Fic Post: Trost Und Freude (10/17)

[gwendolyngrace]

Title: Trost und Freude (Comfort and Joy) (Chapter 10/17)
Author: gwendolyngrace
Recipient: celtic_cookie
Request terms: Sam and Dean of course, and I love John: Lots of John! A Pre-series Christmas Story! Familial bonding, maybe a holiday-themed hunt?
Summary: Saginaw, Michigan, 1990: Going holiday shopping may hold more hazards than just the insane crowds and parents hell-bent on the buying the latest toy. John goes undercover to look into a series of accidents at the local mall. Meanwhile, Dean and Sam respond to Christmas-season festivities at school with unexpected results.
Rating: PG
Genre: Gen
Wordcount (this chapter): about 4,220
Spoilers: All three seasons through 3x08, may or may not be Origins-compliant
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended, not mine, just my fantasy.
Author’s Notes: First off, please help satisfy my self-stroking curiosity and answer this poll about this monster of a fic and your thoughts so far. You can answer the poll whether or not you’re reading, and before or after reading chapter 10, but I’m really very interested to know in a general sense where y’all are on various aspects of the fic (or whether you’re interested at all). Second, I hope to have the rest of this posted before going to EyeCon in April. Finally and forever, thanks to my invaluable etakyma who keeps me honest.

From the Top

Halfway Point Poll

Then


Now:


Sam was happy that Dean could go back to school on Friday, but even happier that Dad still drove them and they didn’t have to walk like usual. Sam liked school. He liked it because it was easy—not just knowing the answers, but knowing how to interact with everyone around him, especially teachers. Usually, teachers loved Sam. Ms. Penn didn’t, though. Dad had liked his picture enough to put it on the fridge, but Ms. Penn had made Sam draw another picture. And Dad had told him to go ahead and do it. So he did, although he still wasn’t sure what was wrong with the first one.

And now, Ms. Penn’s problem must have rubbed off on Mrs. Farnsworth, because she called Sam up to her desk. Sam had never been called up to the desk in any of his classes. Dean got called up all the time, but Sam had noticed that almost every time Dad heard about it happening, he looked up towards the heavens and sighed and sounded very tired. Sam walked toward her desk at her summons, painfully aware of his classmates’ eyes on his back.

“Yes’m?” he asked.

“Sam, you’ll be going with Miss Nolan this morning.”

“Why?” Sam demanded, his face pulling forward in an angry pout. Miss Nolan was one of the assistant teachers, and she always talked to him like he was an idiot. It wasn’t fair that he had to go with her and miss class, all because of a stupid picture. He’d been doing so well, he was good at school, and now they were picking on him. If that was how it was for Dean, no wonder he didn’t like school as much as Sam did. Though Sam was rapidly revising his opinion on how much he liked it, with stuff like this happening.

“Miss Johnson explained that she discovered your records were incomplete. It’s time for music, and since you aren’t in the pageant and today’s assembly would conflict with your religious beliefs, you will stay here with me while the others go to the music room and then Assembly.”

“Oh.” He shrugged. As far as reasons to be called up went, getting out of music wasn’t a bad one. He didn’t know what they were doing at Assembly, but it was probably something pretty dumb.

Miss Nolan took him to her little room off the library. She gave Sam some writing to do and extra reading. She worked at her desk silently, ignoring Sam. Sam wrote his words and read his book.

“Miz Nolan?”

“Yes, Sam?”

“I finished this. C’n I have another?”

“‘May I have another?’ Sam.”

“May I,” Sam mumbled.

“You may pick out another book from the shelf. Can you do that by yourself, or shall I help you?”

Sam gave her a sidelong glance. He went to the shelf and ran a finger across the spines. Reading by himself was okay, but he did that a lot in the car, or when Dean didn’t want to play with him. It was boring to read when he was supposed to be learning.

“Miz Nolan?”

“Yes, Sam?”

“How long is music class?”

“Forty minutes, the same as any other lesson.”

“And how long is Assembly?”

“An hour. Pick out your book and read it here in the chair.”

Sam picked out three.

When she brought Sam back to the classroom, the others were all excited and chattering. “You missed it, Sam!” Kris Melrose told him as he crossed to his desk, which was next to Sam’s. “It was awesome.”

“Music?” Sam asked.

“No, Assembly,” Kris replied. “They showed The Grinch and Charlie Brown Christmas. Then they passed out little candy canes.”

“Who did?” Sam’s eyes went wide with indignation.

“The Seniors. They brought them from the High School. It’s like a…program.”

“What kinda program?”

