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gwendolyngraceTitle: Sam Winchester: Big Brother (1/1)
Author: Gwendolyn Grace
Rating: G
Genre: Gen, pre-series, Wee!Chesters, humour
Characters: Sam (age 3), John, Pastor Jim, Kurt (OIC - Original Imaginary Character)
Summary/Prompt: John’s first thought when Dean told him that Sam had an imaginary friend was... that's nice... his next thought was... Christ, I really hope it really is just imaginary. June 1986.
Warnings: Cuteness of the Wee!Sam variety.
Wordcount: 1,620
Disclaimer: Harley and Kurt are mine. No one else. Dangit.
Author’s Notes: Back when![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
wee_chesters hit 100 members, I offered ficlets based on a prompt from the 99th, 100th, and 101st users. This was ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
charlie_jae’s prompt choice. I’m sorry it took so long to get to it. Hope it was worth the wait.
Blue Earth, MN
June 1986
John’s first thought when Dean told him Sam had an imaginary friend was, That’s nice. But his second thought was…Oh, Christ, I hope it really is just imaginary.
When Mary had been pregnant with Sam, Dean had had an imaginary friend. “Harley” was his name, and where Dean had got that, John had no idea. It could have been that he couldn’t say “Charlie.” Mary had watched the movie Harvey with him one afternoon and she thought Dean was acting out a fantasy based on the 6-foot-tall invisible bunny. Mike’s theory was that Dean had lifted the name from the time Kenny at the garage showed Dean his motorcycle. Whatever the derivation, “Harley” and Dean were near-inseparable for a good four months. He’d even announced to his mother that they didn’t need another baby because they had him and Harley already.
“Oh, sweetie,” Mary had said to Dean, sitting him in her lap (before the bulge that would be Sam took over), “You’ll like having a little brother or sister, trust me.” This was her way of reminding both Dean and John that the baby wasn’t automatically going to be another boy. Not that Dean paid any attention to the prospect of a sister. In his mind, there was only one possible outcome. And not necessarily a desired one. Eventually, he’d confessed that a boy in his day care had told him they only needed one boy—that if they had another one, they’d get rid of Dean. John had nipped that little insecurity in the bud, but even after that, Dean still occasionally brought up Harley’s superiority, as if it would influence them out of having another boy.
“Harley’s better than a little brother,” Dean had insisted. “He doesn’t make poopy diapers an’ he never cries.”
“Hm. And Harley always gives you his cookies, too, doesn’t he?”
“Yup.”
“Well, when the baby comes, he or she won’t be eating cookies right away. And I bet you by the time she is, you won’t mind sharing.”
“I like Harley.”
“Honey, we don’t have to say goodbye to Harley just because of the new baby.”
But that’s exactly what he had done. Right up until the end of April, Dean had still been convinced that the new baby—boy or girl—couldn’t possibly measure up to Harley for sheer brilliance or companionship. Then Sam had arrived a little ahead of schedule. John picked Dean up at day care to bring him to see his new little brother. Afterward, when he and Dean went out for burgers together, Dean forgot to insist on a Happy Meal for his friend. The next day, all Dean wanted to do was go back to the neonatal unit to see Sammy again. If he’d said three words about Harley, John wasn’t around to hear them. From the day Sam and Mary came home from the hospital, the name of Harley was never spoken again in the Winchester house.
That was a lifetime ago, back when monsters in the closet were as imaginary as six-foot-tall rabbits wearing fedoras. John had come face-to-face with evil, and God help him, Dean had caught more than a glimpse. Having an imaginary friend was normal, John knew, but it was also more common in only children, not younger siblings. He had to be sure.
He found Sam in Jim’s backyard, reading aloud under the big beech at the top of the hill. “Hey, Sammy,” he greeted him.
“Daddy!” Sam held out his arms. John lifted him up. “Kurt wants to be picked up, too.”
“Kurt, huh?” John repeated. “That’s your new friend?”
