Command me fic #11 - SPN - Crawdad Logic
Title: Crawdad Logic
Author: ErinRua
Rating: PG - wee!Chesters
Length: @ 1600 words
Characters: Sam, Dean
Notes/Disclaimers/Summary: Sam, Dean, some disgruntled crawdads, and how a thirteen year old philosopher faces life.
This is for hanncoll who prompted me with: "Ooh, how about some wee!chesters? Maybe Sammy being a pain-in-the-ass little brother and Dean torturing ('cause what are big brothers for, if not to torture their little brothers?)." I rarely write children, I had absolutely no idea where this story would take me, but I kind of like where it went. So I hope you'll enjoy the trip, as well! (No crawdads were harmed in the making of this story.)
There's a trick to catching crawdads, as any boy knows, and it gets trickier if one's little brother tags along.
"You stay up there on the bank, Sam. You start clomping around, you'll scare them all away."
Sam hunkered down on the creek bank as bidden, bony knees showing through the perennial holes in his jeans, but a scowl furrowed the brow under his mop of hair.
"How come you get to do all the catching? It's not like I'm a little kid any more."
Dean paused, the cool stream lapping just below his knees and the soggy, rolled-up cuffs of his jeans.
"You're nine," he said, from the vantage point of thirteen years. "Of course you're still a kid."
"Am not."
"Are so."
"Not."
"So."
"Not."
"Sam." He huffed a breath of strained patience. "You're a kid until the word 'teen' is part of your age."
"That's totally not fair."
"Life's not fair. Besides, if you catch one wrong, it'll pinch your fingers off. Now be quiet, and keep the bucket ready."
Dean bent at the hips and carefully tossed a bit of string ahead of him into the lazy current. One end he held in his hand, the other sank, fastened to a chunk of hot dog. With vast patience, he drew the hot dog bumping along the stony bottom, through rippling shadows and wavering bits of weeds and grass. Sure enough, a clawed shape detached itself from some murky recess and hitched its way amongst the polished stones.
"Careful, Dean," Sam hissed.
"Shut up!"
Easy now, easy, millimeters at a time, Dean tempted the crawdad from its place of hiding. Just a couple seconds more - then he plunged a skinny arm into the water and withdrew with a squirming crustacean clutched in his fist.
"Got him! The bucket! Sam!"
Sam swung the plastic bucket towards him, AJAX SOAP emblazoned on its side, and Dean dropped the creature in with several of its kin.
"Whoa, he's a big one!" Sam exclaimed as he tilted the bucket to peer inside. "Dean, c'mon, let me try!"
"No way, squirt." Dean already had his eyes on the green shadows along the shore as he readied his bait for another toss. "You leave this to the professionals."
"Says who?"
"Says me."
"Why?"
That flat tone never bode well, and Dean cast him a jaundiced look. "Because I'm older and I say so."
"Bullshit."
"Dad's gonna soap your mouth."
"Only if you narc on me."
"I've never narced on you."
Sam tilted a brow. "Then I can call bullshit."
"Baby." Dean returned his attention the hunt and tossed his bait.
"No, I'm not." Sam scowled fiercely. "Where do you get off?"
"Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby."
A clunk and a splash and a flash of white plastic, and Sam stood rigid on the creek bank, eyes afire.
"Sam, you jerk! Tell me you didn't just throw them all back in!"
Sam shrugged one thin shoulder, the empty bucket on the ground at his feet as unrepentant evidence.
"I didn't just throw them all back in."
"Damn it, Sam! Why the hell -."
"Dad's gonna soap your mouth."
"I'm gonna kick your ass!"
A shriek from Sam, and the chase was on. Up they scrambled through cattails and mint, skinny legs pumping and skinny arms flailing as they took off into the fields. Like hound pups they chased and galloped and ran, Sam shouting triumph as he dove under a derelict tractor and shot out the other side, leaving Dean to scramble the long way around. Again, they ran through tall grass and clover, insects whirling in shining clouds in their wake. Sam ran with furious purpose but Dean held the edge of age and size and with a final lunge, he flung himself upon his brother and bore him down, screeching, to the grass.
"Say uncle!"
"Never - EEEEEEE!"
"Say uncle, you little punk!"
"That's my HAIR! Ow, ow, OW! Stoppit, Dean!"
"Say uncle and I'll stop."
"No!"
"Say it!"
"No - ow!"
"Say it!"
Thrashing and shouting, they beat the standing grass down, faces red and contorted with exertion. Sam gave his all, but there was really no escape from an older brother's determined noogie.
"Okay. Okay! Uncle! Damn it, Dean!"
They flung apart, Sam giving one last futile kick, and Dean smirked as he fell back, panting.
