Springfling!
So spnspringfling has just wrapped up! What a delightful challenge, short and sweet, and SO MUCH great fic & art! I've looked at less than half of it, I think :( But I love what I've seen so far, and look forward to reading it all.
My gift was this lovely little bit of Dean & Charlie hangin' out, perving on Black Widow (and who can blame them!) Thanks, sa_kun!
My giftee was snickfic, who is also a new friend, thanks to mollyamory's friending meme. She gave me an awesome prompt, and a chance to write Jody Mills, which is always a good thing. ♥ Hope you liked it! Anyway, here it is, with a few typos corrected.
Title: A Fish out of Water
Rating/Warnings: none
Pairing/Characters: gen: Sam Winchester, Jody Mills, OFC.
Wordcount: 2200
Disclaimer: don't own, don't profit
Notes: Written for spnspringfling 2012, for a prompt from snickfic. Originally posted here.
A Fish out of Water
Jody thought, not for the first time, how amazing it was that a man the size of Sam Winchester could make himself look so small. He was hunched on the patterned sofa, his jeans and flannel looking strangely out of place in the suburban living-room. The house was spotlessly clean (except for an occasional table overturned and broken on the floor), if a little overstuffed with paintings and knick-knacks for Jody's taste.
The other thing slightly out-of-place was the tiny, white-haired old lady with a shotgun trained on Sam.
Jody had gotten the call at the Sioux Falls Sheriff's Department a few minutes earlier, and had rushed over as fast as she could. She'd rather thought this part of her life would be over now that Bobby Singer, God rest his soul, was gone, but apparently the Winchesters were going to be taking over the "Sioux Falls Troublemaker" position.
Jody knew the old lady by sight, though not well. She tried to sound as calm and authoritative as she could. "Why don't you put the gun down, Mrs. Fish. Let me take it from here."
Mrs. Fish lowered the shotgun a little. "I want to know what he was after," she said with a fierce glare. "Isn't an old lady safe in her own home anymore?" Jody made a show of getting out her handcuffs. "Let me take him down to the station for interrogation," she said. "We'll get to the bottom of this." She shot a quick glare of her own at Sam. She really had better things to be doing in the middle of the night. She reached for Sam's arm, to pull him up.
"No, wait!" said Sam. "I can't go yet! She's a mermaid."
"Were you hunting her?" Jody asked, appalled. "You're a hunter?" demanded Mrs. Fish, bringing the shotgun barrel up to chest-level again. She looked suddenly a lot more dangerous, and her hand was tightening on the trigger. Jody was getting ready to knock the barrel aside, but Sam said, "No, I'm not hunting her! She's harmless." Mrs. Fish poked him in the chest with the shotgun barrel. "I'll show you harmless," she snapped.
"I mean, you're not hurting anyone, are you?" Sam said, training a gaze of great sincerity on her. "Bobby Singer told us about you, he said you weren't hurting anyone or, or trying to lure men to their doom, or anything." Mrs. Fish snorted in a most unladylike fashion. "My luring days are long over, young man."
Sam summoned up a quick fliratious glance at her petite, upright frame. She really does look different from how Jody remembers her, younger and wilder, hair flying. It's easy to see that she must have been a great beauty in her youth. "Oh, I don't know about that." Sam says, with an impish grin clearly stolen from his brother.
She softens visibly. "You should have seen me in the old days," she says with a slight toss of her hair. “Not that I did much luring even then, but I could have, let me tell you." And then, "You know Bobby Singer?"
"Yeah," Sam said. "He was a good friend." She looked puzzled at the the 'was', and Sam added, "He, uh, he passed away around Christmastime."
Mrs. Fish said "I'm sorry, he was a good man." There was a moment of silence, until Jody couldn't stop herself from asking the obvious question: "What's a mermaid doing in Sioux Falls?"
"None of your damn business," Mrs. Fish replied tartly. "And what were you doing in my house in the middle of the night, young man? Explain yourself!" She gestured with the shotgun, not quite pointing it, but still.
Sam looked up. “I was looking for a scale,” he said. “I need one, a mermaid's scale. For a spell.”
Mrs. Fish tightened her grip on her shotgun.
“What kind of a spell, Sam?” Jody asked gently, trying to ease the tension.
“It's for - it's for Dean. To get Dean back. I really think this will work.” Sam's eyes are big and sad and serious and intent.
While Mrs. Fish was interrogating Sam, Jody had been examining the pictures in the room: many of them are beautiful paintings of the sea, in acrylics and watercolours. She wondered if Mrs. Fish had done them herself. But the other thing she'd found were family photos - a great many of them. She picked up one of a young, stunningly beautiful Mrs. Fish, in a white dress with a cloud of long, dark hair, standing beside a handsome man in uniform.
