Alone - Supernatural
Jan. 6th, 2008 10:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jebbypalTitle: Alone
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jebbypal
fandom: Supernatural
rating: Everyone
Characters: Dean, Sam, OCs
Summary: Dean finally decides John isn't coming back.
A/N: Forpoisontaster. She asked for a story written in the middle of Left Behind; the moment that Dean became convinced (consciously or unconsciously) that John was never coming back. This is probably more than she had in mind, but we all know Winchesters' won't shut up until their story is told. Unbeta'ed (at least for now).
Word count: 2270
At first, Dean was quiet and perfect. He did what he was asked when he was asked and never complained or cried. Then again, the complaining would have required him to talk and he wasn’t too willing to do that until almost six months after John had left him and little Sammy with her. Sheila didn’t know quite what to do to coax him out of his shell, but then, with everything that had happened, both she and Frank understood it.
They couldn’t afford to send Dean to an expensive therapist – assuming there were even any child psychologists in a hundred mile radius of Dent County, Missouri. As it was, Sheila did her best to look after Sammy while Frank tried his with Dean.
It didn’t work very well. Dean would sulk, or pretend to not hear what Frank said until it had been repeated ten times. Oh, he was perfect, but about as perfect as any five-year old could be expected to be. So they both gave in and let Dean help Sheila with Sammy. It made him happy, and even better, she managed to get him talk. Of course, only for Sammy’s sake, not to actually communicate anything about how he was feeling.
Sheila could only shake her head about it. Dean was every inch John’s son.
Sammy was screaming from his ear infection when the phone started ringing, but stubbornly refusing to cooperate with her about his ear drops. Somehow in the last thirty years, she’d forgotten exactly how strong and flexible and fast two-year olds could be. Sheila finally gave up and deposited him in his playpen on the way to grab the phone. She’d be really happy when Frank got back home from taking care of his dad in Arkansas. The plain fact was that she was too old to wrangle two children without backup.
“Hello?” she answered as she tried to block Sammy’s screams out with a finger to her ear.
“Mrs. Winchester? This is Selma at Barnitz Elementary. I’m calling about Dean.”
Sheila quickly glanced at the clock – 1 pm. Still no where near time to pick Dean up, so she wasn’t late. “What’s wrong? Is he hurt? Where is he?”
“No, no, I’m sorry. Dean is perfectly fine and sitting in the principal’s office. However, we do need you to come to the school as soon as possible to meet with the principal and pick Dean up,” Selma explained.
Dean was okay. Thank God. Sheila released the breath she’d been holding. There were a lot of things in this life that Sheila never wanted to face, but the top on that list was telling her son that her grandson was hurt or worse. “It’s going to take me a little while – I have to get someone to watch Sammy.”
Dead air answered her in her ear before Selma’s voice returned, still formal as Selma always insisted on being about school business. “Go ahead and bring Sammy with you, Mrs. Winchester. I can keep an eye on him while you and Principal Young talk.”
Sheila almost refused. Almost. Then again, if they were in that much of an all fire hurry, she didn’t really feel too guilty about foisting a screaming Sammy off on them. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
As Sheila packed Sammy up and drove to the school, she kept repeating what Selma had told her – Dean is perfectly fine. She couldn’t imagine what they could want to speak with her about. His last parent-teacher conference was just three weeks ago and Mrs. Shannon spoke of Dean with nothing but glowing praise. Sheila was certain the admiration went both ways if the number of cookies Dean saved to give his teacher was any indication.
The knot of worry in her gut grew when she saw Selma, Principal Young’s secretary, waiting for her in front of the school’s entrance. “I thought I could help you carry Sammy and his things inside,” Selma said, as if they hadn’t both gone to school together and Sheila wasn’t painfully aware of how Selma’s arthritis made it difficult for her to walk up the stairs into the school.
“Thank you, Selma,” Sheila answered before removing Sammy from his car seat and handing him over. Oddly enough, the brat quieted completely once he was in Selma’s arms. The respite this gave her headache was short-lived once she got a look at her other grandson when they arrived at the principal’s office.
