Warnings: Spoilers through season 9. (Though setting is later.) Written in 1st person (that deserves a warning, right?)
A/N: Written for the LJ comm Spnspiration's April Fool's Exchange (yes, I'm rather late with my cross-posting) for Amberdreams.
A basic diamond, bright yellow, at center a purple blob wearing a bright cartoon smile. The tail of lavender streamers made the image clearer. A jellyfish against the blue of the sky. (The jellyfish exhibit had been my favorite one at the aquarium, so I pretended I had chosen the kite for that reason, not because the store had sold out of the Pikachu one.) It danced, tugging at the spool in my hands with a lively urgency that made me smile. Flying. It was flying, just like I knew it would, and I didn't need anyone to teach me how to make it hop, not like the other kids. There was no crash landing into the soil, there were no broken plastic dowels or knotted balls of string. It flew. Perfectly, because that was the standard for me, Kevin Tran, pre-Advanced Placement.
"Where's your mom?"
The question startled me, just a bit. I had forgotten for a moment, where I was, why I was here. I'd forgotten that I wasn't seven. I covered it with a huff and didn't bother to look away from my jellyfish when I answered Sam.
"Mom was busy, I think... Actually, I don't remember what she was doing that afternoon. But she'd told me we'd go learn to fly my new kite, and then changed her mind. Said it was going to rain. My one childhood moment of rebellion was sneaking down the street to the soccer field so I could fly this baby."
"Daring," Sam commented, a smile in his voice. "How angry was she afterward?"
"Oh, she wasn't angry. She pretended not to notice that I'd disappeared from the backyard for a few hours. At the time, I was stupid enough to think I'd gotten away with it. Until dinner time rolled around. She served me a bowl of steamed brussels sprouts. Seriously. Just a bowl of brussels sprouts. No butter, dude. She knew. She definitely knew."
"Was this after she made you wear those shorts?"
I glanced down at pastel blue shorts cut to mid-thigh and a striped polo shirt tucked into the elastic waist. "Bite me, Sam."
Sam chuckled outright. It was a good sound, still kind of strange to hear, but that super annoying Winchester brand of angst was right beneath the surface. I really wanted to comment on that. The whole blame game those guys liked to play was getting old. But, instead, my thoughts ventured back to the kite.
"Did Dean teach you to fly a kite?"
It was an innocent enough question, but Sam was quiet for a moment. I rolled my eyes. Thankfully, he seemed to notice I wasn't in the mood for brooding (and, hey, if anyone should be brooding, it should be me).
"Actually, we learned to fly a kite at the same time. For a hunt, oddly enough." Sam left it at that for a moment longer. I finally turned to look at him, but he wasn't looking at me. Apparently, the jellyfish was far more entertaining. "We did build some kickass forts," he commented, lightly.
"I bet."
It's sincere. The Winchesters knew how to royally piss me off, but, yeah, I could see their crazy skills becoming useful. They could probably build the ultimate clubhouse, traps included. I'd never built a fort that wasn't made of pillows. Sometimes, I'd imagine a father helping me build a treehouse, but I wasn't sure if that would be better than my mom on her knees and elbows, crawling through a tunnel of couch cushions.
Crap. I was gonna miss her.
"Would have been cool to have a brother," I commented.
Thunder rolled somewhere behind me. The sky ahead looked so bright, so perfect with my kite dancing to the clouds, that I ignored it, just like I did when I was seven. The rain, though, was harder to ignore. A bucket dumped somewhere above me. The March weather made itself known, pelting me with hard, heavy droplets. I let go of the spool and the jellyfish danced away, dragging its string along.
Memory took over and I ran toward the small pavilion beside the field to find shelter. Sam's heavy footsteps followed, the hunter at my heels.
"Obviously your mom was right about the storm," he said, wiping back his long, sopping hair.
"She's always right," I noted. Then sighed, because it was true. "She was right to call you guys, too."
Sam nodded along, giving me another moment before starting over. "I get it, man...It's hard, moving on. But you can't -"
"Stay?" I pulled a hand down my face, wrenching off raindrops. "Yeah. I know. My mom called the ghostbusters on me, so I should probably take that as a sign. But, I mean, it's just not freakin' fair, you know? At first I couldn't move on, no matter what I tried, and now, now that I've gotten used to the idea of sticking around, watching over her...What am I saying? Of course Sam Winchester understands. Oh, God, don't give me that look. I've had enough of the 'apologies' for killing my ass, okay? I think we've went through this already."
"You're right," Sam agreed. "Apologies aren't going to help. That's...that's why I'm here, and Dean isn't."
"He can't move on, can he?"
Sam's non-reply was reply enough. The man made a sour expression. Was that bitch-face? Whatever. Winchesters and their emotional rollercoasters.
"So, lucky you, here in the...wherever the hell we are, giving your Heavenly sales pitch. You don't usually put in this much effort when you're 'asking' ghosts to move on, do you?"
Sam chuckled. "Not quite. But Cas wanted to help out."
"Cas, huh?"
Sam was quiet a moment. Then he groaned to himself. "Okay, what gave it away?"
"Uh, in case you don't know, the King of Manipulation has had me in a place like this before. Granted, it wasn't as...nice. But I recognize Crowley's holo-deck handiwork. How'd he know what memory to look for?"
Sam shrugged one shoulder. "Apparently your mom told him this would be a nice one to use. Which I guess means you're right, she did know."
Wait. What? "Wait. My mom and Crowley...they...talked? Like recently? After he kept her freakin' prisoner and tortured us?! Are you kidding me right now?"
"Your mom would do anything to help to help, Kev. Even talk to Crowley. Possibly do it again if this doesn't work... The guy wants to pay off a debt, and in his own weird way, I think he likes you."
"You're a sneaky bastard, Sam Winchester." I shook my head, and of course Sam's response was to give me a wounded puppy expression and stick his hands in his pockets. Winchesters were God-damned annoying, as were their side-kicks. "If that's even who you are. You could be Crowley for all I know. This could be some trick to get me to agree to go to Hell to be his personal prophet or something."
Sam raised a brow. "Yeah. I guess that's a fair point. Though, I'm pretty sure Crowley would have picked Dean for this conversation."
I rolled my eyes. "True. You know what? Fine. You've made your point...Is this really what Heaven will be like? Me stuck in my seven-year-old self's wardrobe? I guess I really don't have a choice in the matter, anyhow."
"It's what you make of it," Sam assured, biting down a grin.
"Great." I'd never sounded less enthusiastic. "Just keep Crowley away from my mom, okay? Actually, let me clarify that last request: just kill the asshole and protect my mom, because if I see her again too soon, I'm breaking out of Heaven and coming back to haunt you and Dean the rest of your admittedly short lives."
"Your mom is safe." Sam gripped my shoulder tightly in a broken embrace. "Goodbye, Kevin. We're - " He cut himself off, his expression sadder. I could almost hear it before he said it. "I'm sorry."
Dead men don't have time for that crap. I shrugged his hand off. "Oh, go fly a kite, Sam. And someone point me in the direction of Heaven's door..."