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beansideFinally finished my ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_flashback fic! It's not what i'd planned on, but hopefully, it works. *nod*
Title: Not That Life
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
beanside
Rating: PG
Pairing (if any) Gen:
Prompt: # 21. Dean helps Sam with his homework, or, John helps Dean with his homework.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, sadly. That's all Kripke and CW, I'm afraid.
Word Count:1195
John glanced up from the paper as Dean shuffled in, noting the downcast eyes, the mulish set to his son’s mouth. It was a look he saw from Sam fairly regularly, but hardly ever from his oldest. He didn’t quite know what to do with it from Dean. “What’s going on?” he asked, keeping his voice soft, neutral.
“My teacher is a pain in the ass,” Dean muttered.
“Language,” John warned.
Dean nodded, glancing down.
“What does she want this time?” John asked after a few moments, when it became obvious that Dean wasn’t going to offer any more information.
“We’re doing American history,” Dean said. “And she wanted us to interview someone we knew who had lived through World War 2. I told her that my grandparents were dead, and that we’d just moved so I didn’t know anyone. I tried, Dad.”
“And what did she say?” John asked.
“That I should interview you, since you were in Vietnam.”
“Ah.” John nodded.
Dean was quiet for a second, and John waited. “It’s not fair! We haven’t even gotten to Vietnam, I don’t have a clue what to ask you, and I told her you’re too busy for shi—crap like this.”
John rubbed his hand over his stubble, conveniently hiding the smile that threatened. Dean was so damned indignant. “Okay,” he murmured. “First thing, is to get you up to speed on Vietnam. We’ll hit the public library-“
Dean shook his head. “I tried that. Was going to make up something. There really aren’t any books on it. Eight hundred of them on the Civil War, but I don’t think I could convince my teacher that you fought in it.”
John smiled wryly. “Nah.”
“I don’t get that,” Dean muttered.
“What?”
“The whole Civil War thing. I mean, c’mon. They were on the wrong side, but they act like it’s the best thing ever. We spent nearly three months on it in school. Longer than we’re spending on the rest of the wars combined. Reenactments, and monuments, and all that shi—crap,” Dean amended. “Like they weren’t keeping humans as property.”
Sometimes, John forgot how utterly good Dean was. It floored him now and then, that with the years of hunting, having so much responsibility thrown at him, Dean had grown up so well. No thanks to me, John added silently. “Technically, the Civil War was over industrialization.”
“Yeah, and why didn’t the South want to industrialize? Because they had slaves to do the work cheap,” Dean grumbled. “And they treat it like it was an odd little quirk in their history. I felt bad for the two black kids in my class during the unit. You could just see all the redneck inbreds staring at them like they missed the old days.”
John nodded. “The downside to being in the South, son. They don’t like to admit their mistakes. Hell, half these states still hold that the Native Americans had it coming.”
“It’s stupid. What we see—hell, they’re human. That’s all that should matter.”
John nodded. “I couldn’t agree with you more. So, Vietnam.”
“Yeah. I really didn’t want to bother you-“
“It’s okay, Dean. Get a pen and paper and sit down. I’ll tell you what I can.”
Sometimes, John thought later, he underestimated Dean’s intelligence. He knew he was a good hunter, probably some times, better than John himself. He had inherited John’s ability to see something once, and remember. Picking up patterns couldn’t be far behind.
He was treating John like a witness, carefully pulling out details and asking open ended questions that required John to elaborate.
It was a thing of beauty to behold.
Sam had long since gone to bed when Dean was finally satisfied. “Okay, I think that’ll do it. Thanks, Dad. I’m sorry if-“ He broke off on a wide yawn.
“Dean, it’s fine,” John muttered. “Stop worrying about it. I was just looking over some old research. Nothing that couldn’t wait.”
Dean nodded. “Okay.” He glanced at the clock. “Shi-Crap. Is it really that late? What did Sam eat for dinner?”
“He had the leftover mac and cheese with hotdogs. So did you,” John prompted.
Dean frowned, as though he was trying to remember that. “Oh. Yeah. Okay.”
“Go to bed, Dean.”
Dean nodded slowly and closed his notebook, stumbling to the bathroom. With a sigh, John stretched, picking up the notebook and getting ready to slip it into Dean’s bag. A slip of paper fell out, and he grabbed it without thinking.
“Stone Mountain High School Report Card,” he muttered. Now that he thought about it, Sam had brought home his last week, proudly waving a card filled with As and Bs. Dean had mumbled something about high school classes getting theirs later, and John had forgotten all about it.
