(no subject)
LET'S PRETEND
Title: Lets Pretend
Author: Aquaesulis
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: If I owned them, I would not be spending my spare time thinking, and writing about them...
Summary: Written for the spn_dailylife challenge. Series of snapshots in the Winchester's lives. Set any time during Seasons One or Two.
Prompt: Dressing up.
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For most children, dressing up was all part of the game.
For the Winchesters, dressing up was all part of the job.
~~
The glimpse of a uniform. The flash of a badge. The glint of a gun.
"Hands up."
Dean obeys.
A pair of curious blue eyes scrutenise him. Freckled nose wrinkles in puzzlement. Corners of the mouth droop slightly.
"I thought you were my Uncle Dave."
"Sorry to disappoint kid. You might be able to help me though. I'm with the FBI - see? So tell me officer, did you see anything at your neighbour's house last night? Hear anything?"
~~
A long, silken dress, falling off one shoulder. A pair of high heeled shoes. Red-lipsticked mouth.
"What do you want?"
"Uhhh, my name's Sa.. Mr Underwood. I'm with the Insurance company. Is your Mom or Dad home?"
"I'm being a princess. You can play if you want."
"Thanks, but I gotta talk to your parents."
"They're in the kitchen. Do you know any princes?"
~~
An outsized baseball mitt. Bat wielded with a 6th grade power. Looks of intense concentration.
"He winds up - the crowd are hushed with anticipation, this for the greatest win of the century"
The thud of ball hitting leather, a groan and a cheer clashing and echoing through the park.
"And he does it, Hendy does it. The crowd are going WILD..."
The EMF meter in Dean's hand suddenly screeches, pulling him back to the task in hand.
~~
Shouts and screams. An eyepatch. Two hands fisted onto hips, with a death-glare.
"You're in the way."
"Sorry, err, Jack Sparrow. Sewer needs maintainance."
"I'm Captain *Jasmine* Sparrow, and you're on our gangplank."
"Can't you put the gangplank on the other side of the ship?"
"No. The sharks are on *this* side."
"Well, I'll tell you what. I'm actually pretty good friends with one of the sharks. I'll ask him if he and his friends could move so that we can do our job."
"Sammy! Haven't got all day here.."
"Just, negociating a deal."
"What?"
"Who was that?"
"That was the shark. They get a bit cranky when they need coffee."
"I heard that!"
"You can really get him to move?"
"Sure can. Hey Dean? You and the other sharks are going to move over to the other side of the ship, aren't you?"
"Dude - you've lost it."
"Just say yes!"
There's a chuckle echoing from the bowels of the ground.
"Yes. Hey, Sam? You know I'm gonna tell Bobby this one, right?"
"Oh-*kay* then. I'll move the gangplank."
"This'd better be worth it."
~~
Grubby sneakers. Grazed knees. Green eyes.
"Watcher doin' mister?"
"Checking on the cause of the fire."
"Huh?"
"What started it. Did you see it?"
The shock of red hair trembles and flutters as it's owner nods his head.
"It was very angry and noisy."
"Yeah. Fire can be."
"But you fight it?"
"I wanna stop it happening again. Make sure nobody else gets hurt."
"Is that what fire-fighters do?"
"Yeah. That's what fire fighters do."
"Can I be a fire fighter too?"
"Course you can. D'you want to know a secret?"
A full body nod this time.
"When I was your age, I wanted to be a fire fighter."
"I like your helmet."
"Tell you what, try it on for size. I can always get another one."
~~
Ghostly white figures flitting from house to house. Sceams and groans hovering in the air. Dripping blood, claws and fangs, innocent eyes.
A syncronised,
"I hate Halloween."
~~
Limp brown hair. Adult shirt swamping a fragile frame. Thin arm cradeling a tired doll.
She gets up as they approach. Dull eyes scan their uniforms, and a flicker of emotion, quickly banked, touches her eyes.
"Hi there." Dean drops to his knees, balances the height difference. "My name's Dean. What's she called."
A jerk of her arm brings the doll out of touching distance.
"I'm her Momma, you can't hurt her."
"It's ok, I don't want to hurt her. I just need..."
The door opens. A worn-looking woman, with her daughter's tragic eyes, stands there. A bruise mars the jawline, another peeps shyly from the frayed edge of the sleeve. The girl backs to her side.
"We can't help you. I'm sorry."
"Ma'am, we just need to ask a few questions."
"We can't help you." Firmer this time. "He doesn't like the police hanging round."
"Ma'am." One hand out to prevent the door being slammed shut. "It's about the creature in the woods."
Such relief should never be funny.
~~
For most children, dressing up was all part of the game.
For the Winchesters, dressing up was all part of the job.
The End