![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apocalypsosTitle: Tomorrow We'll Go To The Fair
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,500 words
Spoilers: "Devil's Trap"
Pairing: None (Gen)
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, wheeee!
Summary: What Sammy wants, it seems, is just peace and quiet and Mommy and Daddy and Dean. That's all.
Author's note: So I was thinking about what Rose's mother said about her acting like she could read people's thoughts, and wondered about that in relation to baby Sam. I blame![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
poisontaster, because she mentioned the mobile in the pilot and ... well, I dwelled. ;)
*****
Tomorrow We'll Go To The Fair
*****
When Sammy Winchester comes home from the hospital for the very first time, everyone says he's the calmest damn baby they've ever seen in their lives. Sammy coos and cuddles, snuggles to you when you hold him and settles into your embrace like he intends to stay there, and he barely ever complains unless he absolutely has to. Dean's cries were never less than anguished wails of complaint but Sammy's are bold short statements.
I'm hungry, I'm wet, pick me up, put me down.
Some days, Mary wonders if that's something of John coming out in Sammy, if barking orders and expecting them to be followed is just another trait to be passed on. Sammy might be tranquil and sweet and never happier than when he's in someone's cradled arms, but he also knows damn well what he wants.
What he wants, it seems, is just peace and quiet and Mommy and Daddy and Dean. That's all.
*****
The first time Mary carries her newborn son into the nursery, he doesn't stop crying for two straight hours and screams even louder when she's not holding him.
*****
There's no such thing as a parent choosing favorites but Mary supposes there is such a thing as choosing mine now that Sammy is here to teach her the difference.
She loves her boys, loves them both so much her arms ache to sweep them into a hug whenever she sees them. But Dean is so full of her she sometimes feels like she's missing an arm or a leg when she sees it, as if something had to be taken from her to make him. He grins and charms, he jokes and giggles, he draws the good humor from John if he has to lasso a rope around it and drag it out of his father like a resistant bucking colt.
But Sammy ... well, Sammy.
"Was I even involved in this kid's conception?" she teases when John comes home one night. "I remember something about it, but I can't really tell."
John leans over her with a chuckle and strokes a finger along Sammy's rounded cheek, and Sammy sighs as he snuggles deeper into her arms. Just fed and long tired, the both of them, and Mary feels like she's swimming in their even stoic calm, like she's dived underneath to learn how to breathe through it.
"Well, I don't know," John says, his tone of voice dry enough to start wildfires. "Maybe I shouldn't have had that candlelit dinner with the mailman."
"Yeah, I'll just bet."
Mary laughs then, quiet but ringing like Christmas bells just the same, and then John laughs and Sammy sighs again in her arms and the two of them look so alike in that moment that Mary can barely breathe.
*****
Mary's mother bought Sammy this toy that he loves, this arch that dangles bright and pretty distractions over his head, a portable mobile of sorts. He waves his chubby fingers at the baubles hanging above him, lying on his back underneath it with a huge gummy grin as he swats playfully at the air.
Mary comes into the living room one day to find Sammy waving at one of the toys overhead, a tiny stuffed elephant that swings around and around the little archway on a string.
"Look, Mommy," Dean says, on his knees next to Sammy and giggling like crazy. "Sammy's giving the elephant an underdog!"
And it looks that way, too, Mary thinks, like the elephant's on a swing in the playground and someone's pushed it hard enough to send it flying all the way around even if no one's touching it.
Mary rumples Dean's hair and grins along with him. It's easier to ignore the raised hairs on the back of her neck than she thinks.
*****
When Dean used to wake up in the middle of the night, it was always for a damn good reason, because of a loud storm or a full diaper or an empty stomach.
Mary never thought babies could even have bad dreams until Sammy cried for her in the night, until she figured out that she could change him and feed him and croon to him in a sweet soft voice but the only thing that calmed him at night was to grasp at her with tiny desperate hands as if he just needed to make sure she was stil there.
One night a week before Halloween, Sammy wails and won't stop, not when John picks him up, not even when a sleepy-eyed Dean shuffles into the nursery to see what the fuss is about and waves his fingers in his little brother's line of sight.
Only for her does he quiet. Only in her arms does he finally rest.
