April 1, 2006
Sam felt much better here in the backyard, perhaps it was the fresh air. Since arriving home last night he had felt off. An oppressive, nervous sort of feeling had crept over him as soon as he had crossed the threshold of the Winchester family home. Mary had fretted, concerned that he was coming down with something, and he had begged jet lag in an attempt to put her at ease. While she had relented, Sam had noticed this morning that 'tomato rice soup' was listed on the shopping list that she kept hung in the kitchen. He'd decided not to bring it up.
It wasn't jet lag, and despite his effort to reassure his mother Sam knew it. He'd made enough trips home from the coast to know very well what that felt like, and this wasn't it. This was more when you know, without looking, that someone is watching you. He hadn't really slept well last night, which he kept telling himself had nothing to do with the eerie feeling of not being alone in the room.
If he were to be honest with himself, he'd have to admit that he hadn't been sleeping very well, not just last night, but for months. He'd been explaining away bizarre dreams and severe headaches as typical signs of stress. Lord knows, a first year law student had ample reason to feel stressed.
For now however, some of the cloud seemed to have lifted when he had stepped out the back door and into the gentle warmth of a mid-western spring, and he was going to allow himself to enjoy that.
He'd been sent out to light the grill for the cook out, which had been mainly a way to get him out of the kitchen and out from underfoot. The pile of briquets he'd poured out lay forgotten as he'd become distracted by Dean and Johny playing catch on the grass. He smiled at the memories that played out in his mind. If he tried, he could almost imagine Bones bouncing around between them, trying to steal the ball, the same way he always had with the brothers when they had been younger.
It made Sam a sad sort of happy to think of his old pet. The last time he had seen Bones had been the day he left for Stanford. The grey in the muzzle retriever must have sensed that something was different that day, judging by his distressed whine. Sam had never really forgiven himself for not being there for him when old age had taken the dog a few months later. He liked the idea that, in some way, Bones might still be around, still watching over the family.
"How's it coming?" his father's voice behind him jolted him out of his thoughts.
"Oh, it's coming." Sam responded, snatching up the can of lighter fluid and hastily squirting the coals, trying unsuccessfully to hide that he'd been daydreaming.
John didn't say anything right away. His attention too had been drawn out into the yard, where Dean was pretending to be barreled over by a tackle. It was an infectious sort of sight. John smiled with amusement as his son and grandson wrestled around on the ground. Dean was a pretty good father, when he got around to it. John wished that Dean's home life was a little more stable. He and Brenda spent almost as much time split up as together, but John rationalized, at least Dean did always end up going home eventually. Things could be worse.
Right now, he was more concerned about Sam. With the woman busy working in the kitchen, and the "kids" busy playing in the yard, he'd come out hoping that he and Sam could have some time alone to talk. "Are you doing OK, son?" he asked. "You've seemed kind of distracted. Is there a problem at school, or maybe with that..what was her name, Bonnie?"
"Becky," Sam corrected him, "that didn't really work out. She had, family stuff." What could he really say? He hadn't told his family about Zach's arrest, nor about the damning piece of evidence in the form of a video that had surfaced. He certainly hadn't told them that he'd had some sort of creepy dream about the crime, before it had even happened. He was having a hard enough time with that himself without finding ways to work into a conversation. "I guess the world's just getting a lot more complicated all of a sudden." Sam continued, "I'm starting to figure out how much there is that I don't know, how much we don't know about, just everything."
John's smile betrayed his relief, "Sounds to me like you're growing up. It happens to all of us sooner or later." He spared a glance over to where Dean was making a show of being helplessly pinned by his six year old son. "Some of us a lot later." he joked and the two shared a laugh.
"Sam," John continued after a bit, returning his attention to his younger son, "you never could leave a question unanswered. You just don't have it in you, but some questions just don't have answers, at least not ones that humans can understand. All a man can do is his best,"
"I guess." Sam agreed reluctantly. He appreciated John's effort but he didn't need the 'ushering into adulthood' his father was trying to give him. He needed to understand what was going on in his head, but how do even start that conversation. It was all too crazy to try to discuss. "Hey Dad," he spoke tentatively, "did you ever have a dream come true?"
"I sure did," John threw an arm around Sam's shoulders and turned a warm smile towards Dean and Johny's roughhousing in the yard, "the very best dream."
That hadn't been at all what Sam had meant, but he kept it to himself. That moment had been far too perfect to ruin.