What if Dean Had Asthma?
Chapter 2: Back to School
Sammy was packing his bag for school. School had started a week ago but tomorrow was going to be his first day there. The last week had been full of adults asking him questions, asking Pastor Jim questions. Questions about how he felt, what his life was like, what he wanted to do when he grew up, if he felt any better, if he was going to talk to them next time, if he could please stop screaming, if he could stop punching anyone who came too close. These questions were followed by a lot of hmm-ing and ha-ing on the part of the adults, before they decided that he would stay at Pastor Jim's until he became more 'emotionally stable'.
Sammy just wanted to go back to school. He didn't have to think about Dad and Dean there, didn't have to scream to block out his mind because they gave him things to do.
He packed his books away neatly, then looked through them to make sure he had them all. He opened his pencil case, to make sure everything was there and packed it away too. He looked over at his bed. There was the jacket laid out perfectly. He'd spent half an hour getting it to lie just right with no creases or lumps. He looked back to the bag. If he left it, it would be the first time in two weeks he'd left it behind, but if he took it with him then it could get dirty, other people might touch it and Dad and Dean would rub off on them. Sammy wanted Dad and Dean for himself. He reached out and stroked a sleeve before turning back to his bag and checking it through again.
"You gonna stop being a geek and come watch TV?" Sam looked up at the open doorway he wished he'd just heard that voice through. He zipped up his bag and took his brother's suggestion, just like he never had when his brother was alive.
"Don't forget to pack a knife, Sammy," he was reminded when he was halfway down the stairs, but he hadn't forgotten. He would have said so if it didn't mean he would be talking to himself.
He sat in front of the TV and vaguely watched the colours as they flashed on the screen. He liked TV, it was one of the few times his mind would go completely blank. Blank was a good way for his mind to be. Even when it was completely occupied with something else there'd be a small voice underneath it all chanting, "They're dead, you're alone, they're dead, you're alone," on and on and on.
He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Time for bed," Pastor Jim said kindly and he ushered him upstairs to get changed and brush his teeth and all things like that. Sammy like this mindless routine, it was nice to do something normal. He glanced at his bed, the jacket still laying on it, it was the part that came next that he hated. "You tell me if you need anything," Pastor Jim assured him as he left the room. Sam picked the jacket up and clutched it, staring at the bed as though it would eat him if he climbed into it. It had never been like this before. Never. There was always another bed for him. He was being forced into one bed, his bed, the only bed. He looked away.
He didn't want his bed, he wanted Dean's bed with Dean's warmth and Dean's solid weight and Dean's gentle teasing, but Dean didn't have any of those things now. Sam cried, because it meant that he didn't have any of those things either.
He stood where he was, staring at the wall. He used to run to his dad when he had a nightmare that even Dean couldn't scare away. His dad was strong and fierce and could fight off anything that came for them. But that wasn't true. Sam wanted his dad so badly because nothing could get this nightmare to go away, not even waking up.
It took another hour before Sammy was too tired to stay standing and it was then that he climbed into his hateful bed, just like he always did. He curled up beneath the bedclothes, still holding the jacket tightly, and let his eyelids drift close.
He slept peacefully, which was a relief because he needed a good night's sleep after all the awful ones he'd been having. Usually, his mind found a multitude of ways to fill in the gap between when Dad and Dean left the motel and when Sam found them. Those were the worst nights of his life. Filled with his brother's wide-eyed gasping, clutching at the gun even though it was his own body killing him, stretching out to give his lungs room before his throat closed on him completely. Then there'd be the soundless gaping like a fish on land before it all just stopped.
The less said about what his mind could come up with about his dad's death the better.
The next morning he woke up feeling almost excited. His gaze darted to the schoolbag on the bedroom floor and his mouth almost, so very nearly, rose into a smile. He scrambled out of bed and glanced at the clock, 5:30am, plenty of time to get ready. He started the day with his usual ritual of making the bed and laying the jacket flat out on it. He was leaving it behind today but he wasn't neglecting it. He spent a full three quarters of an hour doing this, mostly because he had a change of heart and went to pack it into his schoolbag before he remembered why he wasn't taking it. Once that was done he made his way downstairs for breakfast.
Pastor Jim didn't have fun cereals like Lucky Charms so Sammy poured himself a bowl of cornflakes. He greeted Pastor Jim with a relatively cheerful 'good morning' and they ate breakfast together in silence. It was the least tense and most carefree silence they'd experienced for weeks.
Sammy took his time getting changed, he wanted to remember this day as it was going to be possibly the most normal day for a long while. The only thing was that it was going to be Pastor Jim walking to school with him and that hurt slightly, but he was able to put it to one side. He was still ready with plenty of time to spare and waited for Pastor Jim by the front door.