“Yup.”
“Well, I don’t know if I can pick up someone when we haven’t been introduced,” John told him.
Sam pointed to the tree roots. “He’s right there, Daddy. You c’n meet him.”
“Ah.” John felt his shoulders release a little tension. There was no shimmer, no flicker, certainly no apparition anywhere near the tree. Still, it was also broad daylight, and some spirits couldn’t manifest fully at certain times of day “Hello, Kurt,” he continued soberly.
“He says hi. C’n you pick him up now?”
“I dunno, sport. How ’bout we sit down, and you and Kurt can both sit in my lap?”
“Okay.”
He set Sam down and crossed to the tree.
“Daddy, you almost stepped on’im!” Sam warned.
“Sorry,” John said with contrition. “Here we go.” He leaned his back on the trunk of the tree and gathered Sam onto one leg, then the imaginary Kurt onto the other leg. “So, Kurt, how old are you?”
“Kurt’s two an’ a half,” said Sam, who had just turned three a month ago.
“Two and a half,” John mused to his knee. “Sammy, how long have you and Kurt been playing together?”
Sam shrugged.
“You know, Dean said that Kurt showed up a few days ago. Where’s Kurt from, Sammy?”
Sam frowned. “Nabaska,” he pronounced seriously.
“Did he tell you that?”
“Yup.”
John thought about that; it made some sense. They’d been in Lincoln fairly recently, making contact with a young man who Bobby said could provide him with unregistered weapons. They’d even taken time to go to the zoo, which had delighted Sam and intrigued Dean.
“Has Kurt been with us since we left Nebraska?” John asked.
“Yeah, since the zoo!” Sam said excitedly. “Only I din’t know it right away, ’cos he won’t fit inna car with us in there, Daddy. Maybe we could get a trailer so Kurt can come with us and doesn’t have to follow us everywhere?”
Sam’s rapid-fire request made John squint into the sunlight where “Kurt” was supposed to be sitting on his knee. Something didn’t add up. A two and a half year old ghost that had to follow the car?
“Wait. I thought you were both sitting on my lap. If he’s so big, how can he be on my leg?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Kurt’s small enough for you to pick up, Daddy, but he can’t ride inna car with us! He needs room to pace.”
“Pace?” John really had to quit the parrot act pretty soon.
“Yeah, and kill his food, too.”
John leaned his head on the tree trunk. “Let’s back up a few steps, there, champ. Kurt kills his own food.”
“Yeah, if he’s traveling.”
“And he followed us from Nebraska.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And he’s two and a half, which means he’s small enough for me to pick him up, but too big to ride in the car with all of us?”
“Yes!” Sam shouted.
“Sam…is Kurt a little boy? Like you?”
Sam stared at his father. Then he busted out laughing. “No, Daddy! Kurt’s a lion!”
“Oh. Good, Sammy. That’s…good.” He closed his eyes in relief. Definitely imaginary: Thank God. “Well, I don’t think we’ll need a trailer, though, buddy. If he’s a lion, probably the best thing we can do is let him go. That way he can live in the mountains where he belongs.”
It was worth a try, getting Sam to let go of his pretense. But Sam had an arsenal of arguments: Kurt wasn’t a mountain lion, he was an African lion; Kurt didn’t want to leave; Kurt was part of the family.
“Okay. Well. How about this, then: He can stay here with Pastor Jim. And you can visit him whenever we’re here.”
Sam didn’t say anything right away. “Did you hear’im?” he asked. “He said I’m his big brother!”
“That’s…great, Sammy. Know what big brothers do?”
“Uh-huh. Big brothers tell stories an’ teach li’l brothers how to do things. ’M’teachin’ Kurt letters.”
“Show me.”
Sam went through his Golden Book reciting the ABC’s. “Know what else, Daddy?”
“What’s that, Sammy?”
“Big brothers pertect li’l brothers, too.”
“Do they?”
