my life's come off its tracks [spn][four]
Mar. 15th, 2010 04:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mimblexwimblefour
On Sunday Dad drops them off at the park. Tells them he needs to run some errands, which is code for a quick hunt, of course. It must be nearby. He says they can play until Mac comes to pick them up and that he’ll be back before sunset.
They go on the swings for a while. Actually, Dean swings for five minutes and then gets off to give Sam a push – not too high though, because Sam’s a chicken. He starts screaming if you push too hard. Dean’s tried to tell him over and over that there’s no point in sitting on the stupid swing if he’s not going to try to move more than five inches. Sam doesn’t care. He’s dumb. Scared of swinging but not of rats or spiders or anything really scary. Dumb.
Afterwards they have a couple of races. The park has a track around it. Grown-ups are jogging. Dean beats Sam, except for the last time. The last time, he starts feeling sorry for his red-faced, panting brother, and lets Sam beat him – by an inch.
They flop down on the grass to catch their breath. Dean sees a lemonade stand, fishes some change out of his pocket and runs to buy some. He spills it a bit on the walk back. No harm done. Only stick fingers. He licks them clean, then slurps the lemonade with Sammy.
While Sam sits on the see-saw with some girl, Dean goes on the monkey bars. He can go back and forth four times before his hands and arms start aching. Runs over to a tree then; climbs it. Climbs as high as he can before he jumps off. Runs to the slide. Goes up. Goes down. Feet land in the puddle at the bottom – splish. It’s muddy water, but Dean doesn’t care. You can’t care about these little things when there are lives at stake. When killers are running free.
Dean is strong. He’s fast.
He still can’t talk.
He imagines he’s gone hunting with Dad, anyway. For a minute.
They’re at the Mini-Mart. Dean and Cy and Jaime-with-the-earring.
Cy heads to the candy aisle, looks around a couple of times, and then slips a PayDay into his windbreaker’s pocket. Then a packet of peanut M&Ms.
Dean watches him blandly. Keeps his hands in his pockets. Looks around casually. The Pop-Tarts are mocking him two shelves above. Shorty! they snigger.
Cy grins when he catches Dean’s eye. “Puttin’ bread on the table, right?”
Eh, what the hell. He nods, smiles widely.
“It’s our thing,” Cy says. “The whole family can do it. You’re going to have to learn too.”
And Sam? Dean writes.
“Not Sam. He’s just a kid, we can’t be sure he won’t rat us out,” Jeremy says. Pulls his glasses off to wipe them on his shirt.
Well. Sam doesn’t have the tiniest mouth, Dean supposes.
“Rule numero uno,” Penn says. “Big pockets.
“But not a big coat,” Wentworth adds. “Don’t wanna stand out. Biggest pockets you can get, on whatever jacket looks okay to be wearing outside.”
Dean’s laughing a little on the inside. He nods carefully, listens raptly.
These guys don’t know who they’re dealing with.
Dean knows all about stealth. He knows all about blending in.
For Dean’s first ‘on-field mission’, they tell him to keep it small.
“Just grab some Tic Tacs,” Went insists.
Dean goes into the 7-Eleven by himself. See, if you do it right? Not even a black eye is going to get you caught.
Rule number one – big pockets. Okay, fine. But there’s such a thing as waistbands too. Wear smaller underwear, so the waistband is tight. Less chances of stuff falling out your pants’ legs that way too. You can hide stuff anywhere.
Rule number two – don’t look at the cashiers. No matter how much you want to. You’ll blink too much or just look suspicious. Whatever it is, it’ll give you away.
Rule number three – don’t run right to the motherload. Browse a little. Stare longingly at the box of fruit rollups. The toy airplane. The big things you don’t have the money to buy. Pretend like you’re a dumb kid with eyes too big for his head.
Rule number four – if you can, wait until the cashier is occupied. But don’t wait too long.
Dean comes out with rolls of Life Savers pressing into his stomach. Butterfingers and Snickers bars in his pockets.
Cy and Wentworth look like their eyes are about to fall out of their heads.
“HOLY COW!” they whisper-scream, two blocks away from the 7-Eleven. “HOLY COW. OH MAN.”
They stop at Went’s house. Dean lifts a finger. Rummages around in his coat. Wait for it… wait for it… pulls out one box of white Tic Tacs. He hands it to Went.
Went and Cy stare at it blankly for a moment and then burst into hysterical laughter.
Cy and Dean walk back to Dean’s house. “You’re a jackpot,” Cy says wisely. He’s grinning from ear to ear.
At Dean’s house, he gives Dean a salute. Says, “Keep the loot, you deserved it.”
He waves at Dean as he walks. Dean waves back.
Dean stashes the ‘loot’ in the cupboard. Not like Dad ever really looks in there anyway. Mac will just think they went shopping.
He keeps a roll of Life Savers.
Bath time. Dean fills the tub and the strips. Gets in.
This is how he figures it.
Dad hustles pool to put bread on the table. Usually gets credit cards with fake names on them. But he hasn’t been doing that lately. Dean doesn’t know how they have money for food and stuff but—
He could help. This is how he could help.
He could steal stuff. He’s a master at it. He could steal food and anything – clothes from the Salvation Army, whatever they need.
That way, Dad wouldn’t have to spend time making money. He could hunt all the time. Make up what he’s losing because Dean can’t ever help him out now. This way he’d still be able to save more lives.
All Dean needs to do is practice. Train. Get so good, no one will ever even think of catching him. Because how many kids know about DNA and not leaving it around? How many other kids would know to wear gloves? How many would be trained in stealth? How many can’t make a sound, even if they wanted to?
He could be the best. The best there ever was.
Dean holds his breath. Sinks to the bottom of the tub, water closing over his ears and nose and eyes.
He listens to his heartbeat. Lets out his breath in a burst of bubbles and floats to the top of the water again. Cold air hits his knees and stomach and face.
He thinks it’s a good idea.
Mac takes Sam to the library and Dad takes Dean to a shooting range.
They practice for three hours. Dean hits all his targets except one. Dad’s standing taller when they leave. Burning bright, like a star. Like the sun.
Dean gets to sit in the front with him on their way back home. He looks Dad over. Looks for new cuts, new scars, new injuries. There’s nothing he can see. His dad’s too good for that. He’s too good to fall. Maybe he gets hurt, but he always stands right back up. That’s how Dean wants to be.
Dad catches him looking. Smiles a little but doesn’t say anything.
Dean rolls his window all the way down. The air smells fresh and cool and clean.
He has this memory, of Mom.
It was a day just like this. A little later maybe, near sunset, because the sky was orange-pink and shadows were everywhere. But it was still a day like this. Fresh. Cool. Good.
This was before God gave them Sammy.
He and Mom were sitting on the porch steps. Dean on one step below, between Mom’s legs. Mom had an orange, one of the kind you can just peel and eat. Spit out the seeds. Dean spit one onto the grass, and Mom said, “Whoops.” She bent to pick it up, just like that, with her fingers, even though it came from Dean’s mouth. Said, “Shouldn’t litter.” And the next time Dean had to spit a seed, she let him do it in her hand.
That’s how much she loved him. That’s what she let him do.
They sat there and ate the orange, juice dripping down their chins. Mom smelled like oranges afterwards, strong and sweet. She tickled him under his arms, said, “Ready to go inside, mister?” Tickled him over and over until he was laughing helplessly and couldn’t say no. She grabbed him then, hauled him over her shoulder. Mom was strong, Dean remembers.
They went inside and later, during dinner, Mom let Dean have her desert, even though it was vanilla cream pie – her favorite.
See?
That’s who they took. That’s what they do.
The good ones are the ones to go, Dad said. Always the good ones.
“Where did you go today?” Sam whispers later, when they’re in bed.
It’s dark. Dean doesn’t know how Sam expects him to answer.
The mattress bounces a little. Sammy getting out from under the covers. Dean sits up. Wants to shout, Hey! but can’t. Of course.
He sits there for a minute, two. Watches Sam open the closet and rummage around in it. The curtains are still open. Moonlight spills into the room, silvery and light. Sam comes back, burrows under the covers. Dean pulls his head in. A light comes on, blinding.
“See!” Sam whispers. “We can talk now.” Dean reaches out, pushes Sam’s hand so the light isn’t pointing in his eyes.
“Sorry,” Sam says sheepishly. “So? Where’d ya go?”
Dean thinks about it. Nowhere, he replies.
Sam’s silent for a long moment, just watching. “You’re lying,” he says. Not whispering. Just quiet talking. Calm talking. Like Dad, when he knows Dean’s lying. Like Dean, when he knows Sammy’s lying.
Sam’s eyes are... Dean doesn’t know. It’s weird. It scares him, maybe a little.
Shut up, he signs. I’m not.
“Really?” Sam asks. Doubt laces his words.
Dean’s heart is going wild; he doesn’t know why.
Yes, Dean signs. He reaches out, finds Sam’s knee and squeezes it. Remembers something. He rolls over, pulls open his nightstand drawer. The Life Savers are still there.
“What is it?” Sam asks. Dean rolls back, covers himself up with the sheets. Settles back into the pillows and lifts his feet, makes a tent of the covers. He unwraps the Life Savers. The first two are red. He hands one to Sam.
The flashlight focuses on Sam’s hand. “Life Savers?” Sam says, awe in his voice. “Where’d you get ‘em?”
Money, Dean signs.
