends already.”

The afternoon was great. We picked out a science fair project for Sam, did a good portion of our homework and had time to play before Mom came home at 5:30. Well, Sam and Sarah played some kind of wacky version of Star Wars meets Barbie and Dean and I watched TV. I had plenty of friends who were boys, but none of them I felt so awkward sharing the couch with as I did with Dean. We ended up sitting on opposite ends because it just felt so weird to sit close.

“Let’s go play make-believe with the kids.”

Dean snickered and then stopped when he saw I was serious. “We’re 11, we’re way too old for that.”

“You can’t be serious? I hope I’m never too old for it. I’ll race you upstairs.” I beat him, but I totally cheated since he was still on the couch and I had a running head start. I burst into mine and Sarah’s room and grabbed a plastic sword. “I’m Luke Skywalker, I’m here to rescue you!”

Sam was dumbfounded but Sarah jumped up and said “yay!” and played along.

Dean stood with his back leaned against the doorway and both hands in his pockets, smiling, but not playing.

“Come on, Dean, we need a Han Solo. Why won’t you play?”

“Yeah, Dean, play,” both little kids echoed.

“I think I was about four years old the last time I played make-believe.”

Sarah, always one to worry what other people think, frowned and was probably worried she was too old to be playing.

“Your loss then, grumpy!” I said and stabbed an invisible foe.

A few minutes later the door slammed downstairs. “Girls, I’m home!”

The little kids ran downstairs at full speed so by the time we got there Mom had already met Sam.

“Do your parents know where you are?” She was ruffling his hair. I was beginning to think he had that affect on people.

“Parent, not parents. Just Dad.” Sam grinned and I could see the gap where he was missing a front tooth. He looked over at Dean and me and frowned when he saw Dean. I knew how much Dean just loved talking about his family so I guessed this was a sore subject for him.

“Oh, hello there. Are you Sam’s brother?” Mom gave me a knowing look. She’d heard all about him, but knew I didn’t want Dean to know that.

“Yes, ma’am. Dean Winchester.” He shook her hand. Mom loved that.

“It’s getting late. Would you boys like to stay for dinner? You can call your Dad and let him know.”

Sarah and Sam jumped up and down at the idea and Sam grabbed Dean’s hand. “Pleeeease Dean, can we?”

If I were six I’d probably be doing the same thing.

“No, buddy, we can’t.” He put his arm on Sam’s shoulder. “Thanks, but our Dad’s getting home at six today and is bringing KFC.”

“He is?” Sam was one loud kid.

Since I was behind them I could see Dean squeeze Sam’s shoulder.

“Aeeee, oh right, he is. I forgot.”

-O-

Part 2

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Con crit welcome and appreciated.

Spn Fic: When You Died

rafikiven — Wed, 30 Jul 2008 03:50:37 GMT

Title: When You Died

Rating: PG-13 (For language)

Pairings/characters: Gen. Dean, wee!Sammy (sort of)

Partial Summary: Missing scene from AHBL Part 2 (end of season two). Full summary after the cut.

Spoilers: All Hell Breaks Loose Part 2

Word Count: 1150

Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of its creators and the CW network. No profit is being made from this story and no copyright infringement is intended.

Summary: How Dean makes the decision to go to the crossroads in AHBL Part 2. This story is the third of my “One Job” companion stories. The others (wee!chester fics) “I Wish” and “One Job” are meant to be read first, but this story can be read as a standalone.

Warnings: Canon character death

Author’s Note: Thanks a bunch to my betas nativestar and lucky_sometimes.

If my ribcage had been ripped out of my chest I’d feel better than I do now. I think back to when we were kids and my chest hurts even more.

“We sure had a rough night last night.” I’m not sure why I’m talking, but it feels good.

“You are one heavy fucker, that’s for sure. We had to drag your ass in here.” A laugh builds up in my throat, but I swallow it down because I’m afraid it won’t come out as a laugh.

Sam’s face is grey.

“Don’t you worry about that bastard who did this to you, because I’m gonna kill him.”

I’m pacing around the room now and the only sound other than me is the birds chirping outside. God, birds are chirping outside the fucking window. My brother is dead. I want to shoot every last bird for sounding so damned normal.

I pull out the drawing from my bag, a drawing Sam never knew I carried. Sam probably wouldn’t have even remembered drawing it, he’d only been five or six at the time. It’s a picture of both of us. The stick-figure version of me is about ten times bigger than Sammy’s version of himself. The picture gets blurry and I wipe my eyes.

“Sam. I’m so sorry.”

I can still remember the day Sam drew this picture. I can smell the snow and see Sam’s wide eyes as he grinned up at me.

“Look what I made for you.” He’d said.

