Disclaimer: Supernatural and all it entails does not belong to me. I make no money from this - it's just for fun!
Finding Out
Chapter 1
One of the first things people noticed about Sam Winchester was that he was a quiet, compliant little boy. The other children in Mrs. Hoffman's third grade class noticed it and immediately labeled him a wimp. The class bullies grinned at the discovery of someone new to torment.
Mrs. Hoffman and the other teachers noticed it and immediately labeled him shy and unusually well-behaved. These perceived qualities immediately endeared the boy to all of his teachers, causing the bullies to add the title of 'Teacher's Pet' to their list of labels.
But Sam Winchester was not a wimp, nor was he particularly shy or unusually well-behaved. What Sam Winchester was . . . was smart.
He was an eight-year-old boy who had spent his entire life moving between a series of ratty motel rooms and the backseat of a black 1967 Chevy Impala. He was the youngest member of a family of over-protective men. Well, technically Dean wasn't actually a man yet, but he was twelve years old, and Dad often left him in charge. And technically Uncle Bobby and Pastor Jim weren't really family, but they were definitely over-protective.
Sam was smart enough to know that it wasn't worth the effort to make close friends at school, since he would only leave them behind the next time they moved anyway, so he kept to himself and watched the other kids longingly. He was smart enough to know that Child Protective Services wouldn't like the fact that Sam and Dean often stayed at the motel by themselves while Dad went to work, sometimes for days at a time. So he was compliant and polite in an attempt not to draw unwanted attention to himself. But most of all, Sam was smart enough to know that Dad wasn't really a salesman.
Dad was . . . Dad, and Sam loved him very much, but who would want to buy anything from a tough-as-nails ex-marine? Salesmen were supposed to be cheerful, friendly people who could charm you into believing anything and make you want to buy things. Dean would make an awesome salesman. But Dad . . . well, Dad would probably scare all the business away.
Besides, there were other things that didn't fit. Why didn't Dad ever talk about what he sold? Why did they have to keep moving so much when Dad always left them alone to go to work anyway? At the end of second grade Sam had gone to three schools in less than a month. He knew that wasn't normal. Most of his classmates had lived in the same house their whole lives and had gone to preschool with their current classmates.
And then there was the training. Dad always insisted that Sam and Dean must be ready for any situation, drilling them in physical exercises, emphasizing quickness, speed and agility. But when Sam asked for an example of what type of situation they were training for, Dean and Dad just exchanged meaningful looks and changed the subject.
So Sam was pretty sure that Dad wasn't really a salesman. Besides, what kind of sales job was dangerous? Dad sometimes came home from his "sales" trips beat up or even cut up, needing Dean to put in stitches. They always kept it quiet, but Sam was far from stupid.
And Sam was also smart enough to figure out that Dad's journal was the key to figuring it all out. Whatever he wrote in that book, it was really important and something Sam wasn't supposed to know about. He had asked Dean once, who sternly told him that it was Dad's private stuff and not to touch it. Sam had never asked again, but he just knew that book would answer all of his questions.
Finally, about a week before Christmas, Dad came home from a "sales" trip and stayed home for a few days. Sam hoped that meant he would be home until after Christmas. So far Dad had always made it home for Christmas, but Sam was smart enough to know that this would probably change at some point.
This afternoon the three Winchester men were together at the motel, but each was concentrating on his own project. Dad was cleaning his guns, which again . . . what kind of salesman had a gun collection like that? And for that matter, Sam couldn't imagine too many of the other kids in school having a dad who allowed their twelve-year-old son to keep a gun hidden under his pillow.
Sam wasn't supposed to know about that either, but he and Dean had been sparring in the motel room one snowy afternoon a few weeks ago, and Sam had actually hit his head on it. He hadn't let Dean know that he had found it, though. For some reason, Dean and Dad seemed to think he needed to be protected from the truth, whatever that was.
Dean was actually doing his homework for once, which made Sam proud. Dean didn't like school, but he was really good at it when he tried.
