Chapter Text
Samuel Solomon is ten years old.
He’s on fire for the Lord, and that’s just the honest truth. God’s honest truth. He lives by the Good Book. Follows the Commandments and the golden rule and honors and obeys the Father. And speakin’ of father -- he does his best to honor and obey his daddy too. Daddy’s the coolest man in the world. He’s brave and smart and nice and never, ever spares the rod. Just how it’s s’posed to be, at least that's what his big sister says.
Big sister.
Oh, boy-oh-man, Deanna Ruth is the best, most wonderful person on earth. She’s everything. She’s sort of his mama and she’s a shinin’ example of what a woman should be. That’s what Daddy says. And yanno what? He’s right. She does the cookin’ and cleanin’, she helps him with homework, and she’s pretty much always good. Daddy always says Ephesians has the right of it. Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord. For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church. Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.
(He’s got lotsa verses memorized. Dee’s real proud of him, Daddy too. But pride’s a sin, so he’s gotta be careful with that.)
Now, sometimes Sam does get a little confused there, ‘cause Deanna’s not actually his mama. She’s perfect and submits to her father like a wife, but she’s not his daddy’s wife for real either. That was Mary Campbell. According to Daddy, she was a real lady. Near-perfect. It...sometimes burns Sam up a little that Mary died bringin’ him into the world.
What does that say about him? Is...is he bad? Is it his fault his mama’s dead? It must be, right? If he wasn’t born, Mary would still be alive. It’s been botherin’ him a lot lately. A lot.
In fact...
“Dee?” he asks softly.
His big sister turns over. They’re in bed -- he was s’posed to be asleep an hour ago...but he just can’t. The Mama thoughts are messing with him bad. Worse than usual.
“Yeah, baby?” she asks.
Deanna’s fourteen. She’s not a grown-up, but she sometimes seems like one. She knows just about everything.
“I got a question.”
“Yeah?”
“Can you...” He’s a little ashamed to admit it, ‘cause men don’t get all blubbery, but he wants to cry. Just a little! Not much! He’s not a baby. “It’s about Mama.”
“Mama?” she says, confused. “You mean Mary?”
“Yeah.”
“Well...alright. What’s your question?”
Sam thinks hard. He wants to phrase it right, wants to be serious and smart. Like Daddy.
“You look real upset,” Deanna says. “C’mere, honey.” She lifts the covers and opens her arms.
Oh, that’ll do him just fine. He didn’t wanna ask Dee to cuddle him, but if she’s offerin’... He curls up on her, resting his head on her chest. Used to be flat just a year ago, now it ain’t. That’s OK, though. Sam doesn’t think about it -- sinful to consider, yanno? She wraps an arm around him. Sam throws a leg over her and she draws him up closer than close. They couldn’t be any closer unless they were one whole person or one of those sets of freaky conjoined twins.
Wouldn’t be so bad. Even bein’ an inch from his sister sometimes feels like a knife in his chest.
“How’s that?” Deanna asks. She keeps her voice quiet. Don’t wanna wake up Daddy.
They’ve only been in Fort Worth for a couple weeks and their apartment is real small. The walls and doors are thin. He and Deanna sleep in the living room on a pull-out couch and Daddy has the bedroom. They gotta be quiet ‘cause he needs his sleep. Daddy works at a “plant.” Sam’s not a hundred percent sure what that means -- Daddy’s sometimes a little bit vague about his work. Sam does know he’s gone a lot. His sister’s the one who takes him to school and makes his lunch and stuff. Daddy gets tired, so there’s no reason to disturb him with what Dee calls “paltry stuff.” Still, he makes pretty good money -- all cash, none of that credit card business . Daddy says banks are of the devil. So he goes to work and takes his bags of pills and powder and stuff, then comes home with big stacks of money!
That’s his daddy, providing for them like a man!!!
But a man needs a wife and-- and Daddy’s got no wife, just Deanna, and it’s Sam's fault.
“Yeah, that’s good,” Sam says. He almost forgot Dee asked him a question, but it’d be rude not to answer. The Lord likes it when you’re polite.
“Ask your question, baby,” Deanna says. “I’m all ears.”
Sam really likes it when she calls him her baby. It’s basically the best feeling in the world. Still. It don't erase the bad feelings churning in him right now. “Mary died givin’ birth to me,” he says.
“She did.”
“And...and I...” And then it’s all pourin’ out of him in a whispered rush: “I keep thinkin’, Dee, that you act like my mama. An’ I love you so much that I don’t even know what to do, but I know you ain’t my mama. We had Mary. I-- I mean you had Mary. An’ you remember her, dontcha?”
“I do,” his sister says carefully. “Just a little bit. Where’s this comin’ from, Sam? What’s wrong?”
“It’s comin’ from...” He doesn’t know how to answer that. “Just...just that Mama would still be alive,” he says, “if I wasn’t born.”
Deanna inhales sharply.
“I mean it!” Sam insists, his voice gettin’ louder. There’s a break in Daddy’s snoring and he freezes, terrified. Their father needs his rest and Sam’ll get the belt if he messes that up. He keeps quiet for a few minutes ‘till Daddy’s snorin’ starts up again. Thank you, Lord, for your mercy. I surely do appreciate it. “I mean it,” Sam repeats. “Mary would be alive if I wasn’t born. She died givin’ birth to me! It’s...it’s my fault that she’s dead.” He can’t stop the tears. It ain’t manly and Daddy would be disappointed, but he does cry. Big, fat tears. Hot as hellfire. “I know she’s in the Kingdom of Heaven now, but...Thou shalt not kill,” he says, agonized. “If you don’t follow the Commandments, you’re goin’ to Hell, aintcha?” Sam doesn’t like thinkin’ about Hell. He knows everybody’s born in sin, all nasty and rotten with it. It’s your job to prove to God that you’re worthy of Heaven and His mercies. But the idea of Hell is so scary he can barely breathe sometimes. Gosh, you should see the nightmares he has. Dee handles all that stuff much better. She’s pragmatic (a word she taught him) about it -- knows the whole world probably deserves to burn and she probably deserves to burn too. That's what she says at least. The idea of his big sister burnin’ makes him so sick he could tear the world into teeny little bits.
“Baby,” Deanna sighs. She squeezes him tight. “You didn't kill Mama.”
“But she died givin’ me life! If I wasn't born--”
“It wasn’t your fault, Sam, I mean it.”
He has to bury his face in his chest to hold back a wail. “You gotta say that ‘cause you’re my sister,” he mumbles.
