SpN fic post: Lodi 6/10
3/13/09 01:14 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: 1760
Summary: Sam finds out that love is never simple during a long hot summer in New Jersey
ha, looks like this is going to run more than ten parts...is anyone surprised?
Lodi
"This boy that lives down the street from Mike is missing," Patrick says. "That's the second boy since school let out." Patrick is talking to Dean, very pointedly not talking to Sam. Sam's in the kitchen, filling a basket with rolls and hotdogs and stuff to grill with, and of course, he eases to the doorway, eavesdropping because little brothers are supposed to. It's the law, he tells himself.
Dean shrugs, mutters, "Yeah, well…this neighborhood sucks. I'd get out too if I lived here." But when he sees Sam in the doorway, he shoots him a slightly worried look.
Sam shrugs. Could be something, could be nothing…he feels an itch in the back of his skull. Maybe.
Patrick is manning the grill, and making a point of still being pissed off at Sam. He's been kind of cold and stand-offish. He won't look at Sam. But he cooks him a hotdog just the way Sam likes it, and puts mustard, and catsup, and relish, and mayo on it, tops it with a slice of cheese, even though he always claims it makes him gag to do it. Dean's watching Patrick fix Sam's hotdog; he's got his arm around some short, blonde, grinning pixie of a girl. Sam notices that he's not asking Patrick to make her anything—he feeds her himself.
So Sam's staring at the plate Pat passed him—this hotdog dripping with condiment gunk, melting cheese oozing out of the bun, some chips piled on the side, the fucking bun's even grill-toasted and then he looks at Dean with his girl and her naked hotdog tossed in a bun, all alone on her plate. He goes over to stand next to Pat, who ignores him…until Sam sniffs. Stupid allergies. But Patrick mistakenly thinks he's crying or something just as stupid. Sam wants to tell him not to be an ass, but what comes out of his mouth is, "I'm sorry and I never meant that, what I said. It was fucked up."
Patrick looks all serious, his huge green eyes just fill up, and he puts one of those giant hands on his shoulder. "I know you didn't. It's all right." His expression is this mix of sorrow and accusation and what's really annoying--forgiveness, like you're kind of stupid but I get that you're trying, so…okay. It makes Sam want to kick him, but in the same instant, he knows, he kind of loves Patrick. Almost as much as he loves Dean.
Sam sets his hotdog with everything down on the table. "No, it's not all right. I upset you." And throws his arms around Pat and hugs him, like he's never going to stop. Pat huffs—and hugs him back, like he's not going to let go either. Sam inhales. Patrick smells nice, like hay and sun and boy. And Sam's got to let go and back off, quick. He can hear the girl laughing, and she says something and Dean tells her to shut up. Doesn't matter. Patrick is smiling at Sam, and patting him like Sam's done something brilliant and it's like the fucking sun coming out after a storm. Friggin' allergies….
"Hey, you guys done?" Dean's glaring at…both of them? Whatever. Sam's feeling better and Patrick's smiling at him and…the hot dog tastes *great*.
~~~~~~
Patrick and Sam are sitting outside talking about Dean. Yeah, it kind of hurts seeing what he wants reflected in Patrick, but thing is…thing is, as much as he likes Patrick and wants to be liked back by Patrick, Dean's always there, sitting between them whether he's there or not.
He's their favorite subject.
It's early evening, kids are still running the street, the sky's starting to shade into purple and it's humid as shit--naturally. Pat's still wet from a shower and it's not likely he's ever going to dry. His t-shirt is sticking crookedly to him, wet from the hair hanging down his back, wet from the sweating air. There's a strip of golden skin gleaming between the rucked up hem of his t-shirt and the waist of his shorts. He's rubbing at a mosquito bite and he's bitching about it. Sam is nodding and staring at Pat's hand, how more and more skin is showing and…reminds Sam of that strip that shows when Dean wears that fucking ugly Stones tee with the tongue, the one that's too short but he won’t get rid of it, even though there's a rip at the neckline, and man, every time he moves it rides up higher, you can see all these little freckles and God, he loves the way the freckles flirt with the thin trail of hair leading to his…
There's a silence so deep and profound that he feels like his ears have imploded. Patrick's gawking at him, cheeks flushed pink and his mouth just hanging open and fuck oh fuck, he's been talking about his brother's body out loud…oh fucking hell….
Patrick blinks eyes big as manhole covers."…oh…my…God. Now I get it. That's why…that's why you were so upset when I said—" Patrick's hand drifts to his mouth, covers it and all Sam can see now are his eyes. "Sam—"
"No, no, no, shut up!" Sam's already scrambling backwards, trying to get up the stairs, and Patrick's grabbing at his ankle, trying to pull him back down.
