SPN Fanfic: Cross-Border Shopping
Title: Cross-Border Shopping
Characters: John, Dean (9), Sam (5)
Rating: GEN, PG, kidfic
Word Count: 3000-ish. That's 4827.9 in metric.
Disclaimer: I. Am. Canadian! No, wait, sorry, that's a beer commercial. I don't own the Winchesters, their world, or Canada. Or a cooler, actually.
Warnings: No spoilers for anything. Wee!chesters and John. Massive Canadian Content. Schmoop which refused to be left out. Inaccurate depictions of Canadian fauna.
Summary: A summer weekend road-trip to Canada for John, the boys, and a mysterious cooler.
A/N: This thing has been lurking at the back of the bunny corral since September 2006. Recently, it's been trying to leap up and squiggle out between the fence rails. Some of you former lurkers might recognize this story's original source, buried under all the schmoop. ;-) (Also, happy belated Canada Day)
Beta: Thank you so much, anniehow! \o/
-
Cross-Border Shopping
by CaffieneKitty
-
John dropped into a kitchen chair shortly after midnight and started untying his boots. "We're going to Canada."
"...to live?" Dean put a couple slices of cold pizza on a plate in front of John. They'd only moved in to the new apartment last week, so moving again wouldn't be too hard. Sammy wouldn't like it though, especially not moving to a different country.
"Nope. Just a visit. Couple days. There's someone I need to get a few things from up there. We're all leaving in the morning."
Dean blinked. "All of us?"
"Yep. Wouldn't go without you two," John smiled.
Dean grinned back.
-
On their way north the next morning, John pulled the car over at a thrift store and came back out with a battered old red cooler.
"'S that for the thing we're getting in Canada?" asked Sammy, peering over the back of the front seat at the cooler riding shotgun.
"Sort of. Sit back down, okay Sammy?"
Ten minutes later, John stopped at a gas station. Sam and Dean both came in to use the washroom before they got to the border line-ups. Dean lurked around the washroom door, waiting for Sammy, watching John at the till.
"Twenny bucks," said the girl at the counter.
John pulled out his wallet and smiled at the girl. "I hate to ask, but I notice you've got lunchmeat available."
"Yeah, in the back, next to the milk."
"I was hoping you might have some that's outdated?"
She snapped her gum. "Pardon?"
"For our dog."
Dean blinked.
John grinned ruefully. "We forgot dog food, and all I have on me is the twenty, so, I just thought..."
Minutes later, John, Dean and Sam walked out of the store with a jumbo package of long-expired salami. Dean hoped it wasn't for lunch. August sunshine beat down on the black car waiting in the parking lot.
"But we don't have a dog, Daddy." Sam said, running up beside John.
"I know, Sammy."
"Are we getting a dog in Canada?"
"No." John took the cooler out of the front seat.
"But-"
"Get in the car, buddy."
"C'mon Sam," said Dean, taking Sammy's hand and towing him to the back door of the car. "We've gotta roll down all the windows or we're gonna cook." As he waited for Sam to crawl in, Dean peered around the side of the car to see what John was doing.
John opened the trunk and put the cooler in. Then he opened the salami package, dropped it into the cooler, and closed the lid tightly.
"Uh..." Dean peered back at his father. "Do we need to get ice or something, Dad?"
"Nope." John shut the trunk.
-
Canada wasn't much different than the States, Dean thought. Definitely no snow and igloos in August. They drove for hours over back roads with the windows down before they pulled up to a lakeshore cabin. The sun shone through high green trees and glittered off a nearby lake.
The guy who came out of the cabin was older than Dad by a lot, and had white hair and ferocious eyebrows. He smiled and nodded as Dean and Sammy got out of the car, then muttered, "Keep 'em out from underfoot." He then turned his back on John and the boys, leaving the Winchesters to unload their weekend gear from the trunk.
"You heard Mr. Lyndon, boys. Stay out from underfoot. Don't go near the shooting range." John pointed in the direction of a small clearing by the cabin. "And Dean?"
"Watch out for Sammy, yessir."
"What 'bout the cooler, Daddy?" Sammy asked as John handed him his pack sack, peering into the trunk.
Dad crouched down to get eye-to-eye with Sam. "Listen Sammy. This is very important. I don't want anyone to touch the cooler. It stays right where it is and nobody touches it. Nobody. All right?"
"Uh hunh," Sammy nodded gravely.
"Okay? I need you to remember that."
"I'll 'member."
Dean hung back as Sam shouldered his small pack and headed haphazardly to the cabin. "I'll make sure he doesn't go near the cooler, Dad. I'll keep away from it too."
