SpN fic post: Lodi part 3
3/6/09 03:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roxyTitle: Lodi
Fandom: SpN
Pairing: Sam/OMC
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1928
Summary: Sam finds out that love is never simple during a long hot summer in New Jersey
Lodi
One day, they're hanging around the back yard, spread out over a couple of folding chairs, those net kind no one in the world still sold and Sam says, "I want a bike, so I can…go." He waves his hand vaguely and Dean's eyes lock on the movement with a frown. "Get out when I need to. And you can be private." And I can think about this thing called my life without worrying about you.
Dean wrinkles up, and his voice dropping all flat and annoyed, he says, "And where are we getting you a bike from?"
Sam eases his legs out straight on either side of the lounger, twists his heels in the sand. He grabs a beer out of the cooler next to the lounger, tosses one to Dean and with a smirk, takes the other himself. He ignores Dean's automatic disapproving protest, cracks the beer and Dean says, "Ass-hole. If Dad shows up outa nowhere, your laptop is mine. You'll be too dead to care." Sam sticks his tongue out at him and Dean tips his bottle at him. "And I'll use it for what it's *meant* for--free porn, Virginella."
They sit quietly for a while, listening to the rug rats running up and down the street, screaming. They both tip their heads to the sound before relaxing. Laughter. He watches Dean, rolls the bitter-sweet, and above all, *cold* brew, around in his mouth. He's thinking.
After a while, he notices Dean staring at him, brows still wrinkled. Sam sighs. "I'm not asking for a bike, idiot. I'm just saying, I'd like to have one."
"Oh," Dean says and wrinkles some more. He holds the Bud he's got in his hand up to the light, watches the sun dance in the glass, licks away a little drop starting to slide down the bottle's neck. Sam watches and grinds his teeth….
"Oh." Dean says again. "…and that's different how?"
Deep breath and Sam tries to explain what he means. "It's like saying—well, like saying you want to fuck—I don't know—Eva Mendez? It's not like it's going to happen, but you can want it anyway, see? You think about it, you dream about it…how perfect it'd be, how fucking right…but you don’t expect it. 'Cause you know. It's never gonna happen. And it doesn't, y'know, hurt. 'Cause it's just a dream." Sam thinks that's a perfect example of what he means. Or maybe he's had a few beers too many, suddenly he's not that sure what he said made sense at all...
And for some reason, Dean goes all stiff, and his face crumbles up. He throws the empty at Sam, lumbers up out of his chair and stalks away, muttering "You wish you could fuck Eva Mendez." But he was sometimes hard-to-get and could be a real rude fuck that way, Sam thinks, and ignores it.
"Recycle, bitch," he yells at Dean's unresponsive back.
~~~~~~
June was crowding up on Sam, it's humid breath breathing down his neck. Two more weeks and school would be out and then, all they'd have was the hanging around, waiting for Dad to show on weekends.
The town's outside an Army base, the school's full of military dependents, so Sam and Dean aren't even a blip on the radar for once--a hell of a relief. It makes it easier to talk to people in a town full of transients, easier to pass off why they look the way they do, or dress the way they do. In a school full of dozens of accents, they didn't stick out, and that's all Sam ever asks for. In fact, he kind of likes the school. People are a little more relaxed here, kind of less concerned about what you wore and what you had…helped that everyone was poor as shit out here.
The week before school's going to let out, Dad comes home. Dad and Dean go over the particulars of the current case, talk back and forth about it. Dad says he does that because sometimes he picks up things he misses by being too close to the case. Sam sees that it also makes Dean feel less out of the loop, and he's sure Dad knows that. The two of them make notes and add important stuff to the journal, which means Sam hangs out and eavesdrops on them. Dad tells Dean he's not going to be there when Dean graduates. Sam watches Dean's face as they talk about it--doesn’t get it. Graduation is supposed to be a big deal, but it's like Dean doesn't give a shit that Dad doesn’t give a shit. His face is calm as it always is talking to Dad. His eyes don’t change.
This is the thing…the thing that makes Sam want to lock the door on his Dad. Dean knows he's Dad's good soldier, his lieutenant. What he doesn't know is if he's Dad's *son*. How it is Dad can't get that, if fourteen year old Sam can?
If it was just the two of them, Dean and Sam, Sam would make sure Dean was happy. That he'd know how much Sam cares, and how valuable he is because Sam would show him every day….
Right--*sure* he would, and right after that, Dean'd give him a wedgie while giving him a swirlie and then, duct-tape him to the bathroom floor for being a big fucking girl.