“Wow,” Sammy breathes. Pops the candy into his mouth.
They suck on the candy until it disappears, have another two pieces afterwards. They sneak into the bathroom together to re-brush their teeth. They go to sleep with aching jaws. Sam wiggles closer until his head is on Dean’s pillow and Dean doesn’t push him away. He’s too tired, anyway.
Someday, Sam’s going to stop believing him.
Someday, Sam’s not going to buy that Dad’s a traveling salesman.
Someday, he’s going to connect the guns and the books.
Someday, he’ll want to know what really happened to Mom and he’s not going to take no for an answer. He’s not going to be pulled away and appeased and manipulated.
Dean doesn’t know what he’ll do then. Doesn’t know if he ever wants that day to come. Maybe, to have someone to talk to, about Dad and what he does. When Dad’s not here. But. It would be easier if it never happened.
These things, the things in the dark. Once you know about them, that’s when they start the real attack. You can go your whole life thinking they don’t exist – then one day, find out they do, and see them everywhere. Every corner. Every street. Every city and state.
Sammy’s just a kid. He can’t know this stuff. He can’t even swing higher than a foot.
What’ll happen if he finds out ghosts are real?
Sunday.
Bugs Bunny on the TV. Sam’s engrossed. Mac gave him homework. He wanted some. Because Dean gets some, probably. He’s supposed to try to sign all day. His eyes are glued to the television set. His hands are moving, fingers making words. He’s getting a lot of them wrong, Dean can tell.
Dean’s doing his own homework at the table. From school, though. Fractions. Yuck.
Dad is sitting next to him, putting a file together. He’s got pictures of something, from the library. Drawings. Some kind of Old One. He looks up from his papers every now and then to watch the cartoon, too. Laughs a couple of times, a big booming laugh.
Dean watches his dad instead of the TV and feels his lips pulling up without his permission.
Ice Cream truck music outside. Sam jumps like someone stuck his fingers in a socket. Stares at Dad wordlessly, pleadingly. Dean looks at Dad too, waiting to see what he’ll say.
Dad looks up when he feels Sam’s gaze. Looks from him to Dean and back. Sighs.
“I’ll get some cash,” he says, standing up. Sam whoops and runs to the door.
Dean’s no slacker. He follows.
They’re walking along the street Dean’s house is on. Someone’s just mown their lawn – the air smells green. Dean can even taste it on his tongue. It’s a nice smell. An alive smell.
“I’m getting a Corvette,” Jeremy says. “White convertible. Black roof-bow.” He looks into the distance, with a dreamy smile on his face.
“Man, that is lame,” Cy snorts. Jeremy’s expression slips.
“Yeah? What car you gonna get?”
“It’s a Thunderbird for me, dude. I’ll get me some mag wheels, a paint job. I can see it now – racing strips.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jeremy mutters. “Let’s see you pass fourth grade first.”
“You callin’ me dumb, Winger?” Cy asks.
He punches Jeremy’s shoulder. Jeremy punches back. Cy tackles Jeremy onto the grass of someone’s yard and they roll around for a few minutes, growling. They get up when they’re out of breath, blades of grass and stray leaves all over them.
They fall into step again. Cy slaps Dean’s arm with the back of his hand.
“How ‘bout you Winchester? What kinda car you getting?”
That’s easy. Dean’s just flipping his notebook out when a tell-tale rumble sounds from behind them.
Wow. Dad’s got great timing.
The Impala rolls past them, and Dean points. Cy gives a low whistle.
Sammy’s standing in their yard when they get to the house. “Our grass is too short,” he says.
Lily’s hanging over the fence. She signs hello to Dean, a sort-of salute. “I agree,” she adds, looking at Sam.
“You’re too short, runt,” Cy says to Sam.
A flicker of hurt on Sam’s face, and a spark in the pit of Dean’s stomach. He ignores it.
Why’s our grass too short? he writes quickly.
“The raccoons. And chipmunks,” Sam says, like it makes sense. “It’s atrocious.” Typical. Can’t say Spaghetti-O’s properly, but he can say atrocious.
“Atrocious?” Cy splutters.
“Yes,” Sam continues doggedly. Dumbass is very much implied in his tone. “They have nowhere to hide because the grass is too short. We should grow it.”
Cy’s grin is huge. Shit-eating, Dad would say. Like, can you believe what this kid is saying? Dean doesn’t know how it makes him feel. Weird, mostly. Sammy’s staring at Cy like he’s an alien.
“You can grow it,” Lily announces. “All you need is water and food and cover. We have it at home. The grass gets tall, and animals move in. It’s called a wildlife habitat.”
Okay. So Lily’s put him up to this. Figures.
We’re not going to live here that long, Dean scribbles out.
“Why aren’t you signing?” Lily asks, looking at Dean strangely.
Cy barrels right over her. “You moving man?”
No. Not right now. But we will, Dean writes. We always do.
“What’s your dad do?” Jeremy asks.
Traveling salesman, Dean writes.
Lily’s nose wrinkles. “Really? Where’s the stuff he sells? My uncle’s a traveling salesman and he’s got a garage full of stuff. You don’t even have a garage.”
Sammy’s watching Dean. Dean writes, We store it somewhere else.
That seems to be the extent of everyone’s curiosity. They nod, move on.
Cy says, “I’m gonna play football. In high school. And college.”
Subject-change whiplash.
Dean knows what Jeremy’s gonna say before he opens his mouth. He’s the tallest kid in class. “I’ll go out for basketball.” He lifts his arms, pretends to shoot.
“I’m gonna be a cheerleader,” Sam says. He’s crouched down, now, staring at something in the grass.
Cy and Jeremy explode. They’re laughing so hard they can’t stand up. They fall to their knees on the sidewalk. Just when it looks like they’re about to stop, they look at each other and it starts all over.
Sam’s lower lips is jutting out a little.
“And what, exactly, is wrong with that?” Lily asks. She’s sitting atop the fence now. Her legs swing a little.
“Well,” Cy says breathlessly, “let’s see… um – he’s a guy?”
“Who says boys can’t cheerlead?”
“Everyone,” replies Cy.
“You don’t know anything. Men cheerlead in college. They get to hold girls up with one hand. You have to be really strong.”
“I’m really strong,” Sam pipes up. No sticky-outy lip anymore, Dean notices.
“What do you think Dean?” Lily asks suddenly.
He’s been quiet for too long.
Haha. That was a good one. Quiet for too long.
“Dean thinks boys can be cheerleaders,” Sam says right away. He looks at Dean then. “Right?” he asks, uncertainty wriggling in between his words.
All eyes on Dean.
He takes a breath. Writes it out on his notebook and holds it up.
Right.
Silence for a moment. Sam’s smile is blinding.
Cy shrugs. “Whatever, man. Hey, you wanna go to the 7-Eleven? I feel like a Snickers.”
Jeremy says, “Sure,” and Dean nods.
Off they go. Dean looks over his shoulder. Lily’s still on the fence, Sammy’s still in the yard. They’re both watching him.
Later.
It’s close to sunset. The air is cool. Dean’s sitting on the fence with Lily.
Hey, he signs. He takes out his notebook to write the next bit. That grass thing you told Sammy about. It’s a good idea.
“Right?” says Lily brightly. She signs it too. She asked Dean to teach her, a while ago. She’s a quick learner.
My mom liked gardening, he writes before he can stop himself.
“Cool,” Lily says. No questions. “My mom likes it too.” She asks him to sign the words he just wrote. Dean does.
Later he wonders if maybe she read the words wrong. Likes instead of liked. Maybe. Maybe not.
It feels nice, though. To talk about his mom with someone and not have to think about the fire. Not have to think about the burning. To just say something and have that picture in his head – Mom with dirty cheeks and soil in her hair and huge gloves on her hands.
Mom, rubbing dirt on his cheeks when he made fun of hers and laughing, easy as anything.
“So,” says Cy. “That monkey girl. On your fence. What’s her name?”
Dean stares at him blankly for a moment. Lily? he writes on his notebook.
It’s lunchtime. The cafeteria is exploding with noise.
“Yeah. Why doesn’t she go to school? I never seen her here.”
She’s homeschooled, Dean writes. Her mom let her take a vacation to visit her grandma.
“Homeschooled?” says Went. “What’s the mean?”
“It means,” says Cy, “that she’s too dumb for real school. So she has to stay home.”
There must be something showing on Dean’s face. The pain of his stomach tying itself into knots, slowly. Cy glances at Dean, then says, “What, you don’t think so?”
Dean shakes his head. Shrugs. Shakes his head again.
“You sit on the fence with her, don’t you?” Penn asks. Pops a chicken nugget in his mouth.
Cy grins. Jeremy grins. They’re all grinning, like they know something Dean doesn’t.
“Aw, does Dean-o have a girlfriend?” Jamie says.
Dean shows him the middle finger. It rolls right off.
“Betcha he holds her hand,” Jeremy says, snickering. “Holds her hand while they sit on the fence together.”
“Two little monkeys,” Cy adds. They collapse all over the table, giggling.
Bullshit, Dean writes. His breathing’s getting faster. Head’s hurting a little.
Sammy shows up right then.
Cy looks up long enough to say, “You should watch out Dean, she’s turning your brother into a little girl.”
Sammy looks like he’s been slapped. He looks from Cy to Dean. He doesn’t even know what they’re talking about.