John watched Sam's progress up to the cabin. "I know you will, Dean. But it's really important that Sammy knows that I don't want anyone touching it."
Dean tilted his head and squinted up at John, puzzled.
"Just trust me, okay bud?" John smiled and ruffled Dean's hair.
-
Mr. Lyndon didn't like kids much; after their arrival, Dean and Sam might as well not have been there. He barely even noticed them. That was okay though; Mr. Lyndon lived next to a lake, and a lake was worth being ignored by an old guy with scary eyebrows any day.
Dragonflies flitted around the edge of the water, among the scrub and cattails. Sammy lay flat on the dock looking down into the shallows beside the dock, feet waggling back and forth in the air. Dean sat with his chin on his knees, looking back on shore to the small shooting range where gunfire rattled intermittently.
Dad and Mr. Lyndon had a whole bunch of guns out on the firing range. John put down the gun he'd just fired and picked another, examining it. Dean ran through the gun parts he knew under his breath as John touched them, pulled them apart and reassembled them. "Barrel, stock, breech, magazine-"
"There's a big one, Dean, come see," Sammy whispered, hand patting Dean's foot. Dean rolled flat onto the dock, squirming to the edge and peering over. A fat bullhead about the length of Dad's hand hung floating in the water, scales flashing in the rippled patterns of sunlight.
"Whaddaya think it's like to be a fish?" Sammy murmured, eyes on the bullhead.
Dean shrugged, listening for gunfire from the range, watching the fish. "I dunno. Kinda boring. You float around in the water all day and eat bugs and worms until someone catches you."
"Oh." Sammy's waving feet thudded down onto the dock and the bullhead sped away out of sight.
Dean glanced over at Sam, then back down into the sun-dappled water. "He was a fast one! Did you see him go?"
"Yep." Sam giggled. "Speedy fish."
Voices floated from the shooting range and Dean sat up. Dad and Mr. Lyndon were talking, heading into the cabin past the Impala, which sat shining in the full sun of the driveway. Dean frowned and wondered about the cooler in the trunk. That meat was probably totally gross by now; yesterday and today in the sun and no ice. Barf-city. Why was it so important that Sam not touch that cooler, anyway?
Sammy wasn't allowed to know monsters were real, maybe the cooler had something to do with monsters. What did bad lunchmeat in a cooler have to do with monsters...?
Dean's eyes widened. What if it's a monster trap? Or a monster cage? Is Dad gonna catch some Canadian monster, put it in the cooler and take it back home? A monster so bad that Canada can't handle it, or maybe one that ran across the border and needs to go back to the States. But Dad wouldn't do that. Would he? Dean squinted at the Impala's trunk, shining in the sunlight. ...It'd be a little monster. A cooler-sized monster that eats rotten meat. Probably lots of those in Canada. Maybe Dad's already caught it... No wonder he doesn't want Sammy or anyone going near the cooler.
Nobody could be allowed to go near the cooler, just in case. This was important. This was part of Dad's job. Maybe.
"If I was a fish," Sam said suddenly, chin rested on the weather-roughened edge of the dock, "I'd be a really, really, really fast fish. Faster'n that one."
As long as Dean could keep Sammy away from the cooler, it'd be fine. Keep him distracted. Dean smirked. "Yeah. You'd be the kind of fish that swims so fast no one can even see 'em, and no one knows about 'em 'coz no one ever catches 'em."
Sam looked over at Dean, squinting into the sunlight. "You're weird!"
"Hey, you're the one wondering what it's like to be a fish, doofus." Dean smirked and stood up.
"Can we look for beavers again tomorrow?" Sammy asked.
Dean looked at the Impala and away. "Yeah. It's Canada. There's gotta be beavers around here somewhere."
-
The following night, Dean woke when the cabin door thumped shut. He stood on the armchair by the junk-strewn window and watched as John took some angular bags out to the Impala in the dark.
Looks like we might be leaving tomorrow.
John opened the trunk, took out the red cooler and put it on the ground. Dean watched closely as John unlocked the hidden part of the trunk and put a bunch of new guns in, turning his back on the cooler sitting on the ground.
Dean cupped his hands around his eyes to see better. There wasn't anything holding the cooler shut, no rope or anything. He watched the cooler for the slightest hint of a wiggle.
If Dad came up here to catch a monster and put it in the cooler, and we're leaving tomorrow, then there's a monster in that cooler. Dad doesn't not catch monsters. Maybe the monster's asleep. Or maybe it's waiting for the right time to jump out and-
"Whatcha lookin' at, Dean?"