She shows the photo to Mrs. Fish. “It was for love, wasn't it?” The others both look at her, and maybe that came out a little more melodramatic than she intended. But she kept going. “That's how a mermaid ended up in Sioux Falls. You fell in love.”
Mrs. Fish rested the business end of the shotgun on the floor, and reaches out to take the photo. “That's Bill. This is our wedding picture,” she said wistfully. “We were so young.”
“How did you meet him?” Sam asked, and she turns back to him, almost startled, as though she'd started to forget why they were all there. Which was exactly Jody's intent, of course.
“He was in the Air Force. His plane got shot down over the Pacific at the end of the war. I - rescued him, found him floating in the water and took him to a little island. It took six months for them to find him, and by that time - well,” she laughs, “By that time I was expecting, you know. But it wasn't just that - I knew I wanted to spend all the time I could with this man.”
“But so far from the sea!” Jody said. “How did you stand it?” Mrs. Fish looked back at her, and Jody could she that she was beginning to tire, a sort of weariness settling over her, a fine tremor starting in her hands. “Oh,” she said, “Bill used to take me to the seaside, every year. Until he got too sick, of course. He offered to move with me, somewhere on the coast. But his family is here, and I wanted that. For the kids, you know. Family is important, and if they can't have my family, all the more important that they should have Bill's.”
Jody reached out a hand to Mrs. Fish, now looking very weary. She took the shotgun, which the old lady handed over with one last suspicious glare at Sam. Jody broke it open and set it aside. Mrs. Fish said, “Help me, dear, will you?” Jody helped her walk the few feet across the floor to one of a pair of deep, comfortable easy-chairs beside the fireplace, Mrs. Fish limping a little as she walked, a curious, halting gait. Jody could see, from the clutter of personal possessions on the table beside it, the crocheted afghan, the reading glasses, a paperback mystery, that Mrs. Fish must spend a lot of time in this chair.
Its mate must have belonged to Bill.
“Sam,” she said, turning back to the couch, “why don't you explain to Mrs. Fish what the spell is for.”
“It's for my brother,” Sam said quickly, gesturing with his big hands. “My brother, Dean. He's - he's trapped somewhere very far away, and very bad. And I need to get him back. He's all I've got, he's the only family I have left.” Sam looked at Mrs. Fish with an expression of such pleading that Jody had no idea how anyone could withstand it. “I've got to save him, and I need a scale to do it.”
Mrs. Fish sighed. “He's a hunter, too, your brother?” she asked. Sam nodded. “We were hunting something really big, the thing that killed Bobby, and we got it. We did, but when it went, it took Dean with it, and our friend too.” Jody can see the strain in Sam's eyes, the way his cheekbones seem a little sharper than the last time she saw him, as though he hadn't been eating or sleeping very much.
“Well,” Mrs. Fish said. “I was saving those scales, but I suppose one can't hurt.”
Sam started to thank her, but she cut him off. “Go into my kitchen, young man. There's a tin in the cupboard, the highest one on the left. Bring it to me. And while you're there, fetch me a glass of saltwater from the pitcher in the fridge.”
“Yes ma'am,” Sam said, and vanished into the kitchen. Jody started to straighten up the room, put the photos back, pick up the broken table. “Why did you stay?” she asked, suddenly. “When your husband passed, I mean? Couldn't you go back now?” Mrs. Fish handed her another photo, three little girls in pigtails and summer dresses, two with the same long dark hair as the wedding photo, one blonde and freckled. “My grandchildren,” she said, as if it explained everything.
Jody supposed it did, really.
Sam came back, then, with a glass of water and an ornately painted tin, which appeared to have once held some sort of Victorian-era beauty product. He handed them both to the old lady, who took a long drink from the cool glass, then set it down and opened the tin. The air seemed to change a little as she cracked the lid, a scent of salt and ozone filling the room. She reached in and took out a small, iridescent object, about the size of Jody's thumbnail. She handed it to Sam, who examined it carefully. “It's beautiful,” he breathed, turning it this way and that, watching the play of light refracting off it.
Mrs. Fish reached into the tin and pulled out two more scales. She took Sam's hand and pressed them into it, one at a time. “Take these,” she said, “for luck. One for you and one for your brother. I hope you find him.” Sam's eyes were full of tears when he thanked her.
