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peanutbutterandbananasandwichs · 2 months ago

Text

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64760905

Title: No Choir

Word count: 1,797

Sam/Amelia, Dean Junior, post-series, disabled sam, chronic fatigue, just Sam quietly living his life as best he can x

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“Sam?”

The voice drifted to him, light but edged with concern, as he came-to in the flowerbed he’d collapsed into. He shifted, stiff and slow, damp earth clinging to his palms as he tried to push himself upright. Too late. There was the sharp yap of Miracle, a blur of sandy fur hurtling toward him like a cannonball. She skidded to a halt just inches from his chest, tail wagging. Behind her, Amelia appeared, moving fast.

“Sam.” Her voice was more urgent this time, not angry. Just . . . tight. Worried.

She dropped to crouch beside him, one knee sinking into the soft ground, her eyes sweeping him, the same way she looked over an injured animal brought into her surgery, all quick assessments and quiet urgency.

She spoke his name again under her breath, mouth pressed into a tight line, frustration creasing her forehead and the lines around her eyes. He saw her try to suppress it as she lifted them to meet his.

“Hey,” he whispered, soft and contrite. His hand lifted, fingers brushing a loose curl from her face. They left a smudge of rich black soil on her cheekbone, and he almost apologised—but she didn’t flinch, didn’t seem to care.

“Hey,” he said again, even gentler. “I know. I’m a pain in the ass.”

Her breath caught in a half laugh. She leaned in, pressed a warm kiss to his forehead. Her lips lingered there for a moment, then: “You’re damn right you are.”

A low chuckle rumbled out of him, tension easing in them both. “Your bedside manner needs work.”

“I’m a vet, not a doctor,” she said, matter-of-fact, hand dropping to his elbow, steadying.

“So, you're saying your patients don’t usually talk back?”

“Not as a rule.” Her grip tightened, readying herself to help pull him to his feet. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.” Miracle nuzzled at his side in agreement.

Sam waved his free hand in the direction of the flower bed, Amelia’s gaze followed, landing on the small rose bush, half-set in the dirt.

“Was supposed to be a surprise.” He said, sheepishly.

“Oh”, her fingers slipped from his arm, reaching toward a little plastic label nestled under the bush. She flipped it over, brushing the dirt from its surface.

Renaissance Rose. Variety: Amelia.

She smiled to herself, that little crooked half smile they shared in common.

“I saw it in the garden centre last week. Went back for it while you took DJ to school yesterday.” Roses always made him think of her, prickly but sweet. Not that he'd ever explained it to her quite like that.

“You want me to . . .?”

He nodded. And she got to work getting the rose settled properly into place.

They kept talking as she pressed soil down around its base. The dog crawled into Sam’s lap as he slumped back against the stump of the old apple tree they'd cut down last fall. It had been a loss to all of them, but time and disease had taken its toll upon it. He tried not to think about that too much.

“How long were you out for?”

“Not sure, minute at the most I think.”

“Sam . . .”

“I know.”

Amelia stood, wiping off the dirt on her jeans, then bent down to offer him her hand, he took it and she let him lean against her for a moment, getting his bearings.

“Come-on.”

They stumbled back across the garden together, Miracle trotting at their feet, Amelia grumbling lightly that this would be much easier if he wasn't a giant. He should have brought the cane out with him, saved her the trouble. Sam's fingertips reflexively rubbed small, conciliatory circles into her shoulder. He was going to start using it more, Sally at the support group had shown him where she got her custom one with a dragon painted onto the shaft. Maybe he should get something like that, not a dragon, but something fun.

Riot, curled up in his favorite chair, was soaking up the last of the day's warmth. The sunlight had faded but the heat lingered, and Sam felt it, too, as his fingers ran through the soft fur on Riot’s head.

“I should be taking a page from your book, hey old man?”

Riot cracked one eye open, gave Sam a reproachful stare, that was most definitely in response to Sam waking him up, but he chose to think that maybe he was agreeing, he did need to learn to take it easier.

Sam lowered himself gingerly into the chair next to Riot, he was going to have a nasty bruise on his hip tomorrow. Not that that was exactly a new experience, although there was a level at which it was comforting to come by them by such relatively mundane means.

Amelia placed a hand on his shoulder. Sam reached up and squeezed her hand gently. For a minute, they just sat there in quiet, comfortable silence, the ambient hum of the old house around them. Eventually, she slipped her hand away, and turned to grab something out of a kitchen cupboard.

Before he could settle into the stillness, DJ came barreling into the room, his small legs carrying him full-speed until he screeched to a halt right in front of Sam’s chair. A soft toy turtle, his current obsession, was clenched tightly in his fist. He looked Sam up and down for a minute and said, in the blunt tone 5 year olds specialised in, “you're all dirty”, scrunching up his nose. He'd definitely picked up some of Sam's hangups.

