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Pirates Cove Adventure Golf, Lake George, NY, June 20th, 1990. Dean 11, Sam 7.
“Daaaadddd!!! Can we go yet? Please.” Seven-year-old Sam Winchester was bouncing up and down like a pogo stick driving his father, John, crazy.
“Not yet. I told you when you finish your homework you can go.”
“But I did finish my homework.”
“Well Dean didn’t.” John muttered, turning back to the open text book in front of him. The lore of zombies.
He read a passage:
Stories of zombies originated in the Afro-Caribbean spiritual belief system of Vodou, which told of the dead being raised as workers by a powerful sorcerer. In modern horror fiction, zombies are generally undead corpses brought back from the dead by supernatural or scientific means, and are rarely under anyone's direct control. They typically have very limited intelligence, and hunger for the flesh of the living.
“Dad?”
John raised his head, looking over at his disruptive youngest child.
“What?”
“Why can’t Dean work faster?” He asked innocently. His wide-eyes growing curious at the book John was reading. His Dad slammed the book shut making him jump back.
Groaning, John said, “He has a lot of big-kid stuff to learn, Sammy.”
Sam huffed, puffing out his chest like he’s seen his Dad do a million times when he’s trying to look tough. “Like what?”
“Like math, and some algebra, and new vocabulary words, and synonyms, and Greek and Latin roots are taught through vocabulary exercises, which you know, is important.”
Plus he has to learn the Latin exorcism and write a report on the latest supernatural lore, but John didn’t tell Sam that part.
“But why can’t he just sit down and finish his homework. Dean’s always running around outside, or playing with your guns.”
“He’s practicing with my guns. Dean likes to shoot. It’s a good skill to have.”
“Why?” Sam asked, “it’s not like he wants to be a police officer when he grows up. Dean said he thinks police officers have giant sticks up their asses -“
“Ok! That’s enough.” John yelled, cutting his son off by waving hands out in front of him.
“But that’s what Dean says.”
“Yeah,” John snorted, “well Dean shouldn’t say that.”
“I know Dad, at first I didn’t get what he was saying either, but then I realized he doesn’t mean it literally. It’s a medal-fore.”
“A metaphor.” John corrected.
Sam carefully tried to pronounce the word, “metaphor?”
John gave him the nod of approval and Sam continued, “he means the police are really strict. I know, because when you told us to be in bed by 11 or else, Dean said you had a stick up your ass too.”
John tried to control his facial features, but he lost the battle as his face broke into a smile. “That so?”
Sam nodded eagerly, “so it’s okay if he says it because he doesn’t mean you literally have a stick up your ass.”
Now John was cackling, but trying to suppress it with his hands.
“But Dean doesn’t like the police because they’re strict and mean and they yell at Dean. So he definitely doesn’t want to be a police officer when he grows up, so why does he gotta practice shooting a gun?”
John calmed down slightly. He slid his hand down his face, pulling at his skin. Jesus Christ when did his oldest son have a run-In with the police. And why does Sammy have to ask so many questions.
“Cause I told him to.”
“Why?” Sam asked.
“Because I think it’s an important skill.”
“But why?”
“Cause I said so, and that’s all the reason you need.”
Sam’s lower lip jutted out in a big overly dramatic way. “You always say that.”
“Damn right.” John smiled. He turned back to his book.
“Dean’s right. You do have a stick up your-“
“say it one more time and I’m taking your crayons away.”
Sam sulked, walking away. John was about to read another page when out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam open the motel door.
“Don’t you dare even think about leaving this room Samuel Winchester.” He growled.
He watched his cowering son retreat, shut the door, and go back over to the couch.
“But Dad... you let Dean walk all by himself to the shooting range.” Sam whined, “Why can’t I go?”
“Dean is with a buddy of mine, former Sergeant Chris Burke. He’s the owner of the shooting range and he’s looking out for Dean. So no, I don’t let Dean walk by himself and I am definitely not letting you go by yourself.”
“The Sargent can look out for me too!” Sam jumped off the couch and went to the door.
“No. You stay here.”