The laughing goes on, and Dean’s just – had it. He slams his fist down on the table. Trays clatter. Everyone sits up.
Cy rolls his eyes. “Take a joke, jeez.”
Everyone goes back to their food. Just like that.
After school.
“Dean!”
Lily again. “Hiiiiiii!” she calls. Waves at him.
Dean ignores her.
“What’s wrong with you?” Lily asks.
Dean doesn’t say anything. Stays there, on the grass. Picks a few blades out.
He’s waiting for Sammy. He just went inside to pee.
“It’s your friends, isn’t it?” Lily says. “The dumb ones.”
Dean pulls his notebook out. They’re not dumb.
“Yes they are,” Lily says. “Because they think boys can’t be cheerleader and they hated me for no reason and you stop signing when you’re around them.”
Maybe boys don’t cheerlead, Dean writes. And then, adds, They didn’t hate you and I don’t stop signing.
“They do, they do and you do,” Lily says. “They’re stupid. Stupid, ugly losers. I’m glad I don’t go to school, if those are the kind of dumb kids there.”
Dean glares at her. They aren’t stupid. You don’t know anything.
“They are. They’re like… pigs.”
They think you’re a monkey, Dean signs then, quick as lightening. Lily’s gaze is blank, so Dean writes it down.
“And what do you think?” Lily asks. Her eyes flash. The wind blows her black hair around.
Nothing, Dean writes. Just. You think they’re pigs. They think you’re a monkey.
He shrugs. Lily’s eyes narrow. “Have fun playing with your dumb pig friends, Dean.”
She flounces back inside.
Dean pokes Sammy under the covers.
He rolls over, tired-eyed. Flashlight comes out from under his pillow. He flicks it on and they squint at each other.
You can be a cheerleader if you want, Dean says. The “cheerleading” sign is weird. Like he’s waving pom-poms. I won’t laugh at you, he adds.
“Really?” Sam asks.
Dean nods. He pulls a Mars bar from underneath his pillow.
“Where do you get this stuff?” Sam says, wide-eyed now. Dean splits the bar. Gives Sam the bigger half.
It’s to help Dad, Dean tells him.
Sam looks confused. “Why does Dad need help?” he asks, mouth full of chocolate.
So he has more time to work, Dean signs.
“Why does he need more time to work? He already works ALL THE TIME.”
I was supposed to help him, Dean signs. I’m ten. That’s old enough.
“So?”
Can’t now. Can’t talk.
“Oh,” says Sam. “Because you have to talk to sell things?”
Dean nods.
“Oh,” Sam says again. He doesn’t say anything after that.
Dean gets sick. Not like last time, but he has to stay home and Dad takes him to the hospital, a crazy-scared look in his eyes.
The doctor says he’s fine. Healthy as can be expected. Recovering nicely. Getting his weight back. It’s just a bit of a cold.
Dad stays home for a few days anyway. Tells Mac to take a break.
It’s almost June. There are flowers everywhere.
Dad finds the stash. It’s been getting bigger. There’s more than candy now. Last time, Dean stole a box of Lucky Charms. Dean hardly uses any of it. A couple of treats for Sammy sometimes. A snack for himself when he gets really hungry.
“Where the fuck—?” he says from the kitchen, and Dean knows, knows right away that he’s seen.
Dean was stupid. He should have hidden it better. He didn’t realize what Dad being around meant. It meant he’d do the cooking and open cupboards and stuff.
Dad comes out of the kitchen, walks over to the sofa, where Dean is curled up. He holds up a handful of candy bars.
“Anything you want to tell me about?”
Dean goes wide-eyed. Shrugs.
“Dean,” Dad says flatly. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t Sammy. And Mac wouldn’t just buy us a bunch of food for no reason. And you sure do take a lot of trips to the Mini-Mart and 7-Eleven with those kids you hang out with.”
Dean pulls the blanket over his nose. Dad sits down on the table, across from the sofa. He puts the candy down and sighs heavily.
“I want you to tell me the truth. Right now.”
It’s the Very Serious Voice.
I stole it, Dean signs.
“You stole it,” Dad repeats. It’s not a question. “Why?”
Dean swallows. His ears are burning. Cheeks too. Wanted to help you, his fingers say. He doesn’t look at Dad. There’s fuzz on the blanket.
“Help me?”
Get food and stuff.
“Dean,” Dad says then, gruffly. Dean keeps staring at the blanket-fuzz. “Kiddo, look at me.” Dean does. “I don’t need that kind of help. I’ve got it covered. You don’t need to worry.”
Dean sits up, quick. But – but—
He pulls out his notebook. But this way, you don’t have to do it. I can help, and you can hunt even more! I can do it, Dad, I swear.
His scribbles are nearly illegible. Dad stares at the page for a long time, before looking up at Dean. Dean twists the pencil between his fingers.
“I know you want to help, son,” Dad says. “And that’s great. But this isn’t your job. I’m handling it. You don’t need to worry at all, okay?”
He doesn’t think Dean can do it. Dean slumps. Nods. Okay. Okay, fine. Yeah, fine. Sure.
“No more stealing, right? Mary would stake me if she knew.” The last part is quieter, under his breath. He’s staring into the distance. Then back at Dean. “We got a deal, kiddo?”
Dean nods again. Okay, fine. Yeah, fine. Sure.
Dad pats his cheek a little and then goes back to the kitchen.
“Mini-Mart after school, man!” Cy says as they head to recess. “Sound good?”
Go without me, Dean writes.
“What? Dude, why?”
I’m done with it. I don’t want to do it anymore. It’s stupid.
“ExCUSE me?” Cy says, baffled, stopping in the middle of the hall. Dean makes to walk past him, but he grabs his jacket.
They’re nose to nose. “Why not?” Cy asks.
Dean keeps his eyes on Cy as he writes on the notebook. Shoves the pad in front of Cy’s nose.
Because, it says. Just that. Because.
He walks away.
“What?” Cy shouts. “What? You too good for us? Huh? Going to play with your girlfriend after school, is that it?”
Dean doesn’t turn.
“FINE,” Cy shouts. “FINE. You’re just a retarded loser anyway!”
Dean swallows.
Somehow, it doesn’t surprise him much. Those words coming out of Cy’s mouth.
He thought maybe Cy was the right person, like Mac said.
Guess he thought wrong.
Tuesday. P.E.
Mark’s back from suspension. The gym teacher tells him and Cy to pick teams for kickball.
When there are only three kids left, the picking halts. Neither Cy nor Mark want to pick Dean, he can tell. But they both know he’s the best player.
“What’s the holdup?” the gym teacher shouts from where she’s setting up bases. “You’re supposed to be picking teams, not conducting a romance! Speed it up!”
They do.
Dean’s last to be picked anyway.
They show up at the house. Cy, Jeremy, Jamie, Went and Penn.
“C’mon, Winchester!” they call from outside, when Dean doesn’t go to the door.
Dad looks up from his book. Dean keeps his eyes on the TV.
“DEAN!”
Dean gets up. Dad looks back at his book.
He opens the door, nods at them.
“C’mon man,” says Cy. “Let’s go. The 7-Eleven’s waitin’ for ya.”
Dean sighs. Writes, Didn’t I tell you I’m done?
“You weren’t serious, though, right? It’s okay, we forgive you, that’s what the family does. Sometimes you say dumb things.”
Lily’s peering over the fence.
Dean looks at her, then writes, Yes, you do. But this wasn’t. I was serious. I’m done.
They exchange glances. Jeremy steps forward. “You know what this means, right? You can’t be part of our family anymore.”
Dean shrugs like it doesn’t matter. Feels his throat close up.
Cy huffs a disbelieving laugh. “This guy’s just too good for families, I guess. Too good for rules, right?” He looks at Dean, like Dean’ll agree. “It must like, what is it? Run in your family right? Your mom left, didn’t she? Just up and disappeared. Forgot how to be a mom. Now you forget how to be a brother. Figures.”
Dean’s cold, suddenly. Cold as ice.
Cy seems to read Dean’s expression. "Yeah, your brother told us. The little girl-boy. Told us she just vanished ‘cause she didn’t want to be with you anymore.”
Fire in Dean’s eyes. Fire, fire, fire. He’s on Cy before he knows what’s happened, just wants to hurt him, hurt him like his mom hurt, burn him up. Someone’s making weird noises. Grunting, crying noises.
Oh. Is that him? It is. It’s him making that noise.
Cy’s face is covered in red. He’s shrieking. A girl’s screaming, “DEAN!” Lily.
Then, “Hey – hey! Dean, stop, stop—” and Dean’s being lifted up, hands around his ribs. He tries to hang on to Cy, manages one last good kick to his nose. More blood gushes out. He sucks in a breath and screams, a gurgling animal scream. Lily’s eyes are wide, her hands covering her mouth. She’s in their yard.
“Get the fuck out of here!” Dad says to Cy and the others. Dean struggles in his grasp. “I’ll be calling your parents!”
Cy’s crying like a baby. Maybe he’ll need two glass eyes now.
Dad hauls Dean inside and shuts the door. Sets him down. Dean turns, red still in his eyes. Spots Sammy.
Sammy, who is wide-eyed and sucking his fingers. Really scared, then. Terrified.
Dean stalks up to him and shouts in his face. Pushes him. He lands on his butt, face crumpling immediately. Dean doesn’t care. He hates him. Hates God for taking Mom and giving him that. A brother who doesn’t even know – doesn’t even know what his mom did.
