Cold Demons and Squirt Guns (Wee!chesters PG)
Title: Cold Demons and Squirt Guns
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,200
Summary: John finds Dean and Sam attempting alternate therapy to get rid of their colds.
Birthday present for gottalovev. Hope you like it, babe!
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The apartment was eerily silent when John pushed open the door and locked it behind him. He had been at the local library all day as he had been for the last couple of weeks, researching old tomes for charms and spells had yet to be added to his journal. John had gotten used to returning to the sound of Sammy watching his most prized possession for what had to be the hundredth time. Dean had gotten him a tape of "The Fox and the Hound" after months of saving spare change in an old coffee tin, and he'd put up a front of acting like it was on too loud when John knew his elder son was brimming with pride that Sam loved it so much. The complete lack of talking, laughter, or evening fighting inside the apartment caused John to start to worry. He removed his coat, draping it across a chair before starting to look for his boys in the other rooms.
The living room was empty, but both Dean and Sam's school bags were lying half open in the middle of the floor. Looking through the pockets of Dean's bag, John found the duplicate key he got made, so they couldn't have left the apartment. Both bedrooms were empty, as well - dark and still and making John wonder if he should be worried or count his blessings for this moment of quiet. Moments such as these were so rare, especially with two young boys. The sliver of light shining from under the bathroom door held some promise, and John wished he could take back the blessing he'd counted when he got the door open wide enough to see Sam and Dean's reflections in the mirror.
They were sitting on the floor between the bathtub and the toilet, both of their noses bright red and Sam continuously sniffling to keep snot from dripping down his face. A virus had been going around school, and while Dean just silently suffered as was typical, Sammy would look between his father and his older brother, almost like he was wondering why they couldn't do anything to help. There was a heap of used tissues on the floor around them, but what made John pause was the sight of his five-year-old son holding a shotgun at his brother's face.
"Dean? Sammy?" John asked, keeping his voice steady to not startle Sam. The shotgun only had salt rounds in it, which stung but weren't fatal, but he didn't want to test that by getting Dean shot in the head. They both looked at him almost stoically, not the typical panicked look from Sam and guilty look from Dean when they'd been caught doing something they knew they weren't supposed to. "What's going on, boys?"
Sam looked at Dean, almost like he was trying to figure out if it was okay for him to give an explanation, like he'd only just started to entertain the notion that sitting in the bathroom with a loaded shotgun was something they could get into trouble for. When Dean didn't respond, Sammy turned back to John, lowering the weapon to the floor as he started to explain, eyes wide. "Sandy Langdon at school said that when you sneeze," he glanced back at Dean quickly before lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "it's your body trying to get rid of something evil inside you."
He spoke with such gravity, such conviction, that half of John wanted to laugh at what his boys were willing to believe while the other half wanted to cry because, with the life they were living, they had no reason to doubt. He stepped fully into the bathroom, crouching down beside Dean and Sam, placing on hand on his younger son's hand as he took away the shotgun with the other. "Both of you are sneezing, Sam, so why do you have the gun?"
"We were sharing," Dean piped in, sounding like he wanted John to be proud because the two of them always fought over whose turn it was to play with the toys they had. "I felt one coming first, so Sammy got the gun."
"First we were gonna try an exor....exor..." Sam struggled to remember the word.
"Exorcism," Dean provided.
"Yeah, that! But the words were too weird."
John thought for a moment, trying to figure out a way to discourage them from trying to do this again. He didn't want them thinking something bad every time someone had a cold, but John didn't want to ignore the fact that that it was very likely there would be run-ins with people who actually were possessed - John just hoped to God that it wouldn't be any of the three of them. John stood, wrapping his arm around Sammy's waist to haul him into the air, squealing with delight. They went out into the living room, Dean following quietly but smiling at his brother's giggling. John set Sam down on the couch, Dean sitting beside him, and fluidly unloaded the shotgun, putting it away in a box against the wall with the weapons that weren't in the trunk of the Impala. "What else can you do to find out if someone is possessed or not?" John asked, taking two small vials out of the box before closing it. He went into the kitchen, pulling out some items he had hidden and pouring the contents of the vials into them while keeping an eye on the boys, making sure they didn't get too close to ruin the surprise.
Sammy's arm shot in the air like he was back at school and wanted the teacher to call on him because he knew the answer. "Crisco!" He smiled broadly, bouncing up and down on the couch cushion. "I didn't flinch! Sandy Langdon is a liar!"
"That's because you said it wrong," Dean rolled his eyes but was fighting a losing battle with the laughter he was trying to contain. "If a demon got in him he wouldn't be able to say it."
John put the items into the back pockets of his jeans, returning to the living room and sitting in the armchair across from his sons. "What else would work, then?" he asked Dean, baiting him.
"Holy water," Dean responded, expression sobering when Sam sneezed. John's younger son stopped bouncing around, and both of them held their breaths like they were waiting for a demon to come flying out of Sammy's nose. When nothing happened, they both looked at John.
He leaned forward in the chair, pulling two plastic water pistols out of his back pocket, smiling at his sons' eyes widening in surprise before they leapt off the couch to get the toys. They immediately started chasing each other around the apartment, starting up a game of tag using the squirt guns, but instead of the one getting hit being "It" he was someone possessed and needing to be saved from the grasp of a demon. John leaned back in the armchair, listening to them play, and trying to enjoy this moment of his boys being children, of them being innocent, while trying to ignore the horrific reality of it all.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,200
Summary: John finds Dean and Sam attempting alternate therapy to get rid of their colds.
