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Entry tags:
Family Orientation (6/?) - Supernatural
Title: Family orientation (5/?)
author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jebbypal
rating: everyone
Summary: Everyone else had family at Stanford's convocation. Sam never expected anyone to show up for him.
author notes: still unbeta-ed and a little rough since I haven't written in a bit...but no one's really reading this so I doubt it matters. mininanomo daily word count more than exceed though!
Part 5
Sam takes his time during his next few circuits of the neighborhood surrounding Sheila’s house. Thoughts of what Dad and Dean would do, what they’d think of the situation, run through his head. Dad would show up early to throw Sheila off her game and make it more likely that she’d confess whatever angle she was working. Then again, Dad always assumed that everyone was working an angle just as hard as he was.
On the other hand, Dean would arrive and turn on the charm that worked on women regardless of whether they were four, forty, or one hundred and four. Within an hour of meeting any woman (and more than one fatherly man), Dean would be offered food, drink, and quite possibly a permanent place in the family. More than once, Sam had seen Dad take the same route of charm, and generally it would get what he wanted as long as the mark was dazzled enough by John Winchester’s rough good looks and air of intrigue to not look at the pain and anger that always resided in his eyes.
Neither option had ever worked out well for him, so in the end he arrives exactly thirty minutes after he called her - his grandmother - and tries to plaster on the best “at ease” smile he has before ringing the doorbell. It’s not long before the robin eggshell-blue door opens to reveal Sheila Winchester. Her face still closely resembles that from the photo album, albeit with many more crows feet and a slightly saggier chin. The once brown hair specked with gray, much closer to Dean’s color than his own, is all gray and permed. In the pictures, his grandmother had seemed not short – not as tall as his father or the other man, his grandfather, but taller than Mary. It’s hard to tell now if it’s Sam’s height that makes Sheila appear almost short and slightly frail, or time itself. Still, the top of her curled hair reaches his mid-chest, so she’s still taller than many little old ladies that Sam has encountered since he started growing an inch every three months.
“Sam, it’s good to finally see you,” she says with a sly smile that has a hint of Sam’s Dad whenever John Winchester was hiding a piece of intel. “Do you need to use the facilities before we go out? Perhaps a glass of water? You look awfully red.”
Belatedly, Sam realizes he forgot o put on any sunscreen before heading out and after several hours of walking around Sheila’s neighborhood, he’s sure he qualifies more for a lobster coloring than any mere red.
“That’d be great, ma’am. Thanks.”
She gestures for him to enter, but he doesn’t miss the way her face shutters closed a bit at his distant politeness.
“Down the hall, two doors on your right, and you’ll find the bathroom. Should be some Noxzema in the medicine cabinet if you like. I’ll get you something to drink.” With that, she turns her back on him like she’s known him all his life, and heads through the living room to where he presumes the kitchen is located. Out of habit, he looks for a salt line when he closes and locks the front door. He doesn’t find one, but he does find runes and other protective symbols carved into the door frame. Anyone less knowledgeable would assume it to be a new-age hippie decoration.
Walking in the direction of the bathroom, Sam feels like a voyeur. The walls are filled with pictures of people he doesn’t know. He recognizes a few from the photo album though – a large framed picture of his parent’s wedding, some sort of holiday portrait of young Sam and Dean with his grandparents. Other than that, he can’t help but wonder how many more family members that he may have and not know about.
He forces his feet down the carpeted hallway and enters a bathroom that resembles nothing so much as the contents of a Pepto-Bismol bottle. Pink shower curtain, pink carpets, and pink striped wallpaper. He completes his business as fast of possible out of fear that a candy striper might materialize out of the shower or something.
Sam finds Sheila waiting for him in the living room – simple wood paneling, an aged brown corduroy couch, and a couple of matched lazy-boys. A glass of iced tea and cold milk with a sandwich sit on a tray on the heavy oak coffee table. She smiles at him, more nervous now than welcoming. “I thought you might be hungry after your morning exercise, and there’s no telling how long of a wait there might be at the restaurant.”