“Sam.” I clear my throat. “I should have showed you this picture. You would have gotten a kick out of it, after you stopped laughing at me for keeping it, that is.”

“Do you like it, Dean? Do you like the picture I drew for you?” The little Sammy from my memory had red cheeks from the cold.

“You looked up to me.” My voice cracks. “You looked up to me and I let you down.”

It’s not just that. If it were only that it wouldn’t be so bad. Dad literally died for me, went to Hell for me. He needed me to take care of my kid brother and I failed. Failed.

It’s not the first time I’ve failed either.

“How did social services find you?” The dad in my memory looks young, like he did when we were kids. “It was because you took Sammy out in that neighborhood at 10 o’clock at night, in his pajamas no less. Why? Because you didn’t plan ahead and buy food earlier, that’s why. What, were you so busy playing that you forgot your brother? First you screw up my hunt and now this?”

The sun is getting low in the sky and Sam’s face is glowing with the red of the sunset streaming through the window.

“Sam, Dad should have known then that he couldn’t trust me with you.”

The night with the Striga was even worse. I’ll never forget the look Dad gave me.

Sam’s picture is yellow now and pretty battered from years in my clothes bag.

“We were supposed to throw out all our school papers. Dad said we can’t bring our school papers everywhere we go.” Even the little Sam in my head is as whiney as the real thing.

“I know that, Sam.” My voice is barely above a whisper but it still echoes around the dead room.

“So if you know Dad will be mad, why are you bringing that picture? Besides, I drew it ages ago.” I can still see 6-year-old Sam standing there with his hands on his hips, as if it were happening now rather than 20 years ago.

“I’m keeping your picture to remind me why I take care of my geeky kid brother.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“You don’t even know what it means.”

“Do to!”

“Do not.” I say that part out loud as if little Sam was really there.

Hours later I’m still sitting in the chair next to Sam. I’m thankful that it’s night and the birds are no longer chirping. It’s odd to be sitting here staring at Sam’s ashen face.

“You know when we were little, and you couldn’t have been more than five, you just started asking questions. How come we didn’t have a Mom? Why do we always have to move around? Where did Dad go? He’d take off for days at a time.

“Remember I begged you, quit asking, Sammy. Man, you don’t want to know. I just wanted you to be a kid. Just for a little while longer. I was trying to protect you. Keep you safe. Dad didn’t even have to tell me, it was just always my responsibility.

“It’s like I had one job. I had one job and I screwed it up. I blew it. And for that I’m sorry.” I wipe the tears off my cheeks. “I guess that’s what I do. I let down the people I love.

“You know I let Dad down. And now, I guess I’m just supposed to let you down too. How can I? How am I supposed to live with that?”

Why can’t he just wake up and talk to me? Why couldn’t I have just taken care of him like I should have?

“What am I supposed to do? Sammy. What am I supposed to do?” He’s not going to wake up. Sam is gone. Gone. I explode and jump up and kick the leg of the bed, “What am I supposed to do!?”

For a few minutes I can’t think, there’s a roaring in my ears, my vision is cloudy and then I find I’m standing at the table again, out of breath. I feel numb all over but at the same time everything hurts.

Sammy’s yellowed picture is laying there. The smiling-stick-figure Sam and Dean are staring up at me. I kick over a chair and grab the picture, ripping it with all my strength. It rips easily and I lose my balance.

I sit there on the dusty floor breathing hard and feel blood rushing in my ears. I only ever had one job, one purpose. How can I live with myself now? Clutched in my right fist is the wrinkled up stick-figure Sam.

“Do you like it, Dean? Do you like the picture I drew for you?” That kid with the runny nose, the one who was so proud to grow taller than his big brother, the one who is laying there dead in the next room--keeping that kid safe is everything. I grab the keys to the Impala and run out the door.

I know what I’m supposed to do.

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SPN Fic: To Your Future

rafikiven — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 22:56:29 GMT

Category: Gen, pre-series

Title: To Your Future

Rating: PG-13 for mild language

Word Count: 1950

Characters: Sam, Dean, John

Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of its creators and the CW network.

Summary: My dream was to go to Stanford, get away from my Dad and his obsession, have a normal life. I’d worked so hard for this, but wouldn’t be able to go.

Author’s Note: Ever so slightly AU. Not AU at all if you turn your head to the side and squint. Special thanks to my betas fateschewtoy and just_ruth for their awesome suggestions!

When Dad got the letter it was already too late anyway.

“What the hell is this?”

I looked up from the table where I was doing my homework to see Dad holding up the ripped envelope.

I jumped up and grabbed it from him. The logo on the return address was Stanford Admissions and Financial Services.

“Last I checked it was against the law to open someone else’s mail.” I sounded snotty and didn’t care.

“You’re seventeen years old, damn it and I’m your father.” He looked as if he was about to blow his top, but I ignored him and read the letter.