“That’s not fair.” Sam whined, stomping his little foot.
John smiled at the subtle insubordination. He was briefly reminded of the terrible twos when each of his children had a really bad tantrum stage. It only lasted for about a month with Dean. He would toss his food on the floor when he didn’t get his way or hit his chubby baby fist off the floor which would cause him more pain to himself than anything else. John never had to do anything to Dean. A tiny scolding maybe, but even that wasn’t really necessary. The kid gave up throwing tantrums the second he realized they weren’t getting him what he wanted. Mary use to laugh at how cute he was. She said he was one of the most mature babies ever. I swear he’s teaching himself, why are we even here? He’s such a smart baby.
Then there was Sam...well Sammy has never really outgrown the tantrum stage. He still kicks and screams when he doesn’t get his way. However, at least he stopped throwing his entire body on the ground flinging his limbs in every direction. Sam used to smash whatever he could lay his tiny hands on. John would have to hold him down to ensure the safety of his property and his stubborn kid. Finally, after the hitting kicking and biting stopped, and Sam still didn’t get what he wanted he would cry big fat crocodile tears. That’s when John would scoop him up and put him in the corner for a few minutes. He can still see the picture of his two-year-old sucking his thumb while standing in the corner of some dirty motel room. Quietly scuffing his bare-feet against the baseboards, Sam would clutching his stuffed elephants ear in one hand and suck his thumb with the other.
Yeah, John didn’t miss that stage one bit.
“Life’s not fair, kid.” John said, turning to his book, once he was sure Sam wouldn’t leave the room. He knew his son wasn’t going to leave. Sammy was curious and always one to test the boundaries but he wasn’t stupid. If anything, his seven-year-old son was smarter than Dean when he was that age.
John could sense Sam shift from behind him. He could almost see his son looking at the door than back to him. When things were getting a little too silent, John decided to say something.
“I mean it. Don’t leave the room.”
He didn’t even look up, he knew he had stopped his son from fleeing.
“Do you have eyes in the back of your head?” Sam asked, suddenly standing next to John.
“No.” He answered shortly.
Sam crawled on his lap. “Can you make him come home faster?”
John ignored his kid and tried to focus on the paragraph he was reading, but he didn’t remember a word of what he just read.
“Dad? Can you make Dean -“
“Shh.” John whispered. “I’m trying to work.”
“What are you reading?” Sam asked.
“A book. Why don’t you go read something too?” John suggested placing Sam on the ground and giving his butt a little pat. “Go pick out a book to read from your duffle.”
“But I’ve read all of my books.” He looked up at his Dad who was too busy.
So Sam scurried over to his bed to grab a bag. But then he saw his Father’s duffle bag sitting on the bed. He opened it and pulled out a nice thick leathered book.
“I found one.”
“Good.” John murmured. He turned around to see what Sam chose to read. All the color drained from his face.
“No Sam!” John leaped over to his son and snatched the book from his hand.
“This is my journal. Don’t ever read this, do you understand me!”
Sam’s eyes filled with tears, “but -“ He sniffled, “I don’t have anything else to read.”
John crouched down next to his son, gently grabbing his hands. “I’m sorry I yelled.” He whispered. “I’ll tell you what. As soon as Dean comes home we can go play some mini golf, ok?”
“Really?” Sam perked up. “You won’t make him finish his homework?”
“No. We can have some fun first. I’m sure your brother could use some fun for once. And I know your desperate for it.”
Sam laughed, playfully pushing at John’s shoulder. “Nuh-uh, I just want to beat you and dean.”
“We’ll see about that. Why don’t you watch some T.V. until your brother comes home.”
Sam’s smile faltered, “ok.” He said quietly laying back in the couch cushions.
After two episodes of the adventures of the gummi bears, Dean was back home.
“Dean!” Sam jumped over the back of the couch to hug his brother. “Hurry! Go change! We are going to play mini-golf.”
Dean laughed, patting Sam’s head. “Heya Sammy.” He stole a glance at his busy working father and sighed.
“I still have to do my homework, squirt. But I’ll do it real fast today, ok?”
