Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I ain’t here to make excuses,” Deanna says. Seems like the most important thing, the thing she’s gotta say first. Establish herself, yanno? It’s been too long since her last confession, as the Catholics say. ‘Course the Catholics are a buncha heathens, practically Pagan. Hell-bound, the lot of ‘em. But Deanna’s got a whole lotta sinnin’ to cop to, so maybe quoting mackerel snappers isn’t so bad. Comparably, that is. 

Pastor Jim nods. Baptists sometimes do a little confessin’ -- leastwise they do in her church -- but there’s no hidin’ from her pastor. No booth with a screen separating them. That’d be cowardly. Cowardice is a sin. And Deanna, she’s filthy with sin. Vile with it. 

“Go on, Deanna,” Pastor Jim encourages.

“Yessir.” She hesitates, bites her lip. “Pastor, it's a real ugly story,” she warns. “You’re gonna think badly of me.”

“The fact that you’re here at all,” Pastor Jim says, “speaks to your character.”

“Thank you kindly, sir.” He’s a real nice man, her spiritual leader. Mouthpiece of God and all that, but he’s down to earth too. Cares about his flock. They’re a small congregation, just the Winchesters and one or two other families. Fifteen of ‘em on a good day. Miz Ellen and her girl Joanna Beth never miss a Sunday, Daddy neither. And if Daddy’s goin’, then she and Sam are followin’ behind.

And that’s...kinda the problem.

“My daddy don’t know I’m here,” Deanna says. “I went without his permission. Guess that’s the first part I gotta confess.” Easy enough. Slips out without hurting too much.

Pastor Jim nods. “I see. You know you’re supposed to obey your father, young lady. I shouldn't have to tell you that.”

“I know it, sir.” To impress him: “Children, obey your father in the Lord, for it is right. An’ Honor your father, that your days may be long in the land that the Lord your God is givin’ you."  She nods to herself and smiles just a little when Pastor Jim nods too. Deanna ain’t dumb -- she knows the verses are about both parents, mother and father, but she ain’t got no mama. What’s the point of obeyin’ and honorin’ someone who ain’t there? Besides, it makes Daddy sad when she brings Mary up. (And besides-besides, God only knows what her dearly dead Mama would think of ‘em now.) “And I know I’m bein’ willful an’ disobedient to him,” Deanna continues. “I shouldn’t lie. Shouldn’t sneak around.”

“You’re a very self-aware young woman,” Pastor Jim acknowledges. He sounds genuinely fond. Kinda makes Deanna’s heart twist a little. If he knew what she done, he wouldn’t be so fond. Would be disgusted. 

“Thank you, Pastor.”

“Now, Deanna, what’s so important that you gotta ask me here on a Thursday afternoon without tellin’ your father?” Pastor Jim says. 

“We done somethin’ bad,” Deanna says before she can hide it any longer. “My whole family.” Oh, Lord my God, gimme strength. Please. She’s scared spitless (‘cause cussin’ is ungodly), but she forges on. She’s gotta. 

“What’ve you done bad?” Pastor Jim asks, his eyebrows wingin’ upward. “Y’all Winchesters are good people.”

“Thank you, sir,” she says. Oh, what if he don’t believe me? What if Daddy’s already gotten to him? “We try our best to the good in God’s eyes, an’ honor the Father and all, but we’ve...stumbled.”

“Go on.”

“I love ‘em,” Deanna says, the word tasting like poison on her tongue. “I-- I mean, we all love each other, but that’s the problem and-- it’s wrong--"

The doors to their tiny church burst open with a sound like thunder. It’s such a small place, a little building with just two rows of pews on each side of the aisle. No stage, no organ. Nothin’ like that. One room. But the doors are big and heavy as they are in any church. They bounce off the walls and that thunder-sound is just like God’s fury. 

And Daddy’s wrath.

When she looks at him, his face is...calm. Composed. 

“Jim,” Daddy says, his voice even as the lake on a good day. 

Deanna wants to jump up from her folding chair, wants to run fleet as a show horse. Gotta get outta here. Gotta avoid the hellfire Daddy’s gonna rain down on her head. 

“John,” Pastor Jim returns. “How are ya?”

“Good’n you?”

“Real good, praise God.” He nods towards Deanna. “Got your girl here.”

“I see that. Deanna,” Daddy says, and she jerks to attention, “you went out without permission. You left your brother home alone. You lied to me.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” she whispers.

“Sorry don’t absolve you of sin. Gonna be doing penance when we get home.”

...great.

That means a lotta things, but mainly that she won’t be able to sit for days. He’s gonna give her the hiding to end all hidings. Gonna go to school on Monday with a bow-legged limp. The girls are gonna make fun of me, she thinks helplessly. They’re gonna laugh at me. They already don’t like her. Lotsa reasons why. Most of Deanna’s clothes are second-hand-too-small-threadbare and she fills ‘em out too much. Ever seen boobs strainin' against a dress meant for a girl five years younger? Ain’t cute. She already gets so much S-H-I-T for being nineteen as a junior in high school. Gonna be twenty if she don’t drop out before senior year. She got held back two grades when she was younger ‘cause someone had to take care of Sammy. If it was Daddy’s choice, she wouldn’t go to school at all, but the Truancy Bastards are always breathing down their necks. Before they came to Little Town, Texas and met Pastor Jim and his insular flock, some nosy nellie called CPS on ‘em twice. Had to pick up and move in the middle of the night. The State Bastards wanted to take her baby from her.

Can’t have that. Plus, someone’s gotta look out for Sammy at school. Not good to separate 'em, yanno? And her brother, he’s a smart cookie. Skipped two grades. He’s her pride and her treasure and joy and he’s a fifteen-year-old junior. How about that? They’re in the same grade, which is nice. And ‘cause there’s only 200 students at school, their class schedules are identical. Deanna knows her brother’s a young man, responsible and mature and all that, and maybe doesn’t wanna be mother-smothered, but Daddy wants their family close. 

And despite the mean girls who don’t like her none and the work that’s half-too hard, she don’t wanna drop outta school. Deanna’s not so smart, but it’s the only world she’s got outside of her family and church. Sure, Sammy’s there, but he’s her baby. He doesn’t count.

What if he makes me drop out?? What if that's his punishment? The thought makes her dizzy. What if Daddy decides Sam can look out for himself at school? What if he decides it's made her too worldly? She gulps and squirms in her seat.

“I said,” Daddy says icily, “you’re doin’ penance when you get home.”

“Yessir,” she says, starin’ at the floor. “I understand, sir.”

“Why’s she here, Jim?” Daddy asks, casual as anything. “Guess if she had to sneak out, goin’ to church...” He chuckles. “Could be worse.”

Pastor Jim chuckles too. He shoots Deanna a look, and then they’re off talkin’ about her like she’s not here. Like she’s just a ghost or a bother or a naughty puppy. “She said she’s here for confession. Your girl called me this mornin' and said she had somethin’ to tell me.”