“Hey.” Dee pushes him back a little, looks at him all stern. She don’t give him that look too often, only when he’s really misbehavin’ and about to get a hiding from Daddy unless he wises up. His sister has the prettiest eyes in the world. “It was not your fault, Samuel Solomon. I miss Mama too, don’t you misunderstand me. I miss her a whole lot. But it was God's will,” Dee says firmly. “I just know it. He called her Home, Sammy. Daddy always says Mary was too good for this world, ‘member?”
Sam nods. It's true. When Daddy's been drinkin’ and he gets in one of his moods, ones where he strokes Dee’s pretty blonde hair and has her sit on his lap, he talks about their mother a lot. How good she was, how perfect. “Look just your mama, Dean,” he’ll slur. " Act just fuckin’ like her too, my perfect girl.” (Cursing’s a sin, but Sam’s pretty sure it’s OK when Daddy does it. It’s just one of those things.)
He thinks this over. They’re not to question God’s will. That’s, like, one of the most important things in the world. God is the Father and you never, EVER question your Father. You just obey. He’s never considered the idea that God might’ve called Mary Home on purpose. But it makes sense, don't it? She served her earthly purpose, which was givin’ Daddy children. A boy and a girl, just like Adam and Eve! They’ll carry on the Winchester name, be fruitful and multiply and all that. So Mary gave Daddy love for a while, gave him two healthy kids who try their very best to honor the Lord, then she went Home.
Wow.
“You’re so smart, Dee,” he says, and feels a hundred pounds lift off his skinny shoulders.
“Ain’t about smarts, baby,” she says. “It’s about trustin’ God.”
This is a good lesson. He’ll carry it with him, just you watch. “I trust God,” he says, with all the conviction he can muster. Proudly, he adds, “Everything happens for a reason an' He don’t give us more’n we can handle.”
Deanna shoots a long, long look at Daddy’s closed door. “Yeah,” she says, and her tone is suddenly nothing more than a haunted house. “Nothin' more than we can handle.”
“And everything happens for a reason,” Sam reminds her.
She keeps lookin’ at Daddy’s door. “Everything?”
She says it like a question. Sam doesn’t understand. A wave of sheer exhaustion hits him like a truck -- all this worry, this heavy burden on his shoulders, the blame he’s been carryin’...it’s wiped him out. The battered wall clock with its spooky green face says it’s 3:32 in the morning. Oh, gosh. He’s gotta be up for school soon!! Sam yawns. “Can we go back to sleep, Dee?”
Deanna turns kind, exhausted eyes on him. “Sure, baby.”
She adjusts them so he’s the little spoon. This is Sam’s favorite way to cuddle his sister. He feels so safe in her arms, with her chest pressed against his back and her nose buried in the back of his hair. With Dee curled around his body, nothing in the world can get him.
Nothing.
~~~
Samuel Solomon is eleven years old and it’s his first day of junior high. He’d be lyin’ if he said he wasn’t nervous. Daddy always says to hold your head up high, to know that you are righteous and the opinions of the little people don’t matter none. And usually Sam can abide by that just fine. It’s just that...on TV, junior high’s when they start judgin’ you. Like, when things like your hair and your clothes matter. Dee got made fun of a lot in the last couple years. She said all the girls hated her ‘cause of the clothes Daddy makes her wear.
Anyways. Deanna’s pretty good at holding her head up high. She misses a lotta school ‘cause Daddy’s gone a lot, but when she walks through the halls of Arlington Heights High School like Moses through the red sea, crowds part and nonbelievers gawk. Or...or at least that’s what Sam thinks. He’s not sure. Dee’s sort of shy and quiet. But you can’t make up the hatred of heretics and outsiders. Sam comforts himself with the notion that they’re all goin’ to Hell anyhow. All those people who eye his big sister, who whisper nasty things about their family -- they’ll burn for that.
“First day of middle school!” Daddy says, knockin’ Sam out of his vengeful thoughts.
“Yessir!” He smiles up at his father.
“Attaboy.” Daddy ruffles his hair. “Look at you, son.”
He looks at himself. They’ve got a dusty mirror, sorta cracked, that hangs on the back of Daddy’s door. They’re not usually allowed in his room, but this is a special occasion. Sam thinks he looks A-OK. He’s got on a pair of secondhand Levi’s and a white T-shirt Dad says makes him look like “the spittin’ image of me when I was your age!” To own a pair of Levi’s is special enough, but lookin’ like his hero? That’s really something.
Deanna’s here too. She’s wearing one of Daddy’s favorite outfits -- jeans that ride real low and a tank top that shows lots of skin -- said it was a celebration of Sammy’s first day. (She’s been in school for a week already, but Daddy had her skip today just so she could take him to and from the junior high.)
“I’m proud of you, baby,” Deanna says. When she smiles, her eyes glow all green and beautiful. Dear God, thank you for giftin’ me the best sister in the world. I sure try my darndest to deserve her.
“Thanks, y’all,” he says. Sam might be a little anxious, but he’s not gonna let Daddy see it. It’d disappoint him.
“Your sister’ll walk you,” Daddy says. “I gotta head out.”
“Yessir,” they chorus.
Sam’s secretly a little glad it’ll be just him and Dee. He sure does love his father, but sometimes it’s just the teeniest, tiniest bit easier to say stuff to Deanna. To talk stuff through. She’ll get his head on straight about these nerves.
Daddy claps him on the shoulder and cups Deanna’s cheek. He tells ‘em, “Y’all be good now. Lord’s watchin’ you even when I can’t” and heads on out. Sam’s not sure where he’s goin’. He doesn’t start work ‘till later this afternoon. But whatever! That’s man’s business.
Once Daddy leaves, Deanna’s shoulders slump. She looks real tired.
“You OK, Dee?”
She grins. “Oh, sure. I’m fine, kiddo. What about you? First day of middle school!”
“I’m excited. And...and nervous,” Sam admits.
She puts an arm around his shoulders. “You’re gonna do great, Sammy.”
“What if the other kids don’t like me?” he asks, tuggin’ at the collar of his shirt.
“Aww, honey.” They leave the bathroom and put their shoes on. Secondhand Chucks, the both of ‘em. Black and white -- Daddy likes it when they match. “Everybody’s gonna like you,” Deanna says as she ties her left shoe. “Everybody already likes you.”
That’s true. At the grade school, Sam never had any problem making friends. Even when people said rude things about their family, called 'em weird or whatever, Sam did have a sorta baseline popularity. But junior high is different -- or it might be. “Stuff just...means more in middle school,” he says. Sometimes he wishes he was as well-spoken as his sister or his daddy. They always say exactly what they mean. “I-- I mean grades and stuff.”
“You’re a straight-A student,” Deanna reminds him. Then she kneels down and ties his shoes too, even though he’s known how to do that since he was like seven years old. “You’re so smart, baby, so capable.”
“Yeah...but maybe kids’re gonna care about my clothes,” he says. “Or...or my hair? My shoes?”