"Jeez Sammy!" Dean jumped, glancing down at his rumpled little brother, then back out in time to see Dad put the cooler back into the trunk and lock it.
"'S'it a beaver?" muttered Sammy, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
Dean pulled the curtain shut and slid down into the beat-up green armchair. "There's nothing out there, Sam. Dad's just loading stuff into the car. I think we're leaving in the morning."
"Oh." Sam crawled up into the chair next to Dean.
"You know that it's really important that nobody touches the cooler in the trunk, right Sammy?"
"Uh hunh. Daddy said."
"Well, now I'm saying it too. Nobody touches the cooler in the trunk. Nobody."
"Okay, Dean." Sam yawned again.
"Good."
Sam curled up beside Dean in the armchair. "We never saw a beaver," he sighed.
Dean frowned and looked back up at the junk along the windowsill. He turned around, kneeling on the chair and dug out what he thought he'd seen. A coin with a picture of a beaver on it. He grinned and slid back down in the armchair next to Sam.
"Here, Sammy," said Dean, holding the coin so Sam could see the animal on it.
"It's a beaver!" Sam smiled sleepily and took the coin, resting his head against Dean's shoulder.
"Yep. We found a beaver."
"What do beavers do, Dean?"
"What?"
"What do-" Sam yawned hugely, "-beavers do?"
"Well, they chew down trees."
"Uh hunh," said Sam, handing the coin back to Dean. "They eat 'em?"
"Yeah, sure. And they build houses out of them. I know that."
"Why they got such big tails?"
"Um... to uh..." Dean looked down at the coin in Sammy's hand. "It's for defense. So they can protect their families. They smack bears around with 'em."
"Really?"
"It's what I'd do if I had a tail like that."
"Cool," Sam murmured. "What else?"
Dean yawned and rested his head against the worn-through upholstery. "They can swim underwater, and..."
The next thing Dean knew, Dad was there, lopsided smile on his face, covering Dean and Sammy up in the chair with a fuzzy grey blanket.
"We leavin' tomorrow Dad?" Dean whispered.
"Yep. We're done here."
"Sammy knows no one's supposed to touch the cooler."
"Good." John ran a hand over Dean's head. "You want to crawl into bed, son?"
Dean blinked muzzily over at the bed across the room, then down at the top of Sammy's head, his face burrowed into Dean's side. "Naw, I'm okay here."
John pulled the blanket up to their chins and tucked it in at the sides so it wouldn't slip off.
"G'nite boys."
"'Nite Dad."
-
The trip up to Canada through the Customs guard posts had been almost a rolling stop. A gruff grey-haired man had asked questions and Dad had answered: "Visiting friends, weekend, yes, they're my sons." The guard had waved them through. The trip back wasn't so smooth.
The guard at the border going back was a lot different than the one going in to Canada. This one had a mustache, and he peered at Sam and Dean in the back seat like they were hiding something. He asked John for his ID and all of their birth certificates.
"These aren't originals," the guard said.
"There was a fire." Dean watched a muscle in his father's jaw jump.
The guard kept holding the ID and frowning at the ID. "Total value of purchases made in Canada?"
"Wasn't there for shopping. Just visiting a friend, doing a little fishing."
The guard looked the car up and down. "Don't see any fishing gear."
"We used my friend's."
"Bringing any fish back with you?"
"Nope, not so lucky."
"They were too fast!" piped Sam from beside Dean in the back seat. Dean was caught between shushing Sam and wanting to giggle. John's eyes flicked up to the rear-view mirror and back.
"Uh hunh," said the guard, frowning. "Any fruits, vegetables, meats?"
He didn't ask about monsters. Dean thought.
"Nope."
"Weapons? Drugs?"
Dean stared blankly at the seatback in front of him, trying very hard not to think of the hidden compartment in the trunk, full of guns.
"Nope."
The guard hesitated, glancing back over the car. "Pull over, Mr. Armbruster."
Dean swallowed.
"Is there a problem?" John asked.
"Just a routine search, sir. Proceed to customs inspection bay number two."
John rolled the car slowly towards the customs station between the guard posts.
Is Dad gonna make a break for it? We can't let the border guard search the car! But John rolled the Impala straight towards the indicated bay, the older guard from the border shack following behind them, another younger, sandy-haired guard coming out to beckon the Impala in.
"What's going on?" Sammy asked, peering over the seatback at John.
"They want to search the car, Sam."
Sam's eyes widened. "The whole thing? But-"
"Shh." Dad pulled into the parking spot, watching the guards talk to each other for a moment.
Sammy lowered his voice to a whisper, turning to Dean. "But Dean, what about the cooler?"