Dean’s shirt was covered in blood and his knuckles caked in it. A chunk of his hair was torn out, his jeans ripped, and a shoe missing. She ignored whatever Selma and now Principal Young were saying and rushed to his side. “What’s wrong, baby? Are you hurt? Who did this to you?” she asked as her hands checked his bones and pulled up his shirt to make sure that no wound had caused the red tableau on it. Through it all, Dean was docile and didn’t answer, but he wore a smirk that made her want to shake him until he explained everything.
“Mrs. Winchester, if you’ll step into my office,” Principal Young said and Sheila heard it as if for the first time. “Selma?”
“Sammy, Dean and I will be fine. Won’t we, boys?” Selma answered as she got Sammy to wave at Sheila.
Disoriented and worried, Sheila entered the office and sat down as Principal Young followed her and shut the oak door behind him. “What is going on?” she demanded.
Bill Young sat down. Removing his glasses, he rubbed his forehead before answering her. It felt a lot like when his father had done the same thing as he explained to her how his fourteen-year old son had managed to steal his car and take her son, John, into St. Louis to see some rock concert. It did nothing to assuage her worry.
“Well, he’s a little boy, Sheila, and boys will get into school yard fights –“
“I’ve seen the results of school yard tussles, Bill, and those don’t usually leave my grandson looking like a horror movie extra.”
“Calm down and listen to me, Sheila. He’s fine. Fortunately, so is the other boy – a badly broken nose, couple of black eyes and a broken collar bone, but he’s going to be fine,” Bill explained.
Sheila couldn’t help it, her jaw dropped. She leaned forward to look out the office window at her grandson as she asked the next question. “Exactly how many boys were beating them up?”
“It was just Dean and James Lee.”
“James Lee Scanton? He’s a year older and at least three inches taller than Dean!”
“Coach Salmon is already asking if Dean will try out for the wrestling team,” Bill said with a chuckle. “Look, fortunately, I know Dean’s situation and from what I can tell, he was severely provoked. As it stands though, I have to suspend him for two weeks.”
“How-“
“I don’t know. We’re still trying to figure out how and why the fight lasted as long as it did. I’ve talked to the Scantons and considering that Dean is younger and everything else considered, they’re not going to press this. Needless to say, once he does return to school, his playground time will be closely monitored.”
“You said he was provoked. What did Dean say?”
Bill shrugged. “He won’t say a damn thing, Sheila, which scares me more than anything else. I remember what he was like when John first gave them to you and even this is different.”
“Then how do you know he was provoked?” Sheila asked.
“One of the children said that James Lee had insulted Dean’s dad.”
Suddenly it all fell into place. As much as they tried, neither she nor Frank could get Dean to talk about either Mary or John. And her son wasn’t helping much by not calling or writing or anything. It made her so mad.
“Take him home, Sheila. And if you think he needs more than two weeks, don’t worry about it. There’re worse things in this life than repeating a grade.”
Sheila Winchester didn’t need Bill Young to tell her that. All she had to do was look into her grandson’s eyes every time he woke screaming from a nightmare about fire.
The car ride home with Gramma wasn’t quiet. Of course, nothing could be quiet with the way Sammy had been screaming for two days. For once Dean didn’t try to distract his brother from his pain. Instead he just sat and looked out the window. Now Dad would have to come for him. He wouldn’t have a choice. He’d be kicked out of school and Gramma and Grampa wouldn’t want him around little Sammy anymore. Then it could be just him and his Dad.
He startled a little when the car engine turned off. He hadn’t even noticed the scenery enough to realize they were home. “Dean Winchester, you are going to go inside, go to your room and do absolutely nothing except sit on the bed until I come and get you. Do you understand?” Dean nodded a little and started to unbuckle his seatbelt. “Answer me, young man. I can’t hear your head rattle,” Gramma said.
He looked up and could see her looking at him through the rearview mirror, waiting. “Yes, ma’am,” he finally forced out. She nodded and looked over at Sammy in the front seat. Dean opened the car door and carried out her orders.