And by that, Dean meant, he’ll only do the research he promised his father and neglect the rest of this school work. Who needs freaking math anyway.
“No, Dad said we can go now.”
Dean raised his eyebrows as John stood up, stretching his sore muscles.
“It’s true. I promised we would go as soon as you came back. So hurry and change into something comfy.”
Dean threw his filthy, mud-soaked shirt on the floor and pulled out a black tee.
“Jeans?” John questioned as he son opened the door.
“What’s wrong with these?” Dean asked.
“They look a little tight?”
Dean smirked, “That’s the point, Dad. Girls dig it.”
John rolled his eyes, “I thought girls were prima-donna’s with inflated views on the talent of creating everything into a chick-flick moment.”
“Oh they are.” Dean agreed, “I stand by my previous statements.”
“Then why do you care if they ‘dig’ you?”
“Because they’re hot. So I gotta look hot so they want me. But then I won’t let them have me just to piss them off.” Dean laughed, “it’s like a game.”
John shook his head, “since when did you become a teenager! You’re only eleven for Gods sake.”
“I know. That’s why I won’t let them have me, Dad. I don’t actually like them. It’s just to make them mad.”
“Dean, please don’t say the words ‘let them have you’. And stop swearing so much.”
“Why?” Dean’s smirk was wide, as if the little brat already knew.
“Because I said so.” Sam shoved both his father and his brother out the door. “Move! You two are so fat!”
“Shut up, Sam.” Dean whacked his little brother in the back of the head. This started a full on wrestling fight all the way down to the car.
“If one of you ends up bleeding In this car, your cleaning it up.” John scolded, opening the backseat door.
It didn’t take long, about fifteen minutes, to get to the Private Cove mini golf course. John pulled into the small parking lot and almost hit a man pulling out. If John hadn’t reacted quick enough he would have been exchanging insurances and that guy had the nerve to give him the stink-eye.
“Bastard.” John muttered as he parked the car.
Dean and Sam hopped out and raced each other to the building. “I call green!” Sam said looking at the array of golf balls.
“I want blue.” Dean said.
“Red please.” John said, placing two twenties on the table. The girl was young, probably twenty or so, and she gave him a friendly smile.
“No problem sir.” She handed him the three golf balls and $14.05 back. “Would you like pizza and ice-cream after the game?”
“Yes!” Sam and Dean shouted, they were looking up at their dad nodding. The girl bit her lip, smiling, she was resting her hand over the registrar.
“Is that a yes, sir?”
“Yes.” Sam said, “it’s a yes. You can mark us down.”
“How much will that cost?” John asked, pulling out his wallet.
“Only 3.90 for each person.”
John gave her fifteen dollars, and his boys were ecstatic.
“Thank you, Dad!” Sam said, hugging his legs. He was so small, his head only reaching John’s hip.
John smiled patting his head, handing him the green golf ball at the same time. He tossed Dean his blue one, and he took a hold of his own. Once he had his change, John took the boys over to the rack of golf putters.
“Ready men?”
“Yes sir.” They said.
It wasn’t difficult, the first hole, but the first one never was. John was keeping score, but Dean was constantly checking to make sure his Dad wasn’t cheating.
“I got a par.” Dean said.
When asked how many tries it took before he reached the hole, Sam happily replied “Four!”
“You got a par, also.” Dean said, his head leaning over John’s shoulder. “Did you write that down?”
Clicking his pen cap back in place, John lifted the score card directly to Dean’s face. When he nodded approvingly, John put the score card back in his back pocket.
“Is a lower score better or a higher score?” Sam asked.
“Lower” Dean and John answered simultaneously.
“Jinks. You owe me a soda.” Dean said.
“I’m paying for ice cream, pizza and soda, so I think I’m overpaying here.” John said as he leaned against the rope while Dean placed his ball down.
The second course was a long stretch of green with three blocks in the way. You have to shoot the ball in a straight line past the blocks to get to the hole.
“Hey Dad, look up there.” Sam was pointing to a Giant skull cave. “Are we gonna get to play up there.”