“Dean!” Dad says. Dean doesn’t listen. Doesn’t care. He runs to his room and slams the door shut. Sits with his back against it and cries. Cries loud and hard, cries, cries, cries.
She saved him. She saved him and he told them she left. He told them she forgot.
He thought he had it. Friends, everything in order, everything under control. It hurts that he didn’t.
A quiet knock on the door. Dean’s half-asleep, right there on the carpet.
“Dean-o?” It’s Dad. Dean jumps up. Almost falls back down. His legs are wobbly.
Dad comes in. He looks at Dean, standing there, and then lifts him up. Like Dean’s a little kid. He sets Dean down on the bed, sits next to him.
“I think we need to have a talk,” Dad says gently.
Dean looks at his hands.
“Sammy’s been telling me some stuff. Stuff I – stuff I should have seen I guess. I don’t know. I thought you and I were on the same page. Now Sam’s worried that I’m forgetting how to be a dad and I’ll disappear.” Dad laughs. Dean doesn’t see why. It’s not funny, not even a little.
“First,” Dad says, and he puts a finger under Dean’s chin, lifts until Dean’s looking Dad in the eye. “You pushed Sammy out there.”
He said, Dean signs furiously. Can’t even make the words properly, he’s so angry again.
Dad nods. “To the kids, right? I know. I heard. But you know, Dean, Sammy doesn’t know what happened to Mom. And I guess… Sam’s just like your mom, you know? Sharp as a tack. Nothing gets past him. We didn’t tell him anything, so he came to his own conclusions. That’s not really Sam’s fault.”
He has to know she’s dead, Dean writes on his tear-stained notepad. It’s easier than signing at the moment.
Dad shakes his head. “But he doesn’t. He’s smart, but he’s still just a kid. He doesn’t really get it – and we never told him either. So to Sammy, if he doesn’t have a mom, it doesn’t mean she’s dead, it means she’s just gone. And maybe if she’s gone, it's because she wanted to be. The end.”
Dean looks at his notebook. His messy writing. Sniffs a little.
“You understand that, right Dean? Sam didn’t know. It's not his fault. It’s mine.”
Dean looks up at his dad then and Dad doesn’t look away. So Dean nods.
“Now, the other day I talked to you about the stealing, right? And you told me you could help out and I can hunt even more.”
Dean nods a little. His ears burn, hearing his own words back.
“Sammy was telling me something else. About how you told him you were supposed to help me on my job when you turned ten? And can’t now? Because you can’t talk?”
Dean shrugs, when the silence stretches.
“Dean-o. Don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself?”
Dean looks up again, confused.
“Ten? Is big. You’re not a little kid anymore. But ten’s not old enough to hunt, not really. Even if you could talk. Hunting is still my job, and when you’re old enough, you’ll help me out. Whether or not you can talk. But that time isn’t right now and you don’t need to worry about it. We’ll jump that hurdle when we get to it. And we will because you? You’re my partner. And someday, I’m gonna need you to have my back, in a more literal sense. But for now, I think I’m holding down the fort.”
Dean looks down, again. His eyes are pricking.
“But you know, you do have a job. You have my back every day.”
How? Dean asks.
“By watching out for of Sammy. Don’t you think that’s important?”
Dad’s serious. He’s not joking. He’s really asking. Dean nods. Nods hard. Of course it is. Of course. But Dean would do that anyway, any day. He already does. It’s not his job.
“Exactly. It’s very important. Because I can’t be around all the time. And there’s no one I could really trust to keep Sam safe – except you. Because I see the way you look at him, and I know your brother’s special to you. Just like you’re special to me. Right?”
Dean nods and Dad pulls him close. He’s warm. Dean feels shivery, against him. Dad wraps him up tighter.
“That’s how it works – I watch out for you, when you need me to, and you watch out for Sammy. Those are our real jobs.
“And you’re always going to be a part of this family. You’re always going to be important. Whether or not you can talk. Whether or not you take care of Sammy. Whether or not you do anything. Because I love you, and nothing can stop that. Nothing. Not even God. You know that right?”
Dad’s beard presses to Dean’s forehead, scratchy. He nods against it. It tickles. He’s crying again. Can’t help it.
Dad pulls back a little and rubs his rough thumbs over Dean’s cheeks.
“I want you to remember everything I just said, Dean, okay? When things get bad?” Dad says seriously. “Never forget it. Because it’s not going to change, not today, not tomorrow, not fifty years from now. I can’t stop loving you. And you don’t need to earn your place in this family. That’s not how things work.”
Dean nods again. He’ll remember. He will. Dad’s lips pressed against his forehead.
“You’re going to have to apologize to Sam, you know?”
I know, Dean says with his hands.
“Okay,” Dad says with a sigh, and a small smile. He ruffles Dean’s hair.
“Now - how does Chinese takeout sound?”
Sam’s sitting at the kitchen table. Dad goes into his room to call for takeout.
Dean goes over to the table. Pulls out the chair next to Sam’s and slides into it. Sam doesn’t say anything, just watches him.
Dean knows the signs for I’m sorry. He’s never had to use them before, though. He doesn’t know if Sam knows them. So he makes his mouth move, shape the only word it still can: Sammy.
He writes it down on his notebook. I’m sorry.
Sam nods. “It’s okay. You were mad.”
Dean nods too. Looks at the table, its worn wood.
“Hey,” Sammy says. Dean looks up. “You made a sound. That was really cool.”
Dean stares at his brother for a long time. His pesky, clingy, smart-alecky little brother – he grabs him in a strangling hug.
Sammy makes a surprised noise into Dean’s shoulder and Dean hugs him all the tighter.
“Not that cool,” Sam chokes out.
Dean laughs, soundless. Stupid little dweeb.
Dean knocks.
It takes a while but Miss Birdie answers. She smiles brightly.
“Hello Dean! Are you looking for Lily?”
Dean nods.
“Her mom came to town yesterday. They’ve gone out together. But I can tell her you were here.”
Dean nods again and hands her a folded piece of paper. It says Lily on it, in his best writing.
Miss Birdie’s new smile is small. “I’ll make sure she gets this,” she says warmly.
Thank you, Dean signs. He doesn’t know if she’ll understand, but he forgot his notebook.
Miss Birdie’s eyes twinkle. You’re welcome, she signs back.
“You’re not going to sit with Cy?” Sam asks, following Dean past their old table.
Dean shakes his head, looking down at Sam.
“Oh. Are you gonna sit with someone else?”
Dean nods. Cool, he signs.
“Someone cooler?” Sam clarifies. He looks perplexed.
Yes. My little brother.
“You don’t have another brother,” Sammy says, looking stung. His eyes widen. “Oh. OH! You mean ME!”
The whole cafeteria’s probably heard him. But, still. It’s like the sun coming out from behind the clouds and it feels good. Warms Dean right up.
“Let’s go then!” Sam crows, and he leads the way, head held high.
Dean can’t keep the grin off his face.
The school bus whooshes to a stop at their house.
Dean jumps down. Sam follows.
“Hey!”
It’s Lily. She runs down her path, up theirs.
Stands there for a moment, looking at Dean. She holds up the note Dean sent her.
It says, Sometimes people say stupid things.
“You’re right,” she says. Tugs at her long hair. “Sometimes they do. Even me.”
Dean nods then. Shrugs a little. Makes a face.
Lily grins. “I forgive you too.”
She walks up to him and hooks her hand in his.
Dean doesn’t mind it. Not one bit.
“You look happy,” she says.
Sam hooks his hand in Dean’s other. Looks up at him. “You do look happy,” he says.
Dean shrugs. He keeps walking.
Lily and Sammy swing his arms.
Maybe he is. Happy, that is.
Maybe he is.
They go on the swings for a while. Actually, Dean swings for five minutes and then gets off to give Sam a push – not too high though, because Sam’s a chicken. He starts screaming if you push too hard. Dean’s tried to tell him over and over that there’s no point in sitting on the stupid swing if he’s not going to try to move more than five inches. Sam doesn’t care. He’s dumb. Scared of swinging but not of rats or spiders or anything really scary. Dumb.
Afterwards they have a couple of races. The park has a track around it. Grown-ups are jogging. Dean beats Sam, except for the last time. The last time, he starts feeling sorry for his red-faced, panting brother, and lets Sam beat him – by an inch.
They flop down on the grass to catch their breath. Dean sees a lemonade stand, fishes some change out of his pocket and runs to buy some. He spills it a bit on the walk back. No harm done. Only stick fingers. He licks them clean, then slurps the lemonade with Sammy.
While Sam sits on the see-saw with some girl, Dean goes on the monkey bars. He can go back and forth four times before his hands and arms start aching. Runs over to a tree then; climbs it. Climbs as high as he can before he jumps off. Runs to the slide. Goes up. Goes down. Feet land in the puddle at the bottom – splish. It’s muddy water, but Dean doesn’t care. You can’t care about these little things when there are lives at stake. When killers are running free.
Dean is strong. He’s fast.
He still can’t talk.
He imagines he’s gone hunting with Dad, anyway. For a minute.
-
They’re at the Mini-Mart. Dean and Cy and Jaime-with-the-earring.
Cy heads to the candy aisle, looks around a couple of times, and then slips a PayDay into his windbreaker’s pocket. Then a packet of peanut M&Ms.