“Oh? What’d she hafta tell you?”

"Not rightly sure yet," Pastor Jim says. "Confession, as I said."

Daddy nods like he’s unbothered, but Deanna sees her father’s eyes go unfocused with rage. Maybe even a little bit of fear. “I understand confessions are meant to be private,” he says with a dip of his head. 

“She didn’t get too far in,” her pastor says. “Didja, young lady?”

“No, sir,” she mumbles. She wishes her spiritual leader was bein’ as kind as he was just a few minutes ago. Might not’ve understood exactly what she was sayin’, but his eyes were soft and not-so-mocking as they are now. Now, with Daddy looking at her too, they’re practically sneering. 

Well. Well...maybe they’ve got a right to be. They’re used to women bein’ hysterical -- yanno, irrational. Daddy works down at the Jiffy Lube and says half the women in Little Town are crazy B-I-T-C-H-E-S. Shouldn’t be allowed to drive. Shouldn’t try to get their cars fixed up. They don’t know nothin’ about cars and they bully their husbands into lettin’ ‘em go to the Jiffy Lube themselves. Don’t know an oil change from a fuckin’ rocking chair. Idiots, the lot of ‘em. Damn feminists. He always spits that word like it’s filthy-dirty. 

“I’m gon’ take her on home,” Daddy says. “If she’s got somethin’ to confess, she can confess it to me.”

“Your are the father,” her pastor concedes. “You’ve got that right. Well.” He claps his hands on his thighs and stands up. Offers a hand to Daddy. “I’d best take a look at this Sunday’s sermon. Few things I want to polish. I assume I’ll see y’all and your boy on Sunday.”

“Of course.” Daddy smiles. “Next Sunday an’ all the rest of ‘em.”

“Good man.” Pastor Jim gives Daddy’s shoulder a brotherly shake. 

“You have a good day, sir,” Deanna mutters as Daddy drags her out. “Sorry to bother you.” Her father’s grip on her elbow is harsh as sin. Really, she’d like to be screamin’, but God says you gotta Let your speech always be gracious and she ain’t gonna defy Him by being rude to her pastor. She’s already defied her daddy today and she’s gonna catch hell for it, so she won’t risk disobeyin’ the Bible.

Thoughts are whirrin’ through her mind like the hummingbirds at the feeder hanging in the backyard. Has she done wrong goin’ to Pastor Jim? Was it a bad idea? Maybe God will be mad at her. 

Daddy sure is. 

Now that they’re out of the church, Daddy really starts manhandling her. He gets her by the scruff of the neck and shove-drags her to his old red Chevy. Slams her against the passenger side. 

“What the FUCK did you tell him, girl?” he snarls.  

“Nothin’,” she mumbles. “I didn’t tell him nothin’.”

“You lyin’, Deanna?” Daddy demands. He’s got a hand fisted in her hair, yankin’ her head back at a horrible angle. “The Lord hates liars. He punishes them.” 

“I ain’t!” she squeals as he knots that fist harder. “Daddy, you’re hurtin’ me!!” White-hot lightning dances through her scalp. Hurts bad. He’s practically liftin’ her off the ground by her hair. 

“The Lord’ll punish you worse than I will if you’re lyin’! And you know, girl, I’m gon’ tan your fuckin’ hide.” 

Isn’t bad language a sin too? Maybe not as bad as avarice and murder and all that, but it’s still ugly. How come Daddy gets away with all that? He says F-U-C-K and names the Government Bastards and the Truancy Bastards and the State Bastards, calls her a B-I-T-C-H when she does wrong...but she said ‘Aw, crap!!’ one time and he washed her mouth out with soap. Oh, Deanna knows you gotta honor your father and obey him good, but it ain’t FAIR!! 

“Lemme go!!” she caterwauls. “I didn’t say nothin’! I told you!!”

Surely Pastor Jim can hear them!! They didn’t park too far away from Little Town Baptist -- the tamped-down dirt lot is small, just like the white-washed church. They might be hidden from view, but Deanna’s hollerin’ to wake the dead. Why won’t he come save her? Pastor Jim’s s’posed to be a protector!! 

Protector of men like her daddy. No room for girls like her. 

“Fool girl!” Daddy’s spits. “Goddamn.” He lets her go, finally, and Deanna falls in a sobbing heap. Right in the dirt. Nothin’ good lives in the dirt, just bugs and snakes and all the rotten crawling things. “Get up,” he orders. 

Deanna can’t make herself stand. She wants to. She does!! Her dress is riding up and she’s sure she’s flashing a whole lotta thigh and maybe even her panties and licentiousness is a sin, but--

“Get up, God dammit,” Daddy sighs. (Ain't using the Lord's name in vain a sin too??) He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that makes him look...young. Young and tired. Tell the truth, Daddy does look exhausted. He probably couldn’t find her at home and got real scared. 

All she told Sammy was that she was goin’ to church for an hour or two. He advised her not to, but he’s only fifteen. Not the man of the house just yet. Oh, no. What did Daddy do to her baby brother? The thought chills her. He can’t lie worth a darn, but he might’ve tried to cover for her. God, let him spare the rod with my baby. He didn’t do nothin’ wrong. 

Deanna eventually makes it to her feet. She’s wobbly as a newborn colt and Daddy has to catch her around the waist. He leans her against the side of the Chevy again. Doesn’t slam her, just props her up. Deanna’s legs are shakin’. 

“Get in the truck, Dean,” he says. 

“...yessir.”

Deanna manages to make it inside Daddy’s red truck. He’d never risk the Impala for a rage-mission like this. Might scratch the paint or pop a tire when he drives with nothin’ but black wrath on his mind. That’s what the pickup’s for, the everyday stuff. Her knees are knockin’ and she stares straight ahead.

Daddy starts the car and starts creeping towards home. The drive’s only fifteen minutes, but he sure is milking them. “Were you,” he says carefully, “gon’ tell our brother-in-Christ what goes on in our home?”

Deanna’s sure she’s red as a tomato. Red as blood. Red as sin. She doesn’t know what to say. She’s spilled enough lies today, but...but... 

“You’d best answer me when I speak to you,” Daddy says, his tone low and dangerous. 

“I...” Her mouth is cotton-dry. “Yessir, I was,” she says in a teeny-tiny voice. 

Daddy hisses through his teeth, sharp and livid. Deanna jumps. She balls her trembling hands into fists and tries to suck the tears right back into her eyes. 

“I’ve never been more disappointed in you,” Daddy pronounces, and something fragile in Deanna’s chest cracks. 

“Daddy--” she pleads, but he just talks right over her: “Your mother would be ashamed of you, girl. Spillin’ our family business to every Tom, Dick’n, Harry who’ll listen? Yappin’ about private things that go on in our own home? D’you want the State Bastards to take your brother?”

“No, Daddy!!”

“Sure seems like it. You want Sammy to go away?”