"Sam! Sam…" and there it goes, that horrible look, that expression of sorrow-revulsion, and God…forgiveness….
"Leave me alone!" Sam kicks him, connecting hard with Pat's ribs, then jerks his foot out of his pain-weakened grasp. Pat grunts, but lumbers up after him, chasing Sam through the house, barreling through the bedroom door before Sam can lock it. They end up crashing on the lower bunk, just barely missing bashing each other's brains out on the top bunk's frame. Pat's on top of Sam and Sam…he's *burning* with the shame, the horror of it, that someone knows his deepest, darkest, most awful secret.
Patrick strokes him, murmuring over and over, "Sammy, don't cry, it's a phase, it's okay, you'll grow out of it, he won’t know, no one but me, it'll pass, Sammy, it'll be all right, I promise…."
Sam lies under him and hopes he'll die. When Patrick cradles his cheeks in his hands Sam cries harder, and kisses him. Patrick tries to pull back at first, and then, gives in. It's a not much of a kiss, just a soft press of lips that feels like it goes on and on, warm, and so—so comforting. When Pat lets him go, he gasps softly, and Patrick tucks him under his chin. "Sammy, there's so much going on with you right now, yeah? All these confusing changes, I know. But it's going to get better. Things will start making sense again--you'll be okay."
"You keep saying that—it's never going to be okay! God, my life is so miserable. I wish I was dead." Great…fantastic…it's even more embarrassing that his voice rises and cracks—he sounds like a shrieking little girl.
"Oh, Sam, no you don't, please don’t ever say that. Your brother would die if something happened to you."
Sam pulled away, rolled to his side away from Patrick. "Don’t talk about Dean."
Patrick pulls him back, and does that horrible holding his face thing that makes Sam want to cry. "You're an idiot. Your brother loves you, maybe not the way…" he swallows hard, and his eyes are almost welling over. "Well, the way you want, but he does. And trust me; loving your brother is not the worst thing I've heard. Or seen."
~~~~~~
Sam finds out what's worse the next time they go to pick up Patrick from his step-dad's house.
Patrick's stumbling across the lawn. He peers around like he's not sure what's happening, keeps trying to move…when he sees the car, when Dean shouts his name, he looks like he's going to pass out. The headlights light him up like a horror movie--he's so bloody, his face is puffy, he looks like--like he was boxing blindfolded. "Oh, hi," he says when Dean grabs his arm.
Dean curses, pushes him toward Sam, and Sam drags him into the car just as the step-dad comes out on the lawn, screaming and yelling, cursing Patrick, cursing Dean. He storms towards Dean, fists ready—certain he's going to beat Dean like he beat Patrick—mistake.
Pat's step-dad lashes out, clips Dean on the chin but Dean goes with it, is swinging out of the way as the force of the miss makes the guy stumble. Dean's quick as a snake and kicks him in the back of the leg—knocks him down. He's standing over the guy, foot in his neck…and then he's dropping down, straddling the guy and pushing his face into the dirt. Pulls out the Colt he got for his birthday. Jams it under the guy's jaw and he's leaned over him, whispering something in his ear…it looks like a creepy parody of intimacy, one that's got Patrick gasping quietly, and gripping Sam's hand in a way he knows is gonna bruise like…Sam swallows hard. "It's okay, Pat, it's okay," and it's the only thing he can say. Kind of hard to believe when Patrick's mother is screaming on the front steps….
They're watching this take place from the backseat of a car driven by one of those girls Dean's screwing. She's muttering, "oh my god oh my god," under her breath over and over. She catches him looking and she says, "I swearta God, I didn't sign on for this shit—nobody dicks that good…."
Before Sam can tell her exactly what kind of whore she is, the dome light comes on, startling him--Dean's got the door open and shoving himself into the car, face flaming red with fury, shaking a little. He growls at the girl to drive and she presses her lips into flat pink lines and does what Dean says. Sam feels like throwing up.
"Dean, what the fuck were you thinking...what if you'd shot him…"
"For fuck's sake, Mary Alice," Dean snaps, tosses Sam the gun. "It's not loaded—I'm not stupid. I knew I could take him without that," he mumbles. He's staring at the house. His eyes are on fire. He's scowling in a way that sends shivers up Sam's spine. For the first time in—in *ever*--he can clearly see his dad in Dean. "You're not going back there," Dean says to Patrick and his voice is flat—final.