Mentally he kicks himself. Of course, a single tall man walking obsessively around the same block would be noted upon and neighbors alerted. She’d probably been watching him all morning with her morning coffee and paper. “Thanks, I appreciate it.” And then he stuffs his face, grateful both for the food and for an excuse to delay talking to the stranger next to him.
author:
jebbypalrating: everyone
Summary: Everyone else had family at Stanford's convocation. Sam never expected anyone to show up for him.
author notes: still unbeta-ed and a little rough since I haven't written in a bit...but no one's really reading this so I doubt it matters. mininanomo daily word count more than exceed though!
Part 5
Sam takes his time during his next few circuits of the neighborhood surrounding Sheila’s house. Thoughts of what Dad and Dean would do, what they’d think of the situation, run through his head. Dad would show up early to throw Sheila off her game and make it more likely that she’d confess whatever angle she was working. Then again, Dad always assumed that everyone was working an angle just as hard as he was.
On the other hand, Dean would arrive and turn on the charm that worked on women regardless of whether they were four, forty, or one hundred and four. Within an hour of meeting any woman (and more than one fatherly man), Dean would be offered food, drink, and quite possibly a permanent place in the family. More than once, Sam had seen Dad take the same route of charm, and generally it would get what he wanted as long as the mark was dazzled enough by John Winchester’s rough good looks and air of intrigue to not look at the pain and anger that always resided in his eyes.
Neither option had ever worked out well for him, so in the end he arrives exactly thirty minutes after he called her - his grandmother - and tries to plaster on the best “at ease” smile he has before ringing the doorbell. It’s not long before the robin eggshell-blue door opens to reveal Sheila Winchester. Her face still closely resembles that from the photo album, albeit with many more crows feet and a slightly saggier chin. The once brown hair specked with gray, much closer to Dean’s color than his own, is all gray and permed. In the pictures, his grandmother had seemed not short – not as tall as his father or the other man, his grandfather, but taller than Mary. It’s hard to tell now if it’s Sam’s height that makes Sheila appear almost short and slightly frail, or time itself. Still, the top of her curled hair reaches his mid-chest, so she’s still taller than many little old ladies that Sam has encountered since he started growing an inch every three months.
“Sam, it’s good to finally see you,” she says with a sly smile that has a hint of Sam’s Dad whenever John Winchester was hiding a piece of intel. “Do you need to use the facilities before we go out? Perhaps a glass of water? You look awfully red.”
Belatedly, Sam realizes he forgot o put on any sunscreen before heading out and after several hours of walking around Sheila’s neighborhood, he’s sure he qualifies more for a lobster coloring than any mere red.
“That’d be great, ma’am. Thanks.”
She gestures for him to enter, but he doesn’t miss the way her face shutters closed a bit at his distant politeness.
“Down the hall, two doors on your right, and you’ll find the bathroom. Should be some Noxzema in the medicine cabinet if you like. I’ll get you something to drink.” With that, she turns her back on him like she’s known him all his life, and heads through the living room to where he presumes the kitchen is located. Out of habit, he looks for a salt line when he closes and locks the front door. He doesn’t find one, but he does find runes and other protective symbols carved into the door frame. Anyone less knowledgeable would assume it to be a new-age hippie decoration.
Walking in the direction of the bathroom, Sam feels like a voyeur. The walls are filled with pictures of people he doesn’t know. He recognizes a few from the photo album though – a large framed picture of his parent’s wedding, some sort of holiday portrait of young Sam and Dean with his grandparents. Other than that, he can’t help but wonder how many more family members that he may have and not know about.
He forces his feet down the carpeted hallway and enters a bathroom that resembles nothing so much as the contents of a Pepto-Bismol bottle. Pink shower curtain, pink carpets, and pink striped wallpaper. He completes his business as fast of possible out of fear that a candy striper might materialize out of the shower or something.
Sam finds Sheila waiting for him in the living room – simple wood paneling, an aged brown corduroy couch, and a couple of matched lazy-boys. A glass of iced tea and cold milk with a sandwich sit on a tray on the heavy oak coffee table. She smiles at him, more nervous now than welcoming. “I thought you might be hungry after your morning exercise, and there’s no telling how long of a wait there might be at the restaurant.”
Mentally he kicks himself. Of course, a single tall man walking obsessively around the same block would be noted upon and neighbors alerted. She’d probably been watching him all morning with her morning coffee and paper. “Thanks, I appreciate it.” And then he stuffs his face, grateful both for the food and for an excuse to delay talking to the stranger next to him.