"You deserved that, brat."
"People in hell deserve ice water, too."
Furiously Sam dusted bits of grass from his hair, the stiff set of his jaw unyielding. Dean could only laugh breathlessly.
"Aw, c'mon, Sam, you gotta lighten up."
"No, I don't."
"Why not? Jeez, don't be such a wuss."
But Dean's laughter faded from his face when Sam refused to meet his eyes, instead giving undue concentration to brushing off his T-shirt.
"Sam. Hey. You know I'm just yankin' your chain, right?"
Tight-jawed, Sam turned to pulling off his shoes one by one, and shaking them out. "Then you can stop it."
"Dang, dude." Dean chuffed a sharp laugh. "What's got your undies in a twist?"
"You!" Sam exploded, and slapped one shoe between them, his eyes suddenly stormy. "I'm not a kid, Dean, I'm not! I stopped ever being a kid clear back at Christmas, so why don't you just get lost?"
Jerking the shoe back on, Sam leaped to his feet and stomped away. Dean sat there amidst the trampled hay and stared after him in blank amazement. He remained thus until Sam shrank towards the creek, and then he scrambled up.
"Hey, Sam! Hey, wait up! Don't forget we got sandwiches!"
A little later, they sat beneath a sycamore tree with their backs to the mottled bark, while the stream rippled gently past their feet. The rich odor of peanut butter wafted on the summer air, and Sam wore a smear of strawberry jam on his chin.
"Dude. You eat like a pig." Dean reached out and swiped off the offending jam with his thumb.
Sam scowled, but it lacked the heat of earlier, and he continued munching his sandwich without comment.
"So you gonna stay pissed off all day?" asked Dean.
Sam swallowed and looked at his sandwich as if it held the answer. "No. I'm not mad."
"No?" Dean snorted. "Then what do you call it?"
"Just ..." Sam sighed and handed the last chunk of gooey bread to Dean. "I'm not mad."
Taking the peace offering for what it was, Dean popped the rather over-large morsel in his mouth and masticated it until he could swallow.
"It's just ..."
Sam hesitated and Dean licked his fingers, sweet berries and oily nuts, and watched his brother's somber face. Sam lifted his gaze out across the sunlit fields, staring but not truly seeing. He hadn't used to get that look, but now he did, and it left Dean feeling weirdly off balance.
"It's just that ... however I spell my age, the things I know now? Kids aren't supposed to know. But I do." The fragile, boyish line of Sam's jaw flexed. "Dad's journal told the truth, Dean. I can't go back and I can't not know things, and I just don't feel like a kid any more."
Thirteen years was a pretty long time, and Dean knew a whole lot of things. But this? This sucked out loud, and all he could think to do was roll onto his knees, crawl to the creek bank, and pull their two bottles of root beer out of the water. The glass dribbled cold water down his arms as he resumed his place and handed one bottle to Sam.
"So you know more than other kids," Dean said. "Big deal. Just means you're smarter than they are."
"Yeah?" Sam's brooding did not lighten as he looked down and twisted the cap off his bottle. "Maybe there's some things I could have done without knowing, thanks."
"Right, because being stupid and pretending you can't see anything is so much better. Jeez, Sam, if there was a train coming at you, would you pretend it wasn't there?"
"No, but -."
"Look, Sam ..." Dean turned his head to meet Sam's troubled eyes, and had no clue what he was going to say. "We're not like other people, okay? We're smarter and better informed, and we know how to take care of bad things that would make most people crap their pants and run screaming."
A wry grin briefly quirked Sam's mouth. "You sound like Dad."
"Gee, I wonder why?" He smirked, figuring he'd count even a tiny smile a victory. "Anyhow, the point is, we can help people. We know things they don't, and that's important. We can make a difference, Sammy. We can."
A long, weighty sigh wended its way out of Sam's chest, and he tilted his head back. Rolling it against the tree to regard Dean half slantwise, he said, "You really think so?"
Yeah, he was still a kid, with that stoopid, sappy, hopeful look on his face.
"I know so," replied Dean firmly. "We're bad-ass, bro. We're the guys who ride in outta nowhere and kick the bad guys clean out of town."
Sam's grin returned, though it remained just as wry and lopsided. "Us and John Wayne."
"Dude, Bruce Willis. Come on."
Sam laughed a little, and wriggled around to get more comfortable against the tree. His squirming slid him down a bit and when he settled, his head almost but not quite rested on Dean's shoulder.
They sat together a while, then, sipping root beer and listening to the cicadas buzz, and yeah, Dean could handle this. He tilted his head so the cool silk of his little brother's hair brushed his cheek, and decided he'd challenge Sam to look for shapes in the puffy white clouds out yonder.