“We should be on our way,” Jody said. “You look tired, ma'am.” She did look tired: her skin now paper-white, shadowed by blue veins. “Can we get you anything before we leave?” Mrs. Fish closed her eyes. “No, I'm fine. Just need a little rest before the grandkids come over.”
“Sam will come back later to fix your table, won't you, Sam?” He startled. “Yes, of course, if you want...” He trails off uncertainly. Mrs. Fish smiled. “Good. I could use a strong young man around this place. My son-in-law keeps promising to do this or that for me, but he's always busy.”
Jody added, on their way out the door, “Mrs. Fish, my mom's in a senior's birdwatching group. They're planning a trip to the Oregon coast in June, to count seagulls or whatever. Maybe you'd like to go with them?” Mrs. Fish smiled, her eyes lighting up. “Oh! The Pacific! In June. I'd like that very much.”
Going down her front walk, Jody smacked Sam lightly upside the head. “Ow!” he said, putting his hand to his cheek. “What's that for?”
“Terrorizing little old ladies.” Jody replied. “It ever occur to you that maybe you could just, you know, knock on someone's door and ask for help?” Sam laughed. “I guess we're not real used to the direct approach. Not too many people are willing to help out with our kind of thing, you know.”
“You're an idiot, Sam,” Jody said. He smiled, a small, crooked smile. “So I've been told.”
Jody said, “So: what's next on that list?”
“What list?” Sam asked.
“The list of things you need for that spell,” Jody replied. “Don't tell me “mermaid scale” was the last thing on it.”
Sam's face had gone guarded again. “There are some... other things I need, yeah. But I've got it under control.”
They'd reached Jody's car now. She couldn't see the Impala anywhere, but she knew it must be close by, out of sight. “Look,” she told Sam, putting a hand on his arm. “Just because you've got no family left doesn't mean you're all alone, you know. I want to help.” Sam looked down, ready to pull away.
“What I'm trying to say is that you're going to get in your car and drive to my house, right now. I'm going to make pancakes, and we're going to eat them, and figure out how to get your brother back, and the crazycakes angel too. OK? And that's not a suggestion, Sam, it's an order.”
Sam laughed, a little of the tension seeping out of his shoulders.
“Yes, ma'am!” he said, throwing a mock salute. And then, “Thanks, Sheriff.”
“Call me Jody,” she replied, getting into her cruiser.
Jody can never decide if she should be grateful or mad at Bobby Singer for dying and leaving her with the Winchester boys, but those two sure need someone to look out for them, and it may as well be her.
My gift was this lovely little bit of Dean & Charlie hangin' out, perving on Black Widow (and who can blame them!) Thanks, sa_kun!
My giftee was snickfic, who is also a new friend, thanks to mollyamory's friending meme. She gave me an awesome prompt, and a chance to write Jody Mills, which is always a good thing. ♥ Hope you liked it! Anyway, here it is, with a few typos corrected.
Title: A Fish out of Water
Rating/Warnings: none
Pairing/Characters: gen: Sam Winchester, Jody Mills, OFC.
Wordcount: 2200
Disclaimer: don't own, don't profit
Notes: Written for spnspringfling 2012, for a prompt from snickfic. Originally posted here.
A Fish out of Water
Jody thought, not for the first time, how amazing it was that a man the size of Sam Winchester could make himself look so small. He was hunched on the patterned sofa, his jeans and flannel looking strangely out of place in the suburban living-room. The house was spotlessly clean (except for an occasional table overturned and broken on the floor), if a little overstuffed with paintings and knick-knacks for Jody's taste.
The other thing slightly out-of-place was the tiny, white-haired old lady with a shotgun trained on Sam.
Jody had gotten the call at the Sioux Falls Sheriff's Department a few minutes earlier, and had rushed over as fast as she could. She'd rather thought this part of her life would be over now that Bobby Singer, God rest his soul, was gone, but apparently the Winchesters were going to be taking over the "Sioux Falls Troublemaker" position.
Jody knew the old lady by sight, though not well. She tried to sound as calm and authoritative as she could. "Why don't you put the gun down, Mrs. Fish. Let me take it from here."
Mrs. Fish lowered the shotgun a little. "I want to know what he was after," she said with a fierce glare. "Isn't an old lady safe in her own home anymore?" Jody made a show of getting out her handcuffs. "Let me take him down to the station for interrogation," she said. "We'll get to the bottom of this." She shot a quick glare of her own at Sam. She really had better things to be doing in the middle of the night. She reached for Sam's arm, to pull him up.
"No, wait!" said Sam. "I can't go yet! She's a mermaid."
