Chapter Three: The Trick To Life
Sam pulled his knees up to his chest and carefully unwrapped his chocolate bar. He couldn't believe Bobby had gotten it for him. He paused for a moment, listening intently before deciding he was alone and nibbled on the very edge of the Oh Henry bar.
Sam closed his eyes and savoured the sweet, melty chocolate. It had been a long time since he'd had something this good.
Sam tentatively took a small bite and moaned in pleasure. He knew he was acting dumb, it was just a chocolate bar, not ambrosia and nectar, but he couldn't help it. It had been a gift, simple as that, no strings attached and no tricks.
Sam opened his eyes and frowned.
How do you know it's not some kind of cruel joke?
Sam shook his head to dislodge the thought. This was Bobby. He'd always been kind to Sam. Nothing suggested that he had something nasty planned.
Dad sometimes acted nice too. Remember? He would say he was sorry and you'd believe it.
Sam gulped, the chocolate sticking in his throat and turning sour.
"Dad never gave me a candy bar," he whispered out loud but the damage was already done. Sam set the Oh Henry on the floor- ignoring the tiny dust bunnies that became glued to it- and buried his face in his knees in shame.
How had he been so stupid? He'd let his guard down for some fucking piece of candy and now he was going to be punished.
Sam wondered if Bobby was going to beat him. He wondered if Dean was going to was going to laugh and tell him he pathetic he was- what an idiot he was- for believing they actually cared about him.
This was all a big game to them and he didn't know the rules. Just like with his Dad.
W
Sam couldn't help but smile to himself. Dad was actually being nice to him! He almost couldn't believe it!
John had woken him up early and said they were going out for breakfast- something they rarely did these days- and had let Sam order pancakes.
After eating they had gone to the library and John had waited while Sam read a book. He couldn't get a library card because they wouldn't be in town long enough but John let Sam pick out one book to read. Sam had been careful to choose a book that wasn't too long- he didn't want to press his luck- and they left the library two hours later.
Sam sat in the passenger seat, not shying away from his father the way he usually did and when he smiled, John smiled back.
"What do you want to do this afternoon, Sport?" his Dad asked and Sam grinned widely. John hadn't called him Sport since he was nine.
"Can we go to the park?" Sam asked carefully, "Play catch?"
"Sure thing," John had answered and there was no darkness to his tone, no deception behind his eyes. He put Sam well at ease; he was a good actor and Sam should have remembered that.
The two Winchesters stayed in the park, tossing a tennis ball- bought at a local dollar store- until the sun began to sink toward the horizon, its rays turning from gold to crimson.
Sam practically skipped back to the Impala, breathless and happier than he'd been since Dean had left for school. John walked casually behind his son, tossing the tennis ball from one hand to the other, utterly calm.
The park had been the best part of the day. He liked the sound of the other kids roughhousing in the sandbox nearby, the warm sun beating pleasantly down on him, the smell of fresh-cut grass and hot dogs- which John had bought them for lunch- and the way his father had smiled at him.
John let Sam fiddle with the radio dial on the drive back to the motel, changing from one station to another as he sought out something that sounded good to him.
Sam wondered if they were going to eat out again. He decided that he'd like that.
When they parked at the motel, Sam slid out of his seat and met his Dad at the motel room door. John grinned at Sam for a moment before fishing the keys from his pocket and opening the door.
Sam went inside and turned to face his Dad. John closed the door softly, the smile never leaving his face.
Sam should have known something was wrong.
"Did you have a good day, Sammy?" John asked and his son nodded enthusiastically.
"Yeah! It was great," Sam exclaimed happily, "Really fun!"
John wasn't looking at him. He was peering down at the key ring in his hand, "Good, because that's the last day like that you're ever going to get."
The silence that followed was so thick it could be cut with a knife. Sam's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. His heart began to gallop, not from excitement or happiness but from fear.
"Dad?" Sam squeaked, "D-did I do so-something wrong?"
John didn't answer immediately; he just continued to stare at his hand. And the keys.
Sam's mind sorted through the events of the day in warp speed, trying to figure out if he'd said something wrong or said something wrong.
John looked up and Sam took a step back as his father let out a bark of laughter.
"You actually believed it!" he crowed, "I can't believe you fell for it!"
"No, pl-please Dad," Sam begged, "Don't!"
John's face still held its malicious mirth, "You're more stupid than you look!"
Sam's eyes stung with tears and he looked at the floor. It wasn't fair! How could his father do this to him? Why?
"Oh stop crying!" John said in exasperation, "It's not my fault you're a retard."
That only made the tears fall faster. Sam couldn't' help it, his heart was breaking all over again. He had dared to hope that his father had changed only to find out it was all some cruel joke.
"Shut up!" John demanded, growing angry now and Sam raised his hands to his mouth to try and stifle the sound of his sobs.