“I dunno, like…Big Brothers and Sisters. They come here and do stuff with us. It’s s’posed ta be like a student teacher thing.”

“They gave you candy?” Sam asked glumly.

“Yeah, and we watched cartoons!”

“Settle down, everyone!” Mrs. Farnsworth demanded.

Sam crossed his arms and kicked the desk in front of him. He’d missed the cartoons and the candy, all because he was supposed to be a Jovah’s Witness. Or a Jonah’s Witness. He couldn’t remember which it was, and that, he realized, might be a problem in itself. And if being one meant missing the fun stuff as well as the lame stuff, maybe Dean’s lie wasn’t so great.

Mrs. Farnsworth eventually got them settled down enough to work on addition and subtraction. Sam counted his apples and took away his lemons mechanically. Math was boring, too, but it was pretty easy.

PhysEd was okay. They got to go to the indoor gym and play kickball and tag. Sam did pretty well, even if he did always get picked last. He was faster than his baby-fat made him look. Stronger, too, because Dad made them run and train so much. He’d asked Dean why they did all that, when none of the other kids had to do pushups and sit-ups or got dropped on the side of the road two miles from the nearest rest stop and told to run the rest of the way. None of the other kids knew the difference between a roundhouse and a hook, while Sam wasn’t sure about the difference between a curve and a knuckleball. Dean told him it was because their dad was smarter than other kids’ parents.

Sam wasn’t so sure about that. Sure, Dad was a really smart guy; he knew about guns and tactics and stuff. He was pretty cool, mostly, since he wasn’t too strict about what they ate or bedtimes, and he was teaching them to fight. But some of the other things Dad did seemed pretty dumb. Like moving them around all the time. That was dumb. Sam had spent half of first grade in one place, but then he had three different schools between Dean’s birthday and the end of the school year. It was dumb to have to keep getting to know new people and make new friends.

And that was another dumb thing: Sam couldn’t have any of his friends over. When he had any, which wasn’t often. Dean said it was because his friends might blab to their parents and then the parent might report Dad because he had to go away so much and because the places where they lived sometimes weren’t so nice. At least this place had a TV. The cabin where they’d spent half the summer didn’t even have electricity. Sam couldn’t figure out why Dad didn’t just find nicer places to stay.

As to why Dad went away so much, that was another burning question, but one that was sure to make Dean pissed if asked. Sam wasn’t supposed to say pissed, but he didn’t care. Thinking wasn’t saying. And it was true. Dean told him Dad was a traveling salesman. Sam didn’t believe him, but Dean’s answer made it clear that Sam couldn’t ask. Sam couldn’t ask about a lot of things. Well, he could ask, but it made Dean act like a bitch. Sam wasn’t supposed to say that, either, but Dean sure could be bitchy. He’d get bitchy if anyone even just suggested that he was bitchy in the first place. Dean called Sam the girl, but Dean was just as much of one in the way he got pissy and bitchy and didn’t answer Sam’s very reasonable questions, like where Dad went, and why, or anything about Mom. Lately, anyway. Dean used to talk about Mom now and then. When he knew Dad wouldn’t hear him. Sam had figured out that talking about Mom hurt Dean, hurt Dad. Made them sad. So Sam tried to respect that and not ask. But it was hard. There were so many things he wanted to know.

Dad kept secrets. Secrets in his room, secrets in that book, his bag, a secret life. Sometimes, Sam feared that Dad had another family somewhere, like on the programs that came on TV when they got home from school: Man has Three Wives in Different States. But on the programs, the Moms were all alive. They’d bring out the wives and everyone would yell and throw chairs, and Dean would laugh and point at the screen. Maybe Dad had planned for them to stay with their mom, and her dying screwed everything up.

It didn’t make a lot of sense, but it made just as much sense as any other dumb story Dean had ever made up to tell him about Dad.

“Sam?”

“Huh?” Sam looked up at his gym teacher. The man’s whistle hovered just above Sam’s eye-level.

“That was quite a kick, Sam.” He pointed to the far side of the gym. The kickball was rolling along the wall.

“Yes, sir, I guess so.”

“Got something on your mind?”

“No, sir.” Sam blinked innocently.

“If you say so.” He blew his whistle. “Okay! Everybody go get changed.”

Sam trotted off with the others.

There was more reading after gym. Mrs. Peabody came in to give them their writing homework. Sam folded up his page of words (they all started with W) and put it in his notebook. Then Mrs. Farnsworth let them go to the back of the room for what she called “structured play.”

