SpN fic post: Lodi part 4
3/8/09 08:39 pm![[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: 1682
Summary: Sam finds out that love is never simple during a long hot summer in New Jersey
Lodi
Sam's writing in his journal, well, he had been writing in his journal, only just now he's noticing that what he's actually doing is doodle Patrick's name all over the margins of his paper. "Shit." He yanks the page out and starts writing again. He's trying to write a story, a personal story this time, a story based on real life, not a long drawn out barely understandable adventure featuring a kid who just happened to be named Sam, and his Pokemon friends. Sam grins, remembering making Dean read chapter after chapter of that thing…he remembers too that Dean never told him he was too busy to read it. How was his brother so awesome and such a dick too? Like right now, he was probably out in the woods with his skank friends somewhere, getting high, instead of being home eating dinner and helping him clean up—
Bangbang
The door is shaking in the frame, scares the hell out of Sam. He jumps over the arm of the sofa and feels for the stubby little Taurus tucked neatly in the drawer of the lamp table. He scurries over to the door, and whisper-yells, "Dean, zat you?"
"Hey, dude--can you let me in, it's Patrick."
Patrick? Sam tucks the gun away, unlocks the door and steps back. His hand is in his pocket, on a take out packet of salt--he doesn’t ever take shit for granted. "What do you want, Patrick?" Sam sizes this apparition up—looks like Patrick, but his face is all red and snotty and wrinkled, screwed up like a baby's. He's ugly looking this way. He stands in the doorway, his hands plucking at his jeans, silent and breathing heavy. Sam whispers Christo under his breath--just in case--Patrick doesn't flinch. He's just staring at Sam and still breathing like he's running.
"Dean home?"
Sam shakes his head no, and Patrick says "Oh," only it sounds a little more like he just got stabbed. "Okay. I'll see ya," but before he can turn around, Sam's yanking at his arm, using all his weight to stop a very determined Patrick from leaving. He's got to know what the fuck is up with Pat.
"Come in, Patrick, what the hell is wrong?"
Patrick slumps, sort of stumbles in, and looks around the little living room like he's shocked to find himself there. He wipes his face, and shrugs a couple of times before croaking, "Nothing, nothing's wrong, just…" His words tumble out and die. He's back to plucking at his jeans again.
"Go sit in the kitchen," Sam orders and Patrick blindly obeys.
Sam makes Patrick sit, and fixes him tea, very hot, with lots of sugar and milk, debates putting a shot of whiskey in it, but when Patrick looks up at him with watery green eyes and tries to smile, Sam decides Patrick doesn't need the booze so much as just…kindness. While Patrick hunches over the cup, hands wrapped around it like it's the middle of winter instead of the start of summer, Sam gets a blanket and tosses it over his shoulders. Patrick hisses, and Sam yanks the blanket back, and before Pat can move, lifts his t-shirt up. Sees that Pat's shoulders are kind of red—there's a couple welts on his back. He raises his eyebrows. Figures. If there's anyone around more damaged than them, Dean'll find them and bring 'em in like stray dogs…He drops the shirt and steps back.
"Just don’t ask," Patrick says and Sam nods. Not like he'd planned to. He's not stupid, and it's not like he doesn’t know the dozens of varieties of bad shit out there—monster and human.
After a while, Patrick thaws enough that his voice stops shaking and they talk, start making plans for the bike they're going to build once they find the right frame. They're still talking about it, each in his own corner of the couch when Dean finally comes home. His friend Mike is peering kind of blearily over Dean's shoulder.
"What's going on here?" Dean asks, his face going lightning quick from red-cheeked and lax, to sharp--angry when he sees Patrick laughing next to his brother on the couch. Sam rolls his eyes. As if he had a right to worry what might be happening to Sam, if he's out getting fucked up.
"Patrick's going to spend the night—" Sam starts to say, but Pat interrupts.
"No, I'm not, Dean, I'm going now—"
Sam talks right over him, because Pat's just being nuts. "He's staying, because it's better if he does," and Dean looks Patrick over. He frowns at what he sees, and slowly nods agreement.
Patrick looks from one brother to the other. "What, you're going along with him, just like that?"
Dean's relaxed again, his expression loose, clouded, but Sam's pretty sure it's an act now…Dean shrugs. "If Sammy thinks it's the thing to do than, yeah. You can stay."