~ * ~
Author: ErinRua
Rating: PG - wee!Chesters
Length: @ 1600 words
Characters: Sam, Dean
Notes/Disclaimers/Summary: Sam, Dean, some disgruntled crawdads, and how a thirteen year old philosopher faces life.
This is for hanncoll who prompted me with: "Ooh, how about some wee!chesters? Maybe Sammy being a pain-in-the-ass little brother and Dean torturing ('cause what are big brothers for, if not to torture their little brothers?)." I rarely write children, I had absolutely no idea where this story would take me, but I kind of like where it went. So I hope you'll enjoy the trip, as well! (No crawdads were harmed in the making of this story.)
There's a trick to catching crawdads, as any boy knows, and it gets trickier if one's little brother tags along.
"You stay up there on the bank, Sam. You start clomping around, you'll scare them all away."
Sam hunkered down on the creek bank as bidden, bony knees showing through the perennial holes in his jeans, but a scowl furrowed the brow under his mop of hair.
"How come you get to do all the catching? It's not like I'm a little kid any more."
Dean paused, the cool stream lapping just below his knees and the soggy, rolled-up cuffs of his jeans.
"You're nine," he said, from the vantage point of thirteen years. "Of course you're still a kid."
"Am not."
"Are so."
"Not."
"So."
"Not."
"Sam." He huffed a breath of strained patience. "You're a kid until the word 'teen' is part of your age."
"That's totally not fair."
"Life's not fair. Besides, if you catch one wrong, it'll pinch your fingers off. Now be quiet, and keep the bucket ready."
Dean bent at the hips and carefully tossed a bit of string ahead of him into the lazy current. One end he held in his hand, the other sank, fastened to a chunk of hot dog. With vast patience, he drew the hot dog bumping along the stony bottom, through rippling shadows and wavering bits of weeds and grass. Sure enough, a clawed shape detached itself from some murky recess and hitched its way amongst the polished stones.
"Careful, Dean," Sam hissed.
"Shut up!"
Easy now, easy, millimeters at a time, Dean tempted the crawdad from its place of hiding. Just a couple seconds more - then he plunged a skinny arm into the water and withdrew with a squirming crustacean clutched in his fist.
"Got him! The bucket! Sam!"
Sam swung the plastic bucket towards him, AJAX SOAP emblazoned on its side, and Dean dropped the creature in with several of its kin.
"Whoa, he's a big one!" Sam exclaimed as he tilted the bucket to peer inside. "Dean, c'mon, let me try!"
"No way, squirt." Dean already had his eyes on the green shadows along the shore as he readied his bait for another toss. "You leave this to the professionals."
"Says who?"
"Says me."
"Why?"
That flat tone never bode well, and Dean cast him a jaundiced look. "Because I'm older and I say so."
"Bullshit."
"Dad's gonna soap your mouth."
"Only if you narc on me."
"I've never narced on you."
Sam tilted a brow. "Then I can call bullshit."
"Baby." Dean returned his attention the hunt and tossed his bait.
"No, I'm not." Sam scowled fiercely. "Where do you get off?"
"Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby."
A clunk and a splash and a flash of white plastic, and Sam stood rigid on the creek bank, eyes afire.
"Sam, you jerk! Tell me you didn't just throw them all back in!"
Sam shrugged one thin shoulder, the empty bucket on the ground at his feet as unrepentant evidence.
"I didn't just throw them all back in."
"Damn it, Sam! Why the hell -."
"Dad's gonna soap your mouth."
"I'm gonna kick your ass!"
A shriek from Sam, and the chase was on. Up they scrambled through cattails and mint, skinny legs pumping and skinny arms flailing as they took off into the fields. Like hound pups they chased and galloped and ran, Sam shouting triumph as he dove under a derelict tractor and shot out the other side, leaving Dean to scramble the long way around. Again, they ran through tall grass and clover, insects whirling in shining clouds in their wake. Sam ran with furious purpose but Dean held the edge of age and size and with a final lunge, he flung himself upon his brother and bore him down, screeching, to the grass.
"Say uncle!"
"Never - EEEEEEE!"
"Say uncle, you little punk!"
"That's my HAIR! Ow, ow, OW! Stoppit, Dean!"
"Say uncle and I'll stop."
"No!"
"Say it!"
"No - ow!"
"Say it!"
Thrashing and shouting, they beat the standing grass down, faces red and contorted with exertion. Sam gave his all, but there was really no escape from an older brother's determined noogie.
"Okay. Okay! Uncle! Damn it, Dean!"
They flung apart, Sam giving one last futile kick, and Dean smirked as he fell back, panting.
"You deserved that, brat."