“No!” 

“What, you jealous or somethin’? Think you’re not gettin’ enough attention when that poor boy is between your legs every goddamn day? What more can he give you?”

“That ain’t it!!” she cries.

“That boy worships the ground you walk on. Treats you like the Golden Calf.”

Golden Calf? Her? No! No, she’s no idol! She can’t be tempting her baby brother into idolatry, she just can’t be. 

“Maybe,” Daddy muses, “I oughta punish him for it. Correct him.”

“Please don’t!” Deanna begs. “S’my fault, all of it. If-- if he’s treatin’ me like idol-worship stuff, then I’ll set him straight. I promise. Don’t punish him, Daddy, he can’t help it.”

Her father takes a sharp left and Deanna falls against the door. She barks her shoulder something fierce. It starts aching dully like her scalp. “You aren’t to set your brother straight. Gettin’ awful high and mighty there. You’re forgettin’ your place as a woman.”

“No, I--” She’s lost. Daddy’s real good at this, weaving webs of scolding and praise and shame and anger that toss you right off your feet. “I mean-- I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to be uppity.”

Daddy grunts. “Don’t mean to be uppity, but you’re fine spilling shit that’ll get your brother taken away.”

“It’s not that!!” Deanna doesn’t mean to be a shrew, she really doesn’t, but she just can’t take it no more!! She buries her head in her hands. “I love Sammy! He’s my baby,” she wails, agonized. 

“Then how come you--”

Oh, it just comes right out. She can’t stop it. Like them Jericho trumpets, she screams: “I’M SCARED WE’RE ALL GOIN’ TO HELL!!” Quieter, she adds, “You, me, and Sammy.”

Daddy brakes hard. The whole car lurches and Deanna’s head smacks right off the dash. “Ow!” she shrieks. It makes her seasick, her eyes goin’ wobbly in her head. 

“Hold on now,” her father says softly. “You just hold on a minute, Deanna Ruth.” He pulls ‘em over to the side of the gravel road. Nothing for miles around but pine trees and horny toads. And the tiny universe contained in the cab of this rusty ol’ Chevy. “Tell me what you mean, honey.”

Oh, to be called ‘honey’ in her Daddy’s whiskey-smoke voice. It’s like takin’ some kind of drug, something that crawls through her veins and brains and all that stuff, relaxes her instantly. Her whole body’s a shaky mess and her mind’s a hurtin’ thing, but that one word from Daddy just melts her.

“I...” Deanna sniffles. Feels like her insides are falling out. Or somethin’ worse, whatever the worst thing in the world could be. This is the biggest thing she’s ever done told somebody. But maybe it’s gotta get out, like lancing a wound. The worry’s been clawing her up inside for weeks. Concern for her mortal soul isn’t new -- she’s been worried about obeyin’ her Lord and avoidin’ Hell since she could toddle. Her every action is studied and considered and thought through. But...but this has been eatin’ her alive like the wild dogs ate Jezebel. Nipping and tearing at her mind. Gnawin’ at her sanity, tell the truth. “I’m worried,” she whispers, rubbing the goose egg already growing where she bonked her head on the dash. “Scared.”

“Worried we’re all goin’ to Hell,” Daddy continues. “Scared. Go on, babygirl.”

Babygirl. The anger’s fading from his face like meltwater. All that bull-huffin’ rage and the way he hurt her real bad, gone in an instant. He’s a mercurial man, her daddy. 

Deanna takes a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth, like the Lady Bastard back in Lubbock taught her, back when she called got into the office ‘cause she seemed so hollow and haunted. (Daddy did not like that.)

“What we do at home,” she says. “It’s-- I don’t understand how it’s godly, Daddy. I read my Bible an’...I just don’t see how we’re doin’ right.” She’s had these verses memorized for weeks, months. She’s written them down carefully on notebook paper and stared at them until they were imprinted in her mind. She recites “But among you there must not be even a hint of sexual immorality, or of any kind of impurity. And Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body. And they say the marriage bed’s gotta be kept pure an' girls gotta be chaste. We’re-- I-- I’m not...” She grits her teeth. Deanna’s never said any of this aloud. Feels like her mouth is full of mud. “I’m not chaste, Daddy. I ain’t even a virgin.” She looks down at the wheel well. Nothin’ to see but her scuffed Converse and stubbly legs. All that primping -- the shaving, that is -- should be sinful, but Daddy and Sammy like her legs and armpits smooth, so. “Leviticus,” she says softly. “It says you ain’t s’posed to have...sex...” -- the word is so hard to say! -- “...with a family member.”

And then she’s silent. Deanna wants to say more -- she’s been practicing her little speech for Heaven knows how long. She had more verses memorized and more persuasive, eloquent language. But this is all she can do. She’s not sure she can speak more without fainting. 

Hopefully Daddy takes her seriously. 

She feels his big-warm hand on her knee. That hand...it has soothed her and smacked her so many times. Made her feel good and terrible. Beautiful and wrong. “Look at me, Dean,” Daddy says. His tone’s soft, but it brooks no argument. She looks up into her father’s eyes. “Gonna address what you said point by point,” he says. “I’m takin’ this seriously, girl. OK?”

“OK.”

“That verse in Leviticus, I know the exact one you’re talkin’ about. It speaks about who you’re prohibited from havin' sexual relations with. Is that right?”

“Yessir.”

He pulls a Bible from the backseat. In another life, it’d be kinda funny, the idea that they’re those types of Christians, the holy rolling Baptists who keep Bibles on their persons at all times. There’s copies of the Good Book in the truck and the Impala. In her and Sammy’s backpacks, Daddy’s work bag, every room in their house, even the lavatory. Ain’t they funny, those foot-washers. Bibles for days and they still fuck their daughters. 

He flicks through his Bible until he finds the verses she’s talkin’ about. “Look here,” he says, runnin’ his finger down the page. This Bible is old, the black leather cover cracked. The pages are real thin and the font is teeny-tiny. “First of all, this verse don’t mention fathers or brothers. Don’t say anything about daughters either.”

“It mentions sisters,” Deanna points out, her voice wavering. 

Daddy nods. “Reckon it does. It’s good that you read your Bible closely, honey.”

“...thank you, Daddy.”

“But who is Leviticus directed to?”

“The-- the book itself?”

“The very same.”

“Uh. Sinners?”

“Sinful men,” Daddy clarifies, lookin’ at her intently.

Well...well that can’t be true. “But we’re all born in sin, Daddy,” Deanna says. She doesn’t like bein’ willful or defiant, but surely Daddy’s wrong. Plenty of God’s word is addressed directly to women. 

“We surely are,” Daddy says. “Born in sin, wicked an’ rotten.”

“But...” He’s doin’ that thing again, the thing where he confuses the heck out of her. “Leviticus is for everybody, ain’t it?” she asks once her head’s on straight. “The rules, I mean.”