Once in his room, he started packing instead of doing what he was told. It was just a matter of time. Gramma would call Dad and then he’d come and get him. Morning at the latest. After that was done, there was nothing left to do but wait. And listen.
Sammy was still crying. And Gramma was cursing a little bit. Trying to get Sammy to take his medicine no doubt. Dean was the only one that could get him to calm down enough so that someone could put anything into his ears. But Gramma didn’t call for him to help. Just more proof that she didn’t trust him with Sammy anymore.
Eventually Sammy stopped crying (probably asleep). Then all Dean could hear was pacing. And low murmurs. He crept off the bed and put his ear to the door to try to hear what Gramma was saying, but she had the TV or radio going and he couldn’t make it out. Eventually, he went to sleep on the floor beside his packed bags.
He woke up fast, pulling his hands away from whatever was making them sting. Gramma grabbed them back and started washing them with more peroxide, making his eyes water from the pain. “When’s Dad going to get here?” he finally asked when it became apparent that Gramma wasn’t going to talk to him of her own accord. She’d done the same thing when he’d started talking to just Sammy. Making him ask questions and stuff instead of just rambling on to him. It had worked then and it worked now.
She looked up at him then, tears in her own eyes and on her own face. That scared him. “I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.” She went back to work on bandaging his hands before pulling him off the bed to take off his shirt. Skinning the cat, she used to say to him when he was little and staying with them instead of Mom and Dad.
“But he’s coming right? He has to come now!” Dean insisted.
“Oh, Dean,” Gramma said and pulled him tight to her chest. After a long hug, she set him down and knelt to eye level with him. “Is that why you beat that boy up? To get John to come back?”
Dean shook his head. “I beat him up because he said Dad was a no-good dead beat dad that would rather be killing people in the Army than being with his kids. But I figured if I beat him up enough, you’d have to send me away and Dad would have to come back then,” he confessed.
Gramma’s face was even wetter now and she looked away long enough to wring out the washrag in the basin on the night stand before turning back. She started rubbing his face gentler than she’d dealt with his hands as she answered. “Dean, I want you to listen good. Your Dad loves you more than anything in this world, except maybe Sammy. But he just needs some time and a man just isn’t equipped to handle an infant on his own. I have no doubt in my mind that my son will come back for both of you. I just can’t tell you when because he’s always done things in his own time. Ever since he was your age. And furthermore, there is nothing in this world that you can do that will ever make me or your Granpa send you away. We love you and you’re family. Do you understand?”
Dean nodded even though he didn’t. He knew Gramma was lying. In his heart, he guessed he’d known Dad was never coming back ever since he didn’t show up on Dean or Sammy’s birthdays this past year.
He didn’t talk again that night no matter what Gramma asked. She made his favorite dinner of canned ravioli, but he wouldn’t eat. He just went back to his room, unpacked the baseball glove Dad had given him on the last birthday they were all together, and curled up on his bed with it.
It was just him and Sammy now.
Author:
jebbypalfandom: Supernatural
rating: Everyone
Characters: Dean, Sam, OCs
Summary: Dean finally decides John isn't coming back.
A/N: For
poisontaster. She asked for a story written in the middle of Left Behind; the moment that Dean became convinced (consciously or unconsciously) that John was never coming back. This is probably more than she had in mind, but we all know Winchesters' won't shut up until their story is told. Unbeta'ed (at least for now).Word count: 2270
At first, Dean was quiet and perfect. He did what he was asked when he was asked and never complained or cried. Then again, the complaining would have required him to talk and he wasn’t too willing to do that until almost six months after John had left him and little Sammy with her. Sheila didn’t know quite what to do to coax him out of his shell, but then, with everything that had happened, both she and Frank understood it.
They couldn’t afford to send Dean to an expensive therapist – assuming there were even any child psychologists in a hundred mile radius of Dent County, Missouri. As it was, Sheila did her best to look after Sammy while Frank tried his with Dean.