“Yeah,” glancing down at the dirt caked on his hands, his jeans, his shirt, face mirroring that of his son's as he took in the mess properly for the first time himself. “It's alright, though, kiddo.” Kiddo. He often found himself referring to DJ that way. His father's voice echoing in his mind, a confusing mix of nostalgic comfort, and disquiet.

Sam rubbed his hands together to shake off the loose dirt, then extended them for DJ to inspect, holding his breath as the little hands turned his hands over several times, making sure.

“Better?” Sam asked when the inspection was done. DJ nodded solemnly, his expression as grave as a small child could muster.

Sam returned the nod, ruffling a hand through the kid’s hair. He should go wash them properly, and change his clothes. Funny how dirt never bothered him in the moment, be it gardening, or hunting, but the moment he was done and had a moment to really notice, his skin felt itchy with it.

The reflection in the bathroom mirror greeted him the same way it had for what now amounted to most of his life. Sometimes he thought he should avoid looking altogether, but he could never quite manage it. He kept locked eye contact with the figure in the mirror as he turned the tap and let freezing water rush over his hands. He could feel the two of them drifting slowly apart from one another, not that he was ever really instep with his body, but he held it well enough together, with sticky tape and safety pins, most of the time.

One of the reasons he struggled with this energy accounting thing he was supposed to be trying was that “listening to his body” took such a conscious effort. That, and the years (centuries) of practice at pushing through the kinds of pain most human beings couldn't even begin to imagine, hell, he couldn't even really comprehend it most days, not fully.

He dragged his eyes away from the mirror, there was still dirt under his fingernails, he grabbed the nail brush from the soap dish and scrubbed as hard as he could, some habits die hard.

When he returned to the kitchen, hands stinging but satisfactorily clean, fresh long sleeve jersey top, and jeans, there was a steaming hot mug of tea waiting for him at the table. Amelia was gone, probably upstairs getting ready for her out of hours shift at the surgery. DJ had set himself with a colouring book, focusing intensely on filling in something with a light blue crayon as neatly as he could, the flipper of the turtle had made it into his mouth and he was chewing on it absently. Sam smiled fondly.

He was about to sit back down when he spotted the note next to the mug.

“Eat something. Vet’s orders xx”

Sam chuckled. She'd stop finding that joke funny.

He grabbed a bag of salted peanuts from the cupboard and returned to the tea. Carefully tearing open the packet he fished out a single nut, looked at it suspiciously for a moment, then popped it in his mouth. It was disgustingly salty for his tastes, but he'd promised he'd try. He grabbed another, repeating the process. “It's a good thing you're not here right now”, he thought to himself, “you’d never let me live it down. See, I told you salt was good for you Sammy.”

He thought about what Dean would have made of his little fainting incident this afternoon. Well for starters, he'd have clucked around him like a mother hen for hours afterwards, in that way that always made Sam feel smothered, babied. And then, the second he felt the imminent danger was gone, he'd have given him a sharp nudge in the ribs with his elbow, and laughed about how Sam had gone for a 5 mile run that morning, but that half an hour gardening had brought him down. And Sam would have laughed along, because it was better than being “looked after”.

He crunched another peanut, they weren't getting any better. He glanced up again at his son, who he'd given his brother's name, even if they never used it, and felt the familiar, dull ache in the pit of his chest. Maybe it had been unfair, putting that name, and all the . . . weight behind it on the kid. It had felt right at the time.

Sam let a deep sigh huff from his chest, slid the mug, and the half empty packet across the table, and scooched his chair over, trying to ignore the way the screeching sound it made as it dragged along the tiled floor set his nerves on fire. He leaned in to peer at the colouring book, “whatcha colouring?”

“Turtle.” DJ replied, still deep in concentration.

Of course. Sam smiled. “What kind of turtle is it?” He asked.

He grinned a wide gap tooth grin up at Sam, delighted at the question “leatherback.”

“Mind if I join in?” Sam enquired.

DJ passed him a forest green crayon and gestured at the seaweed bordering the image.

Sam took a sip of the tea, and got to work.

#sam winchester #sam x amelia #DJ #sam and DJ #spn #my fic #this is partly based of my head canon shared by like me and maybe one other person in the universe #that Sam and Amelia met again sometime post series and rekindled their relationship #and also thoughts about sam and DJ #and also soft little thoughts I've been having about post series Sam with chronic fatigue/POTS #this probably has an audience of like 1 (and they are probably me lol)#but it made me happy to write #💜#if you do enjoy it please tell me!!!

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