"Shh, Sammy," said Dean, "Dad's got everything under control." He looked in the mirror at his dad's face. John glanced at Dean in the mirror grimly.
Sammy fidgeted, frowning.
If Dad had caught a monster and it was in the cooler, there was no way they could let the guards touch it. It might attack them, or get loose. Dean scowled out the window at the two uniformed Customs officers.
"We need you to exit the car, sir, with your children, and stand in the designated area."
Dean and Sammy climbed out of the back seat and stood beside John a distance away from the car.
John watched the border guards mildly as they went over the Impala, searching. Sam remained quiet, but squirmy. Dean felt like he'd swallowed a dragonfly. Inevitably, the guards opened the trunk.
The red cooler was the most prominent thing in the trunk. It was off to the side, but it was bright red. Sammy shifted from foot to foot, glancing between Dean and Dad. Dean scuffed his feet on the cement and stared at the cooler. Maybe if we play it cool and don't say anything about the cooler, they won't try to open it and-
"Daddy doesn't want anyone to touch the cooler!" Sammy blurted suddenly.
"Sam!" hissed Dean, frowning fiercely.
The older customs officer's smile went vulpine under his mustache. "Oh, he doesn't, son? Really?"
"What's in the cooler, sir?" the younger guard called.
"I can explain," said John, taking a half-step forward.
The sandy-haired officer rested a hand on the butt of his sidearm and held a hand out in admonishment. "Don't move, sir! Just stand right where you are."
Dad put a hand on Sam's head and Dean's shoulder. Dean looked up at his father, worried they were caught, and John looked down at Dean. His eye flicked in the barest hint of a wink. Dean frowned, puzzled. He looked back at the guards just as the smirking older guard opened the cooler.
The reek of sixteen ounces of rancid salami, well-warmed by the sun and unrefrigerated for three days, rolled out of the trunk in a palpable wave.
Dean clamped both hands over his mouth and nose, but kept his eyes open, watching everywhere to see if a monster jumped out. Sammy buried his face in his father's hip. "Eww!" The border guards staggered back away from the trunk, cursing.
"I'm sorry," John said in a sheepish tone, his hand covering his mouth and nose. "There was some open lunchmeat in the cooler and we forgot all about it, left it in the trunk all weekend. Black car, sunny weather. It got kind of ripe."
"Holy mother of-" the guard with the mustache mumbled through his hand.
The sandy-haired guard crept forward, keeping a firm hand over his face, and peered into the cooler. He took a long ruler and measured the depth inside the cooler versus the depth outside. "Just rotten meat," he called muffledly, "no hidden compartments." He closed the cooler lid before dancing away from the trunk to breathe.
No monsters either... Dean looked up at John. Dad had his mouth and nose covered because of the stench, but Dean could tell from his eyes that he was grinning.
The guards had opened the trunk and the cooler, and Dad was happy? There wasn't a monster, that's for sure, just a big stink of rotten salami. Why had it been so important no one touch the cooler?
"Why are you keeping that?" the first guard asked, still covering his nose and mouth.
John shrugged. "I was hoping to keep it closed 'til I could deal with it at home, bleach out the cooler."
The sandy-haired guard turned to the one with the mustache. "Pete, what do you think-"
"Just get them out of here! God!" he pushed the Winchester's ID into the younger guard's hands and ran inside the customs office, retching.
The sandy-haired guard closed the trunk one-handed and returned the Impala's keys to John. Dean watched Dad take the keys, then looked back at the car's closed trunk.
The guards had been so grossed-out by the cooler, they hadn't looked any further into the trunk. Neither of them had seen the locked compartment underneath the cooler.
Ohhh.
"That's fine, sir, you can go." He handed the ID and birth certificates back to John. "Hope the smell doesn't get into the car on you."
John smirked, "I'm thinking once we get to highway speeds it'll be the guy behind me's problem."
The guard chuckled. "Have a safe trip."
"Thank you, we will. Come on, boys."
As Dad helped Sam and Dean into the back seat, Sam spoke up quietly.
"I'm sorry, Daddy."
"What for?"
"I told 'em 'bout the cooler." Sammy stared at his toes.
John reached down and ruffled Sammy's hair. "It's okay, Sammy, you did great."
Sammy squinted in confusion. "I did?"
"Yep. You did just right."
"Oh." Sam frowned and clambered across to his seat behind John.
Dean looked up at John, "Dad, did you-"
"Come on, boys." John grinned and winked. "Let's go home."
- - -
(That's it.)
Post A/N: Based on a similar experience in a similar time frame, except the cooler stink bomb was unintentional and it wasn't hiding a weapons compartment, just a katana.