It didn’t work very well. Dean would sulk, or pretend to not hear what Frank said until it had been repeated ten times. Oh, he was perfect, but about as perfect as any five-year old could be expected to be. So they both gave in and let Dean help Sheila with Sammy. It made him happy, and even better, she managed to get him talk. Of course, only for Sammy’s sake, not to actually communicate anything about how he was feeling.
Sheila could only shake her head about it. Dean was every inch John’s son.
Sammy was screaming from his ear infection when the phone started ringing, but stubbornly refusing to cooperate with her about his ear drops. Somehow in the last thirty years, she’d forgotten exactly how strong and flexible and fast two-year olds could be. Sheila finally gave up and deposited him in his playpen on the way to grab the phone. She’d be really happy when Frank got back home from taking care of his dad in Arkansas. The plain fact was that she was too old to wrangle two children without backup.
“Hello?” she answered as she tried to block Sammy’s screams out with a finger to her ear.
“Mrs. Winchester? This is Selma at Barnitz Elementary. I’m calling about Dean.”
Sheila quickly glanced at the clock – 1 pm. Still no where near time to pick Dean up, so she wasn’t late. “What’s wrong? Is he hurt? Where is he?”
“No, no, I’m sorry. Dean is perfectly fine and sitting in the principal’s office. However, we do need you to come to the school as soon as possible to meet with the principal and pick Dean up,” Selma explained.
Dean was okay. Thank God. Sheila released the breath she’d been holding. There were a lot of things in this life that Sheila never wanted to face, but the top on that list was telling her son that her grandson was hurt or worse. “It’s going to take me a little while – I have to get someone to watch Sammy.”
Dead air answered her in her ear before Selma’s voice returned, still formal as Selma always insisted on being about school business. “Go ahead and bring Sammy with you, Mrs. Winchester. I can keep an eye on him while you and Principal Young talk.”
Sheila almost refused. Almost. Then again, if they were in that much of an all fire hurry, she didn’t really feel too guilty about foisting a screaming Sammy off on them. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
As Sheila packed Sammy up and drove to the school, she kept repeating what Selma had told her – Dean is perfectly fine. She couldn’t imagine what they could want to speak with her about. His last parent-teacher conference was just three weeks ago and Mrs. Shannon spoke of Dean with nothing but glowing praise. Sheila was certain the admiration went both ways if the number of cookies Dean saved to give his teacher was any indication.
The knot of worry in her gut grew when she saw Selma, Principal Young’s secretary, waiting for her in front of the school’s entrance. “I thought I could help you carry Sammy and his things inside,” Selma said, as if they hadn’t both gone to school together and Sheila wasn’t painfully aware of how Selma’s arthritis made it difficult for her to walk up the stairs into the school.
“Thank you, Selma,” Sheila answered before removing Sammy from his car seat and handing him over. Oddly enough, the brat quieted completely once he was in Selma’s arms. The respite this gave her headache was short-lived once she got a look at her other grandson when they arrived at the principal’s office.
Dean’s shirt was covered in blood and his knuckles caked in it. A chunk of his hair was torn out, his jeans ripped, and a shoe missing. She ignored whatever Selma and now Principal Young were saying and rushed to his side. “What’s wrong, baby? Are you hurt? Who did this to you?” she asked as her hands checked his bones and pulled up his shirt to make sure that no wound had caused the red tableau on it. Through it all, Dean was docile and didn’t answer, but he wore a smirk that made her want to shake him until he explained everything.
“Mrs. Winchester, if you’ll step into my office,” Principal Young said and Sheila heard it as if for the first time. “Selma?”
“Sammy, Dean and I will be fine. Won’t we, boys?” Selma answered as she got Sammy to wave at Sheila.
Disoriented and worried, Sheila entered the office and sat down as Principal Young followed her and shut the oak door behind him. “What is going on?” she demanded.
Bill Young sat down. Removing his glasses, he rubbed his forehead before answering her. It felt a lot like when his father had done the same thing as he explained to her how his fourteen-year old son had managed to steal his car and take her son, John, into St. Louis to see some rock concert. It did nothing to assuage her worry.