"Were you hunting her?" Jody asked, appalled. "You're a hunter?" demanded Mrs. Fish, bringing the shotgun barrel up to chest-level again. She looked suddenly a lot more dangerous, and her hand was tightening on the trigger. Jody was getting ready to knock the barrel aside, but Sam said, "No, I'm not hunting her! She's harmless." Mrs. Fish poked him in the chest with the shotgun barrel. "I'll show you harmless," she snapped.
"I mean, you're not hurting anyone, are you?" Sam said, training a gaze of great sincerity on her. "Bobby Singer told us about you, he said you weren't hurting anyone or, or trying to lure men to their doom, or anything." Mrs. Fish snorted in a most unladylike fashion. "My luring days are long over, young man."
Sam summoned up a quick fliratious glance at her petite, upright frame. She really does look different from how Jody remembers her, younger and wilder, hair flying. It's easy to see that she must have been a great beauty in her youth. "Oh, I don't know about that." Sam says, with an impish grin clearly stolen from his brother.
She softens visibly. "You should have seen me in the old days," she says with a slight toss of her hair. “Not that I did much luring even then, but I could have, let me tell you." And then, "You know Bobby Singer?"
"Yeah," Sam said. "He was a good friend." She looked puzzled at the the 'was', and Sam added, "He, uh, he passed away around Christmastime."
Mrs. Fish said "I'm sorry, he was a good man." There was a moment of silence, until Jody couldn't stop herself from asking the obvious question: "What's a mermaid doing in Sioux Falls?"
"None of your damn business," Mrs. Fish replied tartly. "And what were you doing in my house in the middle of the night, young man? Explain yourself!" She gestured with the shotgun, not quite pointing it, but still.
Sam looked up. “I was looking for a scale,” he said. “I need one, a mermaid's scale. For a spell.”
Mrs. Fish tightened her grip on her shotgun.
“What kind of a spell, Sam?” Jody asked gently, trying to ease the tension.
“It's for - it's for Dean. To get Dean back. I really think this will work.” Sam's eyes are big and sad and serious and intent.
While Mrs. Fish was interrogating Sam, Jody had been examining the pictures in the room: many of them are beautiful paintings of the sea, in acrylics and watercolours. She wondered if Mrs. Fish had done them herself. But the other thing she'd found were family photos - a great many of them. She picked up one of a young, stunningly beautiful Mrs. Fish, in a white dress with a cloud of long, dark hair, standing beside a handsome man in uniform.
She shows the photo to Mrs. Fish. “It was for love, wasn't it?” The others both look at her, and maybe that came out a little more melodramatic than she intended. But she kept going. “That's how a mermaid ended up in Sioux Falls. You fell in love.”
Mrs. Fish rested the business end of the shotgun on the floor, and reaches out to take the photo. “That's Bill. This is our wedding picture,” she said wistfully. “We were so young.”
“How did you meet him?” Sam asked, and she turns back to him, almost startled, as though she'd started to forget why they were all there. Which was exactly Jody's intent, of course.
“He was in the Air Force. His plane got shot down over the Pacific at the end of the war. I - rescued him, found him floating in the water and took him to a little island. It took six months for them to find him, and by that time - well,” she laughs, “By that time I was expecting, you know. But it wasn't just that - I knew I wanted to spend all the time I could with this man.”
“But so far from the sea!” Jody said. “How did you stand it?” Mrs. Fish looked back at her, and Jody could she that she was beginning to tire, a sort of weariness settling over her, a fine tremor starting in her hands. “Oh,” she said, “Bill used to take me to the seaside, every year. Until he got too sick, of course. He offered to move with me, somewhere on the coast. But his family is here, and I wanted that. For the kids, you know. Family is important, and if they can't have my family, all the more important that they should have Bill's.”
Jody reached out a hand to Mrs. Fish, now looking very weary. She took the shotgun, which the old lady handed over with one last suspicious glare at Sam. Jody broke it open and set it aside. Mrs. Fish said, “Help me, dear, will you?” Jody helped her walk the few feet across the floor to one of a pair of deep, comfortable easy-chairs beside the fireplace, Mrs. Fish limping a little as she walked, a curious, halting gait. Jody could see, from the clutter of personal possessions on the table beside it, the crocheted afghan, the reading glasses, a paperback mystery, that Mrs. Fish must spend a lot of time in this chair.
Its mate must have belonged to Bill.
“Sam,” she said, turning back to the couch, “why don't you explain to Mrs. Fish what the spell is for.”
“It's for my brother,” Sam said quickly, gesturing with his big hands. “My brother, Dean. He's - he's trapped somewhere very far away, and very bad. And I need to get him back. He's all I've got, he's the only family I have left.” Sam looked at Mrs. Fish with an expression of such pleading that Jody had no idea how anyone could withstand it. “I've got to save him, and I need a scale to do it.”