Mike pushes past Dean's shoulder and looks Patrick over--winces. "Patrick, man."
Patrick shrugs. "He was—he was pissed off at something."
Mike just sighs, slaps Dean on the back and winks at Sam. He disappears into the dark.
Nothing is good about this evening except this one thing—the way Dean checked out Sam's assessment of the situation and agreed with him—it makes Sam feel grown. The way Patrick is looking at him makes him…well, a little hard, really. Patrick's staring at him like he's not just Dean's little brother, like maybe he's more. "I…okay then. Thanks, guys, um…thanks."
Dean hangs over the back of the couch and palms the back of Sam's neck. He squeezes a little, and Sam goes from a little hard to really getting there—he grabs a pillow into his lap as unobtrusively as he can. Can't do anything about his flaming ears but hope no one pays attention. "Good job, Sam." Dean says, and then slaps him in the back of the head before moving off. He calls back over his shoulder, "There better be food, bitch."
It's like magic. Whenever his brother does something that makes Sam think he just might die of how perfect he is, Dean does something ass-holey. Thank God.
They crowd together on the couch and watch some more TV, eat some popcorn, and talk a lot of shit, and when Patrick falls asleep on the couch, it's Dean who covers him in an old summer weight blanket, and rubs his shoulder. Sam watches from the doorway of their bedroom and feels jealous. Dean hasn't done that for him in ages. Sure, he made Dean stop because he was too old for it but still…Dean should *want* to, at least. Dean looks up, catches Sam looking at him and smiles a little. His eyes are wide and deep and…and Sam has to look away. Oh. Fuck. "G'night, Dean."
"I'll be in in a few minutes, Sammy."
Sam wanted to tell him not to call him Sammy but it felt like his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth—he was speechless.
~~~~~~
What happens is this--Patrick practically moves in with them. Sam notices he's sweeping up Patrick's hair-bands everywhere, not to mention his hair, and that's just gross. Sam buys Patrick a toothbrush the morning after he goes to brush his teeth and finds the brush is wet…he doesn’t throw up, but it's close. He forgives Patrick because he doesn't know any better and besides, Patrick can make food out of any-fucking-thing. It's amazing.
Dad comes home a couple of Fridays after Dean graduates and finds Patrick snoring on the couch. Dad raises his eyebrows and jerks his head toward the truly frightening noises coming off the couch. "Dean?" is all he says, and Dean throws Sam a look and steers Dad out the door to the backyard.
Sam sighs. He'll miss his brother. Figures that after he burns Dean's bones and buries him, he'll write a lot of nice things about him in his journal. And of course, while he waits for Dad to kill Dean, he's crouching on the floor under the open bedroom window, listening in. All he can hear is the rumble of Dad's voice, the slightly higher pitch of Dean's. He clearly makes out 'throw-away' though, and 'hit'. There's a bit of silence, then Dad's rumbling again and then it gets kind of loud, and Sam hears, ' made it your responsibility'. He thinks that's kind of unfair to Dean, since he was the one to make Patrick stay….
Dean's in the kitchen drinking OJ from the carton when Sam strolls casually out of the bedroom. Dad's in his room, probably already knocked out, and Patrick's not around. Sam feels a lick of panic and Dean shakes his head. "Calm down, Mary Elizabeth, his step-dad's not home, so he went to make sure his mom's okay."
"Dad said it was okay for Patrick to stay?"
"Yeah." Dean sighs and sets the empty carton down on the counter. "For a few days anyway…I don't think that's going to work for Pat though. Wish…wish we could really help, y'know?" Dean gets a look on his face that's way too old for the eighteen he is, and Sam can't help it, he walks up to him and throws his arms around his brother; he leans his head on his shoulder and says, "Patrick's the same age as you, Dean. He doesn’t have to stay there. He has choices."
Dean's kind of frozen for a moment and then, raises his arms and hugs Sam back, even rubs his shoulders like he used to a long time ago. "Yeah…maybe. I hope he gets that."
