SPN FIC: The End of Forever
Characters: Dean, John, Mary
Rating: G
Pairings: none
Length: 1,160 words
Spoilers: none
Kleenex rating: 4
If you're Dean Winchester, what do you want forever? Call this a dream, or a wish, or whatever you like. Just keep the Kleenex handy.
Julie Andrews is singing on the TV and for the first time her singing and dancing around Austria - it’s Austria, right? He’s pretty sure it’s Austria, although maybe it’s one of those other countries, like Switzerland or Italy - with a bunch of kids wearing clothes made out of curtains doesn’t seem at all stupid. The sun’s shining where they are and Austria (Switzerland?) actually looks like a nice place. Picturesque, with all the funky old buildings and the mountains in the background. If they made the movie now, he figures, they’d probably put all that stuff in with CGI and forget about flying everybody to Europe.
The End of Forever
By Carol Davis
“Hey, dude.”
Dad says it warmly, fondly, with the smile Dean has seen so few times in his life that it’s more precious than gold. He’s wearing sweats, white socks that’ve gone mostly gray, and his favorite t-shirt, the one that says USMC on it.
“Hi, sweetie.”
Mom’s wearing her pink bathrobe, the soft one. She’s got a big bowl of popcorn on her lap.
Still smiling, Dad slides over on the couch so there’s room. “Come on. If I have to suffer through this, you don’t get any free pass.”
The TV’s on. Dean looks. It’s The Sound of Music.
Of course it’s The Sound of Music. Every year Mom watched it again, all the way through, with popcorn. He knows that mostly because Dad told him; he remembers her watching cartoons with him but not much else. He was little then, when Mom wore that pink robe and watched TV with Dad. More than likely, by the time the movie came on they’d already put him to bed.
He looks around. It’s just the three of them. “Sammy?” he asks softly.
“He’ll be here in a while,” Dad replies. “You know Sammy. He’s always got to do his own thing.”
“Yeah,” Dean murmurs. “Yeah.”
Mom pats the couch beside her. He sits down then, a little closer to her than to Dad, because Mom smells better: the flowery scent of fabric softener clinging to her robe, the buttered popcorn, the hand lotion she puts on after she washes the dishes. Dad smells a little bit like work: grease and gasoline and sweat. Only a little, because he’s taken a shower, but it’s enough. Popcorn and hand lotion is better.
Without really knowing he’s doing it, Dean leans toward her and rests his head on her shoulder. She turns and kisses his forehead and her lips are warm against his skin.
“I don’t -“ he murmurs.
“Hmm?”
“I don’t remember what happened.”
“You don’t need to. It’s better not to.”
“But -“
“She’s right,” Dad says. “Just let it go.”
Julie Andrews is singing on the TV and for the first time her singing and dancing around Austria - it’s Austria, right? He’s pretty sure it’s Austria, although maybe it’s one of those other countries, like Switzerland or Italy - with a bunch of kids wearing clothes made out of curtains doesn’t seem at all stupid. The sun’s shining where they are and Austria (Switzerland?) actually looks like a nice place. Picturesque, with all the funky old buildings and the mountains in the background. If they made the movie now, he figures, they’d probably put all that stuff in with CGI and forget about flying everybody to Europe.
He never could stand to watch The Sound of Music, but now it’s good. It’s all good.
Something over in the corner catches his eye. The tree, all lit up, tiny colored bulbs blinking on and off. Lots of packages underneath, wrapped in shiny foil paper with big floppy ribbons. Mom did all of that; Dad can’t wrap a package to save his life. It always comes out looking like he did it with his feet. The last few years he just re-used a gift bag he found somewhere. That pissed Sam off, but Dean thought it was funny. It’s Christmas, here comes the bag.
A lot of things piss Sam off. Not as much as before Stanford, but still, God, he’s fussy.
“He’ll be here,” Mom says.
And that’s a little weird, like she read Dean’s mind. Dean looks at her questioningly. She smiles and reaches up to stroke his hair.
She doesn’t have to reach very far, because the top of his head barely comes to her shoulder. That’s weird too.
But okay. It’s okay.
In fact, everything seems okay then. They’ll wait for Sammy, the way they did the first time. He remembers now: they did sit on the couch and watch The Sound of Music at Christmas time, that last Christmas in Lawrence, and Sammy was a bump under Mommy’s robe. Mommy had popcorn and Daddy had a beer and some of the cookies a customer gave him at the garage. Dean watched the lights on the tree more than the movie. He remembers Mommy singing along with Julie Andrews, but softly, because Julie Andrews is a better singer than she is. Or that’s what she says. Her voice sounds just fine to Dean.