She smiles at him, fond and maybe just a little bit exasperated. “Where’s all this comin’ from? You’ve been so excited to start junior high, been yappin’ about it all summer. Now you’re like to shake apart. Since when do you worry ‘bout hair and shoes?”
Sam rubs the back of his neck. They’ve gotta leave in maybe fifteen minutes. Let’s see...he’s dressed...his backpack’s ready (filled with school supplies Deanna pinched from Dollar General -- not sinful ‘cause Daddy said so), and his lunch is waitin’ in the fridge. He’s ready as he’ll ever be. Daddy said he’s gettin’ a little scrawny, needs to bulk up, so he bought a case of protein shakes from the Piggly Wiggly. That’ll be breakfast.
“Sammy. C’mon, kiddo.” She pinches his cheek. “Answer me.”
“I...um...it’s a little stupid.”
“Ain’t nothin’ you could tell me that’d make me think you’re stupid. Spit it out.”
“OK. Um...OK. It’s two things. Uh...you always said the kids were real mean to you in junior high. That they spread rumors an’ stuff. Called you names too.” He waits for her to say somethin’, but her face -- he can’t read it. Dee’s not very good at hiding her feelings, so this is a little weird. She doesn’t say nothin’, so he goes on: “And when I’m watchin’ TV on Sundays, yanno, while you’re doin’ your prayers in Daddy’s room, it’s just like that. Like, everybody’s mean. And judgin’ folks.”
They’re not usually allowed to watch TV. It’s a special treat. Used to be, after church, Daddy’d let ‘em watch TV for an hour or two as a family. They used to go to Holy Line Baptist every Sunday, but not anymore. Daddy says the pastor’s full of S-H-I-T. Says he's much too soft, too liberal. It’s a real sin, bein’ liberal. So now Daddy teaches ‘em on Sundays. They do a couple hours of instruction as a family and then he takes Deanna to his bedroom for special prayers. Sam used to pout -- it started last year, when she was fourteen and he was ten. He felt left out. But Daddy set him straight -- girls’re just more sinful, so he’s gotta teach her how to be good. ‘Cause she’s a girl, she needs extra time to pray and repent. It’s Daddy’s job to keep Dee on the “straight and narrow” -- leastwise that’s what he says, and Sam’s got no reason to disbelieve his father -- so he’s gotta dedicate extra special time to it.
Sam has asked his sister a couple times what Daddy’s teachin’ her in there, but she said it was between the two of ‘em. It’s private, baby boy. You’ll learn when you’re older. She looked real messed up when she said that, almost like she was in a war or somethin’. A holy war. Yeah... Dee had said, her voice real empty and soft. When you’re older. Daddy said, uh, he said you’d learn too roundabout my age. An’...an’ father knows best. So.
For now, she just grins tiredly. “You ain’t listenin’ at the door again, are you, Sammy?”
“No,” he says, “promise.” Couple months ago, Sam got so jealous and so darned curious that he crouched outside Daddy’s door, tryin’ to figure out what they were doing in there. Daddy caught him and gave him a good thrashing. Had welts from his belt buckle for a week. He didn’t go to school for a while ‘cause the Guidance Counselor Bastards would’ve had kittens about it. He was right to punish him, of course. Bein’ sneaky and deceitful, God hates that stuff. Especially backbiters, haters of God, violent, proud boasters, and children disobedient to parents. Yeah, Sammy was in real trouble for that.
“TV stuff ain’t real,” Deanna says at last. She goes to the fridge, takes out one of his protein shakes, tosses it to him. When Sam catches it on the first try, she grins a little. “Good catch, kiddo. Maybe you’ll be a famous baseball player when you grow up.”
“Don’t reckon,” Sam says. “I wanna be a pastor.”
“Do you now?”
“Yeah. But a good pastor. Not like the False Bastard from Holy Line. He was real sick.”
“Sick with sin,” Deanna agrees.
Quotin’ his father, Sam says, “Figured he’d be sayin’ faggots an’ whores were God’s chosen people, all that dumb S-H-I-T he was spouting.”
Deanna nods approvingly. “Daddy was right to take us outta Holy Line.”
“Surely was.” He uncaps his protein shake, takes a sip. Vanilla. Real nice of Daddy -- vanilla’s his third favorite flavor.
“We’d best get goin’ soon,” Deanna says. “But Sammy, listen here: it ain’t like that for boys, the name-callin’ and rumors. They got their own nasties, can be real sinful -- vulgar, I mean. You gotta watch out for that. God’s always watchin’.”
“Always,” Sam agrees easily.
“But the girls who hassled me -- they were callin’ me names and sayin’ mean things, I know, but...that was just...girl stuff. Boys don’t care about how you look unless you smell bad or somethin’. And you don’t. Yanno Daddy does keep us lookin’ presentable.”
See, that’s somethin’ Sam maybe doesn’t understand. It ain’t good for girls to be immodest. When they see high schoolers dressed in miniskirts and skimpy tops, Daddy tells ‘em to avert their eyes. When ladies wear bikinis at the complex’s pool or tops that show their chests, Daddy snorts and shakes his head, mutters about the “state of the world” and “strumpets goin’ to Hell.” He don’t like jezebels who show skin. But he’s got Dee in clothes that show her body -- a lot of her body. It’s confusing sometimes.
“OK,” he says at last. He ain’t mollified. (Dee taught him that word!)
“You’ll do just fine, Sam,” Deanna says. They leave the apartment and she locks up behind them. The junior high’s roundabout twenty minutes each way. Nothin’ too bad. She holds his hand the whole way there.
It’s real nice.
Sam might be nervous, but with Deanna at his side? Heck. He could tear down the sky if she asked.
Just you watch.
~~~
Samuel Solomon is twelve years old.
And Samuel Solomon is angry.
He was dragged outta English class in the middle of his presentation on Hatchet (which he worked real hard on!!), plopped down in the front office next to a terrified Deanna, and now they’re sittin’ in front of two Bastards who wanna stir up trouble against their daddy.
Sam’s not stupid -- he knows the lady in her striped pantsuit and the man with his glasses are the very Bastards Daddy hates. People from The Government. There’s County Bastards and State Bastards and Truancy Bastards and Guidance Counselor Bastards and Tax Bastards -- all kinds. But they’re always easy to figure out. Lots of times, they come in pairs with toothy smiles and clipboards. Shiny shoes, nice clothes, and pointed questions. They first started sniffin’ around when Sam and Deanna were in grade school. Daddy says they’re infidels sent by the Devil to root out the faithful. Deanna says they’re well-intentioned fools who can’t mind their own beeswax. All he knows for sure is that when the Bastards start gettin’ interested in their lives, it’s time to unroot themselves and get gone. He’s not sure WHY the Bastards come or who sends ‘em exactly, but they always have questions about Daddy’s work and their faith and why his sister misses so much school. It’s why they had to leave Fort Worth last summer.