It explained that the first tuition payment was past due. My dream was to go to college, get away from my Dad and his obsession, have a normal life. I’d worked so hard for this, but hadn’t thought about how I was going to pay for it. I just figured I’d wait until I got in and then figure it out. Well, I’d gotten in but I still hadn’t figured out the tuition thing. Even with all my scholarships there was no way. Tears prickled my eyes and I was glad Dean wasn’t there to call me a wuss.

“When were you going to tell me that you’re planning on abandoning this family?”

“Dad, I hardly think going to college constitutes abandonment. Besides, if anyone should know about abandonment, it’s you.”

He slammed his bag down on the table and my school papers went flying.

“Don’t you talk to me like that.” He shook his finger inches from my face.

In the past year I’d grown a lot and stood a head taller than him, but he was still intimidating as hell.

Dean took that inopportune moment to come in the door. He stood there in the doorway looking at us. He hated it when Dad and I fought, and we fought a lot.

“I’m sorry, sir.” I managed to calm down a bit and get an even voice. It had been unfair for me to say he’d abandoned us. He would have done anything for us and I knew it. “It’s just that . . . Stanford is a pretty big deal. And most parents would be thrilled.”

Dean closed the door, afraid someone outside might hear us. “Stanford? As in the hoity-toity smart kids’ college?” Even though he sounded as if everything was O.K. he had that deer-in-headlights look he gets when he freaks out.

“Besides, it doesn’t matter because I can’t go anyway.” Tears burned hot in my eyes. “The tuition . . .” I didn’t want to elaborate so I grabbed my motel key and shoved past Dean on my way out the door.

When I got home that night Dean was sitting on his bed watching T.V. with a beer in his hand.

“Where’s Dad?”

“Left. Said he’d be gone a couple of days.” Dean pretended not to look at me as I cleaned up my school papers.

“A couple of days? I didn’t know he’d found another hunt.”

“Neither did I. Did you need any help with that mess you call homework, Sammy?”

“Naw, I’m good.”

I hardly ever needed help with homework, but Dean always asked. He never got this far in high school, so I was sure he wouldn’t be able to help me anyway.

I grabbed some leftovers out of the fridge and looked up to see Dean avert his eyes back to the T.V.

I leaned over the counter towards him. “Dude, what’s up with you?”

“What?” Dean took a swig of his beer and acted like he does when he’s trying to act cool.

“You’re looking at me like I’m about to sprout wings and fly around the room.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s just . . . you never told me you wanted to go to college.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say.

Dean looked hurt. “Does this college thing have anything to do with that guidance counselor who was so excited about the score you got on that what’s-it-called test?”

“You mean the SAT?”

Dean shrugged and nodded.

“That test was a big deal, man. Stanford is a big deal.”

“Yeah, and that bitch tried to tell me Dad and I were wasting your potential.” Dean had gone to my parent meeting with the guidance counselor since Dad couldn’t show up. “She also said you’re some kind of genius, but it doesn’t take a genius to know you’re no Einstein, dumbass.” Dean laughed to himself and took another swig.

He liked that I was smart even if he’d never admit it.

Dean flipped off the T.V. and ran his hand through his hair. “Sam, we’re a family. And now you want to leave us and have a mundane life? What about loyalty?”

“Loyalty? To a father who’s obsessed with revenge? Dad’s been looking for the thing that killed Mom forever and he’s never going to find it!”

Dean looked as if I’d slapped him. “Don’t you talk about Dad like that.”

His palm collided with my sternum and I fell back against the couch. Dean always had a blind loyalty to Dad I could never understand. My earliest memories were of Dean tying my shoes, Dean fixing me dinner, Dean putting Band-Aids on my scraped knees. Where had Dad been during all that? “All Dad cares about is creating perfect little soldiers to help him hunt and take his orders.”

It was Dean’s turn to storm out, and I wiped the tears off my cheeks and finished my dinner. Why did I have to be the one who cried at the drop of a hat? I never saw Dad or Dean cry, but me? Crying for me was as frequent as filling up the Impala with gasoline.

I steered clear of Dean after that, but every time I saw him he had this hurt look on his face that I couldn’t stand seeing on my tough big brother. Dad got home after a few days and we fought just like we always did. Even Dean seemed tired of trying to break it up.

About a week after he found out I wanted to go to college, Dean was waiting for me in the Impala outside school.

“Hey Dean, what are you picking me up for? Do we have to hit the road again? I’m only a couple of weeks from graduation.” I think I was whining.

“You don’t have to worry. We’re sticking around.” Dean just sat there in the car with his hands on the steering wheel.

“You, uh, want to wait around here all day? There’s a line of cars behind you.”