“Well, he’s a little boy, Sheila, and boys will get into school yard fights –“
“I’ve seen the results of school yard tussles, Bill, and those don’t usually leave my grandson looking like a horror movie extra.”
“Calm down and listen to me, Sheila. He’s fine. Fortunately, so is the other boy – a badly broken nose, couple of black eyes and a broken collar bone, but he’s going to be fine,” Bill explained.
Sheila couldn’t help it, her jaw dropped. She leaned forward to look out the office window at her grandson as she asked the next question. “Exactly how many boys were beating them up?”
“It was just Dean and James Lee.”
“James Lee Scanton? He’s a year older and at least three inches taller than Dean!”
“Coach Salmon is already asking if Dean will try out for the wrestling team,” Bill said with a chuckle. “Look, fortunately, I know Dean’s situation and from what I can tell, he was severely provoked. As it stands though, I have to suspend him for two weeks.”
“How-“
“I don’t know. We’re still trying to figure out how and why the fight lasted as long as it did. I’ve talked to the Scantons and considering that Dean is younger and everything else considered, they’re not going to press this. Needless to say, once he does return to school, his playground time will be closely monitored.”
“You said he was provoked. What did Dean say?”
Bill shrugged. “He won’t say a damn thing, Sheila, which scares me more than anything else. I remember what he was like when John first gave them to you and even this is different.”
“Then how do you know he was provoked?” Sheila asked.
“One of the children said that James Lee had insulted Dean’s dad.”
Suddenly it all fell into place. As much as they tried, neither she nor Frank could get Dean to talk about either Mary or John. And her son wasn’t helping much by not calling or writing or anything. It made her so mad.
“Take him home, Sheila. And if you think he needs more than two weeks, don’t worry about it. There’re worse things in this life than repeating a grade.”
Sheila Winchester didn’t need Bill Young to tell her that. All she had to do was look into her grandson’s eyes every time he woke screaming from a nightmare about fire.
The car ride home with Gramma wasn’t quiet. Of course, nothing could be quiet with the way Sammy had been screaming for two days. For once Dean didn’t try to distract his brother from his pain. Instead he just sat and looked out the window. Now Dad would have to come for him. He wouldn’t have a choice. He’d be kicked out of school and Gramma and Grampa wouldn’t want him around little Sammy anymore. Then it could be just him and his Dad.
He startled a little when the car engine turned off. He hadn’t even noticed the scenery enough to realize they were home. “Dean Winchester, you are going to go inside, go to your room and do absolutely nothing except sit on the bed until I come and get you. Do you understand?” Dean nodded a little and started to unbuckle his seatbelt. “Answer me, young man. I can’t hear your head rattle,” Gramma said.
He looked up and could see her looking at him through the rearview mirror, waiting. “Yes, ma’am,” he finally forced out. She nodded and looked over at Sammy in the front seat. Dean opened the car door and carried out her orders.
Once in his room, he started packing instead of doing what he was told. It was just a matter of time. Gramma would call Dad and then he’d come and get him. Morning at the latest. After that was done, there was nothing left to do but wait. And listen.
Sammy was still crying. And Gramma was cursing a little bit. Trying to get Sammy to take his medicine no doubt. Dean was the only one that could get him to calm down enough so that someone could put anything into his ears. But Gramma didn’t call for him to help. Just more proof that she didn’t trust him with Sammy anymore.
Eventually Sammy stopped crying (probably asleep). Then all Dean could hear was pacing. And low murmurs. He crept off the bed and put his ear to the door to try to hear what Gramma was saying, but she had the TV or radio going and he couldn’t make it out. Eventually, he went to sleep on the floor beside his packed bags.
He woke up fast, pulling his hands away from whatever was making them sting. Gramma grabbed them back and started washing them with more peroxide, making his eyes water from the pain. “When’s Dad going to get here?” he finally asked when it became apparent that Gramma wasn’t going to talk to him of her own accord. She’d done the same thing when he’d started talking to just Sammy. Making him ask questions and stuff instead of just rambling on to him. It had worked then and it worked now.