Dean watches him blandly. Keeps his hands in his pockets. Looks around casually. The Pop-Tarts are mocking him two shelves above. Shorty! they snigger.
Cy grins when he catches Dean’s eye. “Puttin’ bread on the table, right?”
Eh, what the hell. He nods, smiles widely.
-
“It’s our thing,” Cy says. “The whole family can do it. You’re going to have to learn too.”
And Sam? Dean writes.
“Not Sam. He’s just a kid, we can’t be sure he won’t rat us out,” Jeremy says. Pulls his glasses off to wipe them on his shirt.
Well. Sam doesn’t have the tiniest mouth, Dean supposes.
“Rule numero uno,” Penn says. “Big pockets.
“But not a big coat,” Wentworth adds. “Don’t wanna stand out. Biggest pockets you can get, on whatever jacket looks okay to be wearing outside.”
Dean’s laughing a little on the inside. He nods carefully, listens raptly.
These guys don’t know who they’re dealing with.
Dean knows all about stealth. He knows all about blending in.
-
For Dean’s first ‘on-field mission’, they tell him to keep it small.
“Just grab some Tic Tacs,” Went insists.
Dean goes into the 7-Eleven by himself. See, if you do it right? Not even a black eye is going to get you caught.
Rule number one – big pockets. Okay, fine. But there’s such a thing as waistbands too. Wear smaller underwear, so the waistband is tight. Less chances of stuff falling out your pants’ legs that way too. You can hide stuff anywhere.
Rule number two – don’t look at the cashiers. No matter how much you want to. You’ll blink too much or just look suspicious. Whatever it is, it’ll give you away.
Rule number three – don’t run right to the motherload. Browse a little. Stare longingly at the box of fruit rollups. The toy airplane. The big things you don’t have the money to buy. Pretend like you’re a dumb kid with eyes too big for his head.
Rule number four – if you can, wait until the cashier is occupied. But don’t wait too long.
Dean comes out with rolls of Life Savers pressing into his stomach. Butterfingers and Snickers bars in his pockets.
Cy and Wentworth look like their eyes are about to fall out of their heads.
“HOLY COW!” they whisper-scream, two blocks away from the 7-Eleven. “HOLY COW. OH MAN.”
They stop at Went’s house. Dean lifts a finger. Rummages around in his coat. Wait for it… wait for it… pulls out one box of white Tic Tacs. He hands it to Went.
Went and Cy stare at it blankly for a moment and then burst into hysterical laughter.
Cy and Dean walk back to Dean’s house. “You’re a jackpot,” Cy says wisely. He’s grinning from ear to ear.
At Dean’s house, he gives Dean a salute. Says, “Keep the loot, you deserved it.”
He waves at Dean as he walks. Dean waves back.
-
Dean stashes the ‘loot’ in the cupboard. Not like Dad ever really looks in there anyway. Mac will just think they went shopping.
He keeps a roll of Life Savers.
-
Bath time. Dean fills the tub and the strips. Gets in.
This is how he figures it.
Dad hustles pool to put bread on the table. Usually gets credit cards with fake names on them. But he hasn’t been doing that lately. Dean doesn’t know how they have money for food and stuff but—
He could help. This is how he could help.
He could steal stuff. He’s a master at it. He could steal food and anything – clothes from the Salvation Army, whatever they need.
That way, Dad wouldn’t have to spend time making money. He could hunt all the time. Make up what he’s losing because Dean can’t ever help him out now. This way he’d still be able to save more lives.
All Dean needs to do is practice. Train. Get so good, no one will ever even think of catching him. Because how many kids know about DNA and not leaving it around? How many other kids would know to wear gloves? How many would be trained in stealth? How many can’t make a sound, even if they wanted to?
He could be the best. The best there ever was.
Dean holds his breath. Sinks to the bottom of the tub, water closing over his ears and nose and eyes.
He listens to his heartbeat. Lets out his breath in a burst of bubbles and floats to the top of the water again. Cold air hits his knees and stomach and face.
He thinks it’s a good idea.
-
Mac takes Sam to the library and Dad takes Dean to a shooting range.
They practice for three hours. Dean hits all his targets except one. Dad’s standing taller when they leave. Burning bright, like a star. Like the sun.
Dean gets to sit in the front with him on their way back home. He looks Dad over. Looks for new cuts, new scars, new injuries. There’s nothing he can see. His dad’s too good for that. He’s too good to fall. Maybe he gets hurt, but he always stands right back up. That’s how Dean wants to be.
Dad catches him looking. Smiles a little but doesn’t say anything.
Dean rolls his window all the way down. The air smells fresh and cool and clean.
-
He has this memory, of Mom.
It was a day just like this. A little later maybe, near sunset, because the sky was orange-pink and shadows were everywhere. But it was still a day like this. Fresh. Cool. Good.
This was before God gave them Sammy.
He and Mom were sitting on the porch steps. Dean on one step below, between Mom’s legs. Mom had an orange, one of the kind you can just peel and eat. Spit out the seeds. Dean spit one onto the grass, and Mom said, “Whoops.” She bent to pick it up, just like that, with her fingers, even though it came from Dean’s mouth. Said, “Shouldn’t litter.” And the next time Dean had to spit a seed, she let him do it in her hand.
That’s how much she loved him. That’s what she let him do.
They sat there and ate the orange, juice dripping down their chins. Mom smelled like oranges afterwards, strong and sweet. She tickled him under his arms, said, “Ready to go inside, mister?” Tickled him over and over until he was laughing helplessly and couldn’t say no. She grabbed him then, hauled him over her shoulder. Mom was strong, Dean remembers.
They went inside and later, during dinner, Mom let Dean have her desert, even though it was vanilla cream pie – her favorite.
See?
That’s who they took. That’s what they do.
The good ones are the ones to go, Dad said. Always the good ones.
-
“Where did you go today?” Sam whispers later, when they’re in bed.
It’s dark. Dean doesn’t know how Sam expects him to answer.
The mattress bounces a little. Sammy getting out from under the covers. Dean sits up. Wants to shout, Hey! but can’t. Of course.
He sits there for a minute, two. Watches Sam open the closet and rummage around in it. The curtains are still open. Moonlight spills into the room, silvery and light. Sam comes back, burrows under the covers. Dean pulls his head in. A light comes on, blinding.
“See!” Sam whispers. “We can talk now.” Dean reaches out, pushes Sam’s hand so the light isn’t pointing in his eyes.
“Sorry,” Sam says sheepishly. “So? Where’d ya go?”
Dean thinks about it. Nowhere, he replies.
Sam’s silent for a long moment, just watching. “You’re lying,” he says. Not whispering. Just quiet talking. Calm talking. Like Dad, when he knows Dean’s lying. Like Dean, when he knows Sammy’s lying.
Sam’s eyes are... Dean doesn’t know. It’s weird. It scares him, maybe a little.
Shut up, he signs. I’m not.
“Really?” Sam asks. Doubt laces his words.
Dean’s heart is going wild; he doesn’t know why.
Yes, Dean signs. He reaches out, finds Sam’s knee and squeezes it. Remembers something. He rolls over, pulls open his nightstand drawer. The Life Savers are still there.
“What is it?” Sam asks. Dean rolls back, covers himself up with the sheets. Settles back into the pillows and lifts his feet, makes a tent of the covers. He unwraps the Life Savers. The first two are red. He hands one to Sam.
The flashlight focuses on Sam’s hand. “Life Savers?” Sam says, awe in his voice. “Where’d you get ‘em?”
Money, Dean signs.
“Wow,” Sammy breathes. Pops the candy into his mouth.
They suck on the candy until it disappears, have another two pieces afterwards. They sneak into the bathroom together to re-brush their teeth. They go to sleep with aching jaws. Sam wiggles closer until his head is on Dean’s pillow and Dean doesn’t push him away. He’s too tired, anyway.
-
Someday, Sam’s going to stop believing him.
Someday, Sam’s not going to buy that Dad’s a traveling salesman.
Someday, he’s going to connect the guns and the books.
Someday, he’ll want to know what really happened to Mom and he’s not going to take no for an answer. He’s not going to be pulled away and appeased and manipulated.
Dean doesn’t know what he’ll do then. Doesn’t know if he ever wants that day to come. Maybe, to have someone to talk to, about Dad and what he does. When Dad’s not here. But. It would be easier if it never happened.
These things, the things in the dark. Once you know about them, that’s when they start the real attack. You can go your whole life thinking they don’t exist – then one day, find out they do, and see them everywhere. Every corner. Every street. Every city and state.
Sammy’s just a kid. He can’t know this stuff. He can’t even swing higher than a foot.
What’ll happen if he finds out ghosts are real?
-
Sunday.
Bugs Bunny on the TV. Sam’s engrossed. Mac gave him homework. He wanted some. Because Dean gets some, probably. He’s supposed to try to sign all day. His eyes are glued to the television set. His hands are moving, fingers making words. He’s getting a lot of them wrong, Dean can tell.
Dean’s doing his own homework at the table. From school, though. Fractions. Yuck.
Dad is sitting next to him, putting a file together. He’s got pictures of something, from the library. Drawings. Some kind of Old One. He looks up from his papers every now and then to watch the cartoon, too. Laughs a couple of times, a big booming laugh.
Dean watches his dad instead of the TV and feels his lips pulling up without his permission.