“Uh-huh. Dean wouldn’t never let nothin’ bad happen to me. An’ I’m not gon’ let anything bad get Kurt, right Kurt?” He “listened” to his friend’s answer and nodded. “Right.”
“Sammy, I know you’re not gonna let Kurt get hurt. But if he can’t come with us in the car, and we can’t drag around a trailer, then don’t you think he’d be in danger, alone on the road? What if he gets hit by a truck? Or hunters come after him? Don’t you think he’d be happier here? There’s woods and lots of deer….”
Sam bit his lip. “I gotta ask Kurt,” he decided.
“Okay.”
“Alone,” Sam continued, glaring at John. He stood up and brushed off his knees. “Alone, Daddy!” he repeated, louder, while John creaked to a stand.
“Hey. Did I teach you to throw a fit like that?” John said forcefully.
“No, sir,” Sam answered, head hanging.
“Did Dean? Or Kurt?”
“No, sir.”
“Then what do you think you’re doing?” John asked with impatience. “Just calm down, Sammy. I’ll leave you two to…consult.”
He hiked back down the hill and into Jim’s kitchen through the back door. On gaining the cool of the rectory, he rooted through the fridge for a beer.
“Well?” Jim asked behind him. He must have heard the door and the clink of bottles moving, the stealthy bastard. Startled, John hit his head on the shelf.
“Ow! Jesus, Jim!” he complained. The beer, thankfully, hadn’t been jolted too badly. He pried off the cap with the bottle opener Jim kept on the fridge door.
“Are we going to have to salt and burn Sam’s playmate or not?” Jim continued. He didn’t even blink at John’s blasphemy; they’d had too many conversations in which John had flat-out refused to curb his tongue.
John drained half the beer bottle in one long pull. “No,” he told the clergyman, after catching his breath. “But we’re leaving Kurt here. You’re not allergic to invisible cats, are you?”
Author: Gwendolyn Grace
Rating: G
Genre: Gen, pre-series, Wee!Chesters, humour
Characters: Sam (age 3), John, Pastor Jim, Kurt (OIC - Original Imaginary Character)
Summary/Prompt: John’s first thought when Dean told him that Sam had an imaginary friend was... that's nice... his next thought was... Christ, I really hope it really is just imaginary. June 1986.
Warnings: Cuteness of the Wee!Sam variety.
Wordcount: 1,620
Disclaimer: Harley and Kurt are mine. No one else. Dangit.
Author’s Notes: Back when
wee_chesters hit 100 members, I offered ficlets based on a prompt from the 99th, 100th, and 101st users. This was charlie_jae’s prompt choice. I’m sorry it took so long to get to it. Hope it was worth the wait.Blue Earth, MN
June 1986
John’s first thought when Dean told him Sam had an imaginary friend was, That’s nice. But his second thought was…Oh, Christ, I hope it really is just imaginary.
When Mary had been pregnant with Sam, Dean had had an imaginary friend. “Harley” was his name, and where Dean had got that, John had no idea. It could have been that he couldn’t say “Charlie.” Mary had watched the movie Harvey with him one afternoon and she thought Dean was acting out a fantasy based on the 6-foot-tall invisible bunny. Mike’s theory was that Dean had lifted the name from the time Kenny at the garage showed Dean his motorcycle. Whatever the derivation, “Harley” and Dean were near-inseparable for a good four months. He’d even announced to his mother that they didn’t need another baby because they had him and Harley already.
“Oh, sweetie,” Mary had said to Dean, sitting him in her lap (before the bulge that would be Sam took over), “You’ll like having a little brother or sister, trust me.” This was her way of reminding both Dean and John that the baby wasn’t automatically going to be another boy. Not that Dean paid any attention to the prospect of a sister. In his mind, there was only one possible outcome. And not necessarily a desired one. Eventually, he’d confessed that a boy in his day care had told him they only needed one boy—that if they had another one, they’d get rid of Dean. John had nipped that little insecurity in the bud, but even after that, Dean still occasionally brought up Harley’s superiority, as if it would influence them out of having another boy.