Characters: John, Dean (9), Sam (5)
Rating: GEN, PG, kidfic
Word Count: 3000-ish. That's 4827.9 in metric.
Disclaimer: I. Am. Canadian! No, wait, sorry, that's a beer commercial. I don't own the Winchesters, their world, or Canada. Or a cooler, actually.
Warnings: No spoilers for anything. Wee!chesters and John. Massive Canadian Content. Schmoop which refused to be left out. Inaccurate depictions of Canadian fauna.
Summary: A summer weekend road-trip to Canada for John, the boys, and a mysterious cooler.
A/N: This thing has been lurking at the back of the bunny corral since September 2006. Recently, it's been trying to leap up and squiggle out between the fence rails. Some of you former lurkers might recognize this story's original source, buried under all the schmoop. ;-) (Also, happy belated Canada Day)
Beta: Thank you so much, anniehow! \o/
-
Cross-Border Shopping
by CaffieneKitty
-
John dropped into a kitchen chair shortly after midnight and started untying his boots. "We're going to Canada."
"...to live?" Dean put a couple slices of cold pizza on a plate in front of John. They'd only moved in to the new apartment last week, so moving again wouldn't be too hard. Sammy wouldn't like it though, especially not moving to a different country.
"Nope. Just a visit. Couple days. There's someone I need to get a few things from up there. We're all leaving in the morning."
Dean blinked. "All of us?"
"Yep. Wouldn't go without you two," John smiled.
Dean grinned back.
-
On their way north the next morning, John pulled the car over at a thrift store and came back out with a battered old red cooler.
"'S that for the thing we're getting in Canada?" asked Sammy, peering over the back of the front seat at the cooler riding shotgun.
"Sort of. Sit back down, okay Sammy?"
Ten minutes later, John stopped at a gas station. Sam and Dean both came in to use the washroom before they got to the border line-ups. Dean lurked around the washroom door, waiting for Sammy, watching John at the till.
"Twenny bucks," said the girl at the counter.
John pulled out his wallet and smiled at the girl. "I hate to ask, but I notice you've got lunchmeat available."
"Yeah, in the back, next to the milk."
"I was hoping you might have some that's outdated?"
She snapped her gum. "Pardon?"
"For our dog."
Dean blinked.
John grinned ruefully. "We forgot dog food, and all I have on me is the twenty, so, I just thought..."
Minutes later, John, Dean and Sam walked out of the store with a jumbo package of long-expired salami. Dean hoped it wasn't for lunch. August sunshine beat down on the black car waiting in the parking lot.
"But we don't have a dog, Daddy." Sam said, running up beside John.
"I know, Sammy."
"Are we getting a dog in Canada?"
"No." John took the cooler out of the front seat.
"But-"
"Get in the car, buddy."
"C'mon Sam," said Dean, taking Sammy's hand and towing him to the back door of the car. "We've gotta roll down all the windows or we're gonna cook." As he waited for Sam to crawl in, Dean peered around the side of the car to see what John was doing.
John opened the trunk and put the cooler in. Then he opened the salami package, dropped it into the cooler, and closed the lid tightly.
"Uh..." Dean peered back at his father. "Do we need to get ice or something, Dad?"
"Nope." John shut the trunk.
-
Canada wasn't much different than the States, Dean thought. Definitely no snow and igloos in August. They drove for hours over back roads with the windows down before they pulled up to a lakeshore cabin. The sun shone through high green trees and glittered off a nearby lake.
The guy who came out of the cabin was older than Dad by a lot, and had white hair and ferocious eyebrows. He smiled and nodded as Dean and Sammy got out of the car, then muttered, "Keep 'em out from underfoot." He then turned his back on John and the boys, leaving the Winchesters to unload their weekend gear from the trunk.
"You heard Mr. Lyndon, boys. Stay out from underfoot. Don't go near the shooting range." John pointed in the direction of a small clearing by the cabin. "And Dean?"
"Watch out for Sammy, yessir."
"What 'bout the cooler, Daddy?" Sammy asked as John handed him his pack sack, peering into the trunk.
Dad crouched down to get eye-to-eye with Sam. "Listen Sammy. This is very important. I don't want anyone to touch the cooler. It stays right where it is and nobody touches it. Nobody. All right?"
"Uh hunh," Sammy nodded gravely.
"Okay? I need you to remember that."
"I'll 'member."
Dean hung back as Sam shouldered his small pack and headed haphazardly to the cabin. "I'll make sure he doesn't go near the cooler, Dad. I'll keep away from it too."
