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Dean woke up and sat up, mindful of his knee, his mind blurry with sleep, not really thinking. The lights were off, but he could feel the fan slowly spinning overhead. He got up to hobble to the bathroom. Of course, his knee still hurt, but nothing else did, not his heart, not his gut, and he felt the smile bubble up as he looked in the direction where Sam was still sleeping in the dark.
He turned on the light in the bathroom, and stripped his bandage, bending to unroll it from his leg, rolling it back up as he went. He would take a shower and then get Sam to help him put it back on and then maybe they could eat. Hopefully the food at the café would be good, or maybe that wouldn’t matter. When he got this hungry, he could eat a bowl of mud and call it fine.
The shower helped, the hot water making his skin feel less sticky and his brain less scattered. Of course they were going to be okay, they could go on like this, together, and keep hunting, and if they had some trouble remembering why this was good or remembering who had almost fucked them both up (Dean), they would work it through. Like they had, like they always would. His heart felt full and good, and though it might be dangerous to be that fucking happy, he had it now, and he‘d always lived in the moment, so that was okay.
After he dried off, he took some more aspirin, washing the pills down with water cupped in his hand at the sink. Then he gave himself a shave in the foggy mirror, and brushed his teeth. By the time he put a clean t-shirt and boxers on, he felt like a new man. He carried his dirty clothes and the bandage out into the cool, tiled room, where Sam was sitting up, rubbing his eyes with one hand, hair spilling across his neck.
“Hey,” said Dean. “Help me with this?”
Sam got up and pulled on his boxers without a word, still sleepy as he turned on the lights, blinking, trying to focus on the task Dean had asked of him. He took the bandage and motioned to the bed. Like always, because the bed made it easier to wind the bandage from side to side without knocking into chair handles. Sam knelt down, frowning at his task, but that wasn’t unusual, he did that when he concentrated. There was only the tiniest shake to his hands as he pulled Dean’s now clean foot to rest on his thigh and began to wind the bandage around Dean’s bare leg.
“You want it tight?” Sam asked at one point, looking up through his bangs.
“Yeah, a little,” said Dean. “Sleeping tight, I’m not going to try and win any races with it.”
With a little grunt in his throat, Sam nodded and kept winding until he was finished. Then he took the time to make the little fold at the end that would keep the bandage in place. Like Dean had taught him years ago, when the little poky things went off the market and had always been too much hassle anyway. “There’s that café,” Sam said, standing up and moving back. “You hungry?”
“I could eat my own arm,” said Dean.
He knew Sam was being extra casual, not looking at him, not making a big deal out of it, but distancing himself just the same, as if he were protecting Dean. And Dean didn’t want that, so he went over to Sam and put his hand on Sam’s arm and let it stay there. He looked right at Sam for a minute, letting Sam get used to him being so close.
“Hey,” he said. “C’mere.” When Sam took a step closer, Dean pulled him in for a kiss, whispering his lips across Sam’s, letting him get used to that, and wasn’t surprised when Sam responded, all at once, in a rush, pushing into Dean, all bare skin and heat, licking into his mouth, hands curving around Dean’s back. Possessive. Dean could feel Sam’s heart beating fast.
When he pulled away, licking his lips, Dean asked, “Okay? You okay?”
“Yeah,” said Sam, smiling now.
Something in his chest eased, because of course this was why he’d done it. To get Sam out of that awful place, to bring him back to himself, where he wasn’t afraid, where he knew what he was, who he was. Where he could smile at Dean and not worry who was watching. Everything else was just a bonus. A big, huge, sky-filled bonus.
“So get dressed,” said Dean, letting go of Sam, reaching to throw a t-shirt in Sam’s direction. “We got to eat or I’m going to pass out.”
Some of it, Dean realized, could be like it always had been, while other parts of it would be brand new. He smiled, thinking of it as he watched Sam get dressed, like he had a hundred times. And like he would, a thousand times more.
*
Sam got dressed and helped Dean on with a pair of jeans, and helped him with his socks and sneakers while Dean sat on the bed and slid on his shirt. Then Sam took the keys to lock up the room behind them. His brain was very focused on Dean, where he was, where his body was in relation to Sam’s, what his footsteps said, how he limped as they walked the short distance to the café. It was a typical southwestern place, all brown and ochre and yellow-red, with coyotes and cactus everywhere you looked. But there would be cold beer, which Sam knew Dean would love.