~~~~~~
They go out to eat while Dad's home, and…Sam figures it's the closest Dad's going to get to saying "atta boy Dean—good job graduating after going to like, a million schools, and managing not to fuck it all up. I'm proud." And maybe it's not so bad, 'cause he can see it makes Dean glow a little. Hell, Dean's face is a fucking open book—how can Dad bring himself to break his heart? But at least…Dad's trying.
Dad pays cash, smiling at Sam as he does. Sam blushes a little, and he's gotta admit it's nice of him to give Sam's aversion to theft some acknowledgement.
Dad picks up a twelve pack on the way home, and him and Dean sit in the back yard, smoking Newports and getting not exactly shit-faced but comfortably numb in the back yard, laughing low and secret in the dark. Sam's drowsing in the top bunk—too young to join them, but it's okay--in a way, hearing Dad and Dean out there, murmuring and chuckling, is like being in the backseat of the car, nearly asleep and feeling like he's being rocked…he keeps a notebook and writes about His Life and calls the Impala the only cradle he's ever had.
He loves that car as much as he loves his family….
Sam drifts off to sleep to the sound of his family's voices.
~~~~~~
The next morning, the garbage can is full of bottles and there's an empty pack of Newports on the porch rail. It's squashed flat, and the bottom of the pack's torn out….
Dad's hit the road again.
A few days after Dad leaves, Dean comes up the walk with some guy, which surprises Sam because Dean's not much for bringing anyone home who isn't going to end up on his bed at some point. Besides having the wrong parts to interest Dean, this guy doesn't look much like the jerks Dean usually gravitates to—though Sam has to admit he kinda likes that Mike asshole who comes over from time to time to smoke with Dean. He looks…Sam swallows against the sudden sharp pain in his chest. This guy is…*hot*. Sam blushes and drops his head. This guy is hot like the sun…he's only ever seen one other guy so fucking hot.
"Hey Sam, about that bike, my buddy here is gonna hook us up." Dean's got a hand cupped over his buddy's shoulder, and the guy's bent a little with his hand out, and Sam just stares at it. Like…what the hell, he wants to shake his hand?
"Hey," Sam says and shoves both hands in his pockets and gives a little relieved sigh of thanks he's wearing the longest, baggiest tee shirt he owns. Coverage, it's everything.
My Buddy is smiling at him and…oh geez. Sam's pinned to the porch step by bright green eyes and long, floppy hair…all these spiky white teeth…maybe he's a vampire, Sam thinks. Really, if vampires were real, he'd be kind of worried right now….
"So, your brother says you want a bike. All you have to do is get a frame. I like working on bikes. That's what I do at the store in summer. I work at the store with Dean." The job that keeps Sam in comics and chips, that one.
Sam is still staring open mouthed because he just can't wrap his mind around how *hot* this guy is and why is he hanging around Dean and Dean says, "Sorry, my brother's slow. What Pat means is, scrounge up a decent frame and we'll get the parts to get it working, okay, Raymond?"
Sam just squints at Dean, who thinks he's so fucking ha-ha funny. "Fuck you."
Pat grins even wider at Sam. Sam weaves from the force of it. "Actually, m'name's Patrick. Yeah, folks throw out good stuff on trash day. We just have to get there early enough. Betcha anything this summer, we'll find you a bike, little dude."
Patrick smiles again and Sam wants to die. And he wants to kick him in the nads for calling him 'little dude' and he wants to…to climb him like a fucking tree. It's burned on his brain, this vision of white teeth, and red lips prettier than Dean's and green eyes bigger than Dean's and lashes longer than Dean's and he's got dimples and his hair curls around his face in long black waves, and he's wider, and taller and Sam's pretty sure he could come in five seconds flat with this guy on his mind and his dick in his hand…
"Yo, Sammy! Hello?" Dean's glaring at him.
"Bike, sure. Sure, bike."
"Told you—slow." Dean steers Patrick away, looking over his shoulder and his eyebrows are shouting, what the *fuck* is wrong with you?
Sam flips him off and plops lower on the stairs as he watches them both walk away. Fuck, he thinks. How much of an obvious fool had he just been? Sam slides his hands into his pockets and pets himself…Patrick. It feels *good* to want Patrick. It's a fucking relief, it's a god damn blessing and he's going to want Patrick so hard he's never going to think about anyone else, ever.