John watched Sam's progress up to the cabin. "I know you will, Dean. But it's really important that Sammy knows that I don't want anyone touching it."
Dean tilted his head and squinted up at John, puzzled.
"Just trust me, okay bud?" John smiled and ruffled Dean's hair.
-
Mr. Lyndon didn't like kids much; after their arrival, Dean and Sam might as well not have been there. He barely even noticed them. That was okay though; Mr. Lyndon lived next to a lake, and a lake was worth being ignored by an old guy with scary eyebrows any day.
Dragonflies flitted around the edge of the water, among the scrub and cattails. Sammy lay flat on the dock looking down into the shallows beside the dock, feet waggling back and forth in the air. Dean sat with his chin on his knees, looking back on shore to the small shooting range where gunfire rattled intermittently.
Dad and Mr. Lyndon had a whole bunch of guns out on the firing range. John put down the gun he'd just fired and picked another, examining it. Dean ran through the gun parts he knew under his breath as John touched them, pulled them apart and reassembled them. "Barrel, stock, breech, magazine-"
"There's a big one, Dean, come see," Sammy whispered, hand patting Dean's foot. Dean rolled flat onto the dock, squirming to the edge and peering over. A fat bullhead about the length of Dad's hand hung floating in the water, scales flashing in the rippled patterns of sunlight.
"Whaddaya think it's like to be a fish?" Sammy murmured, eyes on the bullhead.
Dean shrugged, listening for gunfire from the range, watching the fish. "I dunno. Kinda boring. You float around in the water all day and eat bugs and worms until someone catches you."
"Oh." Sammy's waving feet thudded down onto the dock and the bullhead sped away out of sight.
Dean glanced over at Sam, then back down into the sun-dappled water. "He was a fast one! Did you see him go?"
"Yep." Sam giggled. "Speedy fish."
Voices floated from the shooting range and Dean sat up. Dad and Mr. Lyndon were talking, heading into the cabin past the Impala, which sat shining in the full sun of the driveway. Dean frowned and wondered about the cooler in the trunk. That meat was probably totally gross by now; yesterday and today in the sun and no ice. Barf-city. Why was it so important that Sam not touch that cooler, anyway?
Sammy wasn't allowed to know monsters were real, maybe the cooler had something to do with monsters. What did bad lunchmeat in a cooler have to do with monsters...?
Dean's eyes widened. What if it's a monster trap? Or a monster cage? Is Dad gonna catch some Canadian monster, put it in the cooler and take it back home? A monster so bad that Canada can't handle it, or maybe one that ran across the border and needs to go back to the States. But Dad wouldn't do that. Would he? Dean squinted at the Impala's trunk, shining in the sunlight. ...It'd be a little monster. A cooler-sized monster that eats rotten meat. Probably lots of those in Canada. Maybe Dad's already caught it... No wonder he doesn't want Sammy or anyone going near the cooler.
Nobody could be allowed to go near the cooler, just in case. This was important. This was part of Dad's job. Maybe.
"If I was a fish," Sam said suddenly, chin rested on the weather-roughened edge of the dock, "I'd be a really, really, really fast fish. Faster'n that one."
As long as Dean could keep Sammy away from the cooler, it'd be fine. Keep him distracted. Dean smirked. "Yeah. You'd be the kind of fish that swims so fast no one can even see 'em, and no one knows about 'em 'coz no one ever catches 'em."
Sam looked over at Dean, squinting into the sunlight. "You're weird!"
"Hey, you're the one wondering what it's like to be a fish, doofus." Dean smirked and stood up.
"Can we look for beavers again tomorrow?" Sammy asked.
Dean looked at the Impala and away. "Yeah. It's Canada. There's gotta be beavers around here somewhere."
-
The following night, Dean woke when the cabin door thumped shut. He stood on the armchair by the junk-strewn window and watched as John took some angular bags out to the Impala in the dark.
Looks like we might be leaving tomorrow.
John opened the trunk, took out the red cooler and put it on the ground. Dean watched closely as John unlocked the hidden part of the trunk and put a bunch of new guns in, turning his back on the cooler sitting on the ground.
Dean cupped his hands around his eyes to see better. There wasn't anything holding the cooler shut, no rope or anything. He watched the cooler for the slightest hint of a wiggle.
If Dad came up here to catch a monster and put it in the cooler, and we're leaving tomorrow, then there's a monster in that cooler. Dad doesn't not catch monsters. Maybe the monster's asleep. Or maybe it's waiting for the right time to jump out and-
"Whatcha lookin' at, Dean?"
"Jeez Sammy!" Dean jumped, glancing down at his rumpled little brother, then back out in time to see Dad put the cooler back into the trunk and lock it.