He closes his eyes now and snuggles in close. He can smell the popcorn.
The Sammy-bump moves a little under Mommy’s robe. Sometimes that confuses him: how the Sammy-bump got in there in the first place, and how he can move around, because it’s got to be crowded living inside somebody’s stomach.
But it’s all right. Everything’s all right.
Julie Andrews is singing and Mommy is humming. Daddy reaches over and strokes Dean’s hair like he’s a cat.
Maybe there’s a G.I. Joe under the tree.
Mommy’s arm slides around him and holds him in close.
He’ll be four years old soon. They’re going to have a party with balloons and cake and presents.
He’s wearing his favorite pajamas, the ones with Superman on them.
And everything’s good. It’s the three of them. Sammy will be here soon, and he will help Mommy and Daddy take care of his new brother. That’s a big reponsability, they told him, because babies can’t feed themselves or pull up their own covers or say what they need. They can only cry, and sometimes the crying is nasty and makes the top of your head want to come off - that’s what Daddy says. But he can handle that, because the crying means the baby needs some help. Loud means don’t ignore me, like when dogs bark. That’ll be okay, Dean thinks.
“Mommy?” he whispers.
“Hmm?” she says.
He can feel her twisting some of his hair around her finger. She likes to do that. “Can I stay?” he asks her softly.
“Of course you can, sweetie.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
He peeks at Daddy. Daddy makes the booga-booga face at him and he giggles. “You’d better stay,” Daddy says. “I need the extra vote. Otherwise I’ll get stuck watching these damn girly movies all the time.”
“John,” Mommy warns.
“Darn girly movies,” he shrugs.
Dean whispers, “I want to stay. Please let me stay.”
“You’re not going anywhere else on my watch, soldier,” Daddy says.
And that’s the best of all.
Not the very very best, because one of them is still missing. But Sammy will be here in a while. Then it will be like it was Before.
For now, it’s good enough. So he nestles in close to Mommy, with Daddy’s hand resting big and warm on his shoulder, and he drifts quietly into sleep listening to Julie Andrews singing and Mommy humming.
The last thing he hears is Daddy murmuring “Love you, little guy.”
And he knows it’s true.
Always.
Rating: G
Pairings: none
Length: 1,160 words
Spoilers: none
Kleenex rating: 4
If you're Dean Winchester, what do you want forever? Call this a dream, or a wish, or whatever you like. Just keep the Kleenex handy.
Julie Andrews is singing on the TV and for the first time her singing and dancing around Austria - it’s Austria, right? He’s pretty sure it’s Austria, although maybe it’s one of those other countries, like Switzerland or Italy - with a bunch of kids wearing clothes made out of curtains doesn’t seem at all stupid. The sun’s shining where they are and Austria (Switzerland?) actually looks like a nice place. Picturesque, with all the funky old buildings and the mountains in the background. If they made the movie now, he figures, they’d probably put all that stuff in with CGI and forget about flying everybody to Europe.
The End of Forever
By Carol Davis
“Hey, dude.”
Dad says it warmly, fondly, with the smile Dean has seen so few times in his life that it’s more precious than gold. He’s wearing sweats, white socks that’ve gone mostly gray, and his favorite t-shirt, the one that says USMC on it.
“Hi, sweetie.”
Mom’s wearing her pink bathrobe, the soft one. She’s got a big bowl of popcorn on her lap.
Still smiling, Dad slides over on the couch so there’s room. “Come on. If I have to suffer through this, you don’t get any free pass.”
The TV’s on. Dean looks. It’s The Sound of Music.
Of course it’s The Sound of Music. Every year Mom watched it again, all the way through, with popcorn. He knows that mostly because Dad told him; he remembers her watching cartoons with him but not much else. He was little then, when Mom wore that pink robe and watched TV with Dad. More than likely, by the time the movie came on they’d already put him to bed.
He looks around. It’s just the three of them. “Sammy?” he asks softly.
“He’ll be here in a while,” Dad replies. “You know Sammy. He’s always got to do his own thing.”
“Yeah,” Dean murmurs. “Yeah.”
Mom pats the couch beside her. He sits down then, a little closer to her than to Dad, because Mom smells better: the flowery scent of fabric softener clinging to her robe, the buttered popcorn, the hand lotion she puts on after she washes the dishes. Dad smells a little bit like work: grease and gasoline and sweat. Only a little, because he’s taken a shower, but it’s enough. Popcorn and hand lotion is better.
