Fic: Friends in Unlikely Places
Title: Friends in Unlikely Places
Author: deHavilland
Genre: Gen, Wee!chester
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,893
Summary: Dean takes down his first shape shifter at the tender age of four. Now if he could just stop Sam from chewing on his Halloween costume, things would be perfect.
Author's Notes: Written for spn_bigpretzel's Halloween Reverse Micro Bang, based on art by the ever-talented angeltrap!
Dean’s hands leave gloopy, orange smudges on the edge of the candy bowl, just slightly out of reach where it’s resting on the table near the front door. With just a little determination, he’s certain he can fit his arm over the edge and grasp at the coveted candy inside. It doesn’t matter that soon Mom and Dad are going to take him out to get some candy of his own, what matters is that there’s a whole bowl of it right here in his own house.
The bowl dips further out of reach when Dad’s arms loop around his waist, hosting him up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Dean grins and squirms. “Let’s get those pumpkin-hands back in the pumpkin where they belong, huh, buddy?”
He allows his father to carry him away from the candy, plunking him back down at the kitchen table where the half-hollowed pumpkin is waiting for him. He dives eagerly back into the orange hull as Dad pushes the bowl of glop that’s already been pulled out towards him before he can dump his new handful down on the table.
“Got a ways to go there, Dean.”
“John, someone went through the car again.”
That’s Mom, coming in from the front door. Dean doesn’t even have to look up to know it’s her. Instead, he glances at the drawing that Dad’s done of his perfect pumpkin, as dictated to him by Dean himself and at least partially on Sammy’s behalf. Sam’s too young for pumpkins, but Dean’s all too willing to do his part for his younger brother.
“If I catch them with their hands in my car, you can bet I’m going to break those hands.”
“John - ”
Dean only sort of knows what they’re talking about. He knows what theives are and he knows that it’s wrong to take something that doesn’t belong to you. Last week, someone took one of dad’s cassette tapes out of the car and left it in the driveway. He’s not sure if moving things counts as stealing, but he knows that it made Dad angry.
He pulls a last handful of seeds and pulp out and peers into the pumpkin.
“Dean, come on, baby, let’s get you in your costume.”
He twists in his seat to shoot his mother an annoyed look, face scrunched up. “But my pumpkin - ”
“Looks good enough,” Dad says after a quick peek into the mostly emptied orange shell. “Go get changed and I’ll carve in the face for you.”
Dean nods and slides off of his chair. “Just like the picture, okay?”
“Just like the picture.”
The costume that Mom’s spent all week sewing is itchy. Worse than that, it’s too tight in the shoulders and Dean fidgets uncomfortably as she holds him still, zipping up the back.
“There. Don’t you look adorable?”
He pulls a face and lets her lead the way back downstairs where Dad and Sammy are waiting.
“Stand right there, sweetheart. With Sammy. John, where’s the camera?”
Dean is ushered towards the front door to stand, arms crossed next to his younger brother. Sam hasn’t quite mastered the art of crawling yet, but he’s getting close. Anyway, he’s perfectly capable of latching onto the thick tail poking out of the back of Dean’s costume and tugging on it, hard. With a scowl, Dean tries to pry the soft fur out of his brother’s hands, ignoring the instinct to just tug it away. He doesn’t want to hurt Sammy, he just wants him to leave him alone.
“Okay, Dean, stop scowling, smile, baby.” Mom’s back and she’s scooping Sam up, gently pulling the tail out of the baby’s grasp like it’s nothing at all and looping an arm around Dean’s waist. “Smile and say ‘trick or treat!’”
Dean frowns, reaching up to tug at the ears of his costume where the fabric of the hood scratches uncomfortably at his face.
“Alright, looks good.” Dad’s putting the camera down and Dean sighs with relief, skipping away from mom and Sammy in his bright green socks to avoid getting stuck in Sam’s grasp again.
“Can we go now, dad, can we go?”
Dad smiles at him as he picks up the finished pumpkin - it’s perfect, looks just like the picture! - and jerks his head towards mom. “I think you’ve got a date already, kiddo. Someone has to stay here and make sure all the other kids get candy, too.”