Daddy makes a ‘so-so’ gesture with his hand. “Well, yes. Many of the rules are for men, though, sweetheart. Man shall not lie with man, not havin’ relations with a woman when she’s unclean--” (he means her monthlies) “--priestly laws, all that.”

“But...” she says again, her tone as stupid as it was the first time. 

“It’s up to a man how he runs his house,” Daddy says. “You agree with me?”

“Of course.”

“An' it’s up to us to live by God’s word, ain’t that right?”

“Yessir.”

“So if that passage, the one about who you can and can’t lie with, is addressed to us fellas, and it’s up to a father to run his house...”

She...sorta gets where he’s goin’ with this. “Then it’s up to a man to interpret that passage? Is that it?”

Daddy ruffles her hair and it just...it just feels good. To know he’s not so angry at her that he can’t give her that simple gesture of fatherly love. “That’s my girl, Dean. Think on it -- God gave us His Word. He guides our footsteps like a good Father does, but He gave us free will as well. We gotta use that free will to live up to His Word, which He has provided for us.”

Well. It does make sense. Sorta.

“And what else was eatin' you then, bein’ chaste?” he asks.

“Yessir. For my marriage bed.”

Her father frowns, but there’s a little humor in it. “You got a hankerin’ to get away from us? Lookin’ for a husband?”

Deanna pales. Well...well no. She mostly meant the statement in a “preservin’ my purity” way, kinda abstract-like. Future-minded. She’s never thought of a man in a marriage-way, she just figured her daddy would find her a suitable husband one day. But the thought of leaving her father and her brother chills her to the bone. “No, sir,” she says. 

“You wanna leave me?” The humor’s still there, but there’s somethin’ dark, a sinister edge. “I thought you loved me.”

“I do!” Deanna cries, her heart twistin’ in her chest. Daddy scares her sometimes and he hurts her bad, but she loves him. She loves him SO much. “With all my heart, Daddy! I don’t wanna leave you.”

“You’re talkin’ about bein’ some man’s wife. You want to leave us behind.”

“No! I-- I meant it like...’cause...’cause the Bible says you’re s’posed to be a virgin when you get married. That’s all! I was confused.” Oh, no. Oh, she really stepped in it now. The thought of Daddy, much less Sam thinking that she’s gunning to leave them, it’s unbearable.

“You got some town boy on the roster?” Daddy demands. He grabs her chin, makes her hold eye contact. “You already snuck out once. Who’s the say you ain’t been creepin’ off to see--”

“No!” she cries. “No, there’s no town boy!” His grip on her chin hurts. She’s gonna have bruises come tomorrow. The black’n’blue impression of his fingers on her chin. Prob’ly her neck too, her thighs -- if tonight goes how she thinks it’s gonna go -- and surely her backside when he gets done hiding her. But it’s like knives inside, the idea that Daddy thinks she’d let another man touch her. “There’s no town boy!” Deanna repeats. “Just you an’ Sammy, I promise!”

“Swear it,” her father growls.

“I swear! On the Holy Book!”

“God casts down liars, Deanna Ruth.”

“I ain’t lying!” 

“You promise? You ain’t dreamin’ of running off? You gonna stay with me an’ your brother?”

“Of course, Daddy,” she finds herself saying. “Always.” Yanno, that’s a funny notion -- Deanna sorta feels like she’s condemned herself and delivered herself with one measly word. Two schools ago, they studied Romeo and Juliet. “What’s in a name?” That’s what they asked. And here -- “What’s in a word?” Does always mean she’ll be a Winchester girl until the day she dies? No escape from their tiny house, their tiny church? Her baby plowing her in the name of God, her daddy drugging her ‘til she’s loopy with joy and pleasure? It’s not all bad. She’s content most of the time. It always feels good and she loves her family so fearsome it hurts sometimes. Does always mean she’ll be with them ‘til they get tired of her? ‘Til Sammy marries some girl and Daddy decides he’s better off with grandchildren instead of his own children? 

What if he touches his granddaughters the way he touches us? 

But you’re s’posed to be fruitful and multiply, right? So shouldn’t Daddy want to marry ‘em off and have lotsa grandkids? Unless...unless she’s meant to have children with...with...them. 

Oh. 

Deanna’s not sure how she feels about that. She’s not allowed to take biology or take part in those dirty sex education courses -- she and Sammy always have to sit in the gym or the library during those units. But she knows enough to know babies born from family members sometimes come out...wrong. Wouldn't that be a punishment from God?

But there’s also freedom in always, isn’t there? Kinda can’t think of anywhere she’d rather be than Little Town, Texas. It’s nice here. Maybe the girls in school hate her and her world’s pretty small, but she’s got Joanna Beth for a friend and Miz Ellen for a mentor and Pastor Jim for a spiritual leader, and her family, who love her unconditionally. Yanno, lotsa people don’t have lives as rich as hers. They’re not rich in material things, but Jesus says,  It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God and she believes that real and true. Who needs wealth? They do OK on Daddy’s salary. They’ve got food in their bellies and clothes on their backs. Sure, Daddy keeps her in those too-small-little-girl clothes, but she’s pretty sure that’s on purpose, not ‘cause they’re poor. Kinda funny, that he’s got her in these short dresses and too-tight shirts, but she’s s’posed to be modest?? It’d make more sense if she wore long skirts and decent blouses like Joanna Beth and Miz Ellen. Daddy’s a funny fella. Some of his rules are sensible and understandable -- no boys, no drinkin’ or drugs (except for what he gives her and Sammy), no unchristian acts. But others are hard to grasp -- it’s OK to dress like a harlot, even at the public school he hates. (Though she’s gotta be modest at church, of course.) She can’t discipline Sammy ‘cause he’s a young man, but she’s responsible for his behavior. “Look out for Sammy” -- she lives by those words. 

And...and...

What her dad and her brother do to her. Can’t forget that. Still. It does feel good. And it shows her men how much she loves ‘em. Kinda what a woman owes a man, yanno? They work so hard, bein’ the heads of the household and providin' for their wives and children. They don’t really ask much of her. It’s sorta her duty, right?

Huh.

“Always,” Daddy says, drawing her back to the present. They’re still on the side of the gravel road in the too-close air of the Chevy, her scuffed shoes nervously running back and forth over the rubber floor mat. Daddy’s long since pulled the keys from the ignition. It’s real hot outside. She’s probably sweat right through her dress, one of the faded yellow ones with little white flowers all over it. 

“Yessir,” Deanna says quietly. “Always.”

“That’s good,” Daddy says. He adds, decisively, “We ain’t goin’ to Hell.”