“Harley’s better than a little brother,” Dean had insisted. “He doesn’t make poopy diapers an’ he never cries.”
“Hm. And Harley always gives you his cookies, too, doesn’t he?”
“Yup.”
“Well, when the baby comes, he or she won’t be eating cookies right away. And I bet you by the time she is, you won’t mind sharing.”
“I like Harley.”
“Honey, we don’t have to say goodbye to Harley just because of the new baby.”
But that’s exactly what he had done. Right up until the end of April, Dean had still been convinced that the new baby—boy or girl—couldn’t possibly measure up to Harley for sheer brilliance or companionship. Then Sam had arrived a little ahead of schedule. John picked Dean up at day care to bring him to see his new little brother. Afterward, when he and Dean went out for burgers together, Dean forgot to insist on a Happy Meal for his friend. The next day, all Dean wanted to do was go back to the neonatal unit to see Sammy again. If he’d said three words about Harley, John wasn’t around to hear them. From the day Sam and Mary came home from the hospital, the name of Harley was never spoken again in the Winchester house.
That was a lifetime ago, back when monsters in the closet were as imaginary as six-foot-tall rabbits wearing fedoras. John had come face-to-face with evil, and God help him, Dean had caught more than a glimpse. Having an imaginary friend was normal, John knew, but it was also more common in only children, not younger siblings. He had to be sure.
He found Sam in Jim’s backyard, reading aloud under the big beech at the top of the hill. “Hey, Sammy,” he greeted him.
“Daddy!” Sam held out his arms. John lifted him up. “Kurt wants to be picked up, too.”
“Kurt, huh?” John repeated. “That’s your new friend?”
“Yup.”
“Well, I don’t know if I can pick up someone when we haven’t been introduced,” John told him.
Sam pointed to the tree roots. “He’s right there, Daddy. You c’n meet him.”
“Ah.” John felt his shoulders release a little tension. There was no shimmer, no flicker, certainly no apparition anywhere near the tree. Still, it was also broad daylight, and some spirits couldn’t manifest fully at certain times of day “Hello, Kurt,” he continued soberly.
“He says hi. C’n you pick him up now?”
“I dunno, sport. How ’bout we sit down, and you and Kurt can both sit in my lap?”
“Okay.”
He set Sam down and crossed to the tree.
“Daddy, you almost stepped on’im!” Sam warned.
“Sorry,” John said with contrition. “Here we go.” He leaned his back on the trunk of the tree and gathered Sam onto one leg, then the imaginary Kurt onto the other leg. “So, Kurt, how old are you?”
“Kurt’s two an’ a half,” said Sam, who had just turned three a month ago.
“Two and a half,” John mused to his knee. “Sammy, how long have you and Kurt been playing together?”
Sam shrugged.
“You know, Dean said that Kurt showed up a few days ago. Where’s Kurt from, Sammy?”
Sam frowned. “Nabaska,” he pronounced seriously.
“Did he tell you that?”
“Yup.”
John thought about that; it made some sense. They’d been in Lincoln fairly recently, making contact with a young man who Bobby said could provide him with unregistered weapons. They’d even taken time to go to the zoo, which had delighted Sam and intrigued Dean.
“Has Kurt been with us since we left Nebraska?” John asked.
“Yeah, since the zoo!” Sam said excitedly. “Only I din’t know it right away, ’cos he won’t fit inna car with us in there, Daddy. Maybe we could get a trailer so Kurt can come with us and doesn’t have to follow us everywhere?”
Sam’s rapid-fire request made John squint into the sunlight where “Kurt” was supposed to be sitting on his knee. Something didn’t add up. A two and a half year old ghost that had to follow the car?
“Wait. I thought you were both sitting on my lap. If he’s so big, how can he be on my leg?”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Kurt’s small enough for you to pick up, Daddy, but he can’t ride inna car with us! He needs room to pace.”