Patrick keeps his eyes locked his knees and nods. "Okay."
part 7
TBC
Fandom: SpN
Pairing: Sam/OMC
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1760
Summary: Sam finds out that love is never simple during a long hot summer in New Jersey
ha, looks like this is going to run more than ten parts...is anyone surprised?
Lodi
"This boy that lives down the street from Mike is missing," Patrick says. "That's the second boy since school let out." Patrick is talking to Dean, very pointedly not talking to Sam. Sam's in the kitchen, filling a basket with rolls and hotdogs and stuff to grill with, and of course, he eases to the doorway, eavesdropping because little brothers are supposed to. It's the law, he tells himself.
Dean shrugs, mutters, "Yeah, well…this neighborhood sucks. I'd get out too if I lived here." But when he sees Sam in the doorway, he shoots him a slightly worried look.
Sam shrugs. Could be something, could be nothing…he feels an itch in the back of his skull. Maybe.
Patrick is manning the grill, and making a point of still being pissed off at Sam. He's been kind of cold and stand-offish. He won't look at Sam. But he cooks him a hotdog just the way Sam likes it, and puts mustard, and catsup, and relish, and mayo on it, tops it with a slice of cheese, even though he always claims it makes him gag to do it. Dean's watching Patrick fix Sam's hotdog; he's got his arm around some short, blonde, grinning pixie of a girl. Sam notices that he's not asking Patrick to make her anything—he feeds her himself.
So Sam's staring at the plate Pat passed him—this hotdog dripping with condiment gunk, melting cheese oozing out of the bun, some chips piled on the side, the fucking bun's even grill-toasted and then he looks at Dean with his girl and her naked hotdog tossed in a bun, all alone on her plate. He goes over to stand next to Pat, who ignores him…until Sam sniffs. Stupid allergies. But Patrick mistakenly thinks he's crying or something just as stupid. Sam wants to tell him not to be an ass, but what comes out of his mouth is, "I'm sorry and I never meant that, what I said. It was fucked up."
Patrick looks all serious, his huge green eyes just fill up, and he puts one of those giant hands on his shoulder. "I know you didn't. It's all right." His expression is this mix of sorrow and accusation and what's really annoying--forgiveness, like you're kind of stupid but I get that you're trying, so…okay. It makes Sam want to kick him, but in the same instant, he knows, he kind of loves Patrick. Almost as much as he loves Dean.
Sam sets his hotdog with everything down on the table. "No, it's not all right. I upset you." And throws his arms around Pat and hugs him, like he's never going to stop. Pat huffs—and hugs him back, like he's not going to let go either. Sam inhales. Patrick smells nice, like hay and sun and boy. And Sam's got to let go and back off, quick. He can hear the girl laughing, and she says something and Dean tells her to shut up. Doesn't matter. Patrick is smiling at Sam, and patting him like Sam's done something brilliant and it's like the fucking sun coming out after a storm. Friggin' allergies….
"Hey, you guys done?" Dean's glaring at…both of them? Whatever. Sam's feeling better and Patrick's smiling at him and…the hot dog tastes *great*.
Patrick and Sam are sitting outside talking about Dean. Yeah, it kind of hurts seeing what he wants reflected in Patrick, but thing is…thing is, as much as he likes Patrick and wants to be liked back by Patrick, Dean's always there, sitting between them whether he's there or not.
He's their favorite subject.
It's early evening, kids are still running the street, the sky's starting to shade into purple and it's humid as shit--naturally. Pat's still wet from a shower and it's not likely he's ever going to dry. His t-shirt is sticking crookedly to him, wet from the hair hanging down his back, wet from the sweating air. There's a strip of golden skin gleaming between the rucked up hem of his t-shirt and the waist of his shorts. He's rubbing at a mosquito bite and he's bitching about it. Sam is nodding and staring at Pat's hand, how more and more skin is showing and…reminds Sam of that strip that shows when Dean wears that fucking ugly Stones tee with the tongue, the one that's too short but he won’t get rid of it, even though there's a rip at the neckline, and man, every time he moves it rides up higher, you can see all these little freckles and God, he loves the way the freckles flirt with the thin trail of hair leading to his…
There's a silence so deep and profound that he feels like his ears have imploded. Patrick's gawking at him, cheeks flushed pink and his mouth just hanging open and fuck oh fuck, he's been talking about his brother's body out loud…oh fucking hell….
Patrick blinks eyes big as manhole covers."…oh…my…God. Now I get it. That's why…that's why you were so upset when I said—" Patrick's hand drifts to his mouth, covers it and all Sam can see now are his eyes. "Sam—"
"No, no, no, shut up!" Sam's already scrambling backwards, trying to get up the stairs, and Patrick's grabbing at his ankle, trying to pull him back down.
