BrotherGrimm Chapter Two
2010-09-08 19:49![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mekachu04SUPERNATURAL FANFIC
BrotherGrimm
Genre: Alternate Reality, hurt comfort
Rating: PG-13.. maybe R for safety.
Pairing: John/Mary
Disclaimer: i stole this idea from a kink meme (kinda....) so i can only lay claim to how it plays out. nothing else is mine.
Warnings: PLEASE SEE MASTER POST FOR ALL WARNINGS BEFORE READING!!!
Chapter Two
When Sam was six, just shy of seven, there was talk about holding him back the next year. Them moving last month had messed him up - and the new school was a lot farther along than his last one had been. Dad had been sorry, and had worked things out with his teachers to cut him some slack. Really, Dad had said, It's just letters. They surround every part of Sam's life - he'll figure it out quick enough - he's a smart kid.
Sam ploughed on ahead, determined to read and write just as well as the other children. He was going to learn this. He'd show them that Dad was right. That Sam was smart, and he'd figure it out. When Dad was around, it ended up being okay, becuase Dad was great at teaching, and patiently read off the words so Sam could write them out, working out the correct spellings. But then Dad had to go away for a couple days for a job - "I'll be back by the time you get home for school on Monday, Sammy. Behave for Mom." - and Sam found himself at the kitchen table Friday night - staring at his word list, worrying on his lip.
"Mommy?"
She looked over from here she stood by the stove, stirring the mac-n-cheese, and looking at him questioningly.
"I need he~lp..." he whined, pouting as he waved his word list at her. She looked uncertain, but came over, taking the leaf from him, and looking at it blankly for a few minutes. With a knot forming in his stomach - Sam could read her face with starling clarity - could see the complete lack of understanding written in ever line of his mother's soft features.
She looked back at him then, apologetically. She shook her head, and shrugged, handing the paper back to Sam. He pouted back, slumping down, "Okay... Fine." he said, jerking the page out of her hand, and working though it on his own - cold shoulder to her the rest of the way though dinner
Mom let him have ice cream after dinner though - her way of apologising - and Sam felt bad for how he'd acted while the ate, so he sat on the dryer as she did cloths, and shared his ice cream, and told her he was sorry.
She just grinned, and ruffled his hair, and did their laundry. Sam even helped her fold.
He didn't think about it again - not for a couple years. Just made a point to work through what he could, and then wait for Dad to get home . Not until he was ten, and had to look up one of the words that was in one of the more advanced books the Librarian had gotten him from the Middle School.
Illiterate.
The word burned just thinking about it, and he wanted nothing more than to go to his mother, and demand that she tell him it wasn't true. But he could see it now in his mind - could see the total lack of comprehension any time she was faced with any bit of written work.
He'd gone downstairs - and sat at the table, not saying a thing. Dad raised an eyebrow, but since Sam offered no words - he said nothing in return. Sam just sat there, staring at his mother as she and Dad cleaned the guns, as she helped Dad get ready for his next hunt.
He knew his mother was smart - she had an awesome handle on numbers - as Sam'd found out earlier that year. He'd been working on fractions, homework spread out over the motel couch, and had made an angry noise when he checked his numbers with the answers in the back. He'd done this problem three times now, and it still didn't match. He'd been at the point of throwing the book across the room when his mom moved to lean again the door frame to the bedroom, folding a pair of pants, looking at him questioningly.
"Just... Can't figure out this problem...." He hated how pitiful he sounded right then, hated that he was pouting at the moment. His mother just smiled, and set the jeans down, moving to stand over the back of the couch, nodding for him to continue.
"It's... " he frowned, looking down at his paper, reading the problem off. Sam played with the pencil for a moment, "It's an extra-credit problem, but I really need the points after last week. I mean - I'm still passing, it's just, I really - "
His mother just grinned, and shook her head, and Sam grinned awkwardly. "I know.. I know... Sorry." Dad told him over and over 'It's just grades' but Sam liked school, he liked learning, and wanted to do well.