Now they’re in Lubbock. And wouldn’t you know, the sinners can’t leave well enough alone here too.
Sam takes Deanna’s hand and laces their fingers together. He smiles at her reassuringly. It’s a man’s job to protect and guide the woman he loves, and he’s gonna do just that. Ever since he turned twelve a few months back, Daddy’s been teachin’ him a lot about the ways of men and women. They don’t have private sessions on Sundays -- those are still closed off -- but Daddy’s been giving him lots of information anyhow. Lots to think about. Some of the stuff, like submission and women bein’ weak and foolish and more prone to sin, that’s a little harder to swallow. But being willing to lay down your life for your girl? Willing to do whatever you have to to protect her? That makes sense.
So he holds his big sister’s hand and squeezes. She’s comforted him a million times, held him when things got scary or lonely or kids were mean. It’s his turn.
“Alright,” the first Bastard, the man, says. “My name is Juan Sullivan, but you guys can call me Juan. That sound OK?”
Sam keeps his mouth a thin line. That’s one of their tricks, givin’ their first names, eschewing formality. When they don’t reply, the lady Bastard joins in. “Julie Jenks. Please call me Julie,” she says kindly. She’s lookin’ at this with a smile, one of those I could be your mama!-type smiles.
Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord. Even if they’re just smiling.
“Thanks for joining us, guys,” Juan says. “We appreciate it.”
Deanna dips her head.
“We have just a few questions for the two of you,” Juan says. “We’ll have a little conversation and then y’all can get back to class. Think we can do that?”
Sam nods. No gettin’ out of this conversation. The first time the State Bastards came, he was five and Deanna was nine. He got so scared -- thought they were literal demons -- that he sprinted into the hall, draggin’ Dee behind him, his chubby little legs churning, yellin’ about retribution and death. Nowadays, he’s got a cooler head. He’ll have this little talk and send ‘em on their way. Then he and Deanna will just head on home and Daddy will make the best choice for all of them.
Sucks just a little bit. Sam likes this school. He likes his friends and playin’ on the baseball team. (AND it’s a K-12, so he gets to be with Dee all the time, which is the best part!!) But this is just what a man’s gotta do. He’ll do it gladly.
“That’s fine,” Sam says.
Juan gets up from behind the desk and leans against it. Julie stays sittin’. She keeps that liar’s smile on her face.
“Alright. Let’s get to know each other a little bit.” She consults two folders on the desk. Thick files. “We’re already introduced ourselves -- Juan and Julie. And you guys are the Winchesters, right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sam says politely. Like she don’t already know that.
“Deanna and Samuel?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he repeats.
“Do you have nicknames? Names you prefer to go by?” Julie asks.
“Sam’ll do me fine.” He nods towards his sister. “She’s just Deanna.” No one gets to call her “Dee” but him and no one gets to call her “Dean” but Daddy. The State Bastards don’t deserve that.
“Deanna,” Juan says. “That’s a lovely name.”
“Thank you, sir,” Dee says. “Named after my grandmom.”
Sam cuts her a look. It’s not good to give away personal information like that. C'mon, Dee!! “What can we help y’all with?” he says pointedly.
“Actually,” Juan says, and he’s got this look on his face, this I know better than you look, “Sam, why don’t we have a little talk, just us? Man-to-man. Julie will chat with your sister. No need to look scared, buddy -- they’ll be right on the other side of that wall.”
He grits his teeth. Sam ain’t scared. He’s almost a teenager, practically a man. It’s HIS job to protect Dee when Daddy’s not around. Right now, he’s on the other side of the city and Sam’s gotta be the head of the house. This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down His life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for sisters. That's what the Bible says. And here the Bastards, are actin' this ain’t serious, like he might not get taken away from Daddy and Dee if they say the wrong thing. They're the only people in the WORLD who matter. Sam loves God the most, ‘cause you’re s’posed to, but sometimes his father and sister consume him so much that he can’t even sleep, he’s that filled with love.
He opens his mouth to refuse, to bravely tell ‘em point-blank that they won’t separate him from his sister when Deanna says: “OK.” She turns to Sam, gently lets go of his hand. (The loss of her touch feels like a knife buried in his belly.) “Like the fella said, kiddo, we’ll be on the other side of that wall. Nothin’ doing.”
“Deanna,” he says sternly, “yanno Daddy wouldn’t want us to--” He clams up when she shoots him a look that’s pure venom. Well. S-H-I-T. One of the number one rules when this bullcrap happens -- you don’t make their family sound like...well, like the way it is. It’s a delicate balance. Sam thought he had the hang of it, but... “OK,” he says, course-correcting hard. “OK, that’s fine. Dee, you go with Miss Julie. I’ll stay right here.” He turns to the Lady Bastard with her lying smile and her eyes that squint at Dee with sharp speculation. “Ma’am,” he says, catchin’ Julie’s attention, “when we’re done chattin’, can Deanna walk me back to class? Please?”
Julie softens a little. “Sure, hon. That’d be fine.”
Really, he’ll be walkin’ her right out of the building, but most everyday folks don’t take kindly to the idea of a woman’s natural place in the world. (Deluded sinners, the lot of 'em...) Let the Lady Bastard think Dee is in charge. Sure. If it helps ‘em outta the jam that he's half-created...
Julie leads Deanna out of the principal’s office and Sam turns back to this Juan fella. “Alright, sir. What can I do for you?”
Juan grabs his chair, spins it around, and straddles it backwards. “Tell me a little bit about yourself, Sam.”
“Whaddaya wanna know, sir?”
Juan grins. “You got good manners. They teach you that at church?”
Sam frowns. “Manners are real important to my father,” he says. Great. The Bastard wants to talk about church. Of COURSE. They ALWAYS do. There’s nothin’ wrong with being people of faith! It’s the RIGHT way to be, dammit!! Daddy's right -- the world is topsy-turvy with sin.
“Tell me about your father,” Juan says, supposing the idea just popped into his mind all casual-like. Yeah. Sure. He ain’t very good at this stuff.
Sam wonders, dimly, what agency the Bastard’s from. CPS? DCFS? ATF? ABCDEFG? The letters don’t matter none. It’s all the same.
“My daddy’s a real good man,” Sam says coolly. “I love him very much.”
“Does your sister love him very much too?”
Odd question. “Of course,” he says. “All daughters love their daddies.”
“So y’all get along, you’d say, as a family?”
“Sure we do.”
“What about your mom?”