"'S'it a beaver?" muttered Sammy, rubbing his eyes and yawning.
Dean pulled the curtain shut and slid down into the beat-up green armchair. "There's nothing out there, Sam. Dad's just loading stuff into the car. I think we're leaving in the morning."
"Oh." Sam crawled up into the chair next to Dean.
"You know that it's really important that nobody touches the cooler in the trunk, right Sammy?"
"Uh hunh. Daddy said."
"Well, now I'm saying it too. Nobody touches the cooler in the trunk. Nobody."
"Okay, Dean." Sam yawned again.
"Good."
Sam curled up beside Dean in the armchair. "We never saw a beaver," he sighed.
Dean frowned and looked back up at the junk along the windowsill. He turned around, kneeling on the chair and dug out what he thought he'd seen. A coin with a picture of a beaver on it. He grinned and slid back down in the armchair next to Sam.
"Here, Sammy," said Dean, holding the coin so Sam could see the animal on it.
"It's a beaver!" Sam smiled sleepily and took the coin, resting his head against Dean's shoulder.
"Yep. We found a beaver."
"What do beavers do, Dean?"
"What?"
"What do-" Sam yawned hugely, "-beavers do?"
"Well, they chew down trees."
"Uh hunh," said Sam, handing the coin back to Dean. "They eat 'em?"
"Yeah, sure. And they build houses out of them. I know that."
"Why they got such big tails?"
"Um... to uh..." Dean looked down at the coin in Sammy's hand. "It's for defense. So they can protect their families. They smack bears around with 'em."
"Really?"
"It's what I'd do if I had a tail like that."
"Cool," Sam murmured. "What else?"
Dean yawned and rested his head against the worn-through upholstery. "They can swim underwater, and..."
The next thing Dean knew, Dad was there, lopsided smile on his face, covering Dean and Sammy up in the chair with a fuzzy grey blanket.
"We leavin' tomorrow Dad?" Dean whispered.
"Yep. We're done here."
"Sammy knows no one's supposed to touch the cooler."
"Good." John ran a hand over Dean's head. "You want to crawl into bed, son?"
Dean blinked muzzily over at the bed across the room, then down at the top of Sammy's head, his face burrowed into Dean's side. "Naw, I'm okay here."
John pulled the blanket up to their chins and tucked it in at the sides so it wouldn't slip off.
"G'nite boys."
"'Nite Dad."
-
The trip up to Canada through the Customs guard posts had been almost a rolling stop. A gruff grey-haired man had asked questions and Dad had answered: "Visiting friends, weekend, yes, they're my sons." The guard had waved them through. The trip back wasn't so smooth.
The guard at the border going back was a lot different than the one going in to Canada. This one had a mustache, and he peered at Sam and Dean in the back seat like they were hiding something. He asked John for his ID and all of their birth certificates.
"These aren't originals," the guard said.
"There was a fire." Dean watched a muscle in his father's jaw jump.
The guard kept holding the ID and frowning at the ID. "Total value of purchases made in Canada?"
"Wasn't there for shopping. Just visiting a friend, doing a little fishing."
The guard looked the car up and down. "Don't see any fishing gear."
"We used my friend's."
"Bringing any fish back with you?"
"Nope, not so lucky."
"They were too fast!" piped Sam from beside Dean in the back seat. Dean was caught between shushing Sam and wanting to giggle. John's eyes flicked up to the rear-view mirror and back.
"Uh hunh," said the guard, frowning. "Any fruits, vegetables, meats?"
He didn't ask about monsters. Dean thought.
"Nope."
"Weapons? Drugs?"
Dean stared blankly at the seatback in front of him, trying very hard not to think of the hidden compartment in the trunk, full of guns.
"Nope."
The guard hesitated, glancing back over the car. "Pull over, Mr. Armbruster."
Dean swallowed.
"Is there a problem?" John asked.
"Just a routine search, sir. Proceed to customs inspection bay number two."
John rolled the car slowly towards the customs station between the guard posts.
Is Dad gonna make a break for it? We can't let the border guard search the car! But John rolled the Impala straight towards the indicated bay, the older guard from the border shack following behind them, another younger, sandy-haired guard coming out to beckon the Impala in.
"What's going on?" Sammy asked, peering over the seatback at John.
"They want to search the car, Sam."
Sam's eyes widened. "The whole thing? But-"
"Shh." Dad pulled into the parking spot, watching the guards talk to each other for a moment.
Sammy lowered his voice to a whisper, turning to Dean. "But Dean, what about the cooler?"
