EXTRA4: Shepherd's Herd
Takes place after The Author's Notes.
"Everyone's at attention!" Tabs says, standing straight and sure of herself at nine years old. She's got a ponytail on her head that has its work so cut out for it, it'll undoubtedly snap after a week's use, which is really an aggravation to her mother more than her — one would think that at the end (and new beginning) of humanity, rubber bands to keep unruly hair tamed would be less of a rare commodity. "This is a new meeting, so listen up! Shhh! Oh my god, be quiet!"
The other children, all busy squabbling around the small makeshift classroom, don't seem to pay her any mind until she stands up on her chair and holds out her hands, as though their voices were a Red Sea for her to part. These dumb jerks just don't know when to take note of a seriously serious situation. She'd punch 'em all in the heads if the adults didn't discourage it. Or maybe she wouldn't. Still, it sure is a nice visual in her honest opinion.
"It's a mission from Cas! It's for Sam. He's in trouble."
That seems to do it. They all straighten up, voices silenced by the mention of the tallest in camp. Only about ten of them are there altogether, since the others are too young or too old to care about Tabs' rants, and have since dispersed away for the day. There's Blake, hair bleached nearly yellow from the summer sun, and there's Stephany, who just aborbs the sun until she's nearly copper, and of course there's her smaller sister, Emma, the one who chews on her thumb and stands shortest of all, hiding from the sun in her sister's shadow. Tabs clears her throat and sits down atop the desk while the getting's good. Adults are boring. They don't sit on their desks. Unless it's Sam, because he lounges on furniture a lot when he's not Gone to Bye-bye Land. It's pretty cool that a person that ginormous sits on stuff and expects it not to break.
"Cas says Chuck says Dean says that Sam's in a bad way. We gotta help out, m'kay? It's our job! Dean even said so, that's how you know it's true." Because nobody else around here knows how necessary a job is more than him, she thinks. He's aware of how important it is to make things okay again. Not that Tabs has a bias or anything for making sure Sam isn't suffering. Not that Tabs remembers how her grandmother passed away, with that glazed, faraway look in her eye. Not that Tabs has nightmares sometimes where her nana never remembers who she is or what her face looks like.
Doesn't matter. She's not a baby anymore. She's nine, and that's almost ten, and ten is only three away from a teenager. Emma, now. Emma's a baby. She's five and she still wets the bed. But yanno, Tabs can't blame her for that. There's still a lot of reasons out there for peeing on your bed.
"Does he need more apples?" says Blake very, very, very softly.
"Or someone to make him take a pill," Stephany nods, and then hunkers down next to Emma and reminds her, very sternly, that pills are never, ever candy and that only adults should take them unless they say you need one for bugs in your stomach. This will probably give Emma yet another reason to wanna pee the bed, Tabs thinks. Bugs? Come on, Stephany.
"Yeah," she tells them all. "He got a flu. Makes him act all funny. We should help make sure he drinks lots of water and soup, 'cus he always gives Grouchface a hard time like this." Grouchface is Dean. Dean's always been Grouchface. Tabs is positive that nobody could outdo him, but then, she'd never bet anything on it. She likes too much of her stuff to even risk it. Bad luck's a big ol' stink that happens sometimes. There's always bad luck, just in levels.
The plan's pretty simple. It's a herd wrangling a shepherd, basically. By the time they're all skipping and jogging and catching bugs on their way over to the middle of the settlement, they already have their work cut out for them: Sam's walking toward the fields, probably to do stupid stuff that other adults can do. Tabs thinks Sam's sometimes a big idiot, but he's a sad one, and she holds her tongue more for him. Dean's probably close by as always, but it goes without question that he probably thinks Sam's sleeping off his illness.
Dean can be pretty dumb, too.
Sam lets out a dazed "huh?" and blinks when they all swarm around him like little bees. Emma takes his hand in one of hers — or, well, more like grabs two of his fingers with her whole palm, because he's got a Beanstalk Giant's hand — and Stephany is right beside her like a diligent mother hawk. An older boy named Clinton puts a hand on Sam's back, lithe and lanky like Sam in his youth, and the other kids start rattling off things from school, more excited to chat with Sam than the so-called mission. Most of 'em are small, mostly unaware that Sam isn't completely right. Tabs knows he isn't. It's okay that he isn't.