“I was just…just thinking about you and that high and mighty school you wanna go to.”

“You mean the high and mighty school I can’t afford even with my scholarships?”

“Yeah, about that. I called that bitchy guidance counselor from your old school, the one who called you a…genius.” Dean whispered “genius” and rolled his eyes. He really didn’t want to be having this conversation. “She made a couple of calls and you’re all set.”

“What? What do you mean ‘all set’?”

“I mean...” Dean looked out the driver side window. “That tuition thing has been taken care of.” He swallowed his last words so I wasn’t sure I heard him.

My heart beat against my ribcage so hard it hurt. But oh, was it a good hurt.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Yes, you can go to your crappy-ass school.”

“Whoo!” I jumped out of the car and ran around hollering.

Dean drove off without me, but I didn’t mind walking home.

The next day I called my old guidance counselor to thank her but she said she hadn’t heard from Dean for months. She didn’t even know I’d been accepted to Stanford. After she calmed down from her excitement at the news I thanked her, said goodbye, and sat there in the school office until the secretary kicked me out.

I asked Dean, but he wouldn’t talk to me about it. He wouldn’t talk to me about school at all and I left not too long after that. Dad and I got into a fight of monumental proportions and I took that as my cue to head to California early to look for a part-time job.

I’d been in Palo Alto for less than a month when I met Jess. By midterms we were inseparable. She was cheerful, beautiful, smart. Best of all, Jess was innocent of all things supernatural and it was going to stay that way.

“To Professor Dahl, for letting us out early tonight so we didn’t miss trying out our new IDs.” Jess raised her glass for a toast. She liked toasts a lot.

“To Professor Dahl!”

“Cheers!” The alcohol felt warm running down into my stomach.

“To Sam, for making our IDs!”

“To Sam!”

“To our parents, for supporting us all the way.” Jess was smiling but looked directly at me as she said this, as if she suspected what had happened between me and my father.

“To our parents!”

I didn’t participate in this particular toast.

“So Sam, what do you want for the future?” Jess was always trying to get me to open up.

“The honest to God truth is I have no idea.” All I knew was that I didn’t want to hunt.

“I can drink to that. To Sam’s future!” Our buddy Victor raised his glass.

Jess scooted close to me and clinked her glass against mine. “To your future.”

O O O

Dad and I sat in the idling car outside the bar and watched Sam making toasts with his friends. A sexy-blond chick was hovering really close to my kid brother. ‘Atta boy, Sam.

“We’ve been following him around all day, Dad. I think it’s safe to say he’s fine.”

“You’re right,” he said, but didn’t move to drive away.

It looked like he wanted to go in and say hello, but I knew he wouldn’t. In the past months Dad had found every excuse to stop by and check on Sam. We’d been conveniently “in the neighborhood” five times and those were the visits I knew about.

Sam never knew we were there. I wanted to see my little brother, but Dad insisted Sam live his own life without us. I didn’t think Sam wanted to see me anyway so I was fine with his decision.

When I told Sam that he could go to school after all, I hated it. I hated being Dad’s message boy when he told me Sam could go to Stanford and to let him know. I hated that it got fixed and Sam left us, especially since Dad didn’t even tell me how he did it.

“You want to grab a Whopper?” Dad’s eyes didn’t leave the bar window as he said this.

“Hell yes, sir. I’m starving.”

“There’s a Burger King by the financial aid office.” Dad put the Impala into gear and started driving away from Sam.

“And you know where the financial aid office is because…?”

“Lucky guess.”

“Yeah right.”

End

Comments are like chocolate. Seriously, you won't hurt my feelings if you didn't like the story. Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated.

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SPN Fic: One Job

rafikiven — Thu, 20 Dec 2007 03:23:16 GMT

Category: Supernatural, Wee!chesters, pre-series

Title: One Job

Author: Rafikiven

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1700

Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of its creators and the CW network (which is not me).

Summary: Inspired by Dean’s “one job” monologue in All Hell Breaks Loose Part II. A young Dean tries to take care of Sam even when the situation becomes too tough to handle.

Author’s Note: This is a companion piece to my story “I Wish,” but both can be read as standalones. Thanks a bunch to my betas gestaltroseand erynnbeth!

One Job

There are a lot of jobs in the world. Some people have more than one job, but others only have one. There are firemen and scientists and astronauts and bakers. Pastor Jim is a hunter and a pastor. Bobby is a hunter and owns a junk yard. Mrs. Billings is a teacher and takes care of her daughters. Dad is a hunter and takes care of me and Sam.

Mrs. Billings said kids have jobs too. All kids have the same job: to play and learn, and one day they’ll grow up and get grown-up jobs. That’s not entirely true though. That isn’t my job.

“Hey New Kid, pass that ball!”