This was good, because Sam didn’t have to worry about paying attention during this part of the day. It also gave him another shot at something he’d tried yesterday—finding someone who could help him get to the mall. He’d figured that with Dean not feeling well and Dad being…well, Dad, and all the stuff about Santa still up in the air, he’d have to field this one on his own. So he’d begun asking his classmates if they knew where the mall was or how to get there.

“My parents take us,” was the usual answer.

“Well, are they taking you sometime soon? Before Christmas?” Sam asked.

“I dunno.” That was usually the answer, too.

Dean was right about one thing: seven-year-olds were dumb.

“Hey, Sam,” a squeaky voice said behind him. He recognized it right away and turned.

“Hey, Sally.”

“Wanna play tea party?” She pointed to a little table with a couple other girls.

“No.” Sally Dolin wanted to be Sam’s girlfriend, but Sam thought girls were icky. Dean didn’t like girls at all; he always called Sam a girl when he was mad at him.

“Jenner’s playing with the trucks. Wanna play construction?” she offered, pointing in the other direction to their classmate.

“Okay.” Sam said. He still didn’t want to be Sally’s boyfriend, but at least construction was a boy-game. And maybe Jenner knew something about the mall. Kris Melrose had told him about going, but didn’t know how to get there, and since he’d been, his parents were unlikely to return before Christmas.

“Sam wants to play too, Jenner,” Sally said, bringing Sam over to a section of rug decorated like tiny roads and neighborhoods. Jenner scowled up at them.

“You can use anything but the cement truck,” he proclaimed. He pointed to an assortment of Fisher-Price vehicles.

“I want the fire truck,” Sam said.

“I want the Cadillac,” said Sally.

They played for a little while. Sam got an idea. He drove his fire truck to the edge of the carpet and right off it.

“You can’t leave the town!” Jenner screeched.

“It’s okay, it’s a regional fire truck,” Sam explained. “It’s going to the mall.”

“There’s no mall,” Jenner scoffed.

“Sure there is,” Sam said. “It’s off the edge of the map ’cause it’s…near the North Pole.”

“Where Santa lives?” Sally asked.

“Yes, exactly!”

“Santa’s not real,” Jenner said, “And even if he was, there’s no malls at the North Pole.”

“Nu-uh, Santa lives at the mall, though,” Sally told them both. “I seen him.”

“You saw a guy in a suit. My brother Davis says there’s no Santa.”

“How old’s your brother?” Sam asked.

“He’s fourteen and he knows everything.”

Sam frowned at that. Dean was only eleven, but he knew a lot and he’d told Sam that Santa could find them no matter what. Dean could be wrong, of course, or he could be lying, but to Sam’s mind, he was way more reliable than Jenner.

“My brother said that it’s Santa’s deputies at the mall,” Sam asserted. It had been Kris Melrose, and not Dean, but that wasn’t important. “An’ once when we lived in…another place, the firemen brought toys to the kids in our building, from Santa.”

Jenner sniggered and Sally looked at Sam with something like shock, or maybe pity. “Did the firemen bring you toys, too?”

Sam shrugged. He brought his fire truck back to the rug. “Yeah. Everyone in the building got a toy.” He sensed that they weren’t playing with their cars. “What?” he asked in alarm.

Sally leaned forward. “Toys for Tots,” she whispered to him.

“Huh?” Sam scrunched up his face with confusion.

“Toys for Tots,” Sally repeated slowly. “My mom gives the firemen an extra present every year for…for kids who aren’t on Santa’s list. Sam…how come you weren’t on his list?”

Though he didn’t expect the question, Sam lost no time answering. “We were on his list, stupid. We got presents from Santa, but we got the others just because we were there when the firemen came. Anyway, Dean told me: Santa’s gots a lot of kids to get presents for, and the elves can’t make everything. So he gets the firemen to help out. They get people to buy the toys for him and then the firemen take them around. Anyway, it was only the one time, just because we happened to be there, and—and we’d just moved, like a few days before Christmas.”

Jenner wasn’t convinced. “I thought you didn’t believe in Christmas.”

“Huh?” said Sam. “Course we do.”

“Well…how come you’re not in the pageant?”

Sam remembered again that he was supposed to be a Jonah’s Witness. He played with the ladder on his truck. “Pageants’re against our religion,” he said earnestly once he’d formed his argument. “We believe in Christmas, though. Just not…performing about it.”

“You believe in Santa, too?” Sally asked. “Cuz Tyshia Bennett isn’t allowed in the pageant, either, but she doesn’t believe in Santa at all.”

“Well, we do,” Sam insisted. “An’ he always finds us. Even without help from firemen. Only….” He bit his lip.

“Only what?”

“Only I haven’t took my letter to him this year, see? So I don’t know if he’ll know what I’m asking for. That’s why I need to go to the mall.”