OK, this is one of those things, one of those false questions. Juan’s probably got all kinds of information in those big old folders. He looks down at them -- dang. Julie took Deanna’s file when she took Deanna herself and he didn’t even notice. Wise up!! Sam scolds himself. Pay attention!
“My mama’s dead, sir,” he says. “The Lord called her Home the day I was born.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Juan says. “Must’ve been hard growing up without a mother.”
“Don’t know no other way of being,” Sam returns. “Just how it is.”
“Do you have a step-mother?” Juan asks.
“No, sir.”
“So it’s just your father and your sister.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Mmm...” Juan hums like he’s thinkin’. “How old are you, Sam?”
“I’m twelve.”
“Hm. Good age. So, your family, you’re churchgoing people?”
Oh, sure. Yeah. Like that has anything to do with being twelve years old. “Yessir, we are.”
“What denomination, if you don’t mind me asking?” He pauses. “D’you know what that word means, bud? Denomination?”
Sam grits his teeth for what feels like the tenth time. He’s real surprised his molars don’t burst into dust here and now. “I do,” he says, tryin’ not to smack Juan the Bastard across the face. “We’re Baptists.”
“Mm.” Juan nods. “I grew up in the Baptist church as well.”
“That’s real nice,” he says flatly. Next, Juan’s gonna tell him he’s no longer churchly or he’s lapsed or he’s a friggin’ Catholic now or something. He doesn’t care. He just wants his sister. Who knows what the Lady Bastard is askin’ her?! And...and who knows what Dee’s givin’ away? She can be so fierce and smart, but she can also be meek and sorta...shrinking, if that makes sense. Like, she shrinks in on herself. Sometimes she’s got the saddest eyes in the whole world. So what if the Lady Bastard is doing that thing where they pretend to be your friend and pretend to care about you and stuff, and Dee’s fallin’ for it?? Sam’s palms feel clammy. They just can’t let that happen. Even if Daddy can get ‘em outta the city in a tight hour -- Sam knows how to pack his life up into one small bag -- they might...oh, no. They might have a van to come pick ‘em up after school or something!! Or a pig parked outside right now.
He takes a deep breath. “Can I see my sister soon?”
Juan smiles. “You two are very close.”
“Yeah,” he says impatiently. “And I wanna see her.” Should he fake up an asthma attack or something?
“She’s just fine, Sam,” the Bastard soothes. “You don’t need to be worried about her. She’s in good hands with Julie.”
He crosses his arms, doesn’t say nothin’.
“I just have a few more questions. Is that alright?”
“Fine,” he grits out.
Juan sighs, like he’s not sure what to say next. “Can I be blunt with you, Sam? Straight talk?”
“...sure.”
“There’s been a certain amount of...concern about your safety, you and your sister."
He tilts his head. “Why?” Daddy's voice in his head: Sinners are everywhere, Samuel. You trust me, your sister, and the Lord. That’s it. Can’t trust nobody else.
“I imagine your father lives by the Bible,” Juan says instead.
“Well, sure. We all try to live by the Good Book.”
“Does he raise his children according to the Bible?”
“...yes?”
And then Juan surprises him.“Whoever spares the rod hates their children, but the one who loves their children is careful to discipline them,” he says. He goes on: "Do not withhold discipline from a child; if you strike him with a rod, he will not die. Does that sound familiar?”
Sam frowns. It sure does. Daddy quotes those verses pretty often. He ain’t an unjust man, that’s the thing. Daddy’s whupped him before -- plenty of times -- with his hand, the belt, a switch Sam picked out himself. His father always makes sure to keep the hits to his backside or his legs. If worldly people see it, they’ll freak out and call the Bastards and they’ll be right here all over again. Daddy says that’s what’s wrong with the world these days -- you can’t smack an unruly kid in the mouth or swat their A-S-S without the whole world breathin’ down your neck and tryin’ to take your kids away.
“I grew up in the church,” Juan repeats. “I’m familiar with those verses. Very familiar.”
“It ain’t a crime to discipline your kid,” Sam says carefully.
“Sometimes it is,” Juan says. “When that discipline includes--”
“Sir,” Sam interrupts. “I ain’t dumb. I know what you’re trying to say. My daddy ain’t abusive. My sister and I are safe. Just ‘cause we’re church people don’t mean he’s some kinda crazy fundamentalist. I don’t know who’s makin’ up lies about my family, but--”
“Hey, hey.” Juan holds out his hands, an ‘I surrender!’ gesture. “No one said anything about abuse, Sam.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “You just talked about the rod! I said I ain’t dumb. I know what you’re insinuating.” (Another Deanna word.)
“You’re a very intelligent young man,” Juan says.
Sam shrugs one shoulder. “I just want my big sister.”
“Tell me about the relationship between Deanna and your father.”
“You already asked me that. I said they get along real well. I dunno what else to say -- she loves him a lot.”
“Does your father spend a lot of one-on-one time with your sister?” Juan asks.
Sam doesn’t understand the question. “I...I mean, I guess? Like hangin’ out together, or...?”
Juan sighs. For the first time, he doesn’t look phony. He looks tired. “Sam,” the Bastard says clearly, carefully, “I said I’d speak bluntly. I’m going to speak very plainly now and I need you to be honest with me. What you say won’t leave this room. All we want to do is make sure you and your sister are safe and protected.”
“Uh...OK?”
“Has your father ever touched your sister inappropriately?"
Sam has no idea what he means by that. “Inappropriately?” he repeats, mystified. Does Juan mean hitting? ‘Cause Sam’s endured his fair share of the rod, just as he should, but so has Deanna. When she’s ornery, Daddy has her bend over and grab her ankles, then flips her skirt up, then gives her a hiding on her bare behind. Sometimes he takes her into another room and takes care of her behind closed doors. Leastwise that’s how Sam understands it. What’s so wrong with that? It’s like the private lessons they have -- Daddy’s business. Dee said one time he’d have his own private lessons with Daddy one day, and he’s waitin’ eagerly, but...
But for now he’s just confused.
“I don’t know what you mean by that,” he says honestly.
Juan frowns. Now he looks confused. Just for a second, a teeny second, then the look’s gone from his face. “Alright.” He claps his hands, the sound so loud and startling in this tiny room that Sam jumps. “Thank you for your time, Sam. I really appreciate you talking to me today.”
“Uh. Sure.”
“Why don’t you go wait in the hall for a little while,” he says. “My colleague will send your sister back out to you when they’re done talking.”
“...okay.”
He waits in the hall for another fifteen minutes before Deanna finds him. She looks real tired. Sam immediately takes her hand. “We’d better--”
“--go straight home,” Deanna finishes. “Sammy, this is bad.”
“Bad?”
"My fuckin' history teacher," she hisses. "He--" She shakes her head. "Not here. When we get home, Sammy, you start packin' up your stuff. I'm gonna call Daddy."