*****
Every once in a while, Sammy's bottle rolls away while she's preparing it like it's on a mission. She'll turn her back to answer the phone or the front door and when she comes back, it'll be just that much closer to the baby.
A few days before Halloween, she comes back from getting the mail to find it inches from his hands as if it rolled all the way across the kitchen floor and into the living room specifically to get to him. Sammy babbles contentedly as he grabs for it, tiny arms extended like he's coaxing over a puppy to pet it.
Mary tells John she thinks the house is haunted the way things move like they do sometimes, and the two of them laugh about it like it isn't a ridiculous thing to propose.
*****
Dean decides he wants to be a fireman for Halloween so Mary trails after him with the stroller while he bounds from door to door. The other kids might be wary of strangers but not her Dean, who races up to every door with a plastic fireman's helmet tilting on his head above a beaming smile with a bright orange pumpkin brimming with candy dangling from his side.
"Trickortreatsmellmyfeetgivemesomethinggoodtoeat," he says in one long enthusiastic breath for the first six houses, until Mary has to make him shorten it or die laughing before they even leave the block.
Sammy rides along in style, perfectly composed as always as he stares up at her from the stroller. The smile is gone, though, his usual gummy grin replaced with something knowing and expectant. When he tilts his head back to see her, Mary feels like he wants to ask her when the next bus is coming or how long it is until Christmas.
"Dean, don't run too far ahead," she calls out, but in the bustle of other children crowding the sidewalks she can't even see him at the moment.
She calls his name again, loud enough to sound as a warning, and then she spots him, about to dart into the road to cross the street and too far ahead to do anything about it.
Ice clutches at her heart. She doesn't see the car coming but she doesn't really have to see it to know it's there.
And that's when Sammy shrieks, screams so sharp and piercing her ears hurt just hearing it. The costumed kids walking past her and the stroller shrink away at the sound, and parents give her looks like they think she's done something awful to get him to make that noise. He won't stop making it, either, won't stop screeching like an unholy siren unleashed.
Up ahead, Dean freezes before he can run into the road, and when the car whips past him, he doesn't even notice because he's too busy running back to Sammy.
"Mommy, what's wrong with Sammy?" he asks.
He steps up to the stroller, peering inside with his helmet slipping down over his mussed hair, and Sammy stops wailing immediately. He looks up at his big brother as his cries cut off and grabs at Dean's hands as Dean tickles at his chin to get him to calm down.
Mary's hands feel weighted and useless like she isn't sure who to hug, which son to grab onto, which part of this whole night is setting her so ill at ease.
*****
When Mary takes the boys home, she doesn't tell John about the car or Sammy's cries or the relief that washes over her like a warm waterfall.
She tucks Dean into bed and smooths her hand over Sammy's rounded tummy as she puts him in his crib. She sifts through Dean's candy with John, tossing out anything suspicious and eating all the Mary Janes. She splashes water on her face twice because her body can't decide whether or not to cry and she wishes it would just make up its damn mind.
For the first night in a week, Sammy doesn't wake up screaming for her, and Mary hopes that's a good sign.
Author: Troll Princess
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,500 words
Spoilers: "Devil's Trap"
Pairing: None (Gen)
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Not mine, not mine, wheeee!
Summary: What Sammy wants, it seems, is just peace and quiet and Mommy and Daddy and Dean. That's all.
Author's note: So I was thinking about what Rose's mother said about her acting like she could read people's thoughts, and wondered about that in relation to baby Sam. I blame
poisontaster, because she mentioned the mobile in the pilot and ... well, I dwelled. ;)Tomorrow We'll Go To The Fair
*****
When Sammy Winchester comes home from the hospital for the very first time, everyone says he's the calmest damn baby they've ever seen in their lives. Sammy coos and cuddles, snuggles to you when you hold him and settles into your embrace like he intends to stay there, and he barely ever complains unless he absolutely has to. Dean's cries were never less than anguished wails of complaint but Sammy's are bold short statements.
I'm hungry, I'm wet, pick me up, put me down.
Some days, Mary wonders if that's something of John coming out in Sammy, if barking orders and expecting them to be followed is just another trait to be passed on. Sammy might be tranquil and sweet and never happier than when he's in someone's cradled arms, but he also knows damn well what he wants.