The place wasn’t very busy, and they only had to wait a minute, standing side by side in the slightly dark alcove, shoulders brushing, their hands not touching, until the waitress led them to a table by the dark windows.
“Anything to drink?” she asked, passing them their menus as they sat down.
“I’ll have a
She nodded and then turned to Sam. He looked at Dean, feeling the newness sink into him again, him and Dean, ordering beer like it always was, Dean going first because he loved beer, and Sam usually getting what Dean did, because the beer that Dean ordered tasted better. He watched the corners of Dean’s eyes crinkle up, the dimple at the corner of his mouth forming as he smiled, watching Sam watching him.
“Me too,” Sam said, looking at the waitress, feeling the rather nice warmth settle over him, full of the feel of him and Dean being together. Like this. “But just one lime.”
Then she left them to bring back beers and chips and salsa, which they both attacked like they’d not eaten in years. Sam knew he was being far too silent, but it was strange how it could be like this and how they could be brothers at the same time.
When the food came, Dean shoveled in the first bite of his chimicanga and sighed as though the heat was soaking into his skin from the inside. After that came the first swallow of beer straight from the bottle with the lime jammed in the bottom.
Sam took a bite of his own food and watched Dean’s throat work as he swallowed the beer. Then Dean put the bottle back on the table and picked up his fork again.
“Oh, man,” Dean said. “Mine’s great, how’s yours?”
“Sure,” said Sam. He took a swig of his beer, wanting to rinse his mouth. “You picked the good one. I think mine has green peppers in it.”
Then Sam snapped his mouth shut because he’d not meant to complain. Why was he like this, always so fussy with his food? Dean looked like he was on the verge of making them exchange plates so Dean could eat the nasty green peppers, just like he’d eaten all the stewed tomatoes in the hospital, and Sam’s throat was about to close up, and fast, just thinking of it, when the waitress, who had overheard them, came over.
“I’m sorry sir, you don’t like green peppers?”
Sam opened his mouth to say no, it was fine, so Dean butted in. “No, he really doesn’t. Could you just bring him a chimichanga like this one? Extra guac and sour cream, okay?”
“Certainly,” said the waitress, and Dean turned his head a moment as though admiring the way the brightly colored flounces of her skirt made her waist tiny enough so that two hands could span it. Then he looked at Sam like he could care less about the waitress.
“Thanks, Dean,” said Sam. He felt bad to be so much trouble, but it was nice having Dean look out for him. Like always. Like he would forever; you couldn’t change someone like Dean and Sam knew he didn’t want to. It would just take a while for him to get used to how they were now.
“I got my special badge for helping picky eaters,” said Dean, shrugging as he dug into his food with his fork. Keeping it causal, and smirking. “I figured I could keep doing it, even though I’ve already earned the badge, so—”
“Shut up,” said Sam. But he was laughing.
Dean smiled and kept eating. He was halfway done with his plate when Sam’s food came, steaming and piled high with all the fixings, except for no green peppers. Sam dove in and then Dean took a deep slug of his beer.
“So I meant to ask you,” Dean said around a mouthful of food, chewing with his mouth open as always in a way that now made Sam feel unexplainably happy. “How did you find me, anyhow?”
Sam had his mouth full too, but he was smiling around it. It was a good story and he wanted to tell it.
“I mean, forty-eight contiguous states,” Dean continued, letting Sam chew. “It must have been like a crap shoot. You just got lucky.”
The challenge was thrown down and Sam rose to the occasion like Dean had probably known he would.
“Actually,” said Sam, “I spotted an article in the Tulsa World, and after that, it was a cakewalk.”
“A cakewalk?” Dean made a scoffing sound. “Cakewalk, my ass.”
Sam swallowed his mouthful. “Sure,” he said. “You left a little trail of breadcrumbs from helping people. Like you couldn’t stop yourself from doing it. And they couldn’t wait to call the nearest newspaper to tell someone all about their rescuer. Their angel from heaven.” Sam rolled his eyes dramatically, both hands up like a status of the Virgin Mary, food flying from his fork.
Dean snickered into his beer, watching Sam with bright eyes, as though loving this story, and Sam laughed back, opened mouthed, flushed from his beer.
“I started in
Dean nodded, keeping his eyes on Sam as he listened.
“So there was that article, with you using Kris whathisname again, that was easy to recognize. When I drove to
Dean listened while Sam rambled on, eating more chips to sop up the melted cheese on his plate. Ordering another beer.