His mother raised an eyebrow, gave him a questioning look. Sam looked at what he'd just written, scrutinizing the numbers. "What?" he asks her, not seeing anything wrong.She looked like she was running the problem over in her head, and then the nod was more pronounced. "What?" he asked her again.
She's biting her lip, concentrating on the numbers, before pointing to one of the lines on the paper. He reads it out again, and she points to the next line. He sees it then - "Oh! Oh, I forgot the minus!" and he looked up at his mother, beeming back when she nodded. She agreed. He could of smacked himself - missing something so simple like that.
Sam finished the problem, moving on to the next as his mother returned to laundry. He was packing the book and pages up when he got an idea. He watched his mother take the folded clothes away, putting them in the appropriate duffles. "Hey.. Hey, Mom?"
She peeked out from her and Dad's room, face open and waiting. Sam glanced at his finished assignment. She came over, curious and maybe a little worried. Sam set his page out on the table, smoothing out the edges. "If I... " he swalled thickly, before starting up again, "I'm gonna read these out loud - can you make sure they sound right to you?"
Sam knew they where right - he didn't need her to agree, but he noticed the softness in her face when she thought over the answers; noticed the warmth in her eyes when she came to agreement with his answers. Sam's heart swelled when he saw that brightness in her - that cleverness come to life in a way he'd never seen. He'd clung to that - day after day - to the point that, by month's end, he was running home to squeeze in his math homework before Dad got home from work, or from the library.
So that Christmas break found them spread out in the kitchen, Sam working though one of the seventh grade math books Ms. Rowcliffe had gotten him. He read each chapter out loud, working though each lesson three or five times a day, one lesson a day. They took breaks after each lesson, and worked though his mother's chores together, finishing them in record time. By the time Dad got home, the books where away, and their motel was sparkling, and Sam's mother spirit was blinding and she moved around their small home as though there was nothing in the dark corners that could ever touch her again.
And now - a few days shy of the new year - that word glared back at him from the dictionary pages.
Freaking Illiterate!
He waited for Dad to leave for his newest hunt -"Just a couple days, Sammy. Gotta get it before the new year, or we'll have to come back next year to try again" - before dragging out a notebook, and sitting him mom firmly down at the table.
He drug the chair next to her, and picked up a pen, carefully writing out an 'A' - large enough to span the first two lines of the page. His mom looked at it like it was going to jump off the page an attack her, and same, took her hand, and put the pen in it.
"That's the letter 'A' " he declared, motioning for her to try. He didn't get it though, when his mom dropped the pen down like it burned, frantically shaking her head back and forth, her own version of the 'no,no,no,no' tantrum he still occasionally threw.
"What? What?"
She just looked at him - white faced and terrified, before getting up and locking herself in her and Dad's room. Sam waited a long quiet moment, before standing outside the door. "Mom?"
Nothing, but he could hear his mom on the other side - quick and rapid breaths. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."
He sat down at the door base. "I won't do it again. We can do some thing else."
Mom's head hit the door with a disgruntled thud.
Sam snickered. "T"
Her could feel her looking at him oddly though the wood. He hit the door back, two solid hits - "That's 'M'. It's in both our names. *M*o*m* and Sa*m*." he was quiet for a moment, "And *M*ary too." he whispered, feeling weird with using her name.
She shifted, before hitting back, two solid thuds. Sammy grinned. "Ya, and this -" he tapped three times, lightly, "that's 'S' like *S*am, and S.O.S."
It's like a game, Sam just wished he could remembers more of the old code. Tap, Thud. "That's 'A'."
The air is let out again, house tense. Mom doesn't repeat it, likely remembering the notebook in the dinning room. Sam just ignored it, and tapped out his name. "See that's my name. S. A. M. I .. I can't remember 'O' though, but i'll look it up later.
"It's like a secret code we can use, " Sam beams at the door. "It'll be our secret!"