What he wants, it seems, is just peace and quiet and Mommy and Daddy and Dean. That's all.
The first time Mary carries her newborn son into the nursery, he doesn't stop crying for two straight hours and screams even louder when she's not holding him.
There's no such thing as a parent choosing favorites but Mary supposes there is such a thing as choosing mine now that Sammy is here to teach her the difference.
She loves her boys, loves them both so much her arms ache to sweep them into a hug whenever she sees them. But Dean is so full of her she sometimes feels like she's missing an arm or a leg when she sees it, as if something had to be taken from her to make him. He grins and charms, he jokes and giggles, he draws the good humor from John if he has to lasso a rope around it and drag it out of his father like a resistant bucking colt.
But Sammy ... well, Sammy.
"Was I even involved in this kid's conception?" she teases when John comes home one night. "I remember something about it, but I can't really tell."
John leans over her with a chuckle and strokes a finger along Sammy's rounded cheek, and Sammy sighs as he snuggles deeper into her arms. Just fed and long tired, the both of them, and Mary feels like she's swimming in their even stoic calm, like she's dived underneath to learn how to breathe through it.
"Well, I don't know," John says, his tone of voice dry enough to start wildfires. "Maybe I shouldn't have had that candlelit dinner with the mailman."
"Yeah, I'll just bet."
Mary laughs then, quiet but ringing like Christmas bells just the same, and then John laughs and Sammy sighs again in her arms and the two of them look so alike in that moment that Mary can barely breathe.
Mary's mother bought Sammy this toy that he loves, this arch that dangles bright and pretty distractions over his head, a portable mobile of sorts. He waves his chubby fingers at the baubles hanging above him, lying on his back underneath it with a huge gummy grin as he swats playfully at the air.
Mary comes into the living room one day to find Sammy waving at one of the toys overhead, a tiny stuffed elephant that swings around and around the little archway on a string.
"Look, Mommy," Dean says, on his knees next to Sammy and giggling like crazy. "Sammy's giving the elephant an underdog!"
And it looks that way, too, Mary thinks, like the elephant's on a swing in the playground and someone's pushed it hard enough to send it flying all the way around even if no one's touching it.
Mary rumples Dean's hair and grins along with him. It's easier to ignore the raised hairs on the back of her neck than she thinks.
When Dean used to wake up in the middle of the night, it was always for a damn good reason, because of a loud storm or a full diaper or an empty stomach.
Mary never thought babies could even have bad dreams until Sammy cried for her in the night, until she figured out that she could change him and feed him and croon to him in a sweet soft voice but the only thing that calmed him at night was to grasp at her with tiny desperate hands as if he just needed to make sure she was stil there.
One night a week before Halloween, Sammy wails and won't stop, not when John picks him up, not even when a sleepy-eyed Dean shuffles into the nursery to see what the fuss is about and waves his fingers in his little brother's line of sight.
Only for her does he quiet. Only in her arms does he finally rest.
Every once in a while, Sammy's bottle rolls away while she's preparing it like it's on a mission. She'll turn her back to answer the phone or the front door and when she comes back, it'll be just that much closer to the baby.
A few days before Halloween, she comes back from getting the mail to find it inches from his hands as if it rolled all the way across the kitchen floor and into the living room specifically to get to him. Sammy babbles contentedly as he grabs for it, tiny arms extended like he's coaxing over a puppy to pet it.
Mary tells John she thinks the house is haunted the way things move like they do sometimes, and the two of them laugh about it like it isn't a ridiculous thing to propose.
Dean decides he wants to be a fireman for Halloween so Mary trails after him with the stroller while he bounds from door to door. The other kids might be wary of strangers but not her Dean, who races up to every door with a plastic fireman's helmet tilting on his head above a beaming smile with a bright orange pumpkin brimming with candy dangling from his side.
"Trickortreatsmellmyfeetgivemesomethinggoodtoeat," he says in one long enthusiastic breath for the first six houses, until Mary has to make him shorten it or die laughing before they even leave the block.
Sammy rides along in style, perfectly composed as always as he stares up at her from the stroller. The smile is gone, though, his usual gummy grin replaced with something knowing and expectant. When he tilts his head back to see her, Mary feels like he wants to ask her when the next bus is coming or how long it is until Christmas.