"Shh, Sammy," said Dean, "Dad's got everything under control." He looked in the mirror at his dad's face. John glanced at Dean in the mirror grimly.
Sammy fidgeted, frowning.
If Dad had caught a monster and it was in the cooler, there was no way they could let the guards touch it. It might attack them, or get loose. Dean scowled out the window at the two uniformed Customs officers.
"We need you to exit the car, sir, with your children, and stand in the designated area."
Dean and Sammy climbed out of the back seat and stood beside John a distance away from the car.
John watched the border guards mildly as they went over the Impala, searching. Sam remained quiet, but squirmy. Dean felt like he'd swallowed a dragonfly. Inevitably, the guards opened the trunk.
The red cooler was the most prominent thing in the trunk. It was off to the side, but it was bright red. Sammy shifted from foot to foot, glancing between Dean and Dad. Dean scuffed his feet on the cement and stared at the cooler. Maybe if we play it cool and don't say anything about the cooler, they won't try to open it and-
"Daddy doesn't want anyone to touch the cooler!" Sammy blurted suddenly.
"Sam!" hissed Dean, frowning fiercely.
The older customs officer's smile went vulpine under his mustache. "Oh, he doesn't, son? Really?"
"What's in the cooler, sir?" the younger guard called.
"I can explain," said John, taking a half-step forward.
The sandy-haired officer rested a hand on the butt of his sidearm and held a hand out in admonishment. "Don't move, sir! Just stand right where you are."
Dad put a hand on Sam's head and Dean's shoulder. Dean looked up at his father, worried they were caught, and John looked down at Dean. His eye flicked in the barest hint of a wink. Dean frowned, puzzled. He looked back at the guards just as the smirking older guard opened the cooler.
The reek of sixteen ounces of rancid salami, well-warmed by the sun and unrefrigerated for three days, rolled out of the trunk in a palpable wave.
Dean clamped both hands over his mouth and nose, but kept his eyes open, watching everywhere to see if a monster jumped out. Sammy buried his face in his father's hip. "Eww!" The border guards staggered back away from the trunk, cursing.
"I'm sorry," John said in a sheepish tone, his hand covering his mouth and nose. "There was some open lunchmeat in the cooler and we forgot all about it, left it in the trunk all weekend. Black car, sunny weather. It got kind of ripe."
"Holy mother of-" the guard with the mustache mumbled through his hand.
The sandy-haired guard crept forward, keeping a firm hand over his face, and peered into the cooler. He took a long ruler and measured the depth inside the cooler versus the depth outside. "Just rotten meat," he called muffledly, "no hidden compartments." He closed the cooler lid before dancing away from the trunk to breathe.
No monsters either... Dean looked up at John. Dad had his mouth and nose covered because of the stench, but Dean could tell from his eyes that he was grinning.
The guards had opened the trunk and the cooler, and Dad was happy? There wasn't a monster, that's for sure, just a big stink of rotten salami. Why had it been so important no one touch the cooler?
"Why are you keeping that?" the first guard asked, still covering his nose and mouth.
John shrugged. "I was hoping to keep it closed 'til I could deal with it at home, bleach out the cooler."
The sandy-haired guard turned to the one with the mustache. "Pete, what do you think-"
"Just get them out of here! God!" he pushed the Winchester's ID into the younger guard's hands and ran inside the customs office, retching.
The sandy-haired guard closed the trunk one-handed and returned the Impala's keys to John. Dean watched Dad take the keys, then looked back at the car's closed trunk.
The guards had been so grossed-out by the cooler, they hadn't looked any further into the trunk. Neither of them had seen the locked compartment underneath the cooler.
Ohhh.
"That's fine, sir, you can go." He handed the ID and birth certificates back to John. "Hope the smell doesn't get into the car on you."
John smirked, "I'm thinking once we get to highway speeds it'll be the guy behind me's problem."
The guard chuckled. "Have a safe trip."
"Thank you, we will. Come on, boys."
As Dad helped Sam and Dean into the back seat, Sam spoke up quietly.
"I'm sorry, Daddy."
"What for?"
"I told 'em 'bout the cooler." Sammy stared at his toes.
John reached down and ruffled Sammy's hair. "It's okay, Sammy, you did great."
Sammy squinted in confusion. "I did?"
"Yep. You did just right."
"Oh." Sam frowned and clambered across to his seat behind John.
Dean looked up at John, "Dad, did you-"
"Come on, boys." John grinned and winked. "Let's go home."
- - -
(That's it.)
Post A/N: Based on a similar experience in a similar time frame, except the cooler stink bomb was unintentional and it wasn't hiding a weapons compartment, just a katana.