That night, after one of his better showers, Sam stares at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror; he has to stretch up on his toes to do so. He sees a skinny kid with a skinny neck, and squinty eyes and a pointy chin, floppy dull brown hair…fuck. It was plain as the enormous nose on his face; even if by some miracle Patrick turns out to be gay, or bi, Sam doesn't have an ugly snowball's chance in hell…all he can hope for is that someday, maybe some loser'll take pity on him.
Shit.
Why couldn't he have gotten any of the DNA that went into making Dean? Fucking Dean. How come Dean didn't get the bobble head gene? It wasn't fair--why couldn't Sam have gotten that mouth? Sam shivers, and presses against the sink edge, as he reaches blindly for his toothbrush.
part 4
TBC
Fandom: SpN
Pairing: Sam/OMC
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1928
Summary: Sam finds out that love is never simple during a long hot summer in New Jersey
Lodi
One day, they're hanging around the back yard, spread out over a couple of folding chairs, those net kind no one in the world still sold and Sam says, "I want a bike, so I can…go." He waves his hand vaguely and Dean's eyes lock on the movement with a frown. "Get out when I need to. And you can be private." And I can think about this thing called my life without worrying about you.
Dean wrinkles up, and his voice dropping all flat and annoyed, he says, "And where are we getting you a bike from?"
Sam eases his legs out straight on either side of the lounger, twists his heels in the sand. He grabs a beer out of the cooler next to the lounger, tosses one to Dean and with a smirk, takes the other himself. He ignores Dean's automatic disapproving protest, cracks the beer and Dean says, "Ass-hole. If Dad shows up outa nowhere, your laptop is mine. You'll be too dead to care." Sam sticks his tongue out at him and Dean tips his bottle at him. "And I'll use it for what it's *meant* for--free porn, Virginella."
They sit quietly for a while, listening to the rug rats running up and down the street, screaming. They both tip their heads to the sound before relaxing. Laughter. He watches Dean, rolls the bitter-sweet, and above all, *cold* brew, around in his mouth. He's thinking.
After a while, he notices Dean staring at him, brows still wrinkled. Sam sighs. "I'm not asking for a bike, idiot. I'm just saying, I'd like to have one."
"Oh," Dean says and wrinkles some more. He holds the Bud he's got in his hand up to the light, watches the sun dance in the glass, licks away a little drop starting to slide down the bottle's neck. Sam watches and grinds his teeth….
"Oh." Dean says again. "…and that's different how?"
Deep breath and Sam tries to explain what he means. "It's like saying—well, like saying you want to fuck—I don't know—Eva Mendez? It's not like it's going to happen, but you can want it anyway, see? You think about it, you dream about it…how perfect it'd be, how fucking right…but you don’t expect it. 'Cause you know. It's never gonna happen. And it doesn't, y'know, hurt. 'Cause it's just a dream." Sam thinks that's a perfect example of what he means. Or maybe he's had a few beers too many, suddenly he's not that sure what he said made sense at all...
And for some reason, Dean goes all stiff, and his face crumbles up. He throws the empty at Sam, lumbers up out of his chair and stalks away, muttering "You wish you could fuck Eva Mendez." But he was sometimes hard-to-get and could be a real rude fuck that way, Sam thinks, and ignores it.
"Recycle, bitch," he yells at Dean's unresponsive back.
June was crowding up on Sam, it's humid breath breathing down his neck. Two more weeks and school would be out and then, all they'd have was the hanging around, waiting for Dad to show on weekends.
The town's outside an Army base, the school's full of military dependents, so Sam and Dean aren't even a blip on the radar for once--a hell of a relief. It makes it easier to talk to people in a town full of transients, easier to pass off why they look the way they do, or dress the way they do. In a school full of dozens of accents, they didn't stick out, and that's all Sam ever asks for. In fact, he kind of likes the school. People are a little more relaxed here, kind of less concerned about what you wore and what you had…helped that everyone was poor as shit out here.
The week before school's going to let out, Dad comes home. Dad and Dean go over the particulars of the current case, talk back and forth about it. Dad says he does that because sometimes he picks up things he misses by being too close to the case. Sam sees that it also makes Dean feel less out of the loop, and he's sure Dad knows that. The two of them make notes and add important stuff to the journal, which means Sam hangs out and eavesdrops on them. Dad tells Dean he's not going to be there when Dean graduates. Sam watches Dean's face as they talk about it--doesn’t get it. Graduation is supposed to be a big deal, but it's like Dean doesn't give a shit that Dad doesn’t give a shit. His face is calm as it always is talking to Dad. His eyes don’t change.