Ice Cream truck music outside. Sam jumps like someone stuck his fingers in a socket. Stares at Dad wordlessly, pleadingly. Dean looks at Dad too, waiting to see what he’ll say.
Dad looks up when he feels Sam’s gaze. Looks from him to Dean and back. Sighs.
“I’ll get some cash,” he says, standing up. Sam whoops and runs to the door.
Dean’s no slacker. He follows.
-
They’re walking along the street Dean’s house is on. Someone’s just mown their lawn – the air smells green. Dean can even taste it on his tongue. It’s a nice smell. An alive smell.
“I’m getting a Corvette,” Jeremy says. “White convertible. Black roof-bow.” He looks into the distance, with a dreamy smile on his face.
“Man, that is lame,” Cy snorts. Jeremy’s expression slips.
“Yeah? What car you gonna get?”
“It’s a Thunderbird for me, dude. I’ll get me some mag wheels, a paint job. I can see it now – racing strips.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jeremy mutters. “Let’s see you pass fourth grade first.”
“You callin’ me dumb, Winger?” Cy asks.
He punches Jeremy’s shoulder. Jeremy punches back. Cy tackles Jeremy onto the grass of someone’s yard and they roll around for a few minutes, growling. They get up when they’re out of breath, blades of grass and stray leaves all over them.
They fall into step again. Cy slaps Dean’s arm with the back of his hand.
“How ‘bout you Winchester? What kinda car you getting?”
That’s easy. Dean’s just flipping his notebook out when a tell-tale rumble sounds from behind them.
Wow. Dad’s got great timing.
The Impala rolls past them, and Dean points. Cy gives a low whistle.
Sammy’s standing in their yard when they get to the house. “Our grass is too short,” he says.
Lily’s hanging over the fence. She signs hello to Dean, a sort-of salute. “I agree,” she adds, looking at Sam.
“You’re too short, runt,” Cy says to Sam.
A flicker of hurt on Sam’s face, and a spark in the pit of Dean’s stomach. He ignores it.
Why’s our grass too short? he writes quickly.
“The raccoons. And chipmunks,” Sam says, like it makes sense. “It’s atrocious.” Typical. Can’t say Spaghetti-O’s properly, but he can say atrocious.
“Atrocious?” Cy splutters.
“Yes,” Sam continues doggedly. Dumbass is very much implied in his tone. “They have nowhere to hide because the grass is too short. We should grow it.”
Cy’s grin is huge. Shit-eating, Dad would say. Like, can you believe what this kid is saying? Dean doesn’t know how it makes him feel. Weird, mostly. Sammy’s staring at Cy like he’s an alien.
“You can grow it,” Lily announces. “All you need is water and food and cover. We have it at home. The grass gets tall, and animals move in. It’s called a wildlife habitat.”
Okay. So Lily’s put him up to this. Figures.
We’re not going to live here that long, Dean scribbles out.
“Why aren’t you signing?” Lily asks, looking at Dean strangely.
Cy barrels right over her. “You moving man?”
No. Not right now. But we will, Dean writes. We always do.
“What’s your dad do?” Jeremy asks.
Traveling salesman, Dean writes.
Lily’s nose wrinkles. “Really? Where’s the stuff he sells? My uncle’s a traveling salesman and he’s got a garage full of stuff. You don’t even have a garage.”
Sammy’s watching Dean. Dean writes, We store it somewhere else.
That seems to be the extent of everyone’s curiosity. They nod, move on.
Cy says, “I’m gonna play football. In high school. And college.”
Subject-change whiplash.
Dean knows what Jeremy’s gonna say before he opens his mouth. He’s the tallest kid in class. “I’ll go out for basketball.” He lifts his arms, pretends to shoot.
“I’m gonna be a cheerleader,” Sam says. He’s crouched down, now, staring at something in the grass.
Cy and Jeremy explode. They’re laughing so hard they can’t stand up. They fall to their knees on the sidewalk. Just when it looks like they’re about to stop, they look at each other and it starts all over.
Sam’s lower lips is jutting out a little.
“And what, exactly, is wrong with that?” Lily asks. She’s sitting atop the fence now. Her legs swing a little.
“Well,” Cy says breathlessly, “let’s see… um – he’s a guy?”
“Who says boys can’t cheerlead?”
“Everyone,” replies Cy.
“You don’t know anything. Men cheerlead in college. They get to hold girls up with one hand. You have to be really strong.”
“I’m really strong,” Sam pipes up. No sticky-outy lip anymore, Dean notices.
“What do you think Dean?” Lily asks suddenly.
He’s been quiet for too long.
Haha. That was a good one. Quiet for too long.
“Dean thinks boys can be cheerleaders,” Sam says right away. He looks at Dean then. “Right?” he asks, uncertainty wriggling in between his words.
All eyes on Dean.
He takes a breath. Writes it out on his notebook and holds it up.
Right.
Silence for a moment. Sam’s smile is blinding.
Cy shrugs. “Whatever, man. Hey, you wanna go to the 7-Eleven? I feel like a Snickers.”
Jeremy says, “Sure,” and Dean nods.
Off they go. Dean looks over his shoulder. Lily’s still on the fence, Sammy’s still in the yard. They’re both watching him.
-
Later.
It’s close to sunset. The air is cool. Dean’s sitting on the fence with Lily.
Hey, he signs. He takes out his notebook to write the next bit. That grass thing you told Sammy about. It’s a good idea.
“Right?” says Lily brightly. She signs it too. She asked Dean to teach her, a while ago. She’s a quick learner.
My mom liked gardening, he writes before he can stop himself.
“Cool,” Lily says. No questions. “My mom likes it too.” She asks him to sign the words he just wrote. Dean does.
Later he wonders if maybe she read the words wrong. Likes instead of liked. Maybe. Maybe not.
It feels nice, though. To talk about his mom with someone and not have to think about the fire. Not have to think about the burning. To just say something and have that picture in his head – Mom with dirty cheeks and soil in her hair and huge gloves on her hands.
Mom, rubbing dirt on his cheeks when he made fun of hers and laughing, easy as anything.
-
“So,” says Cy. “That monkey girl. On your fence. What’s her name?”
Dean stares at him blankly for a moment. Lily? he writes on his notebook.
It’s lunchtime. The cafeteria is exploding with noise.
“Yeah. Why doesn’t she go to school? I never seen her here.”
She’s homeschooled, Dean writes. Her mom let her take a vacation to visit her grandma.
“Homeschooled?” says Went. “What’s the mean?”
“It means,” says Cy, “that she’s too dumb for real school. So she has to stay home.”
There must be something showing on Dean’s face. The pain of his stomach tying itself into knots, slowly. Cy glances at Dean, then says, “What, you don’t think so?”
Dean shakes his head. Shrugs. Shakes his head again.
“You sit on the fence with her, don’t you?” Penn asks. Pops a chicken nugget in his mouth.
Cy grins. Jeremy grins. They’re all grinning, like they know something Dean doesn’t.
“Aw, does Dean-o have a girlfriend?” Jamie says.
Dean shows him the middle finger. It rolls right off.
“Betcha he holds her hand,” Jeremy says, snickering. “Holds her hand while they sit on the fence together.”
“Two little monkeys,” Cy adds. They collapse all over the table, giggling.
Bullshit, Dean writes. His breathing’s getting faster. Head’s hurting a little.
Sammy shows up right then.
Cy looks up long enough to say, “You should watch out Dean, she’s turning your brother into a little girl.”
Sammy looks like he’s been slapped. He looks from Cy to Dean. He doesn’t even know what they’re talking about.
The laughing goes on, and Dean’s just – had it. He slams his fist down on the table. Trays clatter. Everyone sits up.
Cy rolls his eyes. “Take a joke, jeez.”
Everyone goes back to their food. Just like that.
-
After school.
“Dean!”
Lily again. “Hiiiiiii!” she calls. Waves at him.
Dean ignores her.
-
“What’s wrong with you?” Lily asks.
Dean doesn’t say anything. Stays there, on the grass. Picks a few blades out.
He’s waiting for Sammy. He just went inside to pee.
“It’s your friends, isn’t it?” Lily says. “The dumb ones.”
Dean pulls his notebook out. They’re not dumb.
“Yes they are,” Lily says. “Because they think boys can’t be cheerleader and they hated me for no reason and you stop signing when you’re around them.”
Maybe boys don’t cheerlead, Dean writes. And then, adds, They didn’t hate you and I don’t stop signing.
“They do, they do and you do,” Lily says. “They’re stupid. Stupid, ugly losers. I’m glad I don’t go to school, if those are the kind of dumb kids there.”
Dean glares at her. They aren’t stupid. You don’t know anything.
“They are. They’re like… pigs.”
They think you’re a monkey, Dean signs then, quick as lightening. Lily’s gaze is blank, so Dean writes it down.
“And what do you think?” Lily asks. Her eyes flash. The wind blows her black hair around.
Nothing, Dean writes. Just. You think they’re pigs. They think you’re a monkey.
He shrugs. Lily’s eyes narrow. “Have fun playing with your dumb pig friends, Dean.”
She flounces back inside.
-
Dean pokes Sammy under the covers.
He rolls over, tired-eyed. Flashlight comes out from under his pillow. He flicks it on and they squint at each other.
You can be a cheerleader if you want, Dean says. The “cheerleading” sign is weird. Like he’s waving pom-poms. I won’t laugh at you, he adds.
“Really?” Sam asks.