She looked up at him then, tears in her own eyes and on her own face. That scared him. “I don’t know, baby. I don’t know.” She went back to work on bandaging his hands before pulling him off the bed to take off his shirt. Skinning the cat, she used to say to him when he was little and staying with them instead of Mom and Dad.
“But he’s coming right? He has to come now!” Dean insisted.
“Oh, Dean,” Gramma said and pulled him tight to her chest. After a long hug, she set him down and knelt to eye level with him. “Is that why you beat that boy up? To get John to come back?”
Dean shook his head. “I beat him up because he said Dad was a no-good dead beat dad that would rather be killing people in the Army than being with his kids. But I figured if I beat him up enough, you’d have to send me away and Dad would have to come back then,” he confessed.
Gramma’s face was even wetter now and she looked away long enough to wring out the washrag in the basin on the night stand before turning back. She started rubbing his face gentler than she’d dealt with his hands as she answered. “Dean, I want you to listen good. Your Dad loves you more than anything in this world, except maybe Sammy. But he just needs some time and a man just isn’t equipped to handle an infant on his own. I have no doubt in my mind that my son will come back for both of you. I just can’t tell you when because he’s always done things in his own time. Ever since he was your age. And furthermore, there is nothing in this world that you can do that will ever make me or your Granpa send you away. We love you and you’re family. Do you understand?”
Dean nodded even though he didn’t. He knew Gramma was lying. In his heart, he guessed he’d known Dad was never coming back ever since he didn’t show up on Dean or Sammy’s birthdays this past year.
He didn’t talk again that night no matter what Gramma asked. She made his favorite dinner of canned ravioli, but he wouldn’t eat. He just went back to his room, unpacked the baseball glove Dad had given him on the last birthday they were all together, and curled up on his bed with it.
It was just him and Sammy now.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-06 04:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-06 06:33 pm (UTC)*huggles you and your comments of win*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-06 05:37 pm (UTC)First of all, the sublimated ANGER here...just. That's so Dean, taking his anger and channeling it into places where he doesn't recognize it for what it is, like not caring that Sammy's ears are bothering him or beating the SNOT out of that other kid. Just. God. I can't even imagine all the misplaced, redirected, unrecognized anger Dean has in his system. And with John Dean and Dean's NEVER doing anything like therapy, it probably WILL never get recognized.
And I really feel for Sheila here too; she's got her own share of helplessness and anger to deal with on top of two fractious boys. John might inspire love, but he's a hard, not-easy man to love and everyone here is suffering because of it. And as so often occurs with Dean, you can see her TRYING to get through to Dean and him just shoving away anything that resembles succor.
Strangely enough? It breaks my heart that Dean's favorite food is canned ravioli. You know? I mean...it's such a latchkey kid/motherless boy kind of thing to be his favorite. Not anything home cooked (anything his MOTHER made), but something cheap and pre-made and not very good. *wibbles*
I knew this would hurt. And it does. But oh, SO GOOD. Fabulous job, hon. I love the way you just NAIL it.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-06 06:34 pm (UTC)makes sense...
Date: 2008-01-06 06:30 pm (UTC)Re: makes sense...
Date: 2008-01-06 06:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-06 06:44 pm (UTC)Lovely job.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-06 06:46 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-06 06:45 pm (UTC)Breaks the heart in the best way. Dean's faith in John tested, and found wanting. I can imagine the guilt he feels when John finally does come to get him.
I love your Sheila. The idea of such a caring character in the Winchester family, and yet the boys didn't have the opportunity to get to know her. Wonderful writing.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-06 06:47 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-06 08:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-06 08:14 pm (UTC)You might be interested in the original sequel to Left Behind, The Second Hardest Thing. John POV.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-07 10:05 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-07 11:15 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-07 02:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-07 11:14 pm (UTC)And sorry I didn't wait for you -- just was twitchy and bored that morning. *hugs*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-07 05:56 pm (UTC)*tears up*
Wonderful.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-01-07 11:12 pm (UTC)