“And then,” Sam continued, “there was
“Did you interrogate her?” asked Dean.
“For hours,” said Sam. “Hours. I think I even got some rhubarb pie out of the deal, did you get any of that?”
“No,” said Dean, exaggerating his irritation, laughing along with Sam. “I rescue her from the black dog, and you get pie? It’s not fair.”
“Everything is timing, Dean,” said Sam smugly, snagging a bit of cheese from Dean’s plate with his fork.
Towards the end of the meal, Dean debated getting an apple empanada or a basket of sopapias. Sam was looking at the menu, too, so when the waitress came by, they ordered one of each, to share.
Then Sam asked, “So I meant to ask you, where did you get the paperclips?”
“Paperclips?” asked Dean absently as he watched the waitress come to the table with their deserts. “What paperclips?”
“The ones,” said Sam. He paused to divvy up the sopapias, which he had to do or Dean would eat them all and they both knew it. “The ones you used on all the doors in the hospital, and the padlock at the car pound. I know full well and good Greer wasn’t handing those out with the meds.”
Dean’s lips went stiff, suddenly, as though the bite of empanada in his mouth lost its taste. Then Dean swallowed the bite, and kept the smile on his face. “Well,” he said, “When I went to the infirmary, the doctor had a clip board, and some paperclips stuck on the paper. So I grabbed ‘em, and stuck them on my sock. No one ever knew. Not even you.”
“Infirmary,” said Sam. “Oh, wait,” said Sam. “That was when I—and you—and. Oh.”
Too late he realized they shouldn’t be talking about this because he could see right where it was going. Down a very dark, unfun road. Fast. Which it did as he realized why Dean had stopped smiling, and remembered why Dean had been in the infirmary, or what had upset Sam enough to make him attack Dean and send him there. None of that memory was good. He took a deep breath and his heart sank. “Shit.”
“Uh,” said Dean, chewing on his lip.
And at that moment, all the light, buoyed up feeling went out of his heart, because he knew he’d just made Dean feel bad by forcing him to remember. At some point, yes, they would need to have conversations about it and deal with the issue, as Dr. Logan would say. But not yet, not now, in this peaceful, quiet time that they had. Before they got back on the road and re-entered their own lives, saving people, hunting things.
“None of that matters, Sam,” Dean said. “It was just that place.”
Sam’s mouth felt tight, and he flicked his eyes away from Dean’s. He stuck out his jaw, trying to keep a lid on.
Dean placed his knife and fork down on the table with a dull click. The shift and sounds of the restaurant seemed far away. Sam kept his eyes on Dean’s hands, and let himself be distracted.
“Sam,” said Dean, going slow, as though Sam were indeed that Sam, simple and in need of extra care and guidance. “It was what it was, that place. You said it yourself, those kinds of places don’t make you sane, they make you insane. But we got out. You and me.”
Sam couldn’t say anything, his chest hurt and he wanted to put his hands over his eyes.
“Sam, look at me, damnit. It’s me Dean, we were both there, and I know—”
“But Dean,” said Sam, a small, hot explosion bursting in his throat. “I hurt you, hurt you bad—”
“But you were the one they dragged off to Treatment, and how much you wanna bet that I’m going to carry that as my responsibility for a hell of a long time?”
This stopped Sam, and he could see how it would go, each of them counting it up, till there was nothing left but a spiral of accusations and self-recriminations and guilt and a bad taste that would just never go away—
“Besides,” said Dean. He dipped his chin to smile a little, though Sam could not for the life of him understand why. He picked up the sopapia on his plate and drizzled honey over it, too much honey, but Dean liked sweet things. Had forever. “You can always make it up to me.”
Sam felt his eyebrows come down, confused, knew that he was pouting because he didn’t understand.
“Still,” said Dean, shoving the pastry in his mouth, half of it, all in one honeyed glob, like he knew would annoy and distract Sam. “We really should wait till my knee is better for next time. But, if you really wanted it, I could—” He broke off to swallow the bite in his mouth.
In spite of the joking tone of his voice, and the glisten of honey on his lips, Dean’s eyes were steady, glinting with that deep, green light, like they had in the hospital—the loony bin—steady and green and always on Sam. Watching him. Wanting him. His every waking moment, all of it, all about Sam, and loving him, even though he never said it.