There’s no hiding the pout on his face as mom takes him by the hand, but there’s candy to be had regardless of who takes him and, leaving Sammy inside with dad to help hand out the candy, he follows his mom onto the front step.
It’s chilly out here and he’s kind of grateful for the warm wool of his costume now that he’s out in the cold. Hands clutching tight to the pillow case he’s brought to hold his hard-earned riches, he follows mom as far as the driveway.
“What’s that?”
Mom freezes about a foot away from the gloopy mess on the pavement. It looks kind of like the insides of Dean’s pumpkin, but not. The glop is a fleshy color, wet and viscous, spread across the driveway in large, gooey chunks. The look on mom’s face is full of horror.
“Dean, let’s go back inside.”
“But, I - ”
“Come on.” She doesn’t bother to herd him back to the front door, just loops an arm around his waist and hoists him up like he’s nothing, like he’s Sammy’s size and then they’re back inside where they started. All because of some goo on the driveway.
Dean’s holding back tears as mom carries him through into the kitchen.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Dad’s followed them, taking in Dean’s sour face and mom’s panic as he holds Sam.
“I just need to make a phone call.”
“You want me to take - ”
“No. It’ll just be a minute.”
Dad shrugs and looks like he’s about to come console Dean when the doorbell rings. “Alright, then.” He tosses Dean a chocolate bar he’d had in his hand and heads over to the door.
Dean’s brow furrows and his frown deepens as Mom starts to ignore him completely, dialling out some phone number from memory. It’s a long one, and Dean only knows two, home and 911.
“Hi. It’s Mary. Mary Campbell.”
Mary is Mom’s real name, Dean knows. Like how Dad’s is John. But he doesn’t know where the Campbell comes from. She’s a Winchester like him and Sammy and Dad.
“I’ve got a - a situation here.” She’s looking at Dean now and turning away, covering her mouth and the phone a little bit so he can’t exactly hear what she’s saying. She gets a little louder, however, when she says, “No, John can’t handle it. He doesn’t do - that. And I don’t have the resources anymore.”
He’s starting to get bored and there’s still kids coming to the front door. He should be one of those kids.
A glance at clock yields the numbers 6, 2 and 9. That’s late, he knows. Past his usual bedtime which is 6, 0, 0. If they don’t get going soon, he’s going to have to go to bed before he even gets any candy!
He’s halfway to going and tugging on mom’s sleeve to remind her what’s the most important thing here, when movement in the backyard catches his eye. It’s pretty dark outside, but there’s just enough light from the neighbor’s back porch to show that there’s definitely something out there.
With a quick glance at mom, he moves over to the door and undoes the latch. Dad taught him how to let the cat in and out. Only this time it’s himself that he’s letting out. Maybe if he sneaks around the side door, he’ll be able to go trick or treating by himself. The big kids do it and Dad won’t see to stop him.
It’s darker than he thought once he gets out into the backyard, and it makes him just a little bit scared. But there’s the thing again, weaving its way through the shadows near the back of the fence. As Dean moves in closer, he can see the light reflected in its eyes and gasps. It’s a raccoon. Like him. Or like what he’s dressed up to be, anyway.
Small and grey with the familiar striped tail that matches Dean’s own, it freezes in the back garden to stare at him.
Dean moves closer, but by the time he makes it to the little raccoon, it’s gone. Instead, there’s a little boy in its place, a little bit smaller than Dean with big, wide eyes and dirt streaked across his face, not unlike the masked stripe the raccoon had had.
“Hi,” Dean tries, tentatively, holding out a hand.
The other little boy only stares at him.
“Are you hungry?” He’s still holding the chocolate bar that dad had given him, and he holds it out now, offering it to the boy, who snatches it up immediately and examines it. “It’s chocolate,” Dean explains, feeling proud of himself. It’s like teaching Sammy new things.
The boy peels away the wrapper and gulps it down.
“I can get some more. Wait here.”
He turns and heads back into the kitchen, but mom catches him.