"Wait!" he said just as they were about to leave, because he'd forgotten to do something very important. He rushed back upstairs to his room. He knelt down next to the jacket and rested his head on the bed, looking at it and memorising it. "Goodbye," he said, "See you after school," he gave it a farewell stroke.
"Yeah, whatever, now hurry up before you're late,"
"Have a good day!" came the two replies he didn't hear. He hurried back downstairs, eager to obey the echoes of his family.
"Ready now?" asked Pastor Jim, Sammy nodded.
They weren't the only ones walking to school on this fine morning. There were other children with their mother or fathers, holding hands, running after their brothers and sisters in a playful game of chase. Sammy thought that it was these kinds of scenes that should bring a pang of remembrance and grief, but he'd never done those things, it was walking past the ammunitions store in the centre of town that really hit him. Walking past and not going in. It was all so wrong.
Pastor Jim waited by the school gates with him for the principal to come and greet them, like she'd asked to. She appeared soon enough, striding through the crowds of children and stopped just in front of them. She shook them both by the hand.
"Thank you for meeting me," she said, "I am Mrs. Harper. Now, if you'd like to follow me," she lead them through the mass of children to inside the school building, where it was still quiet. "You've only missed a week so it shouldn't be hard to catch up, but if you feel you need extra help, you can always ask," Sammy was sure he wouldn't need extra help, he and Dean had been doing their homework together and he'd even been able to understand some of Dean's.
Mrs. Harper showed them around the school, Sammy didn't pay much attention, except for where the toilets were. The tour ended five minutes after the bell had gone with Sammy's new classroom.
"This is your new class, Sammy, and your teacher, Miss Bell," Mrs. Harper opened the door and ushered him in. The noise of the class slowly died down and they all looked at him curiously, he glanced back out the door and Pastor Jim waved goodbye to him.
"Ah, now, class!" said Miss Bell, "This is Sam Winchester, he's new so be nice to him,"
"It's Sammy," said Sammy. He couldn't bear the thought of no one ever calling him that name again, so he made it so everyone would.
"Ah, Sorry. If you'd like to take a seat, Sammy," Sammy sat down at the only empty desk and ignored the few whispers around him.
Their first period was math and Sammy loved it. It wasn't too hard, wasn't too easy and just mindless enough that he could lose himself among the numbers and symbols. The second period was English and while not so good as math, it was making for a much better day than any other in the past two weeks.
At recess Sammy sat on a low wall that was on the far side of the playground. He just wanted to sit and watch, he felt too detached to do anything else. Lots of people had told him that he didn't have to do anything if he didn't want to and right now, he just didn't want to play.
The other children weren't going to leave him in peace, though, he was just too different from them to be left alone. The first to come up to him was a group of girls, one with startling blonde hair stepped forward while the other three just stood behind her and stared with wide eyes.
"My mommy told me all about what happened," she said almost reverently. Sammy didn't reply, "What's it like not having a mom or a dad?" Sammy looked up from the floor and at the girl. He shrugged, "Have you ever had a mommy?" continued the girl.
"No, not really," said Sammy quietly, looking at the floor again because the girls were looking at him as though being an orphan was a weird new facial feature. The most forward girl looked at a loss as to what to say, "It never really mattered, though, 'cause I had Dean,"
"That your brother?" Sammy nodded, "But he's gone too, now?" Sammy nodded again. The girl paused and then turned back to her friends, whispering together, then she faced Sammy again, with her hands behind her back and said, "Well, our mommies told us to be real nice to you so, here," she handed over what she'd been hiding behind her. Sammy took the gifts. There was a wilting daisy chain, half a packet of Skittles and a screwed up piece of paper, which turned out to have a drawing of a flower and a smiley sun on it in crayon. Sammy looked up at the four girls and gave them the smallest smile. "So, we'll be playing over there," she pointed just beyond the end of the wall, "If you want to come join us," Sammy said nothing so the girls just left.
Seeing the girls leave, a group of four boys reckoned it was their turn to talk to the new boy.
"Hey," said one of them as they crowded around him, "You're the guy whose family's all dead, aren't you?" Sammy nodded, when were people going to stop talking about it?
"I heard that you saw them, did you?" asked another boy, he was far too eager. Sammy looked up sharply. "What was it like? Was there blood everywhere?" Sammy stood up suddenly. Yes, there had been blood everywhere. "Did you get there when they were dead? 'Cause my daddy says things go stiff when they die," the four boys all looked equally eager to hear the answers. Something boiled up inside in Sammy that was different from the grief, the sadness and the hollowness of the past two weeks. He was angry, angry like he'd never been before. Why were these boys asking all these questions? Why did no one leave him alone? Why had he let them leave the motel? Why had they died? Why weren't they here with him? Why hadn't they let him come with them? Why did he still have to be alive? "Well? Didja see them or not?"