"Dean, don't run too far ahead," she calls out, but in the bustle of other children crowding the sidewalks she can't even see him at the moment.
She calls his name again, loud enough to sound as a warning, and then she spots him, about to dart into the road to cross the street and too far ahead to do anything about it.
Ice clutches at her heart. She doesn't see the car coming but she doesn't really have to see it to know it's there.
And that's when Sammy shrieks, screams so sharp and piercing her ears hurt just hearing it. The costumed kids walking past her and the stroller shrink away at the sound, and parents give her looks like they think she's done something awful to get him to make that noise. He won't stop making it, either, won't stop screeching like an unholy siren unleashed.
Up ahead, Dean freezes before he can run into the road, and when the car whips past him, he doesn't even notice because he's too busy running back to Sammy.
"Mommy, what's wrong with Sammy?" he asks.
He steps up to the stroller, peering inside with his helmet slipping down over his mussed hair, and Sammy stops wailing immediately. He looks up at his big brother as his cries cut off and grabs at Dean's hands as Dean tickles at his chin to get him to calm down.
Mary's hands feel weighted and useless like she isn't sure who to hug, which son to grab onto, which part of this whole night is setting her so ill at ease.
When Mary takes the boys home, she doesn't tell John about the car or Sammy's cries or the relief that washes over her like a warm waterfall.
She tucks Dean into bed and smooths her hand over Sammy's rounded tummy as she puts him in his crib. She sifts through Dean's candy with John, tossing out anything suspicious and eating all the Mary Janes. She splashes water on her face twice because her body can't decide whether or not to cry and she wishes it would just make up its damn mind.
For the first night in a week, Sammy doesn't wake up screaming for her, and Mary hopes that's a good sign.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 08:27 pm (UTC)Everything. This is just gorgeous and haunting and lovely.
Thanks.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 08:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 08:55 pm (UTC)I found my stomach clenching because I know what happened a couple of days after Halloween. Still I loved seeing this glimpse into their lives and what a great portrayal of Mary!
Thanks so much for sharing this.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 08:58 pm (UTC)Halloween. Really not a good night for the Winchesters, is it?
Plus. Dean as a wee!fireman for Halloween? Too adorable for words.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 09:04 pm (UTC)Love the little things, and how Mary feels how different he is but can't say why or how, just...different.
Lovely stuff.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 09:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 09:13 pm (UTC)This was just so good. Heartbreaking, perfect and sweet. You really got a feel for Mary and I like that you had Sam still being Sam...even as an infant.
Very, very good.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 09:13 pm (UTC)it's got so much feeling, so much depth, so much style, and I ... really can't say anything else without embarrassing myself more than I have.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 09:19 pm (UTC)Awesome job. Great little fic. :)
no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 09:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 09:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 09:53 pm (UTC)Also love that Sam is full of John and Dean of Mary. So much love.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 10:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-10 11:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-11 12:42 am (UTC)very cool stuff. :)
no subject
Date: 2006-06-11 12:58 am (UTC)Oh god. Yes. I had been hoping for just exactly this kind of fic and you make it eerie and ominous in a perfect way. Well done.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-11 04:39 am (UTC)And I love Dean being full of Mary, and Sam being full of John, and the mailman. Nice.
no subject
Date: 2006-06-11 07:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-11 11:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-11 01:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-11 04:52 pm (UTC)Re: Tomorrow we'll go to the fair
Date: 2006-06-12 06:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-12 10:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-12 01:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-13 05:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-15 11:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-01 07:33 am (UTC)Oh God, the irony. It hurts.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-08 07:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-28 09:46 pm (UTC)Lovely little story hon'.
My co-writer and peep
no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 08:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-08 08:04 pm (UTC)Interesting idea that Sammy started having premonition dreams at like 5 months old. Makes sense tho.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-27 11:40 pm (UTC)It's cute when Sammy looks out for his big brother.
Wonder if it'll be revealed Dean has some type of power himself later on...
no subject
Date: 2008-01-06 04:05 am (UTC)Tomorrow We'll Go To The Fair
Date: 2008-01-08 11:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-06 02:01 am (UTC)