Jenner crossed his legs Indian-style. “Are you sure you’re allowed to believe in Santa and not be in the pageant?”

“Yes. I could’ve watched the cartoons, too, but they din’t ask me. I could’ve told them.”

“That doesn’t sound right,” Jenner said. “The cartoons had singing. You’re not in the pageant, and the cartoon had a Christmas play.”

“So? I’m not in the cartoon.”

“But it was about a play. I don’t think you’re allowed to do that stuff.”

“Yes, I am!” Sam contended.

“Are not!”

“Am too!”

“Are not!” Sam saw Jenner’s arm draw back. When the truck flew, he dodged. The truck tumbled to the floor and rolled unevenly onto the next play area, where two little girls were playing tea parties. One of them shrieked.

“Children!” Mrs. Farnsworth rushed over. “What in the world are you doing, Jenner Martin?”

“Sam started it!” Jenner pointed an accusing finger.

Sam turned red. He wasn’t really surprised that Jenner would blame him—kids always blamed the new guy, Dean said—but he was still angry about it. “Jenner called me a liar and then threw his truck at me,” Sam reported, with a “So there!” expression at Jenner. Dean had told him never to hit someone else first. The first person to hit was nearly always in the most trouble. Dean also told him that with teachers, the best way to avoid trouble was to stick to facts. That way you couldn’t get caught in a lie and it would be harder for the other person to lie, too.

“Jenner, is this true?”

“I didn’t call him a liar.”

“Did you throw that truck?” She pointed where it had landed.

“Yes, he did,” Sally tattled.

Jenner glared at Sam. “He said he was allowed to watch The Grinch and that he’s on Santa’s list. But he’s wrong.”

Sam bit his lip.

Mrs. Farnsworth looked at him, then at Jenner. She seemed to be thinking, or maybe, like Dad did sometimes, counting to ten. “Jenner, go sit at your desk, please. Sam, come with me.”

Sam felt himself flushing again, this time with embarrassment. He wished he could keep a poker face like Dean. He could keep himself from cracking up usually, but if anybody made him angry or embarrassed, he turned bright red. He hated that. And he hated Mrs. Farnsworth for making him go up to her desk twice in one day. Everyone was watching.

He smiled weakly at Sally, anyway, in thanks for standing up for him, and got to his feet. As Jenner walked to his desk, Mrs. Farnsworth marched Sam to the front of the room. She called Miss Nolan. “You wait there, Sam,” she told him. Then she went to the big board by the door, where kids got their stars or other marks to indicate their successes. Jenner’s row had two blue stars on it. Mrs. Farnsworth took one away. Sam’s row had a gold star. Mrs. Farnsworth took that away and replaced it with the blue one, adding two more blue stars on his row. She looked at the back of the room, where kids were jeering and whispering a bit.

“Go back to your playing, children,” she instructed. “Jenner, Sam: you’ve both lost one star. Jenner, you should know better than to try to resolve disagreements with violence. And Sam,” she continued, crossing to crouch in front of him, “I’m asking Miss Nolan to watch the class while I take you down to Mr. Brandford. I think you’re having a little trouble being left out of the activities for the holidays. But lying isn’t going to solve anything. When you get older, you may make all kinds of decisions about your faith and its dictates.”

“Its what?” Sam frowned.

“What your faith says you can and can’t do,” she explained. “For now, that’s up to your father.”

Sam sulked and said nothing. He couldn’t tell her that he hadn’t been lying, because, he had a feeling, Jonah’s Witnesses probably didn’t actually watch Charlie Brown or The Grinch. And they probably weren’t on Santa’s list. Still, it wasn’t cool for Jenner to say so. He’d have to suck up his point loss and deal.

Miss Nolan arrived and Mrs. Farnsworth took Sam down to Mr. Brandford’s office. Mr. Brandford was the school counselor. Sam hadn’t met him before, but he knew that a counselor saw kids who had problems. He and Dean had both been to counselors before. Dean was often on a first-name basis with them, and with principals. Since he had become so experienced at talking to them, Dean had warned Sam last year about being called in to anyone’s office. “They’ll try to get you to talk to them, to find out if you’re a freak or dangerous. Or if Dad is. But they’re smart, they’ll know if you make things sound too Stepford. So be careful, and don’t give away anything important.” There was a whole list of important stuff not to tell. Sam took deep breaths, reminding himself of what he should and shouldn’t say. He decided it was better not to say anything. Name, rank, and serial number—that’s how it was in the movies. If Dean didn’t crack, neither would Sam.