Sam felt his eyes grow hot as he took it in, all that love, wordless and sure and forever. Constant. Just like Dean. He didn’t want to break the spell, but he wanted to match Dean’s tone, to make it easy for Dean. A little joking, keeping it light, even with the way Dean’s eyes pulled him into that steady firm weight of love and wanting and joy.
“Oh,” Sam said, arching his eyebrows, swallowing against the thickness in his throat. He reached for what was left of Dean’s sopapia, and took it right out of his hand and shoved it all into his mouth. Licked his lips. “So you think there’s going to be a next time?”
“There better be,” said Dean, joining in, growling, looking grateful that Sam had taken him up on keeping it light, jabbing with his fork to nab the crust of Sam’s empanada. “Or I’ll lose my mind and they’ll send me right back in there, and won’t that put Mr. Randy Pointy Fingers on his ass, because you know, don’t you, that Dr. Baylor will let me sit in the Special Seat, and I’ll be so special—”
Sam tilted back his head, mouth open, laughing at the thought of it, his heart doing warm flips, thinking of it, how Dean could make him laugh, how Dean was here, smiling at him, smirking really. Laughing too, silently, mouth curved wide, with that dimple forming in the corner. Then he licked his lips, taking the honey on his tongue.
Sam dipped his head, filled with it, his eyes blurring, mouth working as he made himself not cry. Later, he could, in the dark, pressed against Dean, and that would be okay. But Dean needed this now, Dean had been so brave, not running off but holding his ground and when confronted with the truth of loving Sam, had reached out for Sam and said yes. In Dean’s way, without words, but a yes truer and stronger than any words could be.
Sam swallowed and made himself look up. He wanted to keep his voice low and even, none of that mushy love stuff for Dean, but he was so horribly bad at keeping back what was rushing up in his throat from his heart, a fierce love for Dean, a love strong enough to withstand even Dean’s reluctance to let himself be loved.
“I’ll be gentle with you,” he said.
Dean looked back at him, the lights in his eyes just as steady as ever, gleaming, guiding Sam to him. “I know,” he said. His voice was a little husky, and he seemed to frown as if judging himself for this, so Sam had to fix it.
“At least till your knee is better. Then, well,” Sam shook his head, pretending to be less than concerned for Dean’s welfare. “You just better be ready.”
“I will be, Sam-I-Am,” said Dean. He tilted his head back, looking back at Sam, cocky and sure, that smirk firmly in place. “I will be.”
The End
Blue Skies From Rain Master Post
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Thank you for your lovely comment.
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This is the most excellent of epics.
You captured Dean's self-sacrificing love so beautifully.
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This was.... wow. Such an exhilarating ride!
This was so amazing and very well written! Awesome job!
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I find this a wonderful answer to the question of how the boys started in on the wincest with the added bonus of exploring the mental institute setting. I found your portrayal of the disorientation Sam in particular felt early on to hit all the right notes and you really piled on the angest (in a good way, just the right amount). I may or may not have had a little sniffle on occasion. The thread of humour running through this was brilliantly judged in alleviating some of the tension that might have made this fic depressing. Finally, I really liked how the staff of the institution were never portrayed as evil, just indifferent at worst; doing a job not a labour of love.
Wonderfully written, thank you very much for sharing
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And you had sniffles, excellent! Thank you for that!
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Thank you so much, I'm glad you enjoyed the story. I tried hard to make it realistic and not use comic book villians, but I figured, the biggest villian was the hospital and the system itself. A place like that creates its own kind of crazy.
blue skies from rain
this......
it was wonderful and full and so much the reasons I love the love between Sam and Dean dating back to Dean running out of the house holding Sam till (in your world - a good place to visit and possibly stay) they sit enjoying a beer and each other.
I loved this for the details and characters you made so real in that horrible horrible place and for every time the chimes sounded and it was just the two of them reconnecting.
I loved the hstory and the changing point of views and generally just every damn thing you put us all through to get Dean and Sam sitting together for that last beer.
I felt like I could taste the bad food and just felt queasy and scared every day they woke up there not knowing what the day would bring.
Thank you so much for such an incredibly well written story that I will cherish and add to the reasons I love this show and these characters.
Re: blue skies from rain
Three days? Oh man, that's wonderful! Sorry about the real life interruptions, they can be a pain in the butt, can't they?