Without really knowing he’s doing it, Dean leans toward her and rests his head on her shoulder. She turns and kisses his forehead and her lips are warm against his skin.
“I don’t -“ he murmurs.
“Hmm?”
“I don’t remember what happened.”
“You don’t need to. It’s better not to.”
“But -“
“She’s right,” Dad says. “Just let it go.”
Julie Andrews is singing on the TV and for the first time her singing and dancing around Austria - it’s Austria, right? He’s pretty sure it’s Austria, although maybe it’s one of those other countries, like Switzerland or Italy - with a bunch of kids wearing clothes made out of curtains doesn’t seem at all stupid. The sun’s shining where they are and Austria (Switzerland?) actually looks like a nice place. Picturesque, with all the funky old buildings and the mountains in the background. If they made the movie now, he figures, they’d probably put all that stuff in with CGI and forget about flying everybody to Europe.
He never could stand to watch The Sound of Music, but now it’s good. It’s all good.
Something over in the corner catches his eye. The tree, all lit up, tiny colored bulbs blinking on and off. Lots of packages underneath, wrapped in shiny foil paper with big floppy ribbons. Mom did all of that; Dad can’t wrap a package to save his life. It always comes out looking like he did it with his feet. The last few years he just re-used a gift bag he found somewhere. That pissed Sam off, but Dean thought it was funny. It’s Christmas, here comes the bag.
A lot of things piss Sam off. Not as much as before Stanford, but still, God, he’s fussy.
“He’ll be here,” Mom says.
And that’s a little weird, like she read Dean’s mind. Dean looks at her questioningly. She smiles and reaches up to stroke his hair.
She doesn’t have to reach very far, because the top of his head barely comes to her shoulder. That’s weird too.
But okay. It’s okay.
In fact, everything seems okay then. They’ll wait for Sammy, the way they did the first time. He remembers now: they did sit on the couch and watch The Sound of Music at Christmas time, that last Christmas in Lawrence, and Sammy was a bump under Mommy’s robe. Mommy had popcorn and Daddy had a beer and some of the cookies a customer gave him at the garage. Dean watched the lights on the tree more than the movie. He remembers Mommy singing along with Julie Andrews, but softly, because Julie Andrews is a better singer than she is. Or that’s what she says. Her voice sounds just fine to Dean.
He closes his eyes now and snuggles in close. He can smell the popcorn.
The Sammy-bump moves a little under Mommy’s robe. Sometimes that confuses him: how the Sammy-bump got in there in the first place, and how he can move around, because it’s got to be crowded living inside somebody’s stomach.
But it’s all right. Everything’s all right.
Julie Andrews is singing and Mommy is humming. Daddy reaches over and strokes Dean’s hair like he’s a cat.
Maybe there’s a G.I. Joe under the tree.
Mommy’s arm slides around him and holds him in close.
He’ll be four years old soon. They’re going to have a party with balloons and cake and presents.
He’s wearing his favorite pajamas, the ones with Superman on them.
And everything’s good. It’s the three of them. Sammy will be here soon, and he will help Mommy and Daddy take care of his new brother. That’s a big reponsability, they told him, because babies can’t feed themselves or pull up their own covers or say what they need. They can only cry, and sometimes the crying is nasty and makes the top of your head want to come off - that’s what Daddy says. But he can handle that, because the crying means the baby needs some help. Loud means don’t ignore me, like when dogs bark. That’ll be okay, Dean thinks.
“Mommy?” he whispers.
“Hmm?” she says.
He can feel her twisting some of his hair around her finger. She likes to do that. “Can I stay?” he asks her softly.
“Of course you can, sweetie.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really.”
He peeks at Daddy. Daddy makes the booga-booga face at him and he giggles. “You’d better stay,” Daddy says. “I need the extra vote. Otherwise I’ll get stuck watching these damn girly movies all the time.”
“John,” Mommy warns.
“Darn girly movies,” he shrugs.
Dean whispers, “I want to stay. Please let me stay.”
“You’re not going anywhere else on my watch, soldier,” Daddy says.
And that’s the best of all.
Not the very very best, because one of them is still missing. But Sammy will be here in a while. Then it will be like it was Before.
For now, it’s good enough. So he nestles in close to Mommy, with Daddy’s hand resting big and warm on his shoulder, and he drifts quietly into sleep listening to Julie Andrews singing and Mommy humming.
The last thing he hears is Daddy murmuring “Love you, little guy.”
And he knows it’s true.
Always.