Dang. It is bad. They pop out a side door and start speed walking towards their apartment. Deanna doesn’t say a word. He keeps a firm hold on her hand, but Sam has the dizzy feeling that she’s guiding him, not the other way around. He’s...he’s maybe pretty scared.
Two blocks from home, Sam has to ask, “Dee, what’d you tell that lady?”
“Nothin’,” she says shortly. “C’mon, baby. Little faster.”
"But they--"
"It was Mr. Sloane," she says. "He-- I bent over in class the other day and he saw--" She shakes her head, laughs bitterly. "Don't matter what he thinks he saw. It's all over now."
When they get to the apartment, he packs quick and light while Deanna calls their father. Sam doesn’t have time to be sad about his locker full of books or quittin' baseball and leaving the team in a lurch. There’ll be other libraries, other sports teams. He doesn’t hear Dee’s conversation, but when she gets off the phone, she starts packin’ her own stuff. “He’ll be home in thirty minutes,” she says.
“OK.”
As Dee rolls up T-shirts and those short-shorts Daddy likes, she mutters, “You think he’d homeschool us at this point.”
“How come?”
“This keeps happening.”
She's sorta right. “Just goes to show,” Sam says, “how many ungodly folks are out there. The Enemy’s all around us.” Seems like somethin’ Daddy would say.
The look Dee gives him is...well, he’s not sure. It’s like ice mixed up with fire and a whole lot of confused sadness. “He sure is, baby,” she says softly. “Good job.”
When Daddy gets home, he’s spittin’ mad. “Y’all didn’t tell the Bastards nothin’, didja?” he says the second he walks in the door.
“No, sir,” Sam says.
“Deanna?” Daddy demands. “You tell those fuckers--”
“No, sir,” she interrupts. “I didn't say nothin’ to ‘em. But they come to their own conclusions.”
"Deanna said her history teacher saw somethin' when she bent over and called the Bastards on us," Sam supplies.
Daddy shares a long, long look with his sister. “Alright, then.” He grabs Deanna by the arm and draws her in, kisses her forehead hard. “Alright. Good girl, not givin' us away.”
She beams. “I love you, Daddy.”
“Love you too, honey.” He turns to Sam. “Son? You packed?”
“Yessir.”
“Alright. Good boy. We’re leavin’ in twenty minutes.” Daddy can pack real fast. He’s got lots of practice. The three of ‘em can live out of duffel bags just fine, can sleep in the Impala if they have to.
Sam doesn’t mind a bit.
~~~
Samuel Solomon is thirteen years old.
He loves Little Town. Thinks it’s just about the best place on earth. Daddy moved him and Dee here six months back, after the debacle with the Bastards, and it’s been nothin’ but goodness ever since. First off, they’ve finally got a pastor that ain’t a sniveling coward. Pastor Jim’s a great man. He ain’t afraid to call out sinners and heathens, even in his own congregation! Mr. Singer got reprimanded last week for foolin’ around outside of wedlock. He got in so much trouble with Pastor Jim and the rest of the flock that he didn’t come back! Like! Wow!
Secondly, Daddy’s much happier. He works at the Jiffy Lube doin’ man’s work, much better hours than the factory stuff he was doing before. He’s home a lot more too, which is just great. On weekends, they throw a ball in the yard. He still sells drugs -- ‘cause Sam knows things a little better now -- but the cops don’t hassle him. People in Little Town understand things.
Thirdly, Deanna’s settled in OK. There’s another girl roundabout her age that she’s pretty close with, Joanna Beth. Her mom Miz Ellen is a real lady and Joanna Beth is a pretty shining example of what a God-fearing girl should be. Though Daddy and Dee keep teasin’ him about one day growing up and marrying Joanna Beth, which makes him feel squirmy.
(See, there’s this notion that one day he’s s’posed to get married and have kids. And Sam wants that, he knows he does, but the idea of leaving Deanna is kinda awful. Like. She’s his everything, his whole world. To not have his whole right next to him every morning is...he just...)
ANYhow, Dee seems to be settling in OK, like he said. She’s got herself a friend and a lady-mentor. (Miz Ellen can handle girl stuff better than him and Daddy.) The girls at school don’t like her very much, but they never do. She’s a good girl, strong. She certainly doesn’t need those B-I-T-C-H-E-S to approve of her.
And she and Daddy are closer than ever!!
All in all, Little Town, Texas, with its loblollies and St. Augustine grass, with its good Christian community and strict church, and the small house he gets to share with his family -- it’s basically Heaven!!
Speakin’ of Heaven and happy things, the front door bangs open. Sam jumps to his feet. He’s been sittin’ at the little kitchen table doing homework, but greeting Daddy is a much better way to spend a Friday.
He stumble-runs into the living room. Dee’s already there -- Suck-up! he thinks fondly -- standing on her tiptoes and...uh...
Huh.
Daddy’s kissin’ her on the lips.
~~~
Samuel Solomon is fourteen years old. Today is his birthday.
And Daddy and Deanna are arguing in furious whispers. He’s sittin’ at the kitchen table waiting for his birthday presents and the special breakfast Dee promised him last night. But he’s alone and things feel...weird. Bad. Scary.
“I thought you were gonna wait!” Dee hisses. “He’s only fourteen, Daddy!”
They’re in the living room. Maybe they don’t know he’s awake yet? He slept in bed with Deanna last night, his head on her chest just like when they were littler. Yanno, it’s funny -- she’s been clingy with him recently. Really clingy, actually. And don’t get Sam wrong, he doesn’t mind at all. Even when it’s scorching in the shade and the AC goes out for the millionth time, he’d rather be sweating in Dee’s arms than cool and comfortable anywhere else.
But she’s been grabbing on him like he’s gonna face the lions any day now. When he asked her a couple weeks back how come she was lovin’ on him so much and why she looked so sad all the time, Dee just smiled, all trembly, and said, “You’re my baby.”
“Don’t need to explain myself to you, Deanna Ruth,” Daddy says. “Should pop you one for questionin’ me at all.” He chuckles mirthlessly. “Should beat your fuckin’ ass.”
Oh, crud. He really hopes Deanna reigns it in. It’s good when Daddy disciplines them -- good to be humbled and reminded of all you owe your father. It’s just...he wishes he could take the hit instead. It always hurts to see her hurtin’, even if it’s for a good cause.
“Daddy, please,” she says softly.
Sam’s expecting the telltale whump of Daddy’s hand meeting her cheek. He braces himself for it, but instead, he hears a deep, deep sigh. “C’mere, babygirl.”