Little bastard had probably forged his signature on it, so John didn’t have to hear about his grades.
He opened the paper, and felt something in his chest clench as he surveyed the row of neat letters. Well, technically, letter. One letter, repeated all the way down the card. A.
Fucking hell. Dean had made honor roll, and hadn’t mentioned it? And that was with the week and a half he’d missed after the poltergeist had cracked two ribs? His counselor had been requesting a meeting with John for the last two weeks. He’d assumed that Dean had been mouthing off, but now he was wondering.
“Night, D—are you looking through my stuff?”
“It fell out. Why didn’t you tell me you got straight As?”
Dean’s face flushed. “It’s not a big deal, dad. I’m in school with a bunch of jocks and inbreds.”
“Dean-“
“It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m going to college, so it’s no big deal. Okay?”
Well, that was more painful than John had expected. “Dean.”
“Dad, look. I do well, because it keeps the teachers off my back. Off our back. It’s not a big deal.” Dean shifted uncomfortably. “It’s more important to Sammy than me, honestly.”
And then, it all made sense. Sam had been upset about the two Bs, in Foreign Language Appreciation and Science, but Dean had soothed him by saying that he was sure he’d barely passed Spanish, and he was a loss at Math. ‘Don’t worry, Sammy. You’re still our geek boy,’ Dean had teased.
“Dean,” John tried again. “This-“
Dean took the report card from John and wadded it up, tossing it in the trash. “It’s nothing. Sam’s the geekboy of the family, not me.” He flashed John a slight smile. “Okay?”
After a long moment, John nodded. “Okay, son.” As Dean turned to head to bed, John stopped him with a light touch on his shoulder. “Dean?”
Dean glanced back nervously.
“I’m proud of you. For those Ds,” John added with a little smile.
Dean blushed a little, ducking his head and flashed John a grin as he shuffled to the room he and Sam shared.
Grin fading, John headed back into the kitchen and snagged the report card out of the trash, uncrumpling it, and slipping it in the back of his journal with all the other regrets.
spn_flashback fic! It's not what i'd planned on, but hopefully, it works. *nod*Title: Not That Life
Author:
beansideRating: PG
Pairing (if any) Gen:
Prompt: # 21. Dean helps Sam with his homework, or, John helps Dean with his homework.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, sadly. That's all Kripke and CW, I'm afraid.
Word Count:1195
John glanced up from the paper as Dean shuffled in, noting the downcast eyes, the mulish set to his son’s mouth. It was a look he saw from Sam fairly regularly, but hardly ever from his oldest. He didn’t quite know what to do with it from Dean. “What’s going on?” he asked, keeping his voice soft, neutral.
“My teacher is a pain in the ass,” Dean muttered.
“Language,” John warned.
Dean nodded, glancing down.
“What does she want this time?” John asked after a few moments, when it became obvious that Dean wasn’t going to offer any more information.
“We’re doing American history,” Dean said. “And she wanted us to interview someone we knew who had lived through World War 2. I told her that my grandparents were dead, and that we’d just moved so I didn’t know anyone. I tried, Dad.”
“And what did she say?” John asked.
“That I should interview you, since you were in Vietnam.”
“Ah.” John nodded.
Dean was quiet for a second, and John waited. “It’s not fair! We haven’t even gotten to Vietnam, I don’t have a clue what to ask you, and I told her you’re too busy for shi—crap like this.”
John rubbed his hand over his stubble, conveniently hiding the smile that threatened. Dean was so damned indignant. “Okay,” he murmured. “First thing, is to get you up to speed on Vietnam. We’ll hit the public library-“
Dean shook his head. “I tried that. Was going to make up something. There really aren’t any books on it. Eight hundred of them on the Civil War, but I don’t think I could convince my teacher that you fought in it.”
John smiled wryly. “Nah.”
“I don’t get that,” Dean muttered.
“What?”
“The whole Civil War thing. I mean, c’mon. They were on the wrong side, but they act like it’s the best thing ever. We spent nearly three months on it in school. Longer than we’re spending on the rest of the wars combined. Reenactments, and monuments, and all that shi—crap,” Dean amended. “Like they weren’t keeping humans as property.”
Sometimes, John forgot how utterly good Dean was. It floored him now and then, that with the years of hunting, having so much responsibility thrown at him, Dean had grown up so well. No thanks to me, John added silently. “Technically, the Civil War was over industrialization.”