Sam staggered back when his father hit him in the face, the set of keys cutting into his cheek and neck.
"Pl-please don't," Sam begged and John punched him again.
Sam sprawled onto the carpet, stunned. Dazed, he lifted his hand and grabbed onto one of the beds, fingers fisting in the blankets.
How had things gotten so bad, so quickly?
Sam struggled to pull himself up but hit the floor again when John shoved him.
He didn't try and move again. Instead Sam curled into a ball on his side, hands clenched against his chest and knees pulled up to his chin.
"Fuckin' moron," he heard his father mutter and turn away. Sam let a few more tears squeeze out before he closed his eyes and tried to think back on the events of the day, imagining that John really did love him and would spend endless hours playing in the park as carefree and happy as the other fathers did.
SPN
Dean crept down the stairs and headed into the den. He wondered where Sam had gone to eat his chocolate; he wasn't in the room they shared because Dean had had it all to himself while putting his brother's new clothes away.
Just let him alone for a little bit, Dean told himself. If you start trying to force yourself on him he's only gonna get scared.
Dean shook his head wearily, sadly and hid his own candy wrapper at the bottom of the trashcan under Bobby's desk.
Turning to the bookshelf, Dean grabbed a tome and sat down on the couch. Although he knew he should be focusing on helping Sam get better, Dean wanted to learn more about the spirit that Bobby had called a dybbuk. Even though Sam was a priority right now, Dean didn't think a little research would hurt anyone.
Dean grew so engrossed with the book that he startled when Bobby entered the den.
"I'm surprised to see you hitting the books," the old hunter commented and Dean shrugged and then frowned.
"Bobby, how can you be sure it was a dybbuk that possessed Dad?" he asked suddenly.
The older man's eyebrows knitted together, "What do you mean, son?"
Dean stabbed a finger down at the book, "I don't want to call Sam a liar but Bobby we only have his word to go on that this white mist left Dad after he… after he died."
"Dean," Bobby began but the younger man interrupted him.
"I didn't see any ectoplasm or anything like that when I picked him up from the motel," Dean continued, "There was nothing to suggest that a pissed off spirit was there."
"Dybbuk's are different," Bobby explained, "They're rare and damn difficult to detect because they don't display the usual signs of haunting or possession."
Dean shook his head, "Sam was traumatized, Bobby. He's just shot Dad and even after coming here he wasn't quite right. He's still not right. He thinks we're going to hurt him."
Bobby let out a breath, "Is that what you're truly worried about? That Sam thinks we're out to get him?"
Dean opened his mouth to protest, to say that no, he was not sure if Sam had seen what he actually claimed he had but he couldn't get the words out.
"Dean, you're right. Sam was still a little shocked when I asked him about what had happened but I don't think he'd lie. I think he really saw the dybbuk leave your father's body in that motel room," Bobby said, coming closer to the younger man and taking the book from him.
"Besides, I know your father could be a hardass sometimes but I have never, never known him to raise a hand in anger to either of you boys," Bobby set the tome back on its shelf.
"But-" Dean tried but the veteran hunter shook his head.
"John's in his head, Dean," Bobby said, "He spent a great many months with someone he thought hated him, who was hurting him before being told that it wasn't really John."
Dean stared down at his lap, suddenly ashamed of his misgivings.
"I'm… I'm just so scared that it's not true, Bobby," Dean whispered, "I'm just so scared that there wasn't any spirit and it was… was all Dad… I'm afraid that he just snapped when I left."
The older man laid a hand on Dean's shoulder comfortingly.
"I know that John loved you boys and the last thing he wanted was to see you get hurt," Bobby murmured.
Dean sniffed and then swiped a hand across his eyes, embarrassed.
Clearing his throat, Dean tried to maintain at least some of his dignity. He stood up and stretched.
"What's for lunch?" he asked with a cocky grin.
Bobby rolled his eyes, "We just had breakfast!"
"I know but I'm starving," Dean complained, "I'm a growing boy."
Bobby chuckled and smacked Dean's stomach with the back of his hand playfully.
"I can see that," he joked.
Dean dodged out of the hunter's reach and pranced into the kitchen.
"I took out a package of hotdogs," Bobby called, "They're thawing in the sink."
"Mmmm nothing better than hooves and snouts," Dean rubbed his belly comically and Bobby huffed in exasperation.
What am I going to do with that boy? Bobby wondered with humour as Dean grabbed a box of cookies from the pantry and began munching away on them.
Author's Note:
1. Chapter title comes from a song of the same name by the Hoosiers.
2. Thanks to L.A.H.H, DianaLadris802, Samstruck, sarah, SPN Mum, LeighAnnWallace, CeCe Away, BranchSuper and Guest for reviewing.
3. Thanks to everyone who alerted/favourited/followed.
4. Please leave a review!