“Yep.” John smiled, “and we get to go on a ship too.” He pointed at the giant ship in center of the water where people were walking into and out of.
“That’s so cool.” Sam exclaimed, “Dean look.” He said. But his brother was busy concentrating on lining the ball with his target. He took a shot, and Sam watched in awe as his brother’s ball made it directly in the hole.
“Wow. How did you do that?” Sam asked, his cheeks were wide with a smile.
Dean only shrugged and cautiously stole a glance at John through his hooded eyes.
“I see shooting practice paid off.” John commented, ruffling his son’s hair. It was the best amount of praise Dean was going to get but it meant the world to him.
“Yeah. I’ve been practicing really hard.”
“Keep it up. Make sure you practice with your left hand too.”
“Move, Dad.” Sam shouted, pushing at his father’s thigh. “It’s my turn.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Sammy.” John mocked, moving to the side. “You’re a little impatient, you know that?”
Sam put his green ball on the ground. He positioned himself and took a swing.
“That’s gonna hit the -“
As Dean was talking the ball bounced off the block and ricocheted back to Sam’s feet.
“Can we not count that one?” He asked, giving John his best puppy eyes. He smiled when his Dad nodded, then refocused.
“Sammy...” his older brother was standing by his side. “Can I show you how to do it?”
Sam nodded, letting Dean grab his putter. He felt Dean’s hands over his own. They were moving Sam’s forward a little.
“Here stand directly in front of the ball. Make like a triangle with your feet and the ball - good job. Now, the putter has a line on it. This is the direction your ball is going to go in. So point the aim line directly at the hole.”
Dean gently moved his hands back with Sam and they swung the putter. “Use a little force - Yeah! Good!” Dean praises as the ball went past the bricks and landed right next to the hole.
“Awesome Sammy. Now get over there and put her in.”
Sam ran over to his ball excitedly. He was bouncing on his heels as he lined the ball with his putter. Gently, he tapped the ball and it slowly made it in the hole.
“Yes! Did you see that? Two tries!”
“Par two.” Dean agreed, standing on his tippy-toes to lean on John’s shoulder.
“Are you writing a two?”
“Dean.” His tone was stern. He scribbled the number while Dean shrugged his shoulders. Then, John put his own ball on the green.
“Okay Mister show-off.” John said to Dean, “watch this.” He slapped the ball with force. It shot over the blocks all the way to the other side, past the hole, but then it bounced off the wall ricocheting directly in the hole.
Dean stood unfazed. “Oh, it is so on.”
John snatched his red ball from the hole and bounced it once on the ground, grabbing it in his hand.
“Let’s go. We don’t want to hold anyone up.”
“Like that family?” Dean asked pointing to the little girl and her mom standing behind them.
John smiled curtly at them, then tugged Dean by the neck over to the next hole. “Yeah I feel sorry for those people.” He said as Dean took aim.
“Shit.” Dean exclaimed as his ball rolled up the bumpy hill and slid down the side. He walked over and smacked it harder wincing as it landed in the bushes. “Come on, don’t count that.”
“Everything’s fair, son.”
“But Daaaaddd.”
“Pull it out of the bushes already, we don’t have all day.”
“Fine, but if your counting it as a hit, I’m hitting it from the bushes.”
“Dean, why make more work for yourself.”
“I’m not starting over. I’ll get it from here.”
John’s smirk was annoying Dean. What annoyed him more was how wide it grew every time he failed getting the ball on the course. Finally he made it, and the ball landed in the hole.
“Damn. That was a five.”
John hissed, “whew sucks to be you.”
“Go to hell.”
“Watch your mouth.”
“Roll the freaking ball.”
“It’s Sammy’s turn.”
“Then hurry up, Sammy.” Dean said, turning to his little brother.
“It’s Sam.” The younger boy said as he put his golf ball on the green. “You and Dad are obsessed with calling me Sammy.”
“Awww.” Dean cooed. “I’d call you by your full name but I thought Samantha would embarrass you.”
“I hate you.” Sam said as he smacked the ball directly into the hole. “Oh! Did you see that one, Dean? That‘s right! Hole in one.”