“Dean, where are you - ”
He smiles at her and races down the hallway, sliding the last few feet in his bright green socks. Dad’s speaking to some kids at the door, so he takes his chance to grab a handful of candy, hurrying back to the kitchen. “Come see, mom. I have a friend and he’s hungry!”
He leads the way back into the backyard, ignoring the way mom’s calling at him to stay inside.
The little boy’s still there, right where he left him, though now that mom’s turned the back light on, he can see that there’s a clump of gunky fur like the fleshy stuff that had been sitting in the driveway. The boy comes right up to him this time, now that he can see the candy Dean’s holding and Dean’s more than happy to share.
“See? He’s hungry!”
“Dean.” Mom’s voice is rough-sounding, harsh. She’s moving forward slowly, hands out for Dean but he’s more than happy to stand with his friend. “Dean, come back inside.”
He’s too busy helping the other little boy with one of the more difficult to peel wrappers and he misses the bigger raccoon that climbs down over the fence, slinking its way up to them.
But Mom doesn’t. She lunges forward, snatching Dean up and pulling away, eyes on the other raccoon.
This time, Dean sees the transformation as the animal becomes human, shedding its skin and growing taller, standing on two feet instead of four.
Mom twists, setting him down so that he can’t quite see the final stages of raccoon turning into person as she puts herself between them. “Go back inside. Now.”
“But, Mom - ”
“Now.”
He doesn’t move though, leaning around her to watch as the woman takes the candy from the little boy, examining it silently.
“Maybe she’s hungry, too - ”
“Dean.”
But she doesn’t make him move this time. Now they both watch as the woman offers the smaller boy the candy once more and turns to look at Mom. They stare at each other for a long time and Dean’s not really sure what’s going on, but after a moment the woman nudges the little boy and seems to disappear. The little boy does the same and it takes Dean a minute to figure out that they didn’t just vanish, they shrank, turning back into raccoons and wandering off out of the yard.
“Guess they’re not hungry anymore,” he says, after a moment, disappointed to have lost his new friend.
Mom takes his hand with a smile. “Come on Dean, I think it’s okay to go trick or treating after all.”
Author: deHavilland
Genre: Gen, Wee!chester
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,893
Summary: Dean takes down his first shape shifter at the tender age of four. Now if he could just stop Sam from chewing on his Halloween costume, things would be perfect.
Author's Notes: Written for spn_bigpretzel's Halloween Reverse Micro Bang, based on art by the ever-talented angeltrap!
Dean’s hands leave gloopy, orange smudges on the edge of the candy bowl, just slightly out of reach where it’s resting on the table near the front door. With just a little determination, he’s certain he can fit his arm over the edge and grasp at the coveted candy inside. It doesn’t matter that soon Mom and Dad are going to take him out to get some candy of his own, what matters is that there’s a whole bowl of it right here in his own house.
The bowl dips further out of reach when Dad’s arms loop around his waist, hosting him up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Dean grins and squirms. “Let’s get those pumpkin-hands back in the pumpkin where they belong, huh, buddy?”
He allows his father to carry him away from the candy, plunking him back down at the kitchen table where the half-hollowed pumpkin is waiting for him. He dives eagerly back into the orange hull as Dad pushes the bowl of glop that’s already been pulled out towards him before he can dump his new handful down on the table.
“Got a ways to go there, Dean.”
“John, someone went through the car again.”
That’s Mom, coming in from the front door. Dean doesn’t even have to look up to know it’s her. Instead, he glances at the drawing that Dad’s done of his perfect pumpkin, as dictated to him by Dean himself and at least partially on Sammy’s behalf. Sam’s too young for pumpkins, but Dean’s all too willing to do his part for his younger brother.
“If I catch them with their hands in my car, you can bet I’m going to break those hands.”
“John - ”
Dean only sort of knows what they’re talking about. He knows what theives are and he knows that it’s wrong to take something that doesn’t belong to you. Last week, someone took one of dad’s cassette tapes out of the car and left it in the driveway. He’s not sure if moving things counts as stealing, but he knows that it made Dad angry.
He pulls a last handful of seeds and pulp out and peers into the pumpkin.