Dad's hunt takes four days longer than he told them it would. His face had tightened when he'd walked in, the lines of his being turning sharp and hard, his aura dark and quiet. "Bad hunt." he mutterers, before grabbing Mom's arm, and dragging them into their room. Sam spent that spring night listening to the sounds of his mother's fear, her pain and of her tears. Spent those cold days that followed trapped in the back seat of the Impala, speeding to a new place, a new school, and watching bruises fade - if only from immediate sight.
Sam ploughed on ahead, determined to read and write just as well as the other children. He was going to learn this. He'd show them that Dad was right. That Sam was smart, and he'd figure it out. When Dad was around, it ended up being okay, becuase Dad was great at teaching, and patiently read off the words so Sam could write them out, working out the correct spellings. But then Dad had to go away for a couple days for a job - "I'll be back by the time you get home for school on Monday, Sammy. Behave for Mom." - and Sam found himself at the kitchen table Friday night - staring at his word list, worrying on his lip.
"Mommy?"
She looked over from here she stood by the stove, stirring the mac-n-cheese, and looking at him questioningly.
"I need he~lp..." he whined, pouting as he waved his word list at her. She looked uncertain, but came over, taking the leaf from him, and looking at it blankly for a few minutes. With a knot forming in his stomach - Sam could read her face with starling clarity - could see the complete lack of understanding written in ever line of his mother's soft features.
She looked back at him then, apologetically. She shook her head, and shrugged, handing the paper back to Sam. He pouted back, slumping down, "Okay... Fine." he said, jerking the page out of her hand, and working though it on his own - cold shoulder to her the rest of the way though dinner
Mom let him have ice cream after dinner though - her way of apologising - and Sam felt bad for how he'd acted while the ate, so he sat on the dryer as she did cloths, and shared his ice cream, and told her he was sorry.
She just grinned, and ruffled his hair, and did their laundry. Sam even helped her fold.
He didn't think about it again - not for a couple years. Just made a point to work through what he could, and then wait for Dad to get home . Not until he was ten, and had to look up one of the words that was in one of the more advanced books the Librarian had gotten him from the Middle School.
Illiterate.
The word burned just thinking about it, and he wanted nothing more than to go to his mother, and demand that she tell him it wasn't true. But he could see it now in his mind - could see the total lack of comprehension any time she was faced with any bit of written work.
He'd gone downstairs - and sat at the table, not saying a thing. Dad raised an eyebrow, but since Sam offered no words - he said nothing in return. Sam just sat there, staring at his mother as she and Dad cleaned the guns, as she helped Dad get ready for his next hunt.
He knew his mother was smart - she had an awesome handle on numbers - as Sam'd found out earlier that year. He'd been working on fractions, homework spread out over the motel couch, and had made an angry noise when he checked his numbers with the answers in the back. He'd done this problem three times now, and it still didn't match. He'd been at the point of throwing the book across the room when his mom moved to lean again the door frame to the bedroom, folding a pair of pants, looking at him questioningly.
"Just... Can't figure out this problem...." He hated how pitiful he sounded right then, hated that he was pouting at the moment. His mother just smiled, and set the jeans down, moving to stand over the back of the couch, nodding for him to continue.
"It's... " he frowned, looking down at his paper, reading the problem off. Sam played with the pencil for a moment, "It's an extra-credit problem, but I really need the points after last week. I mean - I'm still passing, it's just, I really - "
His mother just grinned, and shook her head, and Sam grinned awkwardly. "I know.. I know... Sorry." Dad told him over and over 'It's just grades' but Sam liked school, he liked learning, and wanted to do well.
His mother raised an eyebrow, gave him a questioning look. Sam looked at what he'd just written, scrutinizing the numbers. "What?" he asks her, not seeing anything wrong.She looked like she was running the problem over in her head, and then the nod was more pronounced. "What?" he asked her again.