Sam sat cross-legged on his bed reading a book with the strange title Oliver Twist by an old British author. Sam felt sorry for poor Oliver, who was an orphan who lived in a really bad place called a Work House and had no friends, and not even any family. The school librarian had looked at him doubtfully when Sam had taken his turn at the check-out desk on library day.
"Are you sure that's the book you want, young man?" She gestured at a stack of thinner books beside her. "We just got a couple of Beverly Cleary books in. Have you read Henry Huggins yet? Or how about the Ramona books? Oh, and we have some new Boxcar Children books here, too."
Sam thought disgustedly that those books were for babies, but he merely looked back at her solemnly. "No, ma'am, this is the one I want, please."
So Sam was engrossed in his book while Dean did his homework and Dad cleaned his guns. The only background noise was a re-run of I Love Lucy on the little motel TV.
Suddenly Dad stood up. "I'm going to change the oil in the Impala. Want to help, Dean?"
Dean jumped at the chance to get out of doing homework and to spend some time with his father, so when Sam next looked up, he was alone in the room. Looking out the window of the motel room, he spotted Dad's legs sticking out from beneath the car, and he could see Dean sitting beside the Impala, laughing at something Dad must have said. A pang of hurt went through him momentarily. He wished that he could have a good time with Dad like that, too, but he really had nothing in common with him. He wondered fleetingly if he ever would.
He shrugged and went back to his book, which was turning out to be even more interesting than he had hoped. He wasn't sure how long he had been reading when a muffled voice from outside caught his attention. "Sam!"
He put the book down and walked over to the door, opening it and shivering in the chilly wind. "Yes, Sir?"
John was sitting up beside the car now also, and he held his blackened hands up with a grin. "Sam, there's a pile of clean rags in my duffel. I want you to bring two of them out here." He smiled over at Dean, who also grinned and held up his dirty appendages.
"Yes, Sir." Sam trotted back into the room and unzipped Dad's duffel bag. He was expecting the rags to be on top, but they weren't visible at first glance, so he had to dig down the side to find them. As he pulled them out, his hand snagged on the corner of something in the bag, and he pulled it out along with the rags. He stared at his find blankly for a minute, thinking furiously. Dad's journal. Right here in front of him. And nobody else was here.
He quickly laced up his sneakers and put on his coat, running the rags outside to his dirty family. John nodded, already deep in conversation with his eldest, but Dean took a moment to smile at Sam and say thanks. The younger boy managed a semblance of a smile back and headed inside to where temptation was waiting for him.
Taking off his coat and sneakers, he crouched down in front of Dad's duffel. His heart pounded as he wondered what he should do. Well, he knew what he should really do (Put it back), but he wondered what he would do. He could read it right now and put it back, and nobody would ever know.
He picked the leather-bound journal up and turned it over reverently in his hands. He had just decided that this was his best option when the door knob rattled, and he heard his father's voice just outside the room.
"I'll go get your brother, and then we can go and get some dinner. Good job, Dean."
Two feelings battled for dominance in Sam's heart at that moment. The first was fear. He was terrified of what John would do if he found his son looking through his personal things, particularly his precious journal. He wanted to get rid of the journal just to keep from getting caught. But the second feeling was stronger. John's praise of Dean twisted Sam's heart. Dad never said things like that to Sam. He couldn't ever do anything right, not really, not like Dean. Bitterness filled his young heart, and in that moment his mind was made up.
Sam zipped the duffel closed and stuffed the journal beneath his mattress to read later. He was going to find out what Dad had been hiding from him.
tbc . . .
A/N While I have been reading Supernatural Fanfiction for 5 years, this is my first effort with writing one. (I usually restrict my writing to The Sentinel.) This plot line came to me while on an eight hour flight, and it wouldn't leave me alone. Feedback appreciated!
And for the record, I have nothing against Beverly Cleary or the Boxcar Children books. I loved the Beverly Cleary books as a child, and my niece loves the Boxcar Children. They are just not anywhere near the reading level of Oliver Twist!