"People in hell deserve ice water, too."
Furiously Sam dusted bits of grass from his hair, the stiff set of his jaw unyielding. Dean could only laugh breathlessly.
"Aw, c'mon, Sam, you gotta lighten up."
"No, I don't."
"Why not? Jeez, don't be such a wuss."
But Dean's laughter faded from his face when Sam refused to meet his eyes, instead giving undue concentration to brushing off his T-shirt.
"Sam. Hey. You know I'm just yankin' your chain, right?"
Tight-jawed, Sam turned to pulling off his shoes one by one, and shaking them out. "Then you can stop it."
"Dang, dude." Dean chuffed a sharp laugh. "What's got your undies in a twist?"
"You!" Sam exploded, and slapped one shoe between them, his eyes suddenly stormy. "I'm not a kid, Dean, I'm not! I stopped ever being a kid clear back at Christmas, so why don't you just get lost?"
Jerking the shoe back on, Sam leaped to his feet and stomped away. Dean sat there amidst the trampled hay and stared after him in blank amazement. He remained thus until Sam shrank towards the creek, and then he scrambled up.
"Hey, Sam! Hey, wait up! Don't forget we got sandwiches!"
A little later, they sat beneath a sycamore tree with their backs to the mottled bark, while the stream rippled gently past their feet. The rich odor of peanut butter wafted on the summer air, and Sam wore a smear of strawberry jam on his chin.
"Dude. You eat like a pig." Dean reached out and swiped off the offending jam with his thumb.
Sam scowled, but it lacked the heat of earlier, and he continued munching his sandwich without comment.
"So you gonna stay pissed off all day?" asked Dean.
Sam swallowed and looked at his sandwich as if it held the answer. "No. I'm not mad."
"No?" Dean snorted. "Then what do you call it?"
"Just ..." Sam sighed and handed the last chunk of gooey bread to Dean. "I'm not mad."
Taking the peace offering for what it was, Dean popped the rather over-large morsel in his mouth and masticated it until he could swallow.
"It's just ..."
Sam hesitated and Dean licked his fingers, sweet berries and oily nuts, and watched his brother's somber face. Sam lifted his gaze out across the sunlit fields, staring but not truly seeing. He hadn't used to get that look, but now he did, and it left Dean feeling weirdly off balance.
"It's just that ... however I spell my age, the things I know now? Kids aren't supposed to know. But I do." The fragile, boyish line of Sam's jaw flexed. "Dad's journal told the truth, Dean. I can't go back and I can't not know things, and I just don't feel like a kid any more."
Thirteen years was a pretty long time, and Dean knew a whole lot of things. But this? This sucked out loud, and all he could think to do was roll onto his knees, crawl to the creek bank, and pull their two bottles of root beer out of the water. The glass dribbled cold water down his arms as he resumed his place and handed one bottle to Sam.
"So you know more than other kids," Dean said. "Big deal. Just means you're smarter than they are."
"Yeah?" Sam's brooding did not lighten as he looked down and twisted the cap off his bottle. "Maybe there's some things I could have done without knowing, thanks."
"Right, because being stupid and pretending you can't see anything is so much better. Jeez, Sam, if there was a train coming at you, would you pretend it wasn't there?"
"No, but -."
"Look, Sam ..." Dean turned his head to meet Sam's troubled eyes, and had no clue what he was going to say. "We're not like other people, okay? We're smarter and better informed, and we know how to take care of bad things that would make most people crap their pants and run screaming."
A wry grin briefly quirked Sam's mouth. "You sound like Dad."
"Gee, I wonder why?" He smirked, figuring he'd count even a tiny smile a victory. "Anyhow, the point is, we can help people. We know things they don't, and that's important. We can make a difference, Sammy. We can."
A long, weighty sigh wended its way out of Sam's chest, and he tilted his head back. Rolling it against the tree to regard Dean half slantwise, he said, "You really think so?"
Yeah, he was still a kid, with that stoopid, sappy, hopeful look on his face.
"I know so," replied Dean firmly. "We're bad-ass, bro. We're the guys who ride in outta nowhere and kick the bad guys clean out of town."
Sam's grin returned, though it remained just as wry and lopsided. "Us and John Wayne."
"Dude, Bruce Willis. Come on."
Sam laughed a little, and wriggled around to get more comfortable against the tree. His squirming slid him down a bit and when he settled, his head almost but not quite rested on Dean's shoulder.
They sat together a while, then, sipping root beer and listening to the cicadas buzz, and yeah, Dean could handle this. He tilted his head so the cool silk of his little brother's hair brushed his cheek, and decided he'd challenge Sam to look for shapes in the puffy white clouds out yonder.
~ * ~