I toss the kids their ball, sit back against the tree and watch them play. That’s their job, not mine. Sure, I could play if I wanted to, but it’s better not to make friends. Friends ask questions I don’t want to answer and make me feel bad when it’s time to move. Besides, I have Sammy. He may be an annoying little squirt attached to a stuffed bear but he’s still my friend. One friend is enough for me.

I grab a twig and start jabbing the dirt with it. Sam should be like all the other kids. Sam’s job should be to play and learn and grow up and get a grown-up job.

After school, I slam the empty cupboard a bit harder than I mean to and the mirror rattles. If only I wasn’t such a screw-up.

I haven’t seen Dad for two days. I have a big bruise on my forehead, but I’m hiding it pretty well because my hair is long enough to cover it up. I got the bruise two nights ago because I screwed up then, too.

Sam’s sitting at the table singing and coloring in his Smurfs book. “Honk honk rattle rattle rattle crash beep beep. Honk honk rattle rattle rattle rattle rattle…” Thankfully, Sam is oblivious to my dilemma.

The fridge is even worse than the cupboard. All that’s edible in there is a little bit of milk.

Two nights ago, we left Sam asleep in the motel and Dad let me go with him on a hunt. The creature came after me, I got a knock on the head, but the creature got away. It was all my fault, too, because I’d fallen asleep waiting for it to show up and broke the salt line with my foot. Dad was mad and said I should have been more careful. He said he didn’t know what he’d do if something happened to me. I think he said that because he needs me to take care of things.

I dump out the emergency money on the bedspread and only a couple of bucks and some coins fall out. It must have been a while since Dad refilled it. Something tightens in my throat as I remember why Dad didn’t know it was empty. Last week I took a twenty to buy Sam the new bear. Dad had told me we couldn’t afford it, but when he was out on a hunt I got into the emergency money and bought it anyway. Dad must not have wondered where Sam’s new bear came from.

“I’m a four-door I am four. Honk honk rattle rattle rat—”

“Sam, why don’t we play a game?” I don’t think I can stand hearing the song one more time.

“Yippee!” He jumps up onto the bed where I’m sitting and I shuffle the cards.

“And the song goes, ‘I’m a four-door, I’m a ford, ford not four.”

“But I’m four.” He giggles at his joke. I laugh too.

I wish Dad would just come home. He does this sometimes when a hunt goes badly--disappears for a few days.

At dinnertime I feed Sam the rest of the milk and we both eat some crackers. That’s all we have, but Sam seems happy enough. I hope he’ll be able make it on crackers until school lunch tomorrow and hopefully by the time school gets out Dad will be home.

After playing most of the evening I get Sam ready for bed. It looks like he’s about to fall asleep when he sits up.

“Dean, I’m hungry.” One look into those eyes and I know we can’t wait until school lunch tomorrow. Sammy has a special talent for looking really pitiful when he wants to.

“I’m going to have to go out and get us something to eat.”

“Don’t leave me alone. There’s a Wendgo under Dad’s bed.” Sam clutches his bear close to his chest.

“It’s not Wendgo, it’s Wendigo and no there isn’t. I won’t be gone long.”

“No, I don’t want to be left alone again!” Sam starts crying and I hate it when I make him cry.

I don’t want Sam to come along on this trip. This isn’t exactly the best neighborhood and it’s already really late. Besides, it’s not as if I can just stroll into the store and buy enough food with two dollars and sixty three cents.

“Don’t cry, it’s okay.” I stroke his head and try to get him to stop crying.

“So I can go?” Sometimes I can’t understand how Sam can go from upset and crying one second to bright-eyed the next.

“Oh okay, but you have to wait outside the store.”

Sammy grins at me. I’m not sure what’s so exciting about 7-Eleven.

I insist he leave the bear at home so I give in and let him go in pajamas and rain boots.

I decide he better stay just inside the store’s door because I’m worried about him staying outside by himself. The cashier hardly looks up from his magazine.

“Can I have an ice cream?”

“No, it’s too late for ice cream. Besides, you can’t get everything you want. Now stay right here by the door. Don’t move from this spot.”

Sam nods and leans up over the freezer to look at the ice cream inside.

The whole place is empty except for Sammy, me, and the cashier. I get everything we need and go up to the cashier. Everything inside me says to just run out the door, but I calmly put the milk and Sam’s ice cream bar on the counter. I glance over my shoulder at Sam and he smiles innocently, the same way he did when he slipped the bar into my hand.

The bell dings and a couple of cops stroll in, passing Sam who is standing by the comic books.

“Evening, Bob.” The bigger cop waves at the cashier.

“Evening, officer.” The cashier puts what I bought into a bag. “That’ll be $2.17.”

The big cop looks from me to Sam and back again and then looks around the store as if he’s looking for someone else.