She's biting her lip, concentrating on the numbers, before pointing to one of the lines on the paper. He reads it out again, and she points to the next line. He sees it then - "Oh! Oh, I forgot the minus!" and he looked up at his mother, beeming back when she nodded. She agreed. He could of smacked himself - missing something so simple like that.
Sam finished the problem, moving on to the next as his mother returned to laundry. He was packing the book and pages up when he got an idea. He watched his mother take the folded clothes away, putting them in the appropriate duffles. "Hey.. Hey, Mom?"
She peeked out from her and Dad's room, face open and waiting. Sam glanced at his finished assignment. She came over, curious and maybe a little worried. Sam set his page out on the table, smoothing out the edges. "If I... " he swalled thickly, before starting up again, "I'm gonna read these out loud - can you make sure they sound right to you?"
Sam knew they where right - he didn't need her to agree, but he noticed the softness in her face when she thought over the answers; noticed the warmth in her eyes when she came to agreement with his answers. Sam's heart swelled when he saw that brightness in her - that cleverness come to life in a way he'd never seen. He'd clung to that - day after day - to the point that, by month's end, he was running home to squeeze in his math homework before Dad got home from work, or from the library.
So that Christmas break found them spread out in the kitchen, Sam working though one of the seventh grade math books Ms. Rowcliffe had gotten him. He read each chapter out loud, working though each lesson three or five times a day, one lesson a day. They took breaks after each lesson, and worked though his mother's chores together, finishing them in record time. By the time Dad got home, the books where away, and their motel was sparkling, and Sam's mother spirit was blinding and she moved around their small home as though there was nothing in the dark corners that could ever touch her again.
And now - a few days shy of the new year - that word glared back at him from the dictionary pages.
Freaking Illiterate!
He waited for Dad to leave for his newest hunt -"Just a couple days, Sammy. Gotta get it before the new year, or we'll have to come back next year to try again" - before dragging out a notebook, and sitting him mom firmly down at the table.
He drug the chair next to her, and picked up a pen, carefully writing out an 'A' - large enough to span the first two lines of the page. His mom looked at it like it was going to jump off the page an attack her, and same, took her hand, and put the pen in it.
"That's the letter 'A' " he declared, motioning for her to try. He didn't get it though, when his mom dropped the pen down like it burned, frantically shaking her head back and forth, her own version of the 'no,no,no,no' tantrum he still occasionally threw.
"What? What?"
She just looked at him - white faced and terrified, before getting up and locking herself in her and Dad's room. Sam waited a long quiet moment, before standing outside the door. "Mom?"
Nothing, but he could hear his mom on the other side - quick and rapid breaths. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."
He sat down at the door base. "I won't do it again. We can do some thing else."
Mom's head hit the door with a disgruntled thud.
Sam snickered. "T"
Her could feel her looking at him oddly though the wood. He hit the door back, two solid hits - "That's 'M'. It's in both our names. *M*o*m* and Sa*m*." he was quiet for a moment, "And *M*ary too." he whispered, feeling weird with using her name.
She shifted, before hitting back, two solid thuds. Sammy grinned. "Ya, and this -" he tapped three times, lightly, "that's 'S' like *S*am, and S.O.S."
It's like a game, Sam just wished he could remembers more of the old code. Tap, Thud. "That's 'A'."
The air is let out again, house tense. Mom doesn't repeat it, likely remembering the notebook in the dinning room. Sam just ignored it, and tapped out his name. "See that's my name. S. A. M. I .. I can't remember 'O' though, but i'll look it up later.
"It's like a secret code we can use, " Sam beams at the door. "It'll be our secret!"
Dad's hunt takes four days longer than he told them it would. His face had tightened when he'd walked in, the lines of his being turning sharp and hard, his aura dark and quiet. "Bad hunt." he mutterers, before grabbing Mom's arm, and dragging them into their room. Sam spent that spring night listening to the sounds of his mother's fear, her pain and of her tears. Spent those cold days that followed trapped in the back seat of the Impala, speeding to a new place, a new school, and watching bruises fade - if only from immediate sight.