“You sure?” she can’t help but ask. And then it’s all pouring out again: “It’s been eatin’ me alive, Daddy. I can’t stop thinkin’ about it. I like what we do just fine--” And lying’s a sin, so she may as well admit she...does like being her daddy’s little girl, likes Sammy being her baby... She does like what they do at home. Her brother pounding her into the mattress while her father watches, lazily stroking himself. Sucking John Winchester as Samuel Solomon fills her up from behind. Dripping their spend on Sammy’s cowboy sheets. Taking whatever pills her daddy slips between her lips, lazy-loose and lolling, giggly and filled with wicked joy. “Alright,” Deanna corrects herself, her cheeks hot, “I like it a lot.” Only half a lie. “But I’m just so scared. Pastor Jim says premarital relations are a sin and ain’t he the mouthpiece of God? And I-- I know you said it’s up to you to interpret the Word ‘cause you’re the man and I do trust you, Daddy, I-- I mean, you’re my father and you’re the cornerstone of our family and--” She’s startin’ to peter out. 

Daddy doesn’t say nothin’ for a long time. He looks at her consideringly, long enough that Deanna squirms. Gosh, what was she doing, runnin’ to her pastor and fully intending to confess the incest they’re committing near every day? The whole thing is so absurd that she almost giggles. 

“Yanno,” Deanna says, feeling a little delirious, “yanno...never mind.”

“Hm?”

She gives up. Just gives right up.

“Never mind. It hurts too much,” she says. “All this thinkin’. All these thoughts about damnation an’ the Lake of Fire for what we do. I’d better just trust you, huh, Daddy?”

He grins. It’s the first genuine smile she’s seen since he dragged her outta Little Town Baptist.  

Deanna sorta means what she says. And sorta’s better than unbelief. She’ll take it. It’s a good thing, someone else makin’ the decisions for her. Women just aren’t made to do this kind of thinking, this kind of turmoil and big picture stuff. She’s silly and irrational. Thus is the curse of her kind.

“Take me home,” Deanna says, her voice a little clearer, a little more confident. “Please. I’m sorry for what I done, Daddy. I know it was bad. But I really wasn’t lyin’ when I said I didn’t tell Pastor Jim anything. I started to, but he didn’t understand what I meant. He ain’t gonna figure it out. We’re safe. The State Bastards ain’t gonna take Sammy, I know it.” The only curse word she’s allowed to say, she puts all her vitriol into it. Just about spits it. “I understand that I gotta do penance and I’ll accept any punishment you give me. Don’t spare the rod, sir. I promise I’ll do better.” She looks up at her father, her protector, her guide and guardian. “I won’t be perfect, but I’ll try my darndest. I’ll believe in you an’ I won’t act ornery.”

Daddy puts his arm around her and she snuggles into his side. “Good girl,” he says. Gives her a squeeze. Then he starts the car and drives ‘em on home. He doesn’t say another word, but that’s OK. Even if he chastises her harshly -- as she well deserves!! -- everything will turn out alright. Her daddy takes care of her. He only wants the best for her. 

They make the rest of the drive in comfortable silence, his arm around her. They pull into their dusty-dirt driveway and she gives their home a good, long look. It’s ain’t so bad. Maybe none of this is so bad. It’s very small, but there’s a lovely little garden out front that she takes care of herself. They grow flowers and vegetables and fruit when it’s in season. All green and pretty. Two bedrooms, one for her father, one for her and Sam. They share a bed, ‘cause why not? The kitchen is more of an -ette and the living room is just a couch, a battered TV, and Daddy’s La-Z-Boy. A little bathroom, but it’s got a tub! Sometimes Daddy gives ‘em baths like he did when they were little. They’ve even got a small backyard with a couple lemon trees. 

Yeah, yanno what? She was bein’ a real loon. An ungrateful, irrational woman. Ecclesiastes had the right of it -- I found one upright man among a thousand, but not one upright woman among them all.

Her father guides her inside with a hand on the small of her back. Feels good, not as punitive as she deserves. 

Sammy’s inside. He’s sittin’ in the living room on their ratty plaid couch. He’d never dare sit in Daddy’s La-Z-Boy, even if he left ‘em home alone for days. You just don’t do that. 

And then her heart breaks. 

Shatters.

Her baby looks so scared. And totally defeated. Oh, Lord on high. His head is hangin’ down, his too-long floppy hair covering his eyes. He’s wearing a sweatshirt about four sizes too big, deep brown with frayed cuffs. The sweatshirt is near the only thing he’s wearin’ -- he’s got boxers on underneath, but no more. Quick peek -- the ones she got him a couple years back as a silly Christmas gift. Blue with yellow rubber ducks. Daddy just barely let Sam keep them. 

“Son,” Daddy says, “why’re you in your all-togethers?”

Sammy looks up, his pretty hazel eyes big and agonized. He ain’t technically in the buff like Daddy’s sayin’, but it’s near enough to the truth. And in a flash, Deanna knows exactly why Sam’s in the big old sweatshirt and his underpants. 

If he looks appealing enough, her baby might take the attention off of her. Might redirect some of Daddy’s heat and anger on to him. Not in punishment, no, but in distracting lust. Daddy very rarely punishes Sam anyhow. The occasional slap for bein’ mouthy, but that’s it. He’s easier on Sam, and Deanna’s glad for it. She’d happily take every bit of her father’s consequences if it kept Sammy safe. 

Safe from Daddy? But they're always safe with him. She didn't mean it like that, it's just--

Huh.

“I, um.” Sammy shrugs. “Just...was just more comfortable like this.” His eyes plead with her. “Dee?”

“Hiya, baby boy,” she says softly. 

“I was worried about you,” he says, "when you ran off like that.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t want you to go, Dee. I tried to stop you!”

“I know.”

“How come you didn’t listen?”

“I was unwise,” she says, “an’ weak.” 

There’s a short silence. Finally, he asks, all quiet:  “Ya okay?”

“She is,” Daddy says. He don’t like it when they talk without acknowledging him. “Your sister had some things she needed to work through. I set her straight, though. Didn’t I, honey?”

“Yessir.” He did. He only hurt her a little bit. Deanna feels that she’s learned her lesson well, but she’s still gotta do the penance Daddy mentioned back with Pastor Jim. She understands that. 

“Dean’s a little mixed up,” Daddy continues. He kicks off his steel-toed boots and nods at Deanna to take her Converse off. She unties them and lines them up neatly next to Daddy’s. 

“Mixed up?” Sam repeats. He sounds like a little kid. 

“Yes, son. What we do this afternoon is very important. We have to be intentional about it.”

“I don’t understand, sir,” Sam says. 

“What does the Good Book say about loving our wives?” Daddy asks. 

“Uh.” Sammy takes a second to think about it. “Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it. Is that right, Daddy?”

“Sure is, son.” Daddy sits on the couch. He’s a vision in blue jeans and a faded red flannel. He pats his lap. Deanna plops right down and, at Daddy’s nod, she makes some space for Sam. When they were little, they used to jockey and jostle for space on their father’s lap. Now, at nineteen and fifteen, they don’t fit. They’re both sprawled over him and half on the floor, her baby’s coltish limbs flying every which-way. He’s so darned gangly. Still growing into himself, all knees and elbows. I love him, she thinks. I love him so much. All Daddy’s talk about marriage and always and all that... 