I feel my hands start to shake and drop some of my coins.

“Let me help you with that.” The cop leans down in front of me and picks up the coins. As he gets up he stops at my eye level. He pulls the box of Rice-A-Roni out of my shirt. It must have been sticking out the collar.

He puts his hand on the side of my head and brushes some hair off my forehead. I stand as still as possible. There are tears glistening his eyes, but I’m not sure why.

“You boys are going to have to come with me.”

Now I’m sitting here in the police station with Sam sleeping next to me, and I know I’ve never screwed up this badly before. People shouldn’t mess up their jobs, especially if they only have one job like me.

“Son, please tell me where your parents are. Who was watching you?” The lady looks nice enough, but I know this can’t be good.

“Our babysitter was watching us and left for just a minute and then didn’t come back.” I’m trying hard to remember the story Dad made us learn just in case, but I’m having trouble concentrating on anything except for how much I messed up. Dad is the least of my problems, but I can’t help thinking about how he’ll look at me when he finds out.

“What’s your babysitter’s name?”

“Uh, Mr. Rogers.” Oh geez, it was the first name that came into my head.

She sighs. I don’t think she bought it.

“Can you explain what you and your little brother were doing out alone at 10:00 at night?”

No, I can’t explain it.

“And how about this bruise on your forehead? Can you explain that?”

This is not happening. This is not happening. This is not happening.

I know this lady is a social worker and she’s going to take Sammy away. I know stealing is wrong and they’ll put me in jail, and if I’m in jail I won’t be able to take care of Sammy.

“Don’t you have anyone we can call?”

“Yes, call this number.” I give her Pastor’s Jim number. It’s for emergencies.

How many people screw up their jobs this badly? I only have one job. Take care of Sam. That’s all I have to do.

A few hours later, Dad finds us and fixes my mess. We leave as soon as he’s able to pick us up, and we don’t stop driving until we’re out of the state. Dad checks us into a motel under the name of John Peters, an ID he’d been saving for an emergency.

Sammy cries that his bear got left behind again and Dad just hugs him. Sam melts into Dad and falls asleep on his lap. Dad tells me it’s going to be okay, but I don’t think I could face him if he knew everything. I don’t tell him about the stealing and he doesn’t tell me I can’t take care of Sammy.

End.

Comment please! I love comments! Constructive criticism welcome and appreciated.

</div>

SPN Fic: All I Want for Christmas Part 1/?

rafikiven — Sun, 16 Dec 2007 05:41:24 GMT

OK, I just wrote this story, I just couldn't stand not writing it and since it's about the ep which just aired I just couldn't stand not posting it. If u haven't seen A Very Supernatural Christmas, there are tiny spoilers before the cut (you've been warned).

Author’s Note: I got the idea for this story after watching the great episode, A Very Supernatural Christmas. The villains were great and so domestic I got to thinking, what if they weren’t planning on having the guys for supper, what if they just wanted to have them over for supper?

Title: All I Want For Christmas

Author: Rafikiven

Rating: PG-13 for language and violence

Spoilers: A Very Supernatural Christmas. Episodes up to that are fair game, but there aren’t any specific spoilers for anything else in this installment.

Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of its creators and the CW network. I’m just borrowing the characters for this story and am not profiting from it so please don’t sue me.

Summary: Summary after the cut since it contains spoilers for A Very Supernatural Christmas.

Summary: So what if the pagan gods in A Very Supernatural Christmas had committed the murders as a ploy to draw the Winchesters to them? What if the neighbor hadn’t rung the doorbell and saved the day? What if their intention was never to have the guys for supper, what if they just wanted to have them over for supper?

All I Want for Christmas

Sam knew he should be thinking about escape, but at that very moment all he could think about was what this psycho was doing with those pliers as the man unclenched Sam’s hand.

He heard Dean say something along the lines of “you fudgin’ touch me again, I’ll fudgin’ kill ya.”

And then the world went white. The man had pulled the fingernail out of Sam’s index finger. He bit back a scream as pain radiated from the injury.

As the world became clearer again he could feel Dean struggling in the chair behind him and could hear Mr. and Mrs. Crazy speaking.

“Fingernail, blood, what else do we need? Oh, sweet Peter on a popsicle stick, I forgot the tooth!” Mr. Crazy went around the table towards Dean and Sam could no longer see him.

“Merry Christmas, Sam,” snarked Dean.

“Open wide, and say ‘ahh.’”

There was a horrible cracking noise and Dean screamed.

“My poor dears. Everything is going to be better soon.” Mrs. Crazy stroked Sam and Dean’s heads. “Oh fudge, Dean. No playing with knives. You could hurt yourself.”

Dean groaned as the knife was wrenched from him. Damn.

