I remember when you learned to talk. In friggen Spanish. Boy genius Sammy right outta the starting gate. We'd been staying with, uh, Angelica I think was her name. The one with the chupacabra rug--yeah you remember her. Anyway, we'd been with her for a few months, with her sister and Dad out hunting black dogs.
I don't even remember what you said. Which I guess means no one does--you were too little, and everyone else's dead as a, you know? But it was Spanish. And shit, Dad's face when he heard you later, I mean I an't seen anything like that ever since. And Dad didn't exactly poker face it back then, the way you're supposed to do with kids.
What's funny is, I taught you that. No one talked to you, to either of us. I mean, obviously, Angelica--you know why. That whole goddamn time no one ever talked to either of us. I don't know Spanish; I didn't then and I sure as hell don't now. But I taught you. And you knew what to do with it, you knew how to make it work. I remember because Angelica's sister flipped her shit when you talked, even more'n Dad. She wanted to sideshow you.
Oh. That's the clown thing, isn't it. Where that got started.
Mostly I remember thinking it was fucken great. I remember thinking, where the hell's this coming from--or however you say that when you're five, six--and realizing it was me. That it was you and me, and I'd taught you that.
It was gonna be just you and me.
And I thought that was gonna be, it had to be, great.
You know what you do now? when Cas leaves or you get off the phone with who-the-fuck-ever.
It's just something weird I've noticed. I don't think you have--noticed, I mean. It's one of those tics that just sneaks up on you, like lying. You're always telling people to be safe.
Like, goodbye, be safe. Meet you there, be safe. Not even going anywhere, be safe. And sure, that's not a given, dangerous gig and all. But it never has been, and this, this's new for you.
You're not looking for black dogs or fucken chupacabras.
You're just watching out, waiting for shit to fly. You know that someone, someday, and probably soon, is gonna do something that's really fucken not...safe. For anyone.
And he's gonna screw you.
That's what you've learned.
'Cause that's the kind of teacher I am. You look at people and you wonder whether they're gonna be anything like me, do what I've done. All that noise.
And I guess I'm sorry for that, too.
Once upon a time in 9x18, Sam said "be safe" to Castiel over the phone and it stuck out to me. Therefore, this fic.