“Yeah, and why didn’t the South want to industrialize? Because they had slaves to do the work cheap,” Dean grumbled. “And they treat it like it was an odd little quirk in their history. I felt bad for the two black kids in my class during the unit. You could just see all the redneck inbreds staring at them like they missed the old days.”
John nodded. “The downside to being in the South, son. They don’t like to admit their mistakes. Hell, half these states still hold that the Native Americans had it coming.”
“It’s stupid. What we see—hell, they’re human. That’s all that should matter.”
John nodded. “I couldn’t agree with you more. So, Vietnam.”
“Yeah. I really didn’t want to bother you-“
“It’s okay, Dean. Get a pen and paper and sit down. I’ll tell you what I can.”
Sometimes, John thought later, he underestimated Dean’s intelligence. He knew he was a good hunter, probably some times, better than John himself. He had inherited John’s ability to see something once, and remember. Picking up patterns couldn’t be far behind.
He was treating John like a witness, carefully pulling out details and asking open ended questions that required John to elaborate.
It was a thing of beauty to behold.
Sam had long since gone to bed when Dean was finally satisfied. “Okay, I think that’ll do it. Thanks, Dad. I’m sorry if-“ He broke off on a wide yawn.
“Dean, it’s fine,” John muttered. “Stop worrying about it. I was just looking over some old research. Nothing that couldn’t wait.”
Dean nodded. “Okay.” He glanced at the clock. “Shi-Crap. Is it really that late? What did Sam eat for dinner?”
“He had the leftover mac and cheese with hotdogs. So did you,” John prompted.
Dean frowned, as though he was trying to remember that. “Oh. Yeah. Okay.”
“Go to bed, Dean.”
Dean nodded slowly and closed his notebook, stumbling to the bathroom. With a sigh, John stretched, picking up the notebook and getting ready to slip it into Dean’s bag. A slip of paper fell out, and he grabbed it without thinking.
“Stone Mountain High School Report Card,” he muttered. Now that he thought about it, Sam had brought home his last week, proudly waving a card filled with As and Bs. Dean had mumbled something about high school classes getting theirs later, and John had forgotten all about it.
Little bastard had probably forged his signature on it, so John didn’t have to hear about his grades.
He opened the paper, and felt something in his chest clench as he surveyed the row of neat letters. Well, technically, letter. One letter, repeated all the way down the card. A.
Fucking hell. Dean had made honor roll, and hadn’t mentioned it? And that was with the week and a half he’d missed after the poltergeist had cracked two ribs? His counselor had been requesting a meeting with John for the last two weeks. He’d assumed that Dean had been mouthing off, but now he was wondering.
“Night, D—are you looking through my stuff?”
“It fell out. Why didn’t you tell me you got straight As?”
Dean’s face flushed. “It’s not a big deal, dad. I’m in school with a bunch of jocks and inbreds.”
“Dean-“
“It doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’m going to college, so it’s no big deal. Okay?”
Well, that was more painful than John had expected. “Dean.”
“Dad, look. I do well, because it keeps the teachers off my back. Off our back. It’s not a big deal.” Dean shifted uncomfortably. “It’s more important to Sammy than me, honestly.”
And then, it all made sense. Sam had been upset about the two Bs, in Foreign Language Appreciation and Science, but Dean had soothed him by saying that he was sure he’d barely passed Spanish, and he was a loss at Math. ‘Don’t worry, Sammy. You’re still our geek boy,’ Dean had teased.
“Dean,” John tried again. “This-“
Dean took the report card from John and wadded it up, tossing it in the trash. “It’s nothing. Sam’s the geekboy of the family, not me.” He flashed John a slight smile. “Okay?”
After a long moment, John nodded. “Okay, son.” As Dean turned to head to bed, John stopped him with a light touch on his shoulder. “Dean?”
Dean glanced back nervously.
“I’m proud of you. For those Ds,” John added with a little smile.
Dean blushed a little, ducking his head and flashed John a grin as he shuffled to the room he and Sam shared.
Grin fading, John headed back into the kitchen and snagged the report card out of the trash, uncrumpling it, and slipping it in the back of his journal with all the other regrets.
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no subject
Date: 2006-09-06 10:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-09 01:03 pm (UTC)I'm glad you liked it. And yeah, I can see Dean doing the "I hate this, but it's the only way to make sure no one gets on my ass about anything."