Short silence. Shuffle of feet. He imagines Deanna sitting on Daddy’s lap -- it’s what their father prefers. If they’re all in a room together and Deanna ain’t busy with Sam, then she’s usually sittin’ on Daddy’s lap or resting between his legs or something. Daddy’s very physically affectionate with Dee. Kisses her on the cheek and the forehead and the lips, holds her hand, rubs her shoulders, sometimes teasingly grabs her unmentionables to make her jump.
Yanno, just fatherly stuff.
He’s pretty handsy with Sam too. He doesn’t mind none. It’s pretty dang wonderful, knowin’ his father loves him so much.
“He awake yet?” Daddy says.
“No, sir.” A pause. “Least I don’t think so. He was out like a light when I got up.”
“Alright.”
Sam should go back to bed or bumble his way into the living room. Should make a racket and get scolded for it like always. It’s sinful and deceitful to eavesdrop like this. And yet...
“The boy’s old enough,” Daddy says, and he’s got that tone that always makes Sam think of a kindly teacher. “I told you years ago we’d start him the same age I started you. This ain’t a surprise.”
“But--”
“Hush up,” Daddy snaps. “My patience has limits, girl.”
“...yessir.”
“You’re an adult now,” Daddy says. “Might have you in them retard classes at school, but I know you ain’t dumb. Leastwise,” he says slyly, “not dumb enough to get in between a man and his son?”
“No...”
“And not dumb enough to look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“Sir?”
“I see the way you look at that boy,” Daddy says. His voice oozes. Sends a shiver up and down Sam’s spine, sets his teeth to a-chattering. He’s not sure why. It’s just...
“I--”
“You love your baby, I know. You got a woman’s sinful nature, Dean, but you’ve put it aside to raise him up well. He’s a good boy -- we can agree on that.”
“The best.”
“Now it’s time you get your reward.”
“Re-reward?” she squeaks.
“Well, sure,” their father says dismissively. “Sacrificed a lot for him, haven’t you? Gone hungry more’n once, missed a helluva lot of school. Put it plain, you’re his mama.” He’s praising her, but there’s a real sinister edge to it. “You love him.” It’s a challenge.
“I...of course I love Sammy. I don’t-- Daddy-- You can’t mean--”
“I wasn’t born yesterday. You love Samuel the way a woman loves her husband.”
The silence is...profound.
“Daddy...”
“Nothin’ to be ashamed of, Deano. Our family’s special. Only natural that you’d fall for him.”
“It’s...it’s wrong...” she says weakly.
Daddy laughs harshly. It’s a horrible sound. “You been lyin’ on your back for me for four years. It ain’t wrong. That’s God’s will, girl. Sam’s gon’ be next and that’s all there is to it. I’m offerin’ you an opportunity here.”
“I...”
Lyin’ on your back for me? Sam’s got no idea what that means.
“Ain’t godly to be so ungrateful,” Daddy remarks.
He can feel Deanna’s panic. She hates disappointing their father, maybe even more than Sam. Disappointing Daddy is like disappointing God. Sam wishes he could comfort her. Wishes he knew what the H-E-double-hockey-sticks is goin’ on.
It’s pathetic and probably selfish -- still, the thought: But it’s my birthday... floats through his mind, all forlorn and lost.
“I don’t mean to be ungrateful, Daddy,” Deanna says softly. It’s like all the fight goes out of her. And...and that’s good. It’s no good to fight Daddy. “I’m sorry. You’re...you’re right. I think I been fallin’ for him for years. I guess just didn’t know it.” She sounds a little unsure, like it's never occurred to her. "Didn't know that I loved him like...that."
Daddy grunts.
“You’re right,” Dee repeats. “You’re givin’ me a real gift. I, er, I guess I didn’t have words for it before. You’re a...you’re real generous, Daddy, real good to me.”
Daddy doesn’t say anything for a long time.
“To us,” Deanna corrects herself.
“Gon’ be even more generous to you,” Daddy says at last. “You can get to him first -- can explain it to Sammy, square it with him. I’ll even letcha fuck him first. Hell.” Daddy laughs. “Gotta show him a good time and I know you know how to do that.”
Deanna laughs -- it’s a short, strangled sound.
“And....and after, you’ll...”
“Won’t stick anything in him ‘till he’s sixteen, baby,” Daddy says. He sounds kind again. “Promise. I know how much you love him.”
OK, so.
What.
Sam’s mind is reeling. He places his palms on the table -- his breath is thin, his throat is tight, his whole body is shake-shake-shivering.
What...is happening...
“Thank you,” Dee whispers. “Daddy, thank you.”
“Of course.” There’s the sound of a kiss. “I ain’t a monster, princess. I’m just a man carryin’ out God’s will.”
“Yessir.” A smile in her voice. “I’ll square it with him.”
“Alright. Good girl. I'm goin' out for a while.” He hears Dee’s feet hit the floor -- musta jumped off Daddy’s lap -- and the sound of her footsteps shuffling towards him.
Sam doesn’t have a single second to process, to think up something to say, before he makes eye contact with his sister.
The look on her face -- now, there’s these paintings of Mary, the exquisite sufferin’ of a woman who’s lost and gained everything she ever wanted. Holy terror. Sick with love. So profoundly sad and overjoyed she can’t hardly breathe. Woman who watched her baby boy die on the cross, only to have him resurrected and made holy again.
Perfect sorrow. Heck of a lotta hope. Determination. Resignation. Sheer happiness.
Sam ain’t a poet. He does real well in school, writes even better, but all this colorful stuff, all this knowledge of suffering and sorrow...it’s beyond him.
Least it should be.
It isn’t.
The voice of a woman in love, the voice of an exhausted mother, the voice of a martyr:
“Hey, baby.”
~~~
Samuel Solomon is still fourteen.
And he understands some things now.
God has given his father a mission and his father sure carries it out. All those special Sunday lessons, all the times Daddy and Dee disappeared behind closed doors -- they were having S-E-X. No. No, he doesn’t need to spell it out. It’s sex. Still feels weird to think the word, much less say it out loud. It feels dirty. Wrong.
But Dee has explained it well!! It ain’t dirty or wrong. Ain’t even sinful! It’s a father showin’ his daughter how much he loves her, keeping her on a prayerful path. ‘Course, laypeople and sinners won’t get it, so they gotta be real careful not to talk about it outside of the home. Even to friends like Pastor Jim and Joanna Beth.
It makes sense to Sam. Their family’s always been unique. They’ve always been closer than close, Winchesters above everyone else -- just how it is! And if Daddy’s talkin’ to God, like really communing with the Father, and God says this is what they’re s’posed to do, then how on earth can Sam complain? It’s crazy-special.
And they want him involved!!
He’s not scared anymore. He trusts his father implicitly and Dee loves him so much. He’ll always be safe with them.