This is the thing…the thing that makes Sam want to lock the door on his Dad. Dean knows he's Dad's good soldier, his lieutenant. What he doesn't know is if he's Dad's *son*. How it is Dad can't get that, if fourteen year old Sam can?
If it was just the two of them, Dean and Sam, Sam would make sure Dean was happy. That he'd know how much Sam cares, and how valuable he is because Sam would show him every day….
Right--*sure* he would, and right after that, Dean'd give him a wedgie while giving him a swirlie and then, duct-tape him to the bathroom floor for being a big fucking girl.
They go out to eat while Dad's home, and…Sam figures it's the closest Dad's going to get to saying "atta boy Dean—good job graduating after going to like, a million schools, and managing not to fuck it all up. I'm proud." And maybe it's not so bad, 'cause he can see it makes Dean glow a little. Hell, Dean's face is a fucking open book—how can Dad bring himself to break his heart? But at least…Dad's trying.
Dad pays cash, smiling at Sam as he does. Sam blushes a little, and he's gotta admit it's nice of him to give Sam's aversion to theft some acknowledgement.
Dad picks up a twelve pack on the way home, and him and Dean sit in the back yard, smoking Newports and getting not exactly shit-faced but comfortably numb in the back yard, laughing low and secret in the dark. Sam's drowsing in the top bunk—too young to join them, but it's okay--in a way, hearing Dad and Dean out there, murmuring and chuckling, is like being in the backseat of the car, nearly asleep and feeling like he's being rocked…he keeps a notebook and writes about His Life and calls the Impala the only cradle he's ever had.
He loves that car as much as he loves his family….
Sam drifts off to sleep to the sound of his family's voices.
The next morning, the garbage can is full of bottles and there's an empty pack of Newports on the porch rail. It's squashed flat, and the bottom of the pack's torn out….
Dad's hit the road again.
A few days after Dad leaves, Dean comes up the walk with some guy, which surprises Sam because Dean's not much for bringing anyone home who isn't going to end up on his bed at some point. Besides having the wrong parts to interest Dean, this guy doesn't look much like the jerks Dean usually gravitates to—though Sam has to admit he kinda likes that Mike asshole who comes over from time to time to smoke with Dean. He looks…Sam swallows against the sudden sharp pain in his chest. This guy is…*hot*. Sam blushes and drops his head. This guy is hot like the sun…he's only ever seen one other guy so fucking hot.
"Hey Sam, about that bike, my buddy here is gonna hook us up." Dean's got a hand cupped over his buddy's shoulder, and the guy's bent a little with his hand out, and Sam just stares at it. Like…what the hell, he wants to shake his hand?
"Hey," Sam says and shoves both hands in his pockets and gives a little relieved sigh of thanks he's wearing the longest, baggiest tee shirt he owns. Coverage, it's everything.
My Buddy is smiling at him and…oh geez. Sam's pinned to the porch step by bright green eyes and long, floppy hair…all these spiky white teeth…maybe he's a vampire, Sam thinks. Really, if vampires were real, he'd be kind of worried right now….
"So, your brother says you want a bike. All you have to do is get a frame. I like working on bikes. That's what I do at the store in summer. I work at the store with Dean." The job that keeps Sam in comics and chips, that one.
Sam is still staring open mouthed because he just can't wrap his mind around how *hot* this guy is and why is he hanging around Dean and Dean says, "Sorry, my brother's slow. What Pat means is, scrounge up a decent frame and we'll get the parts to get it working, okay, Raymond?"
Sam just squints at Dean, who thinks he's so fucking ha-ha funny. "Fuck you."
Pat grins even wider at Sam. Sam weaves from the force of it. "Actually, m'name's Patrick. Yeah, folks throw out good stuff on trash day. We just have to get there early enough. Betcha anything this summer, we'll find you a bike, little dude."
Patrick smiles again and Sam wants to die. And he wants to kick him in the nads for calling him 'little dude' and he wants to…to climb him like a fucking tree. It's burned on his brain, this vision of white teeth, and red lips prettier than Dean's and green eyes bigger than Dean's and lashes longer than Dean's and he's got dimples and his hair curls around his face in long black waves, and he's wider, and taller and Sam's pretty sure he could come in five seconds flat with this guy on his mind and his dick in his hand…
"Yo, Sammy! Hello?" Dean's glaring at him.
