Fic: Seat Kick [SPN-Dean, Sammy]
Title: Seat Kick
Author: angel_gidget
Rating: G
Word Count: 528
Disclaimer: Bow before the Kripke, you puny mortals.
Summary: Sam should not make Dean rue the day he finally got to ride shotgun.
Author's Note: Christmas present for wickedvirtue So sorry for the lateness! Figured I'd try to get it to you by New Year's at least. Enjoy. *hugs*
If Dean was learning about it any other way, he would have been proud. His little brother was getting taller. This was good. It meant that Sammy, now seven, was just that much closer to becoming a man. The bad news, of course, was that he wouldn't stop kicking the back of Dean's seat.
"Sammy, for the ninth time--!"
"Are we there yet?"
"No! Now stop it!"
Dad's voice boomed from the driver's seat.
"Both of you stop it, or you're sharing the backseat again!"
Dean shut up. So did Sammy.
It hadn't been that long ago that Dad had finally let Dean ride shotgun. They had even celebrated it by buying a new shotgun. Dean had been blown away. It was ugly wood, and very beat up, but it was still a Browning .20 gauge. And it was amazing. He'd named her "Betty" and placed her with loving care into the trunk of the Impala. He was still thinking about her when he felt that shove in his back again.
"Saaammyy..." he whispered warningly.
"Deeaaannn..." Sam countered. "Scoot your seat up! My legs need room!"
"No! So do mine."
Dad spoke again.
"Boys, I have a headache. I need either quiet or good music. One or the other. And if I don't get it, I have two words for you... Bueno Burrito."
Dean swore that it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Or, it would have been if the radio hadn't been playing. And if the Impala didn't still have some carpet intact.
Bueno Burrito was always bad news. Sam never liked the food, but he'd eat it anyway and then... the gas.
It was bad enough if Sam ate something from a good Mexican joint.
And now Sam was getting bigger. That meant... more gas.
Dean nearly turned green at the thought.
But then the kicking started again.
Notalking.Notalking.Notalking....
Swat!
Dean tried to reach into the back, flailing his hand at his brother's shoe. It quietly connected, and Sam momentarily stopped.... and then started again.
Swat!
Again.
Finally, Dad pulled into a toll booth and focussed on paying the woman some money.
Dean reached back behind the chair and lifted Sammy's legs, forcing him to sit sideways on the wide seat.
Sam looked at him with puzzled expression before sitting upright and rebelliously kicking the seat again.
It was an hour later before Dean's ever-drifting faith in God was revived as he was blessed with an idea.
Dad glared at him a little as he leaned forward, before realizing that he was reaching for the AC and not the radio. They had just gotten both fixed for the bajillionth time last week.
Maneuvering the settings, Dean set the temperature as low as it could go, blasting it into the back seat.
Worked like a charm.
Dean watched Sam curl up like a wilted flower, trying to escape the frigid air.
The moment guilt assaulted him, he took his jacket from the front, and threw it over Sammy in the back.
He relaxed as the little guy fell asleep.
Peace reigned inside the car till they reached Santa Carla, where the hunt would begin again.
F.I.N.
Author: angel_gidget
Rating: G
Word Count: 528
Disclaimer: Bow before the Kripke, you puny mortals.
Summary: Sam should not make Dean rue the day he finally got to ride shotgun.
Author's Note: Christmas present for wickedvirtue So sorry for the lateness! Figured I'd try to get it to you by New Year's at least. Enjoy. *hugs*
If Dean was learning about it any other way, he would have been proud. His little brother was getting taller. This was good. It meant that Sammy, now seven, was just that much closer to becoming a man. The bad news, of course, was that he wouldn't stop kicking the back of Dean's seat.
"Sammy, for the ninth time--!"
"Are we there yet?"
"No! Now stop it!"
Dad's voice boomed from the driver's seat.
"Both of you stop it, or you're sharing the backseat again!"
Dean shut up. So did Sammy.
It hadn't been that long ago that Dad had finally let Dean ride shotgun. They had even celebrated it by buying a new shotgun. Dean had been blown away. It was ugly wood, and very beat up, but it was still a Browning .20 gauge. And it was amazing. He'd named her "Betty" and placed her with loving care into the trunk of the Impala. He was still thinking about her when he felt that shove in his back again.
"Saaammyy..." he whispered warningly.
"Deeaaannn..." Sam countered. "Scoot your seat up! My legs need room!"
"No! So do mine."
Dad spoke again.
"Boys, I have a headache. I need either quiet or good music. One or the other. And if I don't get it, I have two words for you... Bueno Burrito."
Dean swore that it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Or, it would have been if the radio hadn't been playing. And if the Impala didn't still have some carpet intact.
Bueno Burrito was always bad news. Sam never liked the food, but he'd eat it anyway and then... the gas.
It was bad enough if Sam ate something from a good Mexican joint.
And now Sam was getting bigger. That meant... more gas.
Dean nearly turned green at the thought.
But then the kicking started again.
Notalking.Notalking.Notalking....
Swat!
Dean tried to reach into the back, flailing his hand at his brother's shoe. It quietly connected, and Sam momentarily stopped.... and then started again.
Swat!
Again.
Finally, Dad pulled into a toll booth and focussed on paying the woman some money.
Dean reached back behind the chair and lifted Sammy's legs, forcing him to sit sideways on the wide seat.
Sam looked at him with puzzled expression before sitting upright and rebelliously kicking the seat again.
It was an hour later before Dean's ever-drifting faith in God was revived as he was blessed with an idea.
Dad glared at him a little as he leaned forward, before realizing that he was reaching for the AC and not the radio. They had just gotten both fixed for the bajillionth time last week.
Maneuvering the settings, Dean set the temperature as low as it could go, blasting it into the back seat.
Worked like a charm.
Dean watched Sam curl up like a wilted flower, trying to escape the frigid air.
The moment guilt assaulted him, he took his jacket from the front, and threw it over Sammy in the back.
He relaxed as the little guy fell asleep.
Peace reigned inside the car till they reached Santa Carla, where the hunt would begin again.
F.I.N.