“Shuddup, you’d be hitting balls into the lake if it wasn’t for me.”
“Oh? Cause you’re such a good teacher, Mister five shots.”
“Just you wait, Sammy. Imma kick your ass.”
“Dean seriously,” John scolded, “watch the language. Sammy’s seven for God’s sake.”
“Sorry.” Dean smiled not really sorry at all.
His Dad had made a par, and they were off to the fourth hole. This time, Dean did better making a hole in one.
“Nice.” Sam praised. He was always impressed with every move Dean made, whereas Dad was never impressed with anything.
Dean strived to prove himself to his father. He wanted to be the one to impress John Winchester. It was a difficult task, nearly impossible, but once it happened it was truly an accomplishment. That was the nice thing about his Dad being a stone cold jerk all the time. It made the moments of praise so amazing. That’s how he knows he’s done something spectacular, something that’s worth being proud of.
“Thanks” Dean said, giving Sam a gentle shove. His little brother took aim, but was terribly off target.
“No.” He cried as his ball went in the water, “Dad my ball’s floating away.”
John quickly reached into the pond and grabbed the ball.
“Dude that’s so gross.” Dean said, looking at his Dad’s muddy hand. “You don’t know what was in that water.” He scrunched his nose in disgust as his Dad placed the ball back on the green.
It took Sam seven tries before he got the ball in the hole. “My score was seven.”
“Isn’t there a limit of six?” John asked his eldest.
“Yeah But He doesn’t know that. Put seven down.”
“You’re bad.” John laughed but he marked a seven on the paper.
“Go Dad!” Sam shouted, “you’re so slow.”
“I’m writing the scores, hold your horses.”
“That’s a weird saying, isn’t it?” Sam babbled while John took his swing. He grinned triumphantly at the hole-in-one.
“Show-off.” Dean huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.
John was laughing until he noticed the little girl and her mom standing by the golf course. The mom was giving him a dirty look and the little girl had her head tilted to the sky, glaring at God, because of this unfortunate predicament.
“Come on.” John nearly dragged his kids to the next hole, feeling extremely guilty for taking so long.
“Easy on the neck,” Dean whined, rubbing out the sting.
“Sorry.” He mumbled, “go ahead. Kick some butt. This is the cool tricky one.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You’ll see.”
Dean took a good look at the course and realized there were two holes and neither of them had a flag on them. He saw the bottom of the course where the flag was and low and behold a hole was in front of it.
“So what? I’m suppose to avoid these two and aim for the third?”
John shrugged. Leave it to Dad to make Dean figure it out for himself. Turns out, the fake holes were short-cuts that got the ball closer to the real hole. Too bad Dean didn’t know that until Dad went.
“You could’ve told me. Then I wouldn’t be losing.”
“you were already behind.” John said flatly.
“And you’re the score keeper. Funny how your the one winning.”
“Oh for the love of...” John rolled his eyes and pulled the score card out of his pocket. “You watched me write the scores on this thing the whole game. I’m not cheating, boy.”
“Sure.”
John thought he might bust a vein. “Just hit the ball.”
It was unfair how perfect Dean could be when he was trying to prove a point. The kid got another hole-in-one on a course with a curve, where you couldn’t even see the destination.
Cursing under his breath, John whipped out the score card, writing hastily.
Sam took a while because he spotted a squirrel in a nearby tree and was trying to talk to it.
“Sammy, please finish up.” John said.
“Theo wants something to eat.” John assumed he was talking about the squirrel, “Do we have any peanuts?”
“No.”
“Why not?” Sam asked, going towards Dean to grab his putter.
“Because I don’t carry around random bags of peanuts.”
“What about when we were in the car forever and you had that big bag of cashews?”
“You and Dean ate them all.” John said briskly.
“No we didn’t.” Sam said.
“They’re in the car.” John admitted, “but I’m not going all the way back there for a squirrel.”
“His name is Theo.”
“Sam.” There was that stern sergeant tone again.