Birthday present for gottalovev. Hope you like it, babe!
+++
The apartment was eerily silent when John pushed open the door and locked it behind him. He had been at the local library all day as he had been for the last couple of weeks, researching old tomes for charms and spells had yet to be added to his journal. John had gotten used to returning to the sound of Sammy watching his most prized possession for what had to be the hundredth time. Dean had gotten him a tape of "The Fox and the Hound" after months of saving spare change in an old coffee tin, and he'd put up a front of acting like it was on too loud when John knew his elder son was brimming with pride that Sam loved it so much. The complete lack of talking, laughter, or evening fighting inside the apartment caused John to start to worry. He removed his coat, draping it across a chair before starting to look for his boys in the other rooms.
The living room was empty, but both Dean and Sam's school bags were lying half open in the middle of the floor. Looking through the pockets of Dean's bag, John found the duplicate key he got made, so they couldn't have left the apartment. Both bedrooms were empty, as well - dark and still and making John wonder if he should be worried or count his blessings for this moment of quiet. Moments such as these were so rare, especially with two young boys. The sliver of light shining from under the bathroom door held some promise, and John wished he could take back the blessing he'd counted when he got the door open wide enough to see Sam and Dean's reflections in the mirror.
They were sitting on the floor between the bathtub and the toilet, both of their noses bright red and Sam continuously sniffling to keep snot from dripping down his face. A virus had been going around school, and while Dean just silently suffered as was typical, Sammy would look between his father and his older brother, almost like he was wondering why they couldn't do anything to help. There was a heap of used tissues on the floor around them, but what made John pause was the sight of his five-year-old son holding a shotgun at his brother's face.
"Dean? Sammy?" John asked, keeping his voice steady to not startle Sam. The shotgun only had salt rounds in it, which stung but weren't fatal, but he didn't want to test that by getting Dean shot in the head. They both looked at him almost stoically, not the typical panicked look from Sam and guilty look from Dean when they'd been caught doing something they knew they weren't supposed to. "What's going on, boys?"
Sam looked at Dean, almost like he was trying to figure out if it was okay for him to give an explanation, like he'd only just started to entertain the notion that sitting in the bathroom with a loaded shotgun was something they could get into trouble for. When Dean didn't respond, Sammy turned back to John, lowering the weapon to the floor as he started to explain, eyes wide. "Sandy Langdon at school said that when you sneeze," he glanced back at Dean quickly before lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "it's your body trying to get rid of something evil inside you."
He spoke with such gravity, such conviction, that half of John wanted to laugh at what his boys were willing to believe while the other half wanted to cry because, with the life they were living, they had no reason to doubt. He stepped fully into the bathroom, crouching down beside Dean and Sam, placing on hand on his younger son's hand as he took away the shotgun with the other. "Both of you are sneezing, Sam, so why do you have the gun?"
"We were sharing," Dean piped in, sounding like he wanted John to be proud because the two of them always fought over whose turn it was to play with the toys they had. "I felt one coming first, so Sammy got the gun."
"First we were gonna try an exor....exor..." Sam struggled to remember the word.
"Exorcism," Dean provided.
"Yeah, that! But the words were too weird."
John thought for a moment, trying to figure out a way to discourage them from trying to do this again. He didn't want them thinking something bad every time someone had a cold, but John didn't want to ignore the fact that that it was very likely there would be run-ins with people who actually were possessed - John just hoped to God that it wouldn't be any of the three of them. John stood, wrapping his arm around Sammy's waist to haul him into the air, squealing with delight. They went out into the living room, Dean following quietly but smiling at his brother's giggling. John set Sam down on the couch, Dean sitting beside him, and fluidly unloaded the shotgun, putting it away in a box against the wall with the weapons that weren't in the trunk of the Impala. "What else can you do to find out if someone is possessed or not?" John asked, taking two small vials out of the box before closing it. He went into the kitchen, pulling out some items he had hidden and pouring the contents of the vials into them while keeping an eye on the boys, making sure they didn't get too close to ruin the surprise.
Sammy's arm shot in the air like he was back at school and wanted the teacher to call on him because he knew the answer. "Crisco!" He smiled broadly, bouncing up and down on the couch cushion. "I didn't flinch! Sandy Langdon is a liar!"
"That's because you said it wrong," Dean rolled his eyes but was fighting a losing battle with the laughter he was trying to contain. "If a demon got in him he wouldn't be able to say it."
John put the items into the back pockets of his jeans, returning to the living room and sitting in the armchair across from his sons. "What else would work, then?" he asked Dean, baiting him.
"Holy water," Dean responded, expression sobering when Sam sneezed. John's younger son stopped bouncing around, and both of them held their breaths like they were waiting for a demon to come flying out of Sammy's nose. When nothing happened, they both looked at John.
He leaned forward in the chair, pulling two plastic water pistols out of his back pocket, smiling at his sons' eyes widening in surprise before they leapt off the couch to get the toys. They immediately started chasing each other around the apartment, starting up a game of tag using the squirt guns, but instead of the one getting hit being "It" he was someone possessed and needing to be saved from the grasp of a demon. John leaned back in the armchair, listening to them play, and trying to enjoy this moment of his boys being children, of them being innocent, while trying to ignore the horrific reality of it all.