“All right, honey. The ritual is all done, spick and span. Time to eat dinner?”

Sam sure as hell didn’t want to be these people’s dinner and struggled against the ropes, quickly slipping into panic mode.

“Son, you keep doing that and you’re going to get one nasty rope burn.” Mr. Crazy came and stood next to him. “Now that the ritual is completed I might as well take these ropes off, right sweetums? It’s not like our boys can get out of here anymore.”

Mr. and Mrs. Crazy didn’t untie Sam, the man picked up Sam’s chair and took Sam into the dining room. The woman followed closely behind, with Dean’s struggles barely wobbling the chair in her arms. Darn, they were even stronger than Sam feared.

He’d been placed at the dining room table and was across from Dean so he could see his brother for the first time. There was blood running out of Dean’s mouth and the left side of his jaw was already starting to swell.

Mrs. Crazy went back into the kitchen saying something about getting the rolls out of the oven and Mr. Crazy stood at the head of the table sharpening a 10-inch knife.

“Don’t you hurt my brother, you Pagan sons of bitches!” Dean had that wild look in his eyes as he yelled at Mr. Crazy.

“Now now, we aren’t going to hurt you boys.”

“You aren’t?” Dean looked over at Sam who was just as confused.

“No we aren’t. And we’re not Pagan gods either.”

Dean raised his eyebrows and looked from Sam to Mr. Crazy and back again.

Mrs. Crazy came out of the kitchen carrying a bowl of steaming hot rolls and Sam’s mouth watered in spite of himself. She placed the bowl in the middle of the table and stroked Dean’s right cheek. Dean didn’t like that too much and tried to wrench away.

“Poor dear boys, we knew you’d come looking for us if we played our cards right.”

“So, the kidnappings and murders…?” Sam didn’t know what to make of this turn of events.

“Were just to get you boys to come find us,” Mr. Crazy said cheerfully as a bell dinged in the kitchen. “That’ll be the roast! Excuse me, sons.”

“So, if you aren’t planning on hurting us, nice job with that so far by the way,” Dean ran his tongue over the bleeding hole which was once a left molar, “why are we here?”

“To be our boys, of course!”

Dean gave Sam a look which said, “are you hearing this?”

“Sorry about the rough treatment, but it had to be done to complete the ritual. Don’t you see? We can’t have our sons wandering off, it’s a big dangerous world out there!”

Mr. Crazy came in with the roast. “We’re going to raise you boys just as if you were our own sons.”

Sam let out a cough and Dean nodded slowly, realizing that Mr. and Mrs. Crazy were cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.

“You do realize that Sam and I are adults, right? There’s no raising to be done, we’re already grown.”

“Oh, don’t be silly. You boys need a home and we need children. Shall we eat?”

…Part 2 coming soon

</div>

SPN Fic: I Wish

rafikiven — Sun, 16 Dec 2007 04:31:38 GMT

Title: I Wish

Author: Rafikiven

Word Count: 1450

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: I don’t own Supernatural or its characters. I wish I did :-D

Summary: Wee!chesters, pre-series. 9-year-old Dean wishes he didn’t have a brother

A/N: I know I’m a bit hard on poor John in this story, but I promise to write a positive John story in the near future! Also, thanks a bunch to NativeStar for the Beta!

I Wish

Sometimes I wish I wish I wish I didn’t have a little brother. If I didn’t have a little brother I wouldn’t be freezing on the way to school, walking slowly so he can keep up. He is so slow. Right now he’s staring off at something in the distance, trusting me to lead him. A turtle would probably be faster than he is.

“Come on Sammy, pay attention. We’re going to be late,” I say.

He smiles and does a little skip as he speeds up. He sniffles because he has snot running down his nose. His mitten is going to get all gross again and I just washed it. I sigh and he just keeps smiling and sticks his tongue out so it’s on his upper lip.

“Today, in school, in my class, we’re going to make snowflakes,” he says and I can’t believe how much he loves going to school. I don’t remember ever liking school, but I never did get to go to Kindergarten like him. I didn’t start until last year, but that’s a secret. When anyone asks I have to tell them the story Dad made me learn. I went to school in Kansas until last year. I even have pretend names for my teachers and friends. I don’t get asked too much anymore because this is my fifth school. Dad gives all the schools the papers from my “old” school, but I’ve seen Dad sitting at the library making those papers. He makes a lot of things like that.

“Aren’t you sick of snow by now, Sam? It’s too cold in Fargo.”

Sammy just jumps around excitedly.

“I love snow! I like it here, Dean. Can we stay here this time?”

“We’ll stay as long as we can, Sam, until Dad says it’s time to move.”

“I know.” He sounds so sad I can’t help but feel bad for him. He deserves to have a real home, to make friends, to get to know his teachers. He’s already on his third school and he just started this year.