Dean nods. He pulls a Mars bar from underneath his pillow.
“Where do you get this stuff?” Sam says, wide-eyed now. Dean splits the bar. Gives Sam the bigger half.
It’s to help Dad, Dean tells him.
Sam looks confused. “Why does Dad need help?” he asks, mouth full of chocolate.
So he has more time to work, Dean signs.
“Why does he need more time to work? He already works ALL THE TIME.”
I was supposed to help him, Dean signs. I’m ten. That’s old enough.
“So?”
Can’t now. Can’t talk.
“Oh,” says Sam. “Because you have to talk to sell things?”
Dean nods.
“Oh,” Sam says again. He doesn’t say anything after that.
-
Dean gets sick. Not like last time, but he has to stay home and Dad takes him to the hospital, a crazy-scared look in his eyes.
The doctor says he’s fine. Healthy as can be expected. Recovering nicely. Getting his weight back. It’s just a bit of a cold.
Dad stays home for a few days anyway. Tells Mac to take a break.
It’s almost June. There are flowers everywhere.
-
Dad finds the stash. It’s been getting bigger. There’s more than candy now. Last time, Dean stole a box of Lucky Charms. Dean hardly uses any of it. A couple of treats for Sammy sometimes. A snack for himself when he gets really hungry.
“Where the fuck—?” he says from the kitchen, and Dean knows, knows right away that he’s seen.
Dean was stupid. He should have hidden it better. He didn’t realize what Dad being around meant. It meant he’d do the cooking and open cupboards and stuff.
Dad comes out of the kitchen, walks over to the sofa, where Dean is curled up. He holds up a handful of candy bars.
“Anything you want to tell me about?”
Dean goes wide-eyed. Shrugs.
“Dean,” Dad says flatly. “I’m pretty sure this isn’t Sammy. And Mac wouldn’t just buy us a bunch of food for no reason. And you sure do take a lot of trips to the Mini-Mart and 7-Eleven with those kids you hang out with.”
Dean pulls the blanket over his nose. Dad sits down on the table, across from the sofa. He puts the candy down and sighs heavily.
“I want you to tell me the truth. Right now.”
It’s the Very Serious Voice.
I stole it, Dean signs.
“You stole it,” Dad repeats. It’s not a question. “Why?”
Dean swallows. His ears are burning. Cheeks too. Wanted to help you, his fingers say. He doesn’t look at Dad. There’s fuzz on the blanket.
“Help me?”
Get food and stuff.
“Dean,” Dad says then, gruffly. Dean keeps staring at the blanket-fuzz. “Kiddo, look at me.” Dean does. “I don’t need that kind of help. I’ve got it covered. You don’t need to worry.”
Dean sits up, quick. But – but—
He pulls out his notebook. But this way, you don’t have to do it. I can help, and you can hunt even more! I can do it, Dad, I swear.
His scribbles are nearly illegible. Dad stares at the page for a long time, before looking up at Dean. Dean twists the pencil between his fingers.
“I know you want to help, son,” Dad says. “And that’s great. But this isn’t your job. I’m handling it. You don’t need to worry at all, okay?”
He doesn’t think Dean can do it. Dean slumps. Nods. Okay. Okay, fine. Yeah, fine. Sure.
“No more stealing, right? Mary would stake me if she knew.” The last part is quieter, under his breath. He’s staring into the distance. Then back at Dean. “We got a deal, kiddo?”
Dean nods again. Okay, fine. Yeah, fine. Sure.
Dad pats his cheek a little and then goes back to the kitchen.
-
“Mini-Mart after school, man!” Cy says as they head to recess. “Sound good?”
Go without me, Dean writes.
“What? Dude, why?”
I’m done with it. I don’t want to do it anymore. It’s stupid.
“ExCUSE me?” Cy says, baffled, stopping in the middle of the hall. Dean makes to walk past him, but he grabs his jacket.
They’re nose to nose. “Why not?” Cy asks.
Dean keeps his eyes on Cy as he writes on the notebook. Shoves the pad in front of Cy’s nose.
Because, it says. Just that. Because.
He walks away.
“What?” Cy shouts. “What? You too good for us? Huh? Going to play with your girlfriend after school, is that it?”
Dean doesn’t turn.
“FINE,” Cy shouts. “FINE. You’re just a retarded loser anyway!”
Dean swallows.
Somehow, it doesn’t surprise him much. Those words coming out of Cy’s mouth.
He thought maybe Cy was the right person, like Mac said.
Guess he thought wrong.
-
Tuesday. P.E.
Mark’s back from suspension. The gym teacher tells him and Cy to pick teams for kickball.
When there are only three kids left, the picking halts. Neither Cy nor Mark want to pick Dean, he can tell. But they both know he’s the best player.
“What’s the holdup?” the gym teacher shouts from where she’s setting up bases. “You’re supposed to be picking teams, not conducting a romance! Speed it up!”
They do.
Dean’s last to be picked anyway.
-
They show up at the house. Cy, Jeremy, Jamie, Went and Penn.
“C’mon, Winchester!” they call from outside, when Dean doesn’t go to the door.
Dad looks up from his book. Dean keeps his eyes on the TV.
“DEAN!”
Dean gets up. Dad looks back at his book.
He opens the door, nods at them.
“C’mon man,” says Cy. “Let’s go. The 7-Eleven’s waitin’ for ya.”
Dean sighs. Writes, Didn’t I tell you I’m done?
“You weren’t serious, though, right? It’s okay, we forgive you, that’s what the family does. Sometimes you say dumb things.”
Lily’s peering over the fence.
Dean looks at her, then writes, Yes, you do. But this wasn’t. I was serious. I’m done.
They exchange glances. Jeremy steps forward. “You know what this means, right? You can’t be part of our family anymore.”
Dean shrugs like it doesn’t matter. Feels his throat close up.
Cy huffs a disbelieving laugh. “This guy’s just too good for families, I guess. Too good for rules, right?” He looks at Dean, like Dean’ll agree. “It must like, what is it? Run in your family right? Your mom left, didn’t she? Just up and disappeared. Forgot how to be a mom. Now you forget how to be a brother. Figures.”
Dean’s cold, suddenly. Cold as ice.
Cy seems to read Dean’s expression. "Yeah, your brother told us. The little girl-boy. Told us she just vanished ‘cause she didn’t want to be with you anymore.”
Fire in Dean’s eyes. Fire, fire, fire. He’s on Cy before he knows what’s happened, just wants to hurt him, hurt him like his mom hurt, burn him up. Someone’s making weird noises. Grunting, crying noises.
Oh. Is that him? It is. It’s him making that noise.
Cy’s face is covered in red. He’s shrieking. A girl’s screaming, “DEAN!” Lily.
Then, “Hey – hey! Dean, stop, stop—” and Dean’s being lifted up, hands around his ribs. He tries to hang on to Cy, manages one last good kick to his nose. More blood gushes out. He sucks in a breath and screams, a gurgling animal scream. Lily’s eyes are wide, her hands covering her mouth. She’s in their yard.
“Get the fuck out of here!” Dad says to Cy and the others. Dean struggles in his grasp. “I’ll be calling your parents!”
Cy’s crying like a baby. Maybe he’ll need two glass eyes now.
Dad hauls Dean inside and shuts the door. Sets him down. Dean turns, red still in his eyes. Spots Sammy.
Sammy, who is wide-eyed and sucking his fingers. Really scared, then. Terrified.
Dean stalks up to him and shouts in his face. Pushes him. He lands on his butt, face crumpling immediately. Dean doesn’t care. He hates him. Hates God for taking Mom and giving him that. A brother who doesn’t even know – doesn’t even know what his mom did.
“Dean!” Dad says. Dean doesn’t listen. Doesn’t care. He runs to his room and slams the door shut. Sits with his back against it and cries. Cries loud and hard, cries, cries, cries.
She saved him. She saved him and he told them she left. He told them she forgot.
-
He thought he had it. Friends, everything in order, everything under control. It hurts that he didn’t.
-
A quiet knock on the door. Dean’s half-asleep, right there on the carpet.
“Dean-o?” It’s Dad. Dean jumps up. Almost falls back down. His legs are wobbly.
Dad comes in. He looks at Dean, standing there, and then lifts him up. Like Dean’s a little kid. He sets Dean down on the bed, sits next to him.
“I think we need to have a talk,” Dad says gently.
Dean looks at his hands.
“Sammy’s been telling me some stuff. Stuff I – stuff I should have seen I guess. I don’t know. I thought you and I were on the same page. Now Sam’s worried that I’m forgetting how to be a dad and I’ll disappear.” Dad laughs. Dean doesn’t see why. It’s not funny, not even a little.
“First,” Dad says, and he puts a finger under Dean’s chin, lifts until Dean’s looking Dad in the eye. “You pushed Sammy out there.”
He said, Dean signs furiously. Can’t even make the words properly, he’s so angry again.
Dad nods. “To the kids, right? I know. I heard. But you know, Dean, Sammy doesn’t know what happened to Mom. And I guess… Sam’s just like your mom, you know? Sharp as a tack. Nothing gets past him. We didn’t tell him anything, so he came to his own conclusions. That’s not really Sam’s fault.”
He has to know she’s dead, Dean writes on his tear-stained notepad. It’s easier than signing at the moment.