Mrs. Farnsworth left Sam in a chair outside first and talked to the counselor alone. Sam prepared himself as best as he could. Then the door opened and Sam heard his name called. “Could you come in, please?”

The school counselor was a man who looked about the same age as Dad, but way less fit. He was flabby and balding, wore glasses, and had thin lips and small eyes. Sam sat in the chair he indicated, which was next to his and at an angle. Mrs. Farnsworth shut the door behind her on her way out. “Hello, Sam. We’ve not met. I’m Mr. Brandford.” He held out his hand.

“Hello.” Sam shook it firmly once and let his hand drop.

“What shall we talk about?” Mr. Brandford asked. He put a little pad of paper on his lap and picked up a pen from a cup on his desk.

Sam didn’t say anything.

“Mrs. Farnsworth tells me you’re having a little trouble. Want to tell me what’s bothering you?”

Sam didn’t say anything.

“I think with everyone getting excited about Christmas, you’re feeling a little left out. Is that it?”

Sam didn’t say anything.

Mr. Brandford tried again. “Mrs. Farnsworth also told me that you had to draw a second picture this week for your art class. What was wrong with the first one?”

“Nuthin’,” Sam said, offended into speaking.

“Well, Ms. Penn thought there was a problem. Did she tell you what it was?”

“No. But Dad liked it. He put it on our fridge, so it can’t have been too bad.” Sam clamped his mouth shut. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

Mr. Brandford didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he seemed to become more interested. He leaned forward in his chair and said, “What was in the picture?”

“Me and Dean.”

“Who’s Dean?”

“M’brother.”

“Your older brother?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anything else?”

“Our car.”

Mr. Brandford thought about that for a minute. “Why was the car in the picture?”

“I like our car. It’s cool. And we drive a lot.”

“I see.” He made a note on his pad. “What were you doing in the picture? Were you in the car?”

“No. Ms. Penn said we had to draw a picture of something you do in the snow. We were writing our names.”

“Were you writing your names with…sticks?”

“No.”

Mr. Brandford thought about that for a minute. He was quiet so long that Sam wondered if he’d said too much. Finally he asked, “So, were you angry at Ms. Penn? For making you draw another picture?”

Sam hesitated. It sounded like a trick question, like when Dad asked something but already knew the answer. A test. “A little,” he admitted, “but it wasn’t a big deal. Dad liked the first one just fine, so I didn’t care.”

“So you didn’t mind, because your dad kept the first one?”

Sam screwed up the right side of his face. “Isn’t that what I just said?”

“Just making sure I understand, Sam.” He wrote again. “Why don’t you tell me what happened today? Why did you tell Jenner that you could watch cartoons about Christmas?”

Sam shrugged. “I guess I just wish I’d gotten candy,” he said. It was a fact, it was honest, so he figured it was a safe enough answer.

Mr. Brandford nodded. “It’s hard to be different, isn’t it?”

Sam nodded.

“You’re new to class, too, and that’s not easy.”

Sam nodded.

“So, maybe you’re just wanting to fit in a little better?”

Sam shrugged.

“Is that why you lied to Jenner?”

Sam shrugged.

“Sam, I’m going to recommend that you come back and talk to me some more next week. I think you could use a little help figuring out ways to get along with your classmates without losing what makes you different. How does that sound?”

“Don’t…don’t you have to ask my Dad about that?”

“Well, let’s try talking again and then we’ll see. Okay?”

Sam bit his lip. He could figure this out with Dean over the weekend; he’d be prepared and they could make sure he didn’t need to talk to Mr. Brandford again. “Okay,” he said.

Mr. Brandford looked at his watch. “I’ll take you back upstairs so you can get your things; it’s almost time to go home.”

When the final bell rang, his classmates all clattered down to the auditorium for play practice. Sam put his coat on and waited at the bus loop. Dad was supposed to pick them up again this afternoon. Dad didn’t come right away, so Sam went back inside and stayed by the door. He waited and waited.

A green car pulled in to the bus loop. Someone was waving from the back seat. When it pulled around, Sam recognized Dean. Dean hopped out and walked toward the door.

“C’mon, Sam, it’s okay!”

“Where’s Dad?” Sam asked as he pushed open the door and closed the gap.

“Probably held up somewhere. Mrs. Stakowski said she’d give us a ride. And guess what?” Dean was grinning like he did the time he’d discovered they could piggyback on a neighbor’s HBO signal.

“What?”

“She’s taking us to the mall, tomorrow, too!”

Sam’s eyes went wide. Trust Dean to know, without being told, what Sam wanted most. Who needed seven-year-olds with parents and cars? Sam had Dean.


Continue to Chapter Eleven