My mom asked me to pick the dandelions in the front yard so they
don’t spread and I was thinking the yard looks a little like a vacant
lot; a patchwork of dirt, grass, and weeds in the late spring sunlight.
The kind of place Dean and Sam would stop on their way home to Bobby’s
after school. At one point the lot was a well-cared-for green space but
now it looks abandoned. There’s an old wooden bench at one end, and the
blue-eyed boy from Dean’s English class is sitting on one end scribbling
something in a notebook. Gabriel, who’s older than them and always in
trouble, is chasing a couple little kids around.
“Do you wanna play with us?” the youngest one asks suddenly, bouncing to a halt directly in front of Sam.
“Samandriel, no,” the other little kid admonishes as he races over, “you’re not supposed to talk to strangers.”
“What’s the problem Inias?” Gabriel questions, sauntering over.
“Samandriel was talkin’ to strangers!” the boy answers, clearly upset.
“I just wanna play with ‘em,” Samandriel mumbles, kicking the ground.
Gabriel sighs, “I’m Gabriel, these two are Inias and Samandriel, would you like to play tag with us?”
“Uh… sure,” Sam answers, “I’m Sam, by the way.”
“Think I’ll just watch, thanks,” Dean replies, heading towards the bench.
Sam, Gabriel, Inias, and Samandriel run wild – Sam seems to be it –
the little ones laughing and screaming. Dean sits next to the blue-eyed
boy. He knows he shouldn’t, but Dean can’t help craning his neck to see
what the blue-eyed boy is writing. It’s poetry. Something sort of
abstract, Dean’s not really sure he understands it, but he can feel the
anxiety and comfort.
“That’s good,” Dean comments without thinking. The blue-eyed boy slams his notebook shut and stares at Dean.
“Sorry,” Dean mutters, staring at the ground and rubbing the back of his neck.
“You… you like it?” the blue-eyed boy queries uncertainly, his voice is surprisingly deep.
“Yeah,” Dean assures him, “I’m Dean by the way.”