Next morning, Patrick's making eggs for Dad and they're talking—at least, Pat's smiling a little and Dad's telling him kind-of-funny stories about being on the road. Dean walks in on them and frowns, shoots Sam a look, but Sam plays it off. He's watching Dad grin and thinking this is so much fucking better than that time he sneaked the cat home...
part 5
TBC
Fandom: SpN
Pairing: Sam/OMC
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1682
Summary: Sam finds out that love is never simple during a long hot summer in New Jersey
Lodi
Sam's writing in his journal, well, he had been writing in his journal, only just now he's noticing that what he's actually doing is doodle Patrick's name all over the margins of his paper. "Shit." He yanks the page out and starts writing again. He's trying to write a story, a personal story this time, a story based on real life, not a long drawn out barely understandable adventure featuring a kid who just happened to be named Sam, and his Pokemon friends. Sam grins, remembering making Dean read chapter after chapter of that thing…he remembers too that Dean never told him he was too busy to read it. How was his brother so awesome and such a dick too? Like right now, he was probably out in the woods with his skank friends somewhere, getting high, instead of being home eating dinner and helping him clean up—
Bangbang
The door is shaking in the frame, scares the hell out of Sam. He jumps over the arm of the sofa and feels for the stubby little Taurus tucked neatly in the drawer of the lamp table. He scurries over to the door, and whisper-yells, "Dean, zat you?"
"Hey, dude--can you let me in, it's Patrick."
Patrick? Sam tucks the gun away, unlocks the door and steps back. His hand is in his pocket, on a take out packet of salt--he doesn’t ever take shit for granted. "What do you want, Patrick?" Sam sizes this apparition up—looks like Patrick, but his face is all red and snotty and wrinkled, screwed up like a baby's. He's ugly looking this way. He stands in the doorway, his hands plucking at his jeans, silent and breathing heavy. Sam whispers Christo under his breath--just in case--Patrick doesn't flinch. He's just staring at Sam and still breathing like he's running.
"Dean home?"
Sam shakes his head no, and Patrick says "Oh," only it sounds a little more like he just got stabbed. "Okay. I'll see ya," but before he can turn around, Sam's yanking at his arm, using all his weight to stop a very determined Patrick from leaving. He's got to know what the fuck is up with Pat.
"Come in, Patrick, what the hell is wrong?"
Patrick slumps, sort of stumbles in, and looks around the little living room like he's shocked to find himself there. He wipes his face, and shrugs a couple of times before croaking, "Nothing, nothing's wrong, just…" His words tumble out and die. He's back to plucking at his jeans again.
"Go sit in the kitchen," Sam orders and Patrick blindly obeys.
Sam makes Patrick sit, and fixes him tea, very hot, with lots of sugar and milk, debates putting a shot of whiskey in it, but when Patrick looks up at him with watery green eyes and tries to smile, Sam decides Patrick doesn't need the booze so much as just…kindness. While Patrick hunches over the cup, hands wrapped around it like it's the middle of winter instead of the start of summer, Sam gets a blanket and tosses it over his shoulders. Patrick hisses, and Sam yanks the blanket back, and before Pat can move, lifts his t-shirt up. Sees that Pat's shoulders are kind of red—there's a couple welts on his back. He raises his eyebrows. Figures. If there's anyone around more damaged than them, Dean'll find them and bring 'em in like stray dogs…He drops the shirt and steps back.
"Just don’t ask," Patrick says and Sam nods. Not like he'd planned to. He's not stupid, and it's not like he doesn’t know the dozens of varieties of bad shit out there—monster and human.
After a while, Patrick thaws enough that his voice stops shaking and they talk, start making plans for the bike they're going to build once they find the right frame. They're still talking about it, each in his own corner of the couch when Dean finally comes home. His friend Mike is peering kind of blearily over Dean's shoulder.
"What's going on here?" Dean asks, his face going lightning quick from red-cheeked and lax, to sharp--angry when he sees Patrick laughing next to his brother on the couch. Sam rolls his eyes. As if he had a right to worry what might be happening to Sam, if he's out getting fucked up.
"Patrick's going to spend the night—" Sam starts to say, but Pat interrupts.
"No, I'm not, Dean, I'm going now—"
Sam talks right over him, because Pat's just being nuts. "He's staying, because it's better if he does," and Dean looks Patrick over. He frowns at what he sees, and slowly nods agreement.
Patrick looks from one brother to the other. "What, you're going along with him, just like that?"
Dean's relaxed again, his expression loose, clouded, but Sam's pretty sure it's an act now…Dean shrugs. "If Sammy thinks it's the thing to do than, yeah. You can stay."