Before he knew what was going on, his fist had connected with the boy's face. He stared in shock at the boy sprawled on the floor and rubbed his knuckles as the soreness crept into them. One of the other boys was looking at him, also shocked, while the other two had already tore off across the playground to find a teacher. When they returned, teacher and all, the scene hadn't much changed.
The teacher, it was Miss Bell, upon seeing the perpetrator of the crime, immediately lost all of her anger. She took the hand of the crying boy, who was clutching his free hand to his face and held out her hand to Sammy. He didn't take it, he just trailed behind her on the way to the principal's office, ignoring the stares they were getting as they walked across the playground that suddenly seemed much larger than it had earlier.
Sammy sat outside the principal's office while she talked to the other boy. Miss Bell had left, left him alone with his thoughts. He didn't like that. Dean would be laughing right now, seeing his angelic little brother outside the principal's office because he punched someone. But Dean wasn't who he was worrying about.
His dad would have been furious. You never punch someone if you're not in a fight. Never. He'd heard Dad tell that to Dean enough times and it had been drilled into him pretty hard too. He rocked back and forth on his chair, staring at his throbbing hand, all the while thinking, "Sorry, Daddy, so, so, so sorry, I'll never do it again, I promise." It was somehow worse knowing that his dad wouldn't shout at him, that his crime would go unpunished. The wild thought flew into his head that perhaps if his dad got angry enough, he'd come back to tell him off. There was nothing he wouldn't give to have his dad back, even if only for five minutes. There were so many things he could say in those five minutes, but mostly he just wanted to hold on and never let go.
He'd give the whole world to have his family back, but it just wasn't his to give.
Something touched his hand and he jumped, only then realising that Mrs. Harper had been kneeling in front of him calling his name for a while now. He stopped rocking and looked hopefully into her eyes, perhaps she would tell him off, it would never be as good as his dad but it would be better than nothing. She led him into her office.
"I realise that you are going through a difficult time. Sammy, if you ever feel the need to talk about anything, find a teacher, we are all here for you," she kept talking but Sammy stopped listening.
"Dude, she's being understanding? My teachers were never understanding!" Sammy smiled, his brother could always make him smile. He would never talk to a teacher, there were some things you couldn't tell a teacher, and Sam was tired of thinking up lies, cover stories, so he didn't say anything at all. Except one thing,
"I shouldn't have punched him," Mrs. Harper stopped whatever it was she was saying and stared at Sammy, she opened her mouth to say something but Sammy got there first, "Dad'll be so angry," she shut her mouth, it formed a thin, straight line. She sighed.
"Go get your things, Sammy, I'll call Pastor Jim and tell him to pick you up. You can have the rest of the day off," Sammy got up and wandered vaguely to his classroom, collected his things and packed them away.
"You lucky bastard," Sammy waited for his dad to say something about language, but the remonstration never came. He realised it was because Dean had never said anything. He waited outside the principal's office to be picked up.
Pastor Jim said nothing to him when he arrived. He only thanked Mrs. Harper and then steered Sammy out with a gentle hand on his back. The playground was empty by then, but the walk still seemed long with the eyes of every child staring out of the windows. They walked slowly home together.
Pastor Jim only turned to look at him when they were inside the house. He knelt down in front of Sammy and helped him remove his coat but remained kneeling even after that was done. Then he just looked at Sammy and Sammy looked back at him. Sammy hated the open acceptance in his eyes, why didn't anyone just tell him off like he deserved? Slowly, the gaze broke through the small wall Sammy had built around himself. This waiting understanding called out to Sammy to just talk, tell him everything.
"They kept asking me questions," his lower lip starting wobbling and he tightened his mouth up to try and stop it, "Why does-" he paused as one tear rolled down his cheek and he tried desperately to stop another following. He sucked in a hitching breath as he realised he couldn't stop the tears, "Why does ev-everyone-" he was properly sobbing now, as he tried the question for a third time, "Why d-does everyone keep re-reminding me?" he finally managed to burst out. Pastor Jim didn't have any answers for him, only arms for him to fall into and a shoulder for him to rest his head on.
The rest of the afternoon passed without Sammy paying much attention to it. As the evening rolled in, Sammy still enjoyed the routine of dinner, TV, get washed, get ready for bed. He was too exhausted to not get into bed, though.
He was somewhere between waking and sleep when he noticed it. The way the wardrobe, when his eyes were almost closed, looked sort of like his dad leaning against the wall. The way the duvet lay across his should that, if he thought about it, felt kind of like his brother's hand. He grinned and let himself drift off to sleep.
TBC