Dad shakes his head. “But he doesn’t. He’s smart, but he’s still just a kid. He doesn’t really get it – and we never told him either. So to Sammy, if he doesn’t have a mom, it doesn’t mean she’s dead, it means she’s just gone. And maybe if she’s gone, it's because she wanted to be. The end.”
Dean looks at his notebook. His messy writing. Sniffs a little.
“You understand that, right Dean? Sam didn’t know. It's not his fault. It’s mine.”
Dean looks up at his dad then and Dad doesn’t look away. So Dean nods.
“Now, the other day I talked to you about the stealing, right? And you told me you could help out and I can hunt even more.”
Dean nods a little. His ears burn, hearing his own words back.
“Sammy was telling me something else. About how you told him you were supposed to help me on my job when you turned ten? And can’t now? Because you can’t talk?”
Dean shrugs, when the silence stretches.
“Dean-o. Don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself?”
Dean looks up again, confused.
“Ten? Is big. You’re not a little kid anymore. But ten’s not old enough to hunt, not really. Even if you could talk. Hunting is still my job, and when you’re old enough, you’ll help me out. Whether or not you can talk. But that time isn’t right now and you don’t need to worry about it. We’ll jump that hurdle when we get to it. And we will because you? You’re my partner. And someday, I’m gonna need you to have my back, in a more literal sense. But for now, I think I’m holding down the fort.”
Dean looks down, again. His eyes are pricking.
“But you know, you do have a job. You have my back every day.”
How? Dean asks.
“By watching out for of Sammy. Don’t you think that’s important?”
Dad’s serious. He’s not joking. He’s really asking. Dean nods. Nods hard. Of course it is. Of course. But Dean would do that anyway, any day. He already does. It’s not his job.
“Exactly. It’s very important. Because I can’t be around all the time. And there’s no one I could really trust to keep Sam safe – except you. Because I see the way you look at him, and I know your brother’s special to you. Just like you’re special to me. Right?”
Dean nods and Dad pulls him close. He’s warm. Dean feels shivery, against him. Dad wraps him up tighter.
“That’s how it works – I watch out for you, when you need me to, and you watch out for Sammy. Those are our real jobs.
“And you’re always going to be a part of this family. You’re always going to be important. Whether or not you can talk. Whether or not you take care of Sammy. Whether or not you do anything. Because I love you, and nothing can stop that. Nothing. Not even God. You know that right?”
Dad’s beard presses to Dean’s forehead, scratchy. He nods against it. It tickles. He’s crying again. Can’t help it.
Dad pulls back a little and rubs his rough thumbs over Dean’s cheeks.
“I want you to remember everything I just said, Dean, okay? When things get bad?” Dad says seriously. “Never forget it. Because it’s not going to change, not today, not tomorrow, not fifty years from now. I can’t stop loving you. And you don’t need to earn your place in this family. That’s not how things work.”
Dean nods again. He’ll remember. He will. Dad’s lips pressed against his forehead.
“You’re going to have to apologize to Sam, you know?”
I know, Dean says with his hands.
“Okay,” Dad says with a sigh, and a small smile. He ruffles Dean’s hair.
“Now - how does Chinese takeout sound?”
-
Sam’s sitting at the kitchen table. Dad goes into his room to call for takeout.
Dean goes over to the table. Pulls out the chair next to Sam’s and slides into it. Sam doesn’t say anything, just watches him.
Dean knows the signs for I’m sorry. He’s never had to use them before, though. He doesn’t know if Sam knows them. So he makes his mouth move, shape the only word it still can: Sammy.
He writes it down on his notebook. I’m sorry.
Sam nods. “It’s okay. You were mad.”
Dean nods too. Looks at the table, its worn wood.
“Hey,” Sammy says. Dean looks up. “You made a sound. That was really cool.”
Dean stares at his brother for a long time. His pesky, clingy, smart-alecky little brother – he grabs him in a strangling hug.
Sammy makes a surprised noise into Dean’s shoulder and Dean hugs him all the tighter.
“Not that cool,” Sam chokes out.
Dean laughs, soundless. Stupid little dweeb.
-
Dean knocks.
It takes a while but Miss Birdie answers. She smiles brightly.
“Hello Dean! Are you looking for Lily?”
Dean nods.
“Her mom came to town yesterday. They’ve gone out together. But I can tell her you were here.”
Dean nods again and hands her a folded piece of paper. It says Lily on it, in his best writing.
Miss Birdie’s new smile is small. “I’ll make sure she gets this,” she says warmly.
Thank you, Dean signs. He doesn’t know if she’ll understand, but he forgot his notebook.
Miss Birdie’s eyes twinkle. You’re welcome, she signs back.
-
“You’re not going to sit with Cy?” Sam asks, following Dean past their old table.
Dean shakes his head, looking down at Sam.
“Oh. Are you gonna sit with someone else?”
Dean nods. Cool, he signs.
“Someone cooler?” Sam clarifies. He looks perplexed.
Yes. My little brother.
“You don’t have another brother,” Sammy says, looking stung. His eyes widen. “Oh. OH! You mean ME!”
The whole cafeteria’s probably heard him. But, still. It’s like the sun coming out from behind the clouds and it feels good. Warms Dean right up.
“Let’s go then!” Sam crows, and he leads the way, head held high.
Dean can’t keep the grin off his face.
-
The school bus whooshes to a stop at their house.
Dean jumps down. Sam follows.
“Hey!”
It’s Lily. She runs down her path, up theirs.
Stands there for a moment, looking at Dean. She holds up the note Dean sent her.
It says, Sometimes people say stupid things.
“You’re right,” she says. Tugs at her long hair. “Sometimes they do. Even me.”
Dean nods then. Shrugs a little. Makes a face.
Lily grins. “I forgive you too.”
She walks up to him and hooks her hand in his.
Dean doesn’t mind it. Not one bit.
“You look happy,” she says.
Sam hooks his hand in Dean’s other. Looks up at him. “You do look happy,” he says.
Dean shrugs. He keeps walking.
Lily and Sammy swing his arms.
Maybe he is. Happy, that is.
Maybe he is.
-
finis
finis
master post
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-03-15 06:42 pm (UTC)Oh, my heart. This is so wistfully lovely and heartbreaking. you do a great job with the kids' voices, all of them - they sound like real kids, and still like themselves.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-15 07:07 pm (UTC)The characters are so well written, even the OCs, that I was seeing the story in my head like a movie. Their voices are perfect. And the Winchesters, and Bobby, and Pastor Jim... And specially the brothers' relationship feels so real!
And you made me cry... *sniffle*
This goes straight to my favorites ^-^
no subject
Date: 2010-03-15 07:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-15 07:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-15 07:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-15 08:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-15 08:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-15 08:49 pm (UTC)And I'm really making a habit of leaving incoherent reviews. But I guess you can say that you make me speechless. Because it's mostly true. :D
no subject
Date: 2010-03-15 09:03 pm (UTC)This is one of the best wee!chester stories I've ever read. The first parts with the wee!Sam pov was just so spot on. The way you wrote little Sammy's thought process was excellent. His view of what was happening to Dean, and the grown-ups made the reality of Dean's sickness so much sharper and more terrifying.
And later, when you switched to Dean's pov. I felt so bad for what he was going through, and he was so brave, but still a little boy.
I also liked the way you wrote John. I love it when writers show him as a loving father, trying his best.
Again, bravo on an excellent story.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-15 09:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-15 10:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-15 10:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-15 11:07 pm (UTC)Oh my soul. My soul. What a beautiful piece this was. I think it's officially my favourite piece of fan fiction EVER. It was well written, well paced, and the characters were so spot on it had me giggling and sniffling whenever the occasion called for it.
I have never read such an adorable, endearing wee!Sam before and had it feel so IN CHARACTER. I've read cute!Sam stories that were enjoyable but didn't feel nearly as REAL as this one did. And just like Dean, I felt like Sam was the light in this piece. He was this little glow-worm of awesomeness that I wanted to pull close to me when my heart got swollen with sadness.
And Dean. Christ he was funny. You so captured his moody, smart-alecky dialogue, with the heart of gold behind it -- in 10 year-old form.
I don't know how you managed to keep it all so together, so smooth and gripping at the same time, but you did.
This was perfect. Every inch of it perfect.
I can't give it better praise than that.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-15 11:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-15 11:35 pm (UTC)I"m inarticulate right now because I just read your story straight through and am now bawling because it may well be my favorite pre-series story EVER. I live my life surrounded by little boys, and you just got them so right. Got Dean and Sammy so right, made them different and yet the same. Told you I was inarticulate right now...
The first section was terrifying and very believable. POV was perfect, both for Sam and for Dean. What a sweet ride this was... thank you so much. *mems like crazy*
no subject
Date: 2010-03-16 12:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-16 12:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-16 12:21 am (UTC)You did such an amazing job staying in the characters, telling without showing, and the voices - they were fantastic. Wow. Just wow.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-16 12:26 am (UTC)Awesome, dude. Kid's pov without being *kiddy*, insights and fears and ideas and happiness and sadness all in proportion to being a child.
Loved it. Oh, Sam, trying to be brave when Dean is sick, thinking of calling Bobby, waiting until the hands are right on the clock. And oh, Dean....
*hugs him*
Just...all over an excellent, excellent thing. :)
no subject
Date: 2010-03-16 12:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-16 12:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-16 12:49 am (UTC)I love this so hard. Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-16 01:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-16 01:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-16 01:23 am (UTC)