Mike pushes past Dean's shoulder and looks Patrick over--winces. "Patrick, man."
Patrick shrugs. "He was—he was pissed off at something."
Mike just sighs, slaps Dean on the back and winks at Sam. He disappears into the dark.
Nothing is good about this evening except this one thing—the way Dean checked out Sam's assessment of the situation and agreed with him—it makes Sam feel grown. The way Patrick is looking at him makes him…well, a little hard, really. Patrick's staring at him like he's not just Dean's little brother, like maybe he's more. "I…okay then. Thanks, guys, um…thanks."
Dean hangs over the back of the couch and palms the back of Sam's neck. He squeezes a little, and Sam goes from a little hard to really getting there—he grabs a pillow into his lap as unobtrusively as he can. Can't do anything about his flaming ears but hope no one pays attention. "Good job, Sam." Dean says, and then slaps him in the back of the head before moving off. He calls back over his shoulder, "There better be food, bitch."
It's like magic. Whenever his brother does something that makes Sam think he just might die of how perfect he is, Dean does something ass-holey. Thank God.
They crowd together on the couch and watch some more TV, eat some popcorn, and talk a lot of shit, and when Patrick falls asleep on the couch, it's Dean who covers him in an old summer weight blanket, and rubs his shoulder. Sam watches from the doorway of their bedroom and feels jealous. Dean hasn't done that for him in ages. Sure, he made Dean stop because he was too old for it but still…Dean should *want* to, at least. Dean looks up, catches Sam looking at him and smiles a little. His eyes are wide and deep and…and Sam has to look away. Oh. Fuck. "G'night, Dean."
"I'll be in in a few minutes, Sammy."
Sam wanted to tell him not to call him Sammy but it felt like his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth—he was speechless.
What happens is this--Patrick practically moves in with them. Sam notices he's sweeping up Patrick's hair-bands everywhere, not to mention his hair, and that's just gross. Sam buys Patrick a toothbrush the morning after he goes to brush his teeth and finds the brush is wet…he doesn’t throw up, but it's close. He forgives Patrick because he doesn't know any better and besides, Patrick can make food out of any-fucking-thing. It's amazing.
Dad comes home a couple of Fridays after Dean graduates and finds Patrick snoring on the couch. Dad raises his eyebrows and jerks his head toward the truly frightening noises coming off the couch. "Dean?" is all he says, and Dean throws Sam a look and steers Dad out the door to the backyard.
Sam sighs. He'll miss his brother. Figures that after he burns Dean's bones and buries him, he'll write a lot of nice things about him in his journal. And of course, while he waits for Dad to kill Dean, he's crouching on the floor under the open bedroom window, listening in. All he can hear is the rumble of Dad's voice, the slightly higher pitch of Dean's. He clearly makes out 'throw-away' though, and 'hit'. There's a bit of silence, then Dad's rumbling again and then it gets kind of loud, and Sam hears, ' made it your responsibility'. He thinks that's kind of unfair to Dean, since he was the one to make Patrick stay….
Dean's in the kitchen drinking OJ from the carton when Sam strolls casually out of the bedroom. Dad's in his room, probably already knocked out, and Patrick's not around. Sam feels a lick of panic and Dean shakes his head. "Calm down, Mary Elizabeth, his step-dad's not home, so he went to make sure his mom's okay."
"Dad said it was okay for Patrick to stay?"
"Yeah." Dean sighs and sets the empty carton down on the counter. "For a few days anyway…I don't think that's going to work for Pat though. Wish…wish we could really help, y'know?" Dean gets a look on his face that's way too old for the eighteen he is, and Sam can't help it, he walks up to him and throws his arms around his brother; he leans his head on his shoulder and says, "Patrick's the same age as you, Dean. He doesn’t have to stay there. He has choices."
Dean's kind of frozen for a moment and then, raises his arms and hugs Sam back, even rubs his shoulders like he used to a long time ago. "Yeah…maybe. I hope he gets that."
Next morning, Patrick's making eggs for Dad and they're talking—at least, Pat's smiling a little and Dad's telling him kind-of-funny stories about being on the road. Dean walks in on them and frowns, shoots Sam a look, but Sam plays it off. He's watching Dad grin and thinking this is so much fucking better than that time he sneaked the cat home...
part 5
TBC
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