Oh, my Lord. The thought of Samuel married. Forgive me for my anger and malice, Father, but...but... It makes her near-murderous. The idea that some whore might one day share her baby’s affections. Or, Lord forbid, replace her?? It fills Deanna with a vicious jealousy that’s so wrathful it’s dizzying. No. This is what always means. She’ll have her baby ‘til the day she dies. She’d die without him. 

Once they’re sorta settled, Daddy wraps an arm ‘round each of ‘em. “Sam,” he says, and squeezes his son a little bit. 

Sammy perks up. “Yessir?”

“Your sister’s been having some thoughts, some frightening ones. We’d best be gentle with her for a while. Men gotta love their wives as Christ loved the church. What does that mean to you?”

“Well, Christ loved us enough to die for us,” Sammy says. “So I reckon we gotta love our wives--” And here, he looks at Deanna with all the love in the world “--enough to be crucified. Enough to kill and die for ‘em.” 

“That’s right. Good boy.” 

It takes Deanna a second -- she’s too busy mooning over Sammy’s smarts -- before she realizes what her father is saying. We’d best be gentle with her for a while.

He’s choosing...mercy?

“Oh, Daddy!” she cries, flingin’ her arms around her father. “I love you! I ain’t ever goin’ anywhere!”

Her father hugs her one-armed, making sure to keep his grip on Sam. “Love you too, babygirl. That’s all I needed to hear.”

“Dee?” Sam says, a hurt so profound it takes her breath away in his voice. “Dee, you were gonna leave?” Looks like he’s about to cry.

Oh, no. Daddy doesn’t like it when boys cry. It’s not godly, actin’ like a woman when you ain’t one. “Shh, honey,” she says. “No, I wasn’t gonna leave. Just got mixed up, like Daddy said. I wasn’t sure about--” She flicks a glance at her father. If she speaks her worries to Sammy, will he start worryin’ too? He might be popular in school, might have a bright future in front of him, but he still follows his big sister’s lead. Always. But Daddy gives her a little dip of his chin, so she forges on. She rests her head on Daddy’s chest. His heartbeat is comforting. “I got confused,” she says carefully. “I misread some, er, some scripture an’ I wanted to go over it with Pastor Jim.”

“What scripture?” Sammy asks suspiciously. “You ran outta here like a bat outta He--” He stops himself at Daddy’s sharp look. “I-- I mean you ran outta here real urgent-like.”

“I was worried about the nature of our relationship.” She’s tryin’ to put it as delicately as she can. She reaches across her father’s broad chest and takes Sam’s hand. She gives it a press. “I was wrong, OK? That’s the first thing. I was incorrect and Daddy set me straight. But I was worried what we do might be sinful. Yanno, what we do with each other. ”

“Oh.” Sam blinks a couple times. He looks so innocent. “How come you thought that, Dee?” 

“I...”

“There’s nothin’ wrong with it.” He says this like he’s utterly bewildered. “Ain’t that right, Daddy? It’s holy.”

Somethin’ rockets through Deanna that’s half-breathless adoration and half-sorrow. It’s holy. He’s right. Warped and doomed from birth, he is. They all are. His future: fuckin’ his sister and gearin’ up to get fucked by his daddy. (Won’t stick anything in the boy ‘til he’s sixteen, don’t you worry, Deanna Ruth). But still: holy.

“That’s right, son,” Daddy says, and he kisses the top of Sam’s head just like he did when he was little. “That’s great. It is holy.” 

“You’re so smart, Sammy,” Deanna marvels. Gosh, if she could be more like him, none of this would’ve happened. She’s so proud of her baby.

“Smarts are a gift from God,” Sammy says wisely, and Deanna’s gobsmacked all over again. He’s perfect. “It’s how we use ‘em that matters.”

“You’re on fire today, son,” Daddy says, and he’s all relaxed and indulgent and happy. “You’re a real good boy, yanno that?”

“Thank you, sir.” Sammy buries his face in his father’s chest. Deanna can’t help but smile. He’s on the cusp of adulthood, but he’s still so little. 

“My good boy,” Daddy says. The possessive edge to his voice makes her shiver and tingle. Yeah. Sammy is their daddy’s boy, just like she’s his girl. “But listen, son.” He nudges Sammy until he’s looking him in the eyes, Daddy serious as sin and Sam earnest as a lamb: “We gotta treat your sister well today. We gotta remind her how much we love an’ value her. Gotta take special care of her. It’s important.”

“Yessir,” Sam breathes. “Yessir, I understand.” He gropes for Deanna, grabby hands like the little boy he’ll always be. “Dee, can I--”

“Alright,” Daddy chuckles. “Alright. Hold your horses, boy, hold on.” He lets ‘em go and sits in his La-Z-Boy, grinnin’ at her and Sammy like a ghoul. Or-- or like a proud father. Not a ghoul, that ain’t kind. When he’s settled, Daddy nods at them. “Have at it. But remember, Samuel, you treat that girl like gold. Show her what we do is holy.”

Sam nods gravely. He rakes his eyes up and down her body, half-lustful, half-worshipful. “You’re so beautiful, Dee,” he says softly. Reverently. 

Golden calf...! flashes through her mind. 

No. No, it ain’t like that. Her Sammy knows God’s to be worshipped, not big sisters who got forced to practically molest you. 

“Thank you, baby,” she manages. “Thank you kindly.”

“Like it when you call me your baby,” Sammy confesses in a sweet mumble. 

“Oh, honey.” She brushes those floppy bangs -- and why does Daddy let him grow his hair so danged long?? -- out of his pretty eyes. “You’ll always be my baby. Never gon' leave you, sweet boy.”

Yeah. She was doomed from the moment of Samuel Solomon’s conception. The first time Daddy laid him in her arms, her mama in the grave from bringin’ him into the world, she was damned. And...and not damned like Hell an’ devilry, but damned to love this boy ‘til the day she dies and even after. In the Kingdom of Heaven, she’ll have her brother and her daddy forever.

Never escape, I'll never escape even when I die.

She accepts his soft-as-spirit kiss. So innocent for just a moment. The press of lips -- a little tender from where he must’ve chewed ‘em raw while they were gone. Oh, her baby brother in his boxers and too-big hoodie, the God-fearing, sister-fucking child she brought up the very best she could. Cussin’ ain’t godly, she scolds herself.

Sammy pulls away all too quick. Determined, he vows, “I’ll make it good for you, Dee. Lay down for me, please.”