So here they are, an hour and a real good, real honest conversation later. Daddy made himself scarce. Maybe he’s goin’ to get Sam’s birthday cake!! Deanna holds out her hand. “You know I love you, baby, dontcha?”
“Well, sure. I love you too, Dee. Easy as breathin’.”
She smiles softly. “Yeah, kiddo. Easy as breathin’.”
“You wanna, uh.” His cheeks get hot alluva sudden. “You wanna go to the room an’...”
“Get started?” she prompts, her eyes full of gentle teasing.
He’s struck by the urge to nod gratefully, to Yes, ma’am! her. Silly. This is just Dee, just his big sister. His whole world. She takes his hand and leads him back to their bedroom. They share a bed of course, always have. No reason to be anywhere but her arms.
Deanna sighs. “Sammy...how much d’you know about...” She sweeps a hand over her form.
“Sex?”
“Yeah.”
“Um.” He scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Well. I...I know you’re s’posed to put it in the girl and your seed’s s’posed to make babies.”
She grins -- a real, honest, big-sister grin. “Little more to it than that, Casanova,” she teases.
Listen. Sam ain’t ever had a sex talk, not really. He’s picked some stuff up at school, but he’s only a friggin’ freshman. The boys boast and talk big (all lies, duh), so he knows the bare bones. Sam’s a good Christian, though, so he tries to shut most of it out. As for himself...well. Look, sometimes he has these dreams at night about a soft body and a nice smile, but he’s always figured that’s his future wife. Liar, liar. Always known it was Deanna. And if his body betrays him in his sleep, he just prays extra hard and tries to honor God even more than usual over the next few weeks.
Dee pulls her dress -- a short, cheetah-print thing Daddy picked out himself -- over her head.
“Holy shit,” he wheezes.
Sam’s pretty sure he’s been falling in love with his sister for years. Maybe he didn’t have the words for it, maybe his understanding was a little mixed up, but... She’s the most beautiful girl on earth. She’s got dark blonde hair that kinda cascades down her back -- it lightens up in the summer, all cornsilk and sunshine. And the freckles -- turns out they’re not just on her face. Her shoulders are dotted with ‘em too. Big green eyes, determined and still a little sad. Daddy’s always said she’s model-pretty. If models weren’t a bunch of whores and vanity wasn’t a sin, Sam’s sure she’d be walkin’ the runway with the best of ‘em.
As for the rest of her...
Whoa.
Sam’s never seen his sister undressed. He always averts his eyes, always. Daddy might like her in tight clothes that show a lotta skin, but Sam respects the heck out of her. He would never look on her like a pervert. Would never. Past tense.
Dear Lord, give me strength not to...to finish before we’ve even started.
She’s got real long legs and miles of golden skin and her, uh...her breasts (feels like he’s gotta whisper the word, even in his mind) are real, um, perky and kinda good-sized and she’s got all these curves and between her legs is...is...
His mouth’s dry as a bone.
Blonde curls, a couple shades darker than the hair on her head, hides where he just knows he’s about to go. He catches glimpses of pink and wet and...oh, holy gosh.
“C’mere,” she says, beckons him.
Sam stumbles forward on feet that can hardly hold his weight. He wants to crash to his knees and worship at the altar of his big sister, the love of his fucking life.
Excuse me for foul language, my Lord, and for idolatry -- I know it’s wrong -- but I reckon I’ve found my purpose on this earth.
When she kisses him, it’s soft and sweet and perfect. He’s never felt anything better.
Dee spends the afternoon trainin’ him up good. He learns the right places to put his hands, the right angles to crook his fingers and the best spots to rub her just right. She drops to her knees and does something with her mouth that makes him cry out hoarsely and unload then and there.
And then she swallows.
She teaches him how to please a woman, how to use his tongue. He maps her out, explores.
“You’re so wet, Dee,” he marvels at one point. His whole chin has a sheet of sister on it that’s making him a little dizzy.
She shrugs lazily. “Means you’re doin’ a good job.”
Heck yes. He redoubles his efforts.
After a couple hours, it’s time for the main event. Dee is relaxed and happy -- said Sam made her “come” several times and he’s basically a prodigy in the bedroom. (Ain’t that good to hear!! She's probably strokin' his ego -- it IS his birthday, after all -- but he appreciates it either way.) He’s keyed up and crazy. What she did, when she put...it...in her mouth, he came pretty much instantly. But this -- oh, man. He doesn’t wanna bust in seconds when he’s inside her. That’s no way to treat a lady.
Dee has him lie on his back. She mounts his hips almost like she’s ridin’ a horse??
“Now, typically,” she says, “the woman ain’t on top. Daddy says men don’t like a dominant woman -- it’s unchristian, y’understand?”
“...yeah,” Sam manages, tryin’ valiantly to ignore the pressure of her wet pussy dragging along his dick. “Yeah-huh.”
She giggles. “You’re on another planet, huh, sweet boy?”
“Yes’m,” he mumbles.
Now it’s a real laugh, fairy bells and everything joyful in the world. Still laughing, still full of nothin’ but love, she says, “Ya got no idea how sorry I am, Sammy, to do this to you.”
“Wh-what?” he says, baffled.
“Still,” she reasons, and her joyful tone’s got him bewildered and a little scared, “Daddy’s word is God’s word, so we’ve gotta do it anyhow. Understand?”
“Um. Kinda?”
“Right.” And then she holds him and sinks down on him and Sam’s vision goes dark.
Best. Birthday. Ever.
~~~
Samuel Solomon is fourteen years old. Once the clock strikes midnight, he’ll have been fourteen for a full day. It’s been...eventful.
Dee’s asleep next to him, his spend leakin’ out of her in a steady white stream that’s basically got him going crazy. What if it takes? What if she gets pregnant? Sam’s pretty sure babies with your sister will become, like, monsters or retards or something. His friend Zander, back in Lubbock, said his neighbor’s best friend’s sister had a baby with her uncle and it came out with three arms and one big cyclops eye.
Hush, Sam scolds himself. The Lord provides. You’re bein’ stupid.
He rolls over and looks at his big sister. She’s the most beautiful, most perfect person on earth. What they do together is holy, he just knows it. And what his Daddy did to him tonight, slipping that pill in his mouth that made him go wild, then fucking his mouth ‘till Sam did it just right, pinching his nose ‘till he swallowed him down -- that’s holy too.
Daddy’s on Deanna’s other side, one big arm holding her tight to him. It’s...it’s amazing.
Sam’s family, united.
He’s so in love it hurts.
He can’t help but think of that passage in the Book of Ruth, his favorite, favorite bit of Scripture, Deanna’s middle namesake:
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
He feels tears prickling at his eyes.
The happiest, happiest tears.