“Dean, come on, baby, let’s get you in your costume.”
He twists in his seat to shoot his mother an annoyed look, face scrunched up. “But my pumpkin - ”
“Looks good enough,” Dad says after a quick peek into the mostly emptied orange shell. “Go get changed and I’ll carve in the face for you.”
Dean nods and slides off of his chair. “Just like the picture, okay?”
“Just like the picture.”
The costume that Mom’s spent all week sewing is itchy. Worse than that, it’s too tight in the shoulders and Dean fidgets uncomfortably as she holds him still, zipping up the back.
“There. Don’t you look adorable?”
He pulls a face and lets her lead the way back downstairs where Dad and Sammy are waiting.
“Stand right there, sweetheart. With Sammy. John, where’s the camera?”
Dean is ushered towards the front door to stand, arms crossed next to his younger brother. Sam hasn’t quite mastered the art of crawling yet, but he’s getting close. Anyway, he’s perfectly capable of latching onto the thick tail poking out of the back of Dean’s costume and tugging on it, hard. With a scowl, Dean tries to pry the soft fur out of his brother’s hands, ignoring the instinct to just tug it away. He doesn’t want to hurt Sammy, he just wants him to leave him alone.
“Okay, Dean, stop scowling, smile, baby.” Mom’s back and she’s scooping Sam up, gently pulling the tail out of the baby’s grasp like it’s nothing at all and looping an arm around Dean’s waist. “Smile and say ‘trick or treat!’”
Dean frowns, reaching up to tug at the ears of his costume where the fabric of the hood scratches uncomfortably at his face.
“Alright, looks good.” Dad’s putting the camera down and Dean sighs with relief, skipping away from mom and Sammy in his bright green socks to avoid getting stuck in Sam’s grasp again.
“Can we go now, dad, can we go?”
Dad smiles at him as he picks up the finished pumpkin - it’s perfect, looks just like the picture! - and jerks his head towards mom. “I think you’ve got a date already, kiddo. Someone has to stay here and make sure all the other kids get candy, too.”
There’s no hiding the pout on his face as mom takes him by the hand, but there’s candy to be had regardless of who takes him and, leaving Sammy inside with dad to help hand out the candy, he follows his mom onto the front step.
It’s chilly out here and he’s kind of grateful for the warm wool of his costume now that he’s out in the cold. Hands clutching tight to the pillow case he’s brought to hold his hard-earned riches, he follows mom as far as the driveway.
“What’s that?”
Mom freezes about a foot away from the gloopy mess on the pavement. It looks kind of like the insides of Dean’s pumpkin, but not. The glop is a fleshy color, wet and viscous, spread across the driveway in large, gooey chunks. The look on mom’s face is full of horror.
“Dean, let’s go back inside.”
“But, I - ”
“Come on.” She doesn’t bother to herd him back to the front door, just loops an arm around his waist and hoists him up like he’s nothing, like he’s Sammy’s size and then they’re back inside where they started. All because of some goo on the driveway.
Dean’s holding back tears as mom carries him through into the kitchen.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Dad’s followed them, taking in Dean’s sour face and mom’s panic as he holds Sam.
“I just need to make a phone call.”
“You want me to take - ”
“No. It’ll just be a minute.”
Dad shrugs and looks like he’s about to come console Dean when the doorbell rings. “Alright, then.” He tosses Dean a chocolate bar he’d had in his hand and heads over to the door.
Dean’s brow furrows and his frown deepens as Mom starts to ignore him completely, dialling out some phone number from memory. It’s a long one, and Dean only knows two, home and 911.
“Hi. It’s Mary. Mary Campbell.”
Mary is Mom’s real name, Dean knows. Like how Dad’s is John. But he doesn’t know where the Campbell comes from. She’s a Winchester like him and Sammy and Dad.
“I’ve got a - a situation here.” She’s looking at Dean now and turning away, covering her mouth and the phone a little bit so he can’t exactly hear what she’s saying. She gets a little louder, however, when she says, “No, John can’t handle it. He doesn’t do - that. And I don’t have the resources anymore.”