“Okay.” She does as he bids. It’s easy as breathin’, to give her spoiled-sweet Sammy whatever he wants. She spreads her legs to accommodate his lanky ol’ self. Sam positions himself the best he can, pushes her dress up her thighs and almost purrs at the reveal -- vanity’s ugly in God’s eyes, but Deanna knows he’s lookin’ at miles and miles of golden skin. Daddy likes his children healthy and presentable -- lots of exercise and good country air have tanned and refined her form. Sammy knocks her outta whatever vain reverie -- and thank you for the reminder, Lord, to temper my selfish pride -- she was lost in. He drags his tongue up her leg, mapping freckles and moles. Spit-slick trail up her thigh. It cools rapidly, even in the oven-warmth of their living room. When he reaches where he wants to be, Sam doesn’t give her a chance to get used to it. Just buries his nose in her crotch, huffin' her like a drug. “Smell so good, Dee,” he mumbles against her. The vibrations of his voice have her jumpin’ outta her skin. 

“Sammy,” she sighs. 

He giggles. Sam hooks his fingers in the waistband of her panties and pulls 'em down. Not a lotta finesse on him yet, just raw teenage enthusiasm. They catch on her behind and Sam giggles again. “Dee, put your butt up,” he laughingly demands. “I can’t get ‘em off if you don’t move!"

“Yessir,” she says sarcastically. 

Daddy’s raspy laugh from the La-Z-Boy, the sunshine-bright of his smile. 

Yes. Yes, things are OK. Her men love her and they’re gonna show her just how much. Daddy ain’t gonna punish her for almost ruining everything. 

Joy. 

She lifts her hips and Sammy yanks the underwear down her legs so fast the elastic band practically skins her. Deanna swears it sizzles as it races over her stubbly legs. She tries not to wince. He’s tryin’ his best. 

“You’re so pretty down here,” Sammy says, tossin’ her panties someplace. “So pretty.” He tilts his head, inspecting her. “Just lie back and let me take care of you, Dee, OK?”

“OK.”

He dives right in. Now, Sam is still learning “what makes a woman tick”, as Daddy says, but he’s gettin’ real good. He took to pussy-eatin’ just like he took to book-learnin' -- lots of enthusiasm and talent. He runs his tongue along the whole of her, dipping inside and lapping at her like a puppy. Deanna shivers. He gets her sloppy-wet, just how he likes her. Sam told her once that he liked her “wet an’ messy” ‘cause their lives are so strict and disciplined, and it was a nice contrast. He said it more eloquently than that, Deanna’s prob’ly misquoting him. He’s a little egghead, a thousand times smarter than her. Practically a poet.

Sammy replaces his tongue with two fingers, filling her just right. He suckles on her clit and sorta massages her from the inside out. When he’s tryin’ to be sweet, he goes all syrup-slow and drives her outta her mind. His fingers feel so good inside her, hittin’ that spot Deanna can never quite reach on her own. And his mouth, his sweet, clumsy mouth, ooh, she’s practically cross-eyed. Deanna doesn’t realize she’s makin’ these stupid “ah-ah-ah” sounds until Daddy rumbles, “Listen to her, son. Think she feels good?”

Sammy hums and Deanna wiggles and the whole thing goes on forever and ever. He’s so unselfish, her baby. Could eat her for hours with no attention to his own achin’ nethers and he’d be happy as a lark. 

She comes, half-sobbing, as her baby brother laps between her thighs.

When she comes back to herself, Sam’s sittin’ back on his heels, grinning and wet with her. She kisses him ‘cause it’s just about the only thing she can do.

Helpless. Helpless in the face of the love she feels for her baby. 

“Did that feel OK, Dee?” Sam asks. “Did I do a good job?”

“You did real good, kiddo,” she says. “That felt amazing.”

“D’you understand how much we love you now?” Sam presses. “Daddy said to--”

“I know what he said, ya goof, I was right there,” she teases. “Got workin’ ears, don’t I?” Might be his mama and his lover and a hundred other things, but she’s his big sister first and foremost. 

“Work ‘til they don’t,” Sam says primly, and it cracks her up. What does he even mean? When has she ever not listened to him, all his sweet little demands, little-brother-brat, her whole entire world? 

“Hush, you,” she chides gently, and cups his cheek. “Yes, baby, I understand how much you love me.” 

“Wanna go again?” Sam asks slyly, poking out his tongue. 

Deanna looks to her Daddy. Gotta get his opinion on it first, of course. He looks speculative. Her eyes dart down -- ooh, he’s hard in his jeans. Prob’ly aches fearsomely. Deanna finds her mouth watering a little bit and-- gosh, this whole thing feels so absurd once again. A nineteen-year-old girl who can’t even graduate high school, fucktoy to her father and brother. Worried about goin’ to Hell when she’s got Heaven on Earth right here. 

Daddy’s gaze softens when he notices her watchin’ him. He gives his crotch a squeeze and Deanna feels herself go red. He can be so vulgar without sayin’ a thing! She giggles. Now, Deanne does know what he wants her to say, so she says it: “We can go again. But I want it to be all of us.”

Sammy blows a strand of hair out of his eyes. He grins guilelessly at their father. “C’mon, Daddy!”

“Alright, son. Gon’ take both of us to show Dean how much we love her, huh?” 

“Yessir!” he says, all chipper.

Daddy directs Sammy, “Undress me” and it makes her insides shuffle-squirm. Good to see a father and a son gettin’ along. It’s how it should be, son serving and honoring the patriarch. Not just a daughter’s job, yanno? And Sammy gives all of himself to whatever task you ask of him -- so the look he gives Daddy is far too cunning for a kid his age. She wonders, dimly, where he learned that dreck. Preening and soft and lip-bitin’ nonsense. Shy and sly and...huh. The whole thing chills her a little. He shuffles off her and holds his hands out, the same “Gimme” gesture that always gets him exactly what he wants. He unbuckles Daddy’s belt with nimble fingers, not so little-boy-clumsy now. Daddy might think it’s funny when Sammy flings Deanna’s panties in his rush to get between her legs, but Sammy wouldn’t dare do the same with anything belonging to their father. Especially not the belt -- it’s all he has left of their granddad. To mess with somethin’ like that, even though they’re not allowed to mention Granddad Winchester, would mean a hidin’ the likes of which they have not known. 

So he’s careful with it. Careful with Daddy’s jeans too, and his flannel. Folds ‘em neat and tidy, which looks so silly in rubber duckie boxers, but she don’t dare laugh. This is man’s business. This is between them. She watches her baby inspect their father. Daddy’s so tall she has to look straight up to make eye contact, but Sammy’s gettin’ up there. Maybe one day he’ll be eye to eye with their father, perhaps even taller. 

She’s got this wild image, this flash, almost like some witch-vision -- her father and brother facin’ off, Sammy grown-man-tall and broad in the shoulders, his pretty mouth turned down in a furious frown, jaw gritted. Deanna comes back to herself. What on earth? Why would Sammy look at their father with anything but adoration? Or fear, but that’s just how you’re s’posed to look at your father. Of the devil not to have a healthy respect for your daddy’s authority. 