"Bike, sure. Sure, bike."
"Told you—slow." Dean steers Patrick away, looking over his shoulder and his eyebrows are shouting, what the *fuck* is wrong with you?
Sam flips him off and plops lower on the stairs as he watches them both walk away. Fuck, he thinks. How much of an obvious fool had he just been? Sam slides his hands into his pockets and pets himself…Patrick. It feels *good* to want Patrick. It's a fucking relief, it's a god damn blessing and he's going to want Patrick so hard he's never going to think about anyone else, ever.
That night, after one of his better showers, Sam stares at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror; he has to stretch up on his toes to do so. He sees a skinny kid with a skinny neck, and squinty eyes and a pointy chin, floppy dull brown hair…fuck. It was plain as the enormous nose on his face; even if by some miracle Patrick turns out to be gay, or bi, Sam doesn't have an ugly snowball's chance in hell…all he can hope for is that someday, maybe some loser'll take pity on him.
Shit.
Why couldn't he have gotten any of the DNA that went into making Dean? Fucking Dean. How come Dean didn't get the bobble head gene? It wasn't fair--why couldn't Sam have gotten that mouth? Sam shivers, and presses against the sink edge, as he reaches blindly for his toothbrush.
part 4
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
3/6/09 12:24 pm (UTC)And then - hee! Poor Sam. Puppy-love-hormone-struck!
*pets him*
Good stuff, good stuff.
(no subject)
3/6/09 03:23 pm (UTC)Mining my own distant childhood there.
Oh yeah, Poor Sam, more stuff coming for Sam. ;)
(no subject)
3/6/09 03:09 pm (UTC)My Buddy is smiling at him and…oh geez. Sam's pinned to the porch step by bright green eyes and long, floppy hair…all these spiky white teeth…maybe he's a vampire, Sam thinks. Really, if vampires were real, he'd be kind of worried right now…
YAY! First off, Tommy-fangs! *pumps fist* I LOVE the Fangs of Uber-Hotness! XD And second, Just you wait, Sammy. You'll see. Vampires ARE real, and they kinda suck. Heh.
This whole part just rocked, really. I love John showing he knows his boys, even if a little understated-ly. And how Sam resolves to love the hell out of Patrick (good name, BTW! He does kinda look like a Pat!), in the hopes of weaning himself off of. . .
But Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. *shakes head* You're a good-lookin' (or will be, in a few years) guy, too, with those damn fox-eyes and those vulnerable little dimples. And the voice you're gonna puberty-ize? *fans self* When he's angry and shouting, JP's voice is HAWT!
Ahem. Great update! Lovin' it (in a strictly non-Mickey D's kinda way, of course), and I can't wait for another one! *grabby hands*
(no subject)
3/6/09 03:21 pm (UTC)I'm in the 'John was the best Dad he could be, considering what was going on' camp. He might not have been a demonstrative guy, but it's obvious he loved his sons.
Lovin' it (in a strictly non-Mickey D's kinda way, of course
Heee! *lubs you*
(no subject)
3/6/09 04:18 pm (UTC)cant wait for the next part?!!
keep up the good work:)
lots of love
(no subject)
3/6/09 10:22 pm (UTC)More is coming up soon!
(no subject)
3/6/09 07:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/6/09 10:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
3/7/09 04:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
3/7/09 04:54 am (UTC)Thanks so very much for reading, *and* commenting! :)
(no subject)
3/12/09 01:09 pm (UTC)*draws shiny things all over fic*
(no subject)
3/13/09 04:03 am (UTC)Thank you!!!!
I'm so happy you liked this update. And Dean loves Sam, sure he's goig to try and get himm a bike. ;)
(no subject)
3/13/09 04:19 am (UTC)What a great line.
And yah--hell, you know me. I love seeing John treated with just a little respect. Him and Dean sharing a sweet moment warms the cockles of my heart.
Ewww. Stop warming them, it feels weird.
(no subject)
3/13/09 04:40 am (UTC)I can't help it--I like John wanting to be good to the kids--sometimes it works for him dan sometimes it doesn't but he tries. :)
And thank you--NJ and summer, a match made in hell!
(no subject)
4/6/09 03:46 am (UTC)Sam's drowsing in the top bunk—too young to join them, but it's okay--in a way, hearing Dad and Dean out there, murmuring and chuckling, is like being in the backseat of the car, nearly asleep and feeling like he's being rocked…he keeps a notebook and writes about His Life and calls the Impala the only cradle he's ever had.