He’s starting to get bored and there’s still kids coming to the front door. He should be one of those kids.
A glance at clock yields the numbers 6, 2 and 9. That’s late, he knows. Past his usual bedtime which is 6, 0, 0. If they don’t get going soon, he’s going to have to go to bed before he even gets any candy!
He’s halfway to going and tugging on mom’s sleeve to remind her what’s the most important thing here, when movement in the backyard catches his eye. It’s pretty dark outside, but there’s just enough light from the neighbor’s back porch to show that there’s definitely something out there.
With a quick glance at mom, he moves over to the door and undoes the latch. Dad taught him how to let the cat in and out. Only this time it’s himself that he’s letting out. Maybe if he sneaks around the side door, he’ll be able to go trick or treating by himself. The big kids do it and Dad won’t see to stop him.
It’s darker than he thought once he gets out into the backyard, and it makes him just a little bit scared. But there’s the thing again, weaving its way through the shadows near the back of the fence. As Dean moves in closer, he can see the light reflected in its eyes and gasps. It’s a raccoon. Like him. Or like what he’s dressed up to be, anyway.
Small and grey with the familiar striped tail that matches Dean’s own, it freezes in the back garden to stare at him.
Dean moves closer, but by the time he makes it to the little raccoon, it’s gone. Instead, there’s a little boy in its place, a little bit smaller than Dean with big, wide eyes and dirt streaked across his face, not unlike the masked stripe the raccoon had had.
“Hi,” Dean tries, tentatively, holding out a hand.
The other little boy only stares at him.
“Are you hungry?” He’s still holding the chocolate bar that dad had given him, and he holds it out now, offering it to the boy, who snatches it up immediately and examines it. “It’s chocolate,” Dean explains, feeling proud of himself. It’s like teaching Sammy new things.
The boy peels away the wrapper and gulps it down.
“I can get some more. Wait here.”
He turns and heads back into the kitchen, but mom catches him.
“Dean, where are you - ”
He smiles at her and races down the hallway, sliding the last few feet in his bright green socks. Dad’s speaking to some kids at the door, so he takes his chance to grab a handful of candy, hurrying back to the kitchen. “Come see, mom. I have a friend and he’s hungry!”
He leads the way back into the backyard, ignoring the way mom’s calling at him to stay inside.
The little boy’s still there, right where he left him, though now that mom’s turned the back light on, he can see that there’s a clump of gunky fur like the fleshy stuff that had been sitting in the driveway. The boy comes right up to him this time, now that he can see the candy Dean’s holding and Dean’s more than happy to share.
“See? He’s hungry!”
“Dean.” Mom’s voice is rough-sounding, harsh. She’s moving forward slowly, hands out for Dean but he’s more than happy to stand with his friend. “Dean, come back inside.”
He’s too busy helping the other little boy with one of the more difficult to peel wrappers and he misses the bigger raccoon that climbs down over the fence, slinking its way up to them.
But Mom doesn’t. She lunges forward, snatching Dean up and pulling away, eyes on the other raccoon.
This time, Dean sees the transformation as the animal becomes human, shedding its skin and growing taller, standing on two feet instead of four.
Mom twists, setting him down so that he can’t quite see the final stages of raccoon turning into person as she puts herself between them. “Go back inside. Now.”
“But, Mom - ”
“Now.”
He doesn’t move though, leaning around her to watch as the woman takes the candy from the little boy, examining it silently.
“Maybe she’s hungry, too - ”
“Dean.”
But she doesn’t make him move this time. Now they both watch as the woman offers the smaller boy the candy once more and turns to look at Mom. They stare at each other for a long time and Dean’s not really sure what’s going on, but after a moment the woman nudges the little boy and seems to disappear. The little boy does the same and it takes Dean a minute to figure out that they didn’t just vanish, they shrank, turning back into raccoons and wandering off out of the yard.
“Guess they’re not hungry anymore,” he says, after a moment, disappointed to have lost his new friend.
Mom takes his hand with a smile. “Come on Dean, I think it’s okay to go trick or treating after all.”