mickeym

Title: Superman
Author: Mickey M.
Pairing: None, it's Gen (though could be viewed with Sam/Dean-tinted glasses *g*)
Word Count: ~950
Rating: G
Spoilers/Warnings: Future fic, and implied character death. Vague references made to events at the end of S2.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made.
Notes: I've had this idea in my head for a while, of how Sam views Dean. Many thanks to

janissa11 for beta-on-the-fly and for not smacking me for making her cry. *snugs Emmers*.

Tornado sirens blaring all around, not an uncommon thing in the spring. Especially here, in Kansas.

But why today, of all days? You have so many things you need to do, and cowering in the library basement isn't on the list.

A soft whimper makes you turn and look behind you. You hadn't paid attention to who all rushed down the stairs along with you when the sirens sounded. Now you see a young boy, probably no more than eight or nine, a stack of comic books in his arms and terror written on his face.

"Scared?" You ask, even though you know it's stupid. Of course he is.

He nods. "I hate tornadoes. The noise."

"Me too," you tell him, crouching stiffly down beside him. "Where's your mom or dad?"

"Mom dropped me off on her way to the store. She's s'posed to pick me up in half an hour."

Poor kid, no wonder he's scared. "What's your name?"

The boy looks at you, mouth pursed in a frown as he sizes you up, then says, "Jeremy. Who're you?"

"Nice to meet you, Jeremy. My name's Sam."

"Hi, Sam." He hesitates, then blurts out, "Mom says I shouldn't talk to strangers."

"She's right--but you see, over there? The librarian?" You wait for him to hum agreement. "If you think I'm scary, go over to her, okay? I won't follow you."

"No…it's okay. I don't think you're a bad guy."

You hope he's right.

You nod toward the stack in his arms. "So, what're you reading, Jeremy?"

"Superman." The word sounds almost reverent, and it makes you smile. "He's the best hero ever, and I wanna be him when I grow up."

"It's good to have goals." Your chest aches a little. "I knew a super man once."

"You knew Superman?" Jeremy's eyes are wide and surprised in the dim light, and you smile and shake your head.

"Not the Superman," you say. "But a super man. He was a hero, even if most people didn't know it."

"Did he save lots of people?" The lines of tension in the little guy have eased somewhat, and you're glad for that.

"An awful lot of people. Made the world a better place."

"Could he fly?" Small fingers stroke over the cover of the top comic, and the ache grows, remembering things you try to forget, most days.

"Not like the Man of Steel--but he had this car, right? And with him behind the wheel, sometimes it felt like flying."

Wind in your hair and the sound of the tires humming over the pavement. It'd been a lullabye you'd had to learn to go to sleep without, and you still hear it some nights -- and days.

"Did he save you from monsters and bad guys and stuff?"

Oh, man. If only this boy knew. You swallow and nod. It could be a while before the all-clear sounds, and if this keeps both of you distracted, so much the better.

You tell Jeremy about fire, and monsters, and hunting. He doesn't interrupt; just listens to you with rapt attention, eyes following your hands when you gesture, frowning and smiling at the appropriate spots. You talk about the ghosts and goblins you've put down, and the ones Dean saved you from. About wendigos and water spirits, trolls and witches. Your voice shakes when you talk about demons, because you can't forget glittering red eyes; they burn in your dreams almost nightly. Jeremy slips his hand into yours at some point, and he squeezes when your words stutter and fade.

Never once does he laugh or scoff -- and never once did you think he might. Some people, kids more than anything, believe. They know there are things out there, even if they're just out of sight.

One of those things is just out of eyesight right now; you can feel the cool caress at the back of your neck, fingers stroking gently.

"What happened to your Superman, Sam?" Jeremy asks after a long pause.

You tip your head back, wishing the caress would solidify but resigned when it disappears altogether. "He died. And I couldn't save him." You can practically hear Dean telling you that you saved what was important; he might be dead, but his soul is free. It's small comfort.

Jeremy squeezes your hand again. "I'm sorry," he says, sounding so young.

You squeeze back and he lets go. "It's okay, kiddo. It was a long time ago." Time hasn't lessened the ache, but you've learned to live with it. And someday…someday.

The all-clear siren wails outside in short, sharp bursts, and the last note hasn't completely faded before the door to the basement is wrenched open and a woman's voice calls down, "Jeremy? Jeremy, are you down there?"

"That's my mom! Here, Mom!" Jeremy stands up while you're still struggling to pull your legs under you, and you're half-kneeling, half-standing when he hugs you, a quick-sharp impression of warmth against you that fades as quickly as it came. "'Bye, Sam. Thanks."

Jeremy's mom gives him a sharp look from her spot on the bottom step, then herds her son up in front of her. You reach down to push yourself up and your fingers slide across slick plastic.

Superman glares up at you from the cover of the comic book, and for just an instant you can see Dean's face, his scowl and his smile, superimposed over the comic character.

In your head you hear him say, "It's okay, Sammy. I got you," and you figure he probably does.

After all, death didn't stop the original Man of Steel. How could it stop Dean?

~fin~