“Pace?” John really had to quit the parrot act pretty soon.
“Yeah, and kill his food, too.”
John leaned his head on the tree trunk. “Let’s back up a few steps, there, champ. Kurt kills his own food.”
“Yeah, if he’s traveling.”
“And he followed us from Nebraska.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And he’s two and a half, which means he’s small enough for me to pick him up, but too big to ride in the car with all of us?”
“Yes!” Sam shouted.
“Sam…is Kurt a little boy? Like you?”
Sam stared at his father. Then he busted out laughing. “No, Daddy! Kurt’s a lion!”
“Oh. Good, Sammy. That’s…good.” He closed his eyes in relief. Definitely imaginary: Thank God. “Well, I don’t think we’ll need a trailer, though, buddy. If he’s a lion, probably the best thing we can do is let him go. That way he can live in the mountains where he belongs.”
It was worth a try, getting Sam to let go of his pretense. But Sam had an arsenal of arguments: Kurt wasn’t a mountain lion, he was an African lion; Kurt didn’t want to leave; Kurt was part of the family.
“Okay. Well. How about this, then: He can stay here with Pastor Jim. And you can visit him whenever we’re here.”
Sam didn’t say anything right away. “Did you hear’im?” he asked. “He said I’m his big brother!”
“That’s…great, Sammy. Know what big brothers do?”
“Uh-huh. Big brothers tell stories an’ teach li’l brothers how to do things. ’M’teachin’ Kurt letters.”
“Show me.”
Sam went through his Golden Book reciting the ABC’s. “Know what else, Daddy?”
“What’s that, Sammy?”
“Big brothers pertect li’l brothers, too.”
“Do they?”
“Uh-huh. Dean wouldn’t never let nothin’ bad happen to me. An’ I’m not gon’ let anything bad get Kurt, right Kurt?” He “listened” to his friend’s answer and nodded. “Right.”
“Sammy, I know you’re not gonna let Kurt get hurt. But if he can’t come with us in the car, and we can’t drag around a trailer, then don’t you think he’d be in danger, alone on the road? What if he gets hit by a truck? Or hunters come after him? Don’t you think he’d be happier here? There’s woods and lots of deer….”
Sam bit his lip. “I gotta ask Kurt,” he decided.
“Okay.”
“Alone,” Sam continued, glaring at John. He stood up and brushed off his knees. “Alone, Daddy!” he repeated, louder, while John creaked to a stand.
“Hey. Did I teach you to throw a fit like that?” John said forcefully.
“No, sir,” Sam answered, head hanging.
“Did Dean? Or Kurt?”
“No, sir.”
“Then what do you think you’re doing?” John asked with impatience. “Just calm down, Sammy. I’ll leave you two to…consult.”
He hiked back down the hill and into Jim’s kitchen through the back door. On gaining the cool of the rectory, he rooted through the fridge for a beer.
“Well?” Jim asked behind him. He must have heard the door and the clink of bottles moving, the stealthy bastard. Startled, John hit his head on the shelf.
“Ow! Jesus, Jim!” he complained. The beer, thankfully, hadn’t been jolted too badly. He pried off the cap with the bottle opener Jim kept on the fridge door.
“Are we going to have to salt and burn Sam’s playmate or not?” Jim continued. He didn’t even blink at John’s blasphemy; they’d had too many conversations in which John had flat-out refused to curb his tongue.
John drained half the beer bottle in one long pull. “No,” he told the clergyman, after catching his breath. “But we’re leaving Kurt here. You’re not allergic to invisible cats, are you?”
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no subject
Date: 2008-06-08 02:11 pm (UTC)Leave it to Sam to come up with details like that! This is adorable!
no subject
Date: 2008-06-08 07:16 pm (UTC)Sam is a thinker, and he's meticulous about his details. Even when he's 3. Poor John.