One asks, "Sam, you okay?"
"Did you know lava turns to black rocks," someone says to Sam's left. He hums, not all there enough to really reply. Tabs scratches at her scalp, the weather humid and overwhelming in the open, and her rubber band snaps right off her hair. Sam flinches, then pulls the rubber band off of his own shaggy ponytail and helps pull it all back again for her. He seems more present now that he has.
And so it goes, a feverish, confused Sam is coralled by a bunch of elementary school children back into his room, while a displeased Dean Winchester heaves a breath. Sam sits down on his bed with a weary grunt, obviously too tired to tie his own shoes let alone work today. Tabs can see the fever in his face. It's all splotchy and he's sweaty and gross. Sam is sort of sweaty a lot of the time anyways, but she can tell the difference. She shoos most of the flock out now, because let's face it, kids are annoying sometimes and she's totally not a kid like them. The only exception is Emma and Stephany, who hold their post as Dean shakes out some medicine into his hand. His attempt to offer them to his brother obviously fails.
Obviously.
Tabs takes the pills confidently, not at all familiar with the look of envy Dean has when Sam easily lets her hand him a glass and the medication. She's not sure why. It's not a big deal, giving someone their medicine. "Hey," she says, and pretends she's talking to her nana. "You gotta take these to make you feel better. Please? For me? You can't get worser."
Sam looks at her with a furrowed brow and sad, sad eyes. She wishes he wouldn't. She likes when he's happy. And sharp. And says smarty-mouth stuff that makes her push his arm. Sam's her friend. Tabs wants all her friends to be happy. Anybody who thinks otherwise needs to get punched in the head; she'll do it herself, or at least daydream about it.
Stephany carefully brings him the tray with soup on it.
"I made it myself!" she beams. Stephany is a compulsive liar. She also says that if you shake your head too much it'll spin on your shoulders and never stop. Sam smiles at last, taking the spoon while Emma sits down on the bed next to him.
"Does it hurt?" Emma asks, blinking under black bangs. Thumb's in her mouth again, but the other hand pats Sam on the chest. "Here? It hurt?"
"A little," Sam rasps, coming back into reality fully. Tabs and Dean exchange smiles. Sam continues, "Today it doesn't hurt that bad. I'm alright, Emma, thank you. But you — you shouldn't touch me right now; I don't feel good. I don't want you to not feel good, too."
Tabs glances at Dean, seeing the overthinking brain behind the folded arms and stern expression. Looks like he's sad. Normally, that's Sam's job. You've got Grouchface and Sadface. Cas is just Sleepyface, most of the time. They've all got their own special faces.
Emma and Stephany are told to leave (and Sam has his wits about him enough to tell them to wash their hands a few times, just in case, because she's pretty sure he can't handle hurting people). The two sisters live with their aunt on the other side of the camp; she and Sam work a lot on the gardens together, and Cas stops by long enough to help lead them back. Soon it's just Tabs, sitting with Dean until Sam lulls back into a more peaceful sleep. She's not sure why she's afraid for him; he's not old, even if he's brittle in comparison to other adults. She's not sure what scares her, but it simply does, the same way the thought of drowning or going blind does.
"You can go, Tabitha. It's alright," Dean says with a rough voice.
"… No," she says quietly. "Sam's my friend. I wanna make sure he's sleeping okay."
Dean knows more about her than she does, maybe. Because he says, in a softer way (or as soft as someone like Dean can say anymore), "He'll be okay. Your grandma was a lot older than him. It's not his time to go, not for a long, long time."
She shrugs.
"… And I bet your gram's in a better place. She was a good lady."
"Sam's good, too," she points out. She's not sure why she's compelled to, but she is. Good people seem to never last as long as they should. Thoughts like that make her not feel as young as she should be. She scrubs one foot with the other until her mother stops by; Cas is a tattler. It's his fault for talking about Sam being sick while she's close by.
"He'll be up and at 'em for you tomorrow, Tabs," Dean promises.
Sam snores softly in his sleep, blissfully for at least a little while.