Mrs. Fish sighed. “He's a hunter, too, your brother?” she asked. Sam nodded. “We were hunting something really big, the thing that killed Bobby, and we got it. We did, but when it went, it took Dean with it, and our friend too.” Jody can see the strain in Sam's eyes, the way his cheekbones seem a little sharper than the last time she saw him, as though he hadn't been eating or sleeping very much.
“Well,” Mrs. Fish said. “I was saving those scales, but I suppose one can't hurt.”
Sam started to thank her, but she cut him off. “Go into my kitchen, young man. There's a tin in the cupboard, the highest one on the left. Bring it to me. And while you're there, fetch me a glass of saltwater from the pitcher in the fridge.”
“Yes ma'am,” Sam said, and vanished into the kitchen. Jody started to straighten up the room, put the photos back, pick up the broken table. “Why did you stay?” she asked, suddenly. “When your husband passed, I mean? Couldn't you go back now?” Mrs. Fish handed her another photo, three little girls in pigtails and summer dresses, two with the same long dark hair as the wedding photo, one blonde and freckled. “My grandchildren,” she said, as if it explained everything.
Jody supposed it did, really.
Sam came back, then, with a glass of water and an ornately painted tin, which appeared to have once held some sort of Victorian-era beauty product. He handed them both to the old lady, who took a long drink from the cool glass, then set it down and opened the tin. The air seemed to change a little as she cracked the lid, a scent of salt and ozone filling the room. She reached in and took out a small, iridescent object, about the size of Jody's thumbnail. She handed it to Sam, who examined it carefully. “It's beautiful,” he breathed, turning it this way and that, watching the play of light refracting off it.
Mrs. Fish reached into the tin and pulled out two more scales. She took Sam's hand and pressed them into it, one at a time. “Take these,” she said, “for luck. One for you and one for your brother. I hope you find him.” Sam's eyes were full of tears when he thanked her.
“We should be on our way,” Jody said. “You look tired, ma'am.” She did look tired: her skin now paper-white, shadowed by blue veins. “Can we get you anything before we leave?” Mrs. Fish closed her eyes. “No, I'm fine. Just need a little rest before the grandkids come over.”
“Sam will come back later to fix your table, won't you, Sam?” He startled. “Yes, of course, if you want...” He trails off uncertainly. Mrs. Fish smiled. “Good. I could use a strong young man around this place. My son-in-law keeps promising to do this or that for me, but he's always busy.”
Jody added, on their way out the door, “Mrs. Fish, my mom's in a senior's birdwatching group. They're planning a trip to the Oregon coast in June, to count seagulls or whatever. Maybe you'd like to go with them?” Mrs. Fish smiled, her eyes lighting up. “Oh! The Pacific! In June. I'd like that very much.”
Going down her front walk, Jody smacked Sam lightly upside the head. “Ow!” he said, putting his hand to his cheek. “What's that for?”
“Terrorizing little old ladies.” Jody replied. “It ever occur to you that maybe you could just, you know, knock on someone's door and ask for help?” Sam laughed. “I guess we're not real used to the direct approach. Not too many people are willing to help out with our kind of thing, you know.”
“You're an idiot, Sam,” Jody said. He smiled, a small, crooked smile. “So I've been told.”
Jody said, “So: what's next on that list?”
“What list?” Sam asked.
“The list of things you need for that spell,” Jody replied. “Don't tell me “mermaid scale” was the last thing on it.”
Sam's face had gone guarded again. “There are some... other things I need, yeah. But I've got it under control.”
They'd reached Jody's car now. She couldn't see the Impala anywhere, but she knew it must be close by, out of sight. “Look,” she told Sam, putting a hand on his arm. “Just because you've got no family left doesn't mean you're all alone, you know. I want to help.” Sam looked down, ready to pull away.
“What I'm trying to say is that you're going to get in your car and drive to my house, right now. I'm going to make pancakes, and we're going to eat them, and figure out how to get your brother back, and the crazycakes angel too. OK? And that's not a suggestion, Sam, it's an order.”
Sam laughed, a little of the tension seeping out of his shoulders.
“Yes, ma'am!” he said, throwing a mock salute. And then, “Thanks, Sheriff.”
“Call me Jody,” she replied, getting into her cruiser.
Jody can never decide if she should be grateful or mad at Bobby Singer for dying and leaving her with the Winchester boys, but those two sure need someone to look out for them, and it may as well be her.