She shoves that nasty mental image right back down, of Samuel as a man with that black-wrath look in his eyes, that hateful set to his whole body. She tunes back into the present, exactly where she should be. 

Sammy’s on his knees. He’s got their daddy’s cock in his mouth, suckling on the head just like he suckled on Deanna’s clit.

“Looks good with somethin’ in his mouth, don’t he, babygirl?” Daddy grunts, catchin’ her eyes. He leers at her. “Don’t he?”

“Yessir,” she breathes, “he does.” She ain’t lying. Sick pleasure swirls through her -- the things in Sammy’s mouth used to be binkies and lollipops and baby bottles, now it’s her daddy’s dick. 

Inevitable. God-ordained. 

Daddy gives it to him slick and easy. Don’t fuck his throat the way he fucks Deanna’s. If she was a worse person, it’d make her terrible-mad, burn her up with jealousy. But Sammy’s their baby -- MY baby, the sinnin’ part of her thinks -- and he deserves to be eased into things in a way Deanna never got to be. Before Sam came of age, it was just her and Daddy doing what they do at home. He taught her a lot and she’s thankful for his lovin’ tutelage, but he was a lot less patient to get his cock in her, if that makes sense. Her lessons weren’t so gentle.

Anyways.

Sammy makes all kinds of wonderful noises as he gets their father’s cock messy-wet. “Mouth’s so pretty, boy,” Daddy growls. His hand rests on the back of his son’s head. Not pushin’, not quite. Not yet, she thinks. Once Daddy gets his hands on Sam for real, when he thinks he’s ready to go all in, he’ll fuck his mouth and his ass and really give it to him good. It’s an excellent lesson in humility. 

Sammy gargles somethin’ that sounds like, “Thank you, sir,” around the dick in his mouth.

Deanna giggles. Daddy turns to her and winks. She flushes with wicked, squirming pleasure. “Such a pretty mouth,” Daddy repeats. “Made for this.”

They are. This is the Lord’s purpose for 'em, she knows that now. Fearfully and wonderfully made, that’s her father. As for them? For we are God's handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do. Guess being her daddy’s daughter-wife is good enough for her. 

Wonder if he’d marry me one day, she thinks dreamily. It entices and repulses her. 

Daddy pulls outta Sammy’s mouth at last, chucklin’ when the spit-strand connecting them snaps. “Good man,” he says, and chucks Sammy’s chin. “You sit on that chair, boy. I’m gon' remind your sister how special she is to us and to the Lord.”

“Yessir.”

“If you’re good, I’ll letcha fuck her in the ass. Sound good to you, Samuel?”

Sam’s cheeks are crimson. Red as blood. In the ass? She’s never-- 

“Daddy...” Deanna says. She reminds him, slowly, stilted, “You said you were gonna be my first everything.” He ain’t ever touched her there, patently refuses to. Deanna thought it was ‘cause that kinda lovin’ is for dirty sodomites (what he does with Sammy don’t count, of course), but guess not. 

“Know what I said,” Daddy acknowledges. “But you’ve had a difficult day, honey, and I know he’s your baby. Consider it an early birthday present, huh?” 

She don’t turn twenty for another five months and this seems like more of a gift for the men than for her, but it’s a real nice gesture anyhow. She grins. “Thank you, Daddy.”

He touches her cheek. 

And things blur after that, just like they always do when Daddy takes her like this. He yanks the dress over her head -- her danged brother got so excited he didn’t even undress her, ha! -- and fucks her without much preamble. He’s...kind about it. That’s a good word for how he does it. Often, he takes more’n he gives, but not today. He makes sure she gets off first. Three whole times, which she didn’t even know she could do. He plays her like a violin, fingers tickling her clit with barely-there pressure that has her just about cross-eyed again. He knows how she likes it. 

When her father comes inside her, the wet warmth feels like salvation.   

Poor Sam’s been quiet and obedient, as he should be, sittin’ in Daddy’s La-Z-Boy. Dang, just another example of her father’s generosity! Lettin’ Sam sit in his favorite chair? She didn’t even think about how danged significant that is, how kind he’s bein' to both of them today.

Sam’s twisting his hands in the sleeves of his sweatshirt and those boxers are practically tearin’ in half with the hard-on he’s sporting. Her baby’s big in more ways than one. Daddy pulls out, smooths the hair back from her forehead like he did when she was a little girl. This?? This, he did not do when she was a little girl. But some things never change. 

“Love you, Dean,” he says. 

“Love you too, Daddy.”

He leans down, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear, and whispers, “An’ if you ever threaten this family like that again, I’ll send you to Hell myself. Understand?”

Her blood runs cold. Cold as the come dripping out of her. “Uh-huh,” Deanna says. “I understand, Daddy.”

“Good.” Daddy pats her cheek. “Now let Sammy have his turn, sweetheart.”

“...yessir.”  

She does. 

Daddy makes sure her brother treats her right, prepares her good, slicks the way with his fingers and tongue. Apparently her father bought lube, leastwise that’s what he calls it, ‘cause he’s been planning this for a while. Go figure. It doesn’t feel too bad. Burns a little, but it’s good too. A pleasant ache. Sammy’s practically drooling by the time Daddy declares her ready. He sinks inside and -- oh! -- OK, that...that ain’t so bad. Like nothing she’s ever felt. He’s too danged big and she’s too danged small, but he fits and there’s no use complainin’. She’s been in worse pain. 

Starts feeling real good once Sammy gets goin' for real. He’s got staying power, her baby, and always tries to get her off first. Just like Daddy did. She comes and seconds later, Sammy’s bucking wildly, groaning, practically sobbing, as he empties himself inside her. 

Well. Now she’s leakin’ from both holes and she’s filled with holy terror. 

Daddy walks ‘em both, wobbling like baby deer, to his big bed.

After, she lays in the middle, her father and brother on either side of her. It’s only a little smothering. Sammy’s always exhausted after he comes, and he’s snorin’ in minutes. Gosh, she thinks fondly, he’s such a boy. She tucks his head under her chin and soothes him like she did when he was a baby. Daddy’s spoonin’ her from behind and his big hands, they always make her feel safe.

“D’you understand, Dean?” he asks for what feels like the billionth time. 

“I do,” she says, and she means it. She focuses on the boy in her arms, the boy who’ll always be hers. 

“Whaddya understand, girl? Enlighten me.”

“I understand,” she says carefully, keepin’ her gaze forward, “that y’all love me. That I gotta place in this family an’ what we do ain’t sinful or wrong. And I ain’t ever leaving you.”

“That’ll do,” he says, and she shuts up. “Think you learned your lesson well. I love you.”

“Love you too, Daddy.”

He falls asleep too. 

Deanna lays awake for a long, long time, tryin’ to put things straight in her mind. But yanno? What’s the point? This is her life, and it’s a good one. 

She’ll shove down the doubt and terror. She’ll embrace her role with her whole heart.

After all, 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. 

The tears, she tells herself, are happy ones.

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.