“Come on, I don’t want you to be late again.” I tug a little bit on his hand and he starts moving again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get out of bed when you said. Are you mad?”

“No, Sam. It’s always hard to wake you up. I set the alarm clock wrong again. It’s not your fault.”

Sam smiles up at me, glad I’m not angry.

“But you’re going to be in big trouble if you don’t hurry that butt along.”

We end up being late and Sam’s teacher gives me a look. I’m even later to my class and my teacher is mad again. I wouldn’t be late if I didn’t have to take care of my brother, but I don’t tell her that.

School is tough today, tougher than normal because I didn’t get to bed early enough last night.

“Dean, I know you’re a smart boy, but you just aren’t applying yourself.”

I squint down at the book I’m trying to read aloud, but am getting caught up on all the hard words. It has a lot of hard words.

“You would have an easier time in class if you actually did your homework. If your Dad can’t help you, maybe a friend can?”

I don’t have friends. I nod, but don’t say anything and thankfully she moves on to the girl in front of me.

It’s not that I didn’t try to get my homework done. I did. I just had a lot of things to do, more than normal because Dad was getting ready for a hunt. After helping Sammy with his Kindergarten homework, laundry, fixing dinner, and keeping Sammy happy so Dad could get some work done, it was time to start getting Sam ready for bed. When I finally got Sammy settled down Dad was out on a hunt and I tried to do my homework but couldn’t concentrate so I watched TV instead, keeping it real low so Sam didn’t wake up.

At recess I play football, but what I really want to do is hit someone really hard so I get in trouble again. How was I supposed to remember that tackling isn’t allowed?

After recess we have to write in our journals which I always hate. Today I hate it even more because we have to write about a wish. Kids in my class think it’s fun and are saying they’ll write about things like having a zillion dollars, or a dog, or a spaceship.

All I can think about is that I wish I didn’t have a little brother. If I didn’t have a little brother I could stay after school and play. If I didn’t have a little brother I could get a skateboard and become friends with Tom and Drake, the coolest kids in school. I’d be even better at skate tricks than they are. If I didn’t have a brother school wouldn’t be so hard. I even bet Dad would have started me in school sooner if I hadn’t had to watch Sammy. If I didn’t have a little brother I wouldn’t have to remember all those songs Mom used to sing me.

I don’t write about Sam in my journal.

I write about how I wish I was a rock star. I want to write I’m in the band Metallica but am not sure how to spell it so I stick with ACDC.

“You can put your journals away now. Have a good day class and remember, if you like, after school today is tutoring at the library.” My teacher is looking right at me as she says this. For once I’m glad I have to pick up Sam after school.

The bell rings and I jump up from my desk, happy school’s out.

“Hey dude! My mom is going to pick us up and take us to Hammer Skate.”

I turn around because I think Drake is talking to me. He isn’t.

“Awww-some!” Tom slaps Drake on the shoulder and they run out of class.

I drag my feet around the outside of the school to the Kindergarten side and Sam has been waiting for me.

“Dean!” he yells and runs up to me and hugs me around my waist. I ruffle his moppy hair and put his hat on him.

He’s got his tongue on his upper lip again and I have to admit he’s kind of cute. It’s not really his fault he’s so annoying, that’s just part of being Sam.

“Look what I made!”

He hands me a snowflake cut out of paper and a picture he drew. The picture is of two people, one small and the other taking up most of the page. Sam never was the best artist. The little figure must be Sam and has wild brown hair. The bigger figure has yellow hair. “Dean” is scrawled out in messy Kindergarten handwriting. Across the top, written in grown-up handwriting is “My Best Friend and Me.”

Sam is beaming up at me. He’s still sucking on his upper lip and snot is running out of his nose. I wipe it off and he squirms and whines. I feel a little choked up even though it’s a stupid Kindergarten picture.

“Did you like your picture?” He says as I take his hand and start walking home.

“Yeah, but one of these days you’re going to have to learn that school is harder than drawing pictures.”

He giggles and says, “Yippee!”

When we get home I open the fridge to get a snack for Sam, but close it again. Sam has climbed up on the barstool and is leaning over the counter towards me.

“What?” He says.

I walk over and pull his picture out of his backpack, ruffle his hair, and put his picture on the fridge with magnets. I remember when Mom was still alive Dad would admire my pictures and put them up on the fridge. I’ve never done it with one of Sammy’s pictures before.

“Whatcha doing that for?” He says.

“I’m putting this up here so we can all see what a good job you’re doing in school.”

“Dad too?”

“Dad too.”

End

This is the first of three companion stories. The others are "One Job" and "When You Died."

This is my first fic posted to Live Journal and I'll do a jig if u write a comment! Constructive criticism welcome and appreciated.</div>