I so love that you got what I was doing here, that the love between the boys didn't start when the series started, but that it went back to the beginning. That's a lot of love to share, and I hope the story expresses that.
I love the way you call it "the last beer." I like to close my stories with eating scenes, I've found out. : D
ps. I tried to respond to the other message you sent to my message box, but there was a privacy flag on your lj, so it wouldn't go through - so thank you for the lovely comment there, as well.
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I love how you kept a lot of things constant, like, Sam's hair in Dean's mouth; Okay, okay; Before I was big, I was little. All the little things like that that kept coming back around gave the fic so much meaning and helped make so I felt like I always kind of knew what was going on in their heads, how meaningful seemingly meaningless words and moments are.
I really wanted to slap the doctors at the hospital, especially the art woman, they way she spoke to them, like naughty little children who should know better, ugh, I hated her. I kept thinking, that's not going to help people get better, it's just teaching them to be better liars and not say the things that will get them into trouble, but not actually help with any core problems, but then I'm no shrink.
The Treatment was just brutal, surely that's not allowed? Do places really do that or did you just use it for the fic? I really hope places don't really use that in real life 'cause it's just torture, plain and simple.
I really liked Greer, it was like he always knew more than he let on, he knew exactly what was going on, it wouldn't have surprised me to learn that he knew Sam and Dean weren't taking their meds properly. But he really cared and I think was a lot smarter than any of the doctors there.
I felt really sorry for Randy, poor guy just wanted some attention, but when all the wrong ways around getting some. He really just needed a friend, like Dean was to Sam, someone to be there all the time and have him be the centre of their world.
I did spend a lot of the fic wanted to scream at Dean to "just call Bobby already" but I get why he didn't, and I can't blame him. He did his best, and I think he did an amazing job with what he had to work with.
A really amazing fic, I really enjoyed reading it. Thank you for what must have been really hard work getting this epic out. ;)
Congrats.
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I like Greer too. He really did take over his own character, and really liked Dean, in spite of my efforts to make him meaner. As for Randy, yeah, truly insane! Poor guy. I hope he gets the treatment he needs. At least he's in the right place.
The small details, I really enjoyed working with those; I'm obsessed with Sam's hair anyway, so it was easy to have Dean be as well.
Thank you so much for reading and for commenting!
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Whew! My eyes are tired after reading through that so quickly! Next time I'll have to pace myself.
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A hot washcloth helps tired eyes.... : D
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I hated their separation, but in the end, it seemed necessary. A chance for some of Sam's anger to dissipate and his need to be close to his brother to take over.
I loved how Sam tracked Dean down, in his methodical way. And how Dean couldn't help but offer help to strangers along the way, even though he was so completely lost himself.
And in the end, things might not be perfect, but they are good. And both boys have what they need most: each other.
The trip across country was well written and easy to picture.
Beautiful job. I really enjoyed the journey, both physical and emotional.
Thanks for writing.
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I love the details you point out here, they feel central to the story. I particularly like the detail of Sam needing time for his anger to dissipate; I'd not thought about it like that, but you're right, that's what he was doing.
The boys are in love, of course, but it will never be easy for them. At least they have each other!
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I think what impressed me more than anything was all the detail about America during the chase part of the story. Each and every detail, from the dusty realities of pitching hay bales to the feel of the open road on the plains to the fry bread and the hand-painted sign at the Mexican food stand, was just perfect!! They added so much to the story, were so evocative, and so in tune with Show's gestalt. I adored that farm family who took them in. FANTASTIC!
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I'm so flattered that you enjoyed the details of the chase across America! Especially the fact that it was in keeping with Show.
Part of that was due to the internet, like Bentonville, AR, I looked that up on the internet. But I've been to lots of the country, and, most recently (obsessively) drove home from a convention in Michigan just so I could go through Joliet, IL, and Forest City, and Bath, and Quincy, and Grain City, etc....(where it rained the whole time!) that was totally fun. I have pictures that I'll be uploading at some point, to share. : D
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I loved this story with all my heart. I almost always am lucky when I click on something that I'm reluctant to--I admit 'mental institution' made me hesitate. Boy, I was *so* far beyond lucky. I think I hit 'Christmas with all the bells and whistles and a side of hitting the lottery' lucky this time. *g* This story feels like a classic. It's a story I know I'll reread with just as much pleasure as I felt the first time. I'll read it again because I know I'll miss this Sam and Dean too much not to.