"Sam! Sam…" and there it goes, that horrible look, that expression of sorrow-revulsion, and God…forgiveness….
"Leave me alone!" Sam kicks him, connecting hard with Pat's ribs, then jerks his foot out of his pain-weakened grasp. Pat grunts, but lumbers up after him, chasing Sam through the house, barreling through the bedroom door before Sam can lock it. They end up crashing on the lower bunk, just barely missing bashing each other's brains out on the top bunk's frame. Pat's on top of Sam and Sam…he's *burning* with the shame, the horror of it, that someone knows his deepest, darkest, most awful secret.
Patrick strokes him, murmuring over and over, "Sammy, don't cry, it's a phase, it's okay, you'll grow out of it, he won’t know, no one but me, it'll pass, Sammy, it'll be all right, I promise…."
Sam lies under him and hopes he'll die. When Patrick cradles his cheeks in his hands Sam cries harder, and kisses him. Patrick tries to pull back at first, and then, gives in. It's a not much of a kiss, just a soft press of lips that feels like it goes on and on, warm, and so—so comforting. When Pat lets him go, he gasps softly, and Patrick tucks him under his chin. "Sammy, there's so much going on with you right now, yeah? All these confusing changes, I know. But it's going to get better. Things will start making sense again--you'll be okay."
"You keep saying that—it's never going to be okay! God, my life is so miserable. I wish I was dead." Great…fantastic…it's even more embarrassing that his voice rises and cracks—he sounds like a shrieking little girl.
"Oh, Sam, no you don't, please don’t ever say that. Your brother would die if something happened to you."
Sam pulled away, rolled to his side away from Patrick. "Don’t talk about Dean."
Patrick pulls him back, and does that horrible holding his face thing that makes Sam want to cry. "You're an idiot. Your brother loves you, maybe not the way…" he swallows hard, and his eyes are almost welling over. "Well, the way you want, but he does. And trust me; loving your brother is not the worst thing I've heard. Or seen."
Sam finds out what's worse the next time they go to pick up Patrick from his step-dad's house.
Patrick's stumbling across the lawn. He peers around like he's not sure what's happening, keeps trying to move…when he sees the car, when Dean shouts his name, he looks like he's going to pass out. The headlights light him up like a horror movie--he's so bloody, his face is puffy, he looks like--like he was boxing blindfolded. "Oh, hi," he says when Dean grabs his arm.
Dean curses, pushes him toward Sam, and Sam drags him into the car just as the step-dad comes out on the lawn, screaming and yelling, cursing Patrick, cursing Dean. He storms towards Dean, fists ready—certain he's going to beat Dean like he beat Patrick—mistake.
Pat's step-dad lashes out, clips Dean on the chin but Dean goes with it, is swinging out of the way as the force of the miss makes the guy stumble. Dean's quick as a snake and kicks him in the back of the leg—knocks him down. He's standing over the guy, foot in his neck…and then he's dropping down, straddling the guy and pushing his face into the dirt. Pulls out the Colt he got for his birthday. Jams it under the guy's jaw and he's leaned over him, whispering something in his ear…it looks like a creepy parody of intimacy, one that's got Patrick gasping quietly, and gripping Sam's hand in a way he knows is gonna bruise like…Sam swallows hard. "It's okay, Pat, it's okay," and it's the only thing he can say. Kind of hard to believe when Patrick's mother is screaming on the front steps….
They're watching this take place from the backseat of a car driven by one of those girls Dean's screwing. She's muttering, "oh my god oh my god," under her breath over and over. She catches him looking and she says, "I swearta God, I didn't sign on for this shit—nobody dicks that good…."
Before Sam can tell her exactly what kind of whore she is, the dome light comes on, startling him--Dean's got the door open and shoving himself into the car, face flaming red with fury, shaking a little. He growls at the girl to drive and she presses her lips into flat pink lines and does what Dean says. Sam feels like throwing up.
"Dean, what the fuck were you thinking...what if you'd shot him…"
"For fuck's sake, Mary Alice," Dean snaps, tosses Sam the gun. "It's not loaded—I'm not stupid. I knew I could take him without that," he mumbles. He's staring at the house. His eyes are on fire. He's scowling in a way that sends shivers up Sam's spine. For the first time in—in *ever*--he can clearly see his dad in Dean. "You're not going back there," Dean says to Patrick and his voice is flat—final.
Patrick keeps his eyes locked his knees and nods. "Okay."
part 7
TBC