It always seemed to work on Dean, but with Sam it was debatable. However, this time the kid seemed to get the message. He stepped up to finish the round. John could swear he saw the little girl fall to her knees in praise when they left for the next one.
By the time they reached 18, John was more than happy to get something to eat. He worked up an appetite playing with two rowdy boys. Besides pizza and ice cream sounded really good to him. It wasn't just a treat for the kids, but himself as well.
“Where did my ball go?” Sam asked looking into the cup. He went to put his hand down, but Dean stopped him.
“It went back to the inventory. The game’s over.”
“Aw. I was having fun.” Sam said quietly.
John rested his hand on Sam’s head, smiling fondly at him. “I’m glad you had fun, bud. Don’t worry, we still have ice cream to eat and arcade games to play.”
Sam was bouncing around again, trying to race Dean inside, but Dean was lingering by his father. “So, what’s the final score?”
“Doesn’t matter.” John said. He didn’t even pull the score card out of his pocket.
“Oh, so you won.” Dean mumbled.
“I did.” John smiled. He placed a warm hand on the back of Dean’s sweaty neck. “Remember, I have a few years on you. Someday you’ll be a mini-golf pro.”
He snorted, leaning into his father’s touch. “How many times did you play when you were a kid?”
“Too many.” John admitted. When they got inside, John handed them a bunch of quarters, the ones he was saving for laundry, and let them play the arcade games. They could go a few extra weeks with dirty clothes. What’s a little dried up blood and dirty gonna hurt anyway? Although, they did have school... oh well.
“Here you go, Mr. Winchester.” The lady said handing him two big pizza’s. One with cheese and one with pepperoni.
“Wow. I don’t think we can eat all this.” John said. Then again, left over pizza was a great dinner option tomorrow and the next day. That would save him some money, and maybe he could wash some clothes after all. “Thank you.”
“No problem. Just let us know when you’re ready for your ice cream.”
About an hour later, after half the first box of pizza was devoured and four refills of soda were given, John and his kids played air hockey one last time. Sam was determined to beat Dean so he got Dad on his side. In the end, Sam and Dad won, but Dean claims he let them win.
“All right. Pick what flavor of ice cream you want.”
Sam pressed his nose against the glass, looking intently at each flavor whereas Dean went with the first one he saw. “Cookies N’cream.”
“Do you want a cup or a cone.”
Dean looked at his father, “Can I have a cone?”
“Are you gonna spill it in the car?”
“Do I look like I’m four?”
John nodded, “go head.”
“I want a waffle cone, the largest one you have with extra sugar.”
John gave him a nudge. “A small sugar cone is fine.” He said to the nervous looking employee. She smiled the second he said
A Sugar cone was fine.
“Can I have two scoops?” Dean asked, wincing as his father smacked him across the back of the head. “Please.”
The lady was happy to give him two large scoops of ice cream even though John insisted that it wasn’t necessary. He was glad that Dean was content, standing quietly licking his sweet treat.
“I don’t know which to get.” Sam said, “strawberry is good, but it’s typical. Should I try something new like Mint Chocolate Chip?”
“That sounds good, dude.” Dean said, taking a look at the options.
“Aw man, I didn’t know they had rocky road.”
“that’s because you never look.” Sam said, whining when Dean rubbed his nose with a glob of ice cream.
“I think I’m gonna try the mint chocolate chip.”
John ordered it in a cup, not paying any attention to Sam’s complaining about how Dean gets everything and he gets treated like a baby.
In the end, the employee saved the day by giving Sam a cup of ice cream with a cone on top.
“Yay.” Sam cheered, showing his cone off to Dean who hummed in response. John chose classic chocolate because hell he hasn’t had that in forever.
Oh his way out the door he gave her a quick, “Thank you.”
“No problem have a great night.” She responded kindly. The world needs more people like her. Too bad she was so young...
“Dad, do we have to move next week? Can’t we live here forever.” Sam asked quietly.
Sighing, John turned on the radio. “Sorry Sam but it’s part of the job description.”
With that, he drove off into the night listening to his two kids talk about their lives: school, games, movies; all while eating delicious ice cream.