Thank you so much for sharing this.
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I love mental institution stories, but yeah, although I enjoy seeing the boys get torn up by mean doctors and orderlies, it's been done and I wanted to challenge myself to make it an unfun, perhaps even nasty, experience for them. Nice to see that I did it right.
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I loved it! The mental institution wasn't the abuse/and or rape etc you usually find in these kinds of story and I even liked/felt sorry for the OC's.
I read alot, but Wincest usually comes after J2 and Gen because I like a good reason for the boys to be falling in to bed with each other and you really sold me on this one.
Well done and thank you for a long, entertaining and well written read!
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I wanted to get away from the typical mental institution stories, tho I like seeing the boys getting messed up by mean doctors and orderlies, but I wanted to try something a little different.
I'm really glad that I was able to sell you on my premise - that's a big compliment for me, thank you!
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Thank you for such a riveting, incredible read.
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The second thing isn't con crit because it isn't a criticism at all. I remember in HP fandom there was this huge thing with being brit picked before posting a fic, and people were of two minds as to whether 'americanisms' were ok in a fic so long as they were in the narrative rather than any conversations, thoughts, etc. With this in mind, in the US we say 'he hadn't', never 'he'd not'. I never saw this in the dialogue, so it in no way impaired my enjoyment of the fic, but I wasn't sure if you're aware of it, s'all.
Third thing: what is hash in Britain, anyway? I tried to look it up, but just got definitions for the American usage, which is short for hashish.
Fourth thing: Ok, whew! The questions and con crit (which I hate giving. I feel like such a bitch correcting someone I don't even know) over, on with the praise! I can see why the concept grabbed you so hard, because it certainly kept me fascinated! I loved your balance between Dean, who remembers who he is but is still kinda nuts from the drugs and the place, and Sam, who just has no idea. I loved seeing their dynamic stay so similar to what it's always been, and that once they got back to the real world we the readers got to compare and contrast this with the boys' 'real' dynamic. Just... yeah, wow, I could go on about that for a while!
Also, Greer fascinated me. He seemed really cool.
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I also tend to write fairly formally, in spite of Dean's use of contractions, so if they are there, the lack of use of them is mine alone.
Hash: It's a type of chopped, leftover food that you fry. It's quick and easy to make, filling and fattening. : D
I'm not sure they have an equivalent in Britain, the site lists bubble and squeak, but as far as I know that's not got any meat in it, and hash does. Anyway, here's the site:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hash_(food)
And lastly, thank you. I really appreciate your comments and the fact that you liked the changing dynamics. I thought that was central to the story, the way they are on the inside compared to the way they are on the outside.
I like Greer too! He very much shifted himself from a two-dimensional, name-and-face-only role to what you see here. Very determined, that Greer.
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Nothing I say will be sufficient for what you have put together here. Thank you so much for all your effort and time.
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You're so right about the wincest, and there are so many stories out there that are perfectly entertaining and fun or hot or whatever, but I always want the writers to make it real for me as far as the wincest goes, so that's what I set out to do here. I really appreciate that you think I did it right! And especially about the mental institution, the nasty asylum has been done, and very well, elsewhere - I wanted the challenge of making it more ordinary.
We have Amothea to thank for the various downloads!
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Your OC's were well drawn and believable!
Hated the art teacher with a deep black hate. Only reason she is there is no way on God's green earth would she be allowed to teach art anywhere else!!!! I'm an artist, so found her especially offensive - also tribute to you - so well drawn that I could dislike her so much!
Loved the couple at the farm - I like to believe good deeds are rewarded. I don't think we see enough of this in canon. Truly it was so touching, it was the part that made me cry.
The whole escape and train and what came after had a very Mice & Men feel for me - visceral, trust and bonding, lovely!
Sam made me so angry at first that he could have for one second believed Dean would choose to stay to take advantage of him - good thing he came around. :) The bond between them and how it grows was handled so well and was believable.
I really just loved everything about this!
I've added it to memories and will undoubtedly read it again! Beautiful job!
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Yeah, the art teacher got to you, huh? Excellent! I figured there had to be one person who was totally bad at their job and Miss Windle was it!!
I loved the fact that you cried about the farm....I wanted a brief respite for the boys, and it got out of hand, as they practically moved in with Walt and Lucy and Rose.
I'm really thrilled and pleased that you liked this story, and the fact that you want to read it again is a HUGE compliment!
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