Fic: Oh, all the money that e're I had, I spent it in good company
Title: Oh, all the money that e're I had, I spent it in good company
Summary: Dad's gone. Food is running out. Dean keeps them both going.
Word Count: 900 aprox
Author's Note: An exploration of Sam and Dean's childhood, how they managed without the support of their father while he was hunting. This does not shed a positive light on John, as my fics usually do, and it portrays serious child neglect. The style of writing is very experimental, too. Basically, this is just a lot of playing around with words.
The kitchen (well, it's a counter with a microwave on top and a mini fridge next to it) is thick with steam. The portable gas hob is burning on the table, a pot of packet Ramen noodles are bubbling as Dean stirs with a fork. He tosses in two small heads of broccoli (which he may have stolen from someone's garden). Then, he opens the fridge (a cup of milk, a wrinkly tomato, and a packet of ham). He grabs the ham.
"Sammy?"
"Yeah?"
"Set the table, would you? Dinner's almost done."
The sofa in the living room (has a tear in the centre, the frame is broken) creaks under Sam's weight, the floorboards (one is missing, lets in a draft) groan under his feet. Next thing, Sam is scrubbing a couple of plates clean (cracked and stained), then drying them with a moth-eaten towel (more holes than fabric). He peers into the pot as he sets the plates and forks in their places.
"Am I seeing things or is there a real vegetable in there?"
"Your eyes are not deceiving you, Sammy. Those right there are real, authentic veggies."
"I thought we didn't have any money left for anything new until next week," Sam says.
"I have my ways, little brother."
Sam rolls his eyes. "If you get arrested for stealing broccoli, I'll pretend I don't have a brother."
"What if I got arrested for stealing something cool, like a car?"
Sam shrugs. "Maybe I'd be willing to put money in your commissary, then."
Dean laughs. He takes the pot away from the heat and turns off the gas. Sam grabs a couple of glasses and fills them with tap water (takes a few attempts before the liquid comes out clear). When they're done, the plates are half-full of beef-flavoured noodles, one head of broccoli, and one slice of ham each.
"Dig in," Dean beams. They haven't had a dinner this good in several days (they had no dinner at all three days ago) so he doesn't hesitate in stuffing his face.
Sam pokes at his food (stomach growling in protest).
"When is dad coming back?" he asks.
Dean looks up to find his little brother's miserable face (not enough fat on his cheeks).
"Soon," Dean promises.
"He said he'd be back last week. What are we gonna do about food?"
"I'm getting paid next week."
"What about this week?"
Dean sighs. "Don't worry about that, okay?"
"Too late. I'm already worrying."
"Well, that's my job. You just think about school or whatever."
"I need lunch," Sam says quietly. "The teachers are starting to look at me weird. They're asking why I'm not eating lunch, if anything's wrong at home."
"What do you tell them?"
"I tell them everything's fine 'cause it is."
Dean smiles. "Eat your dinner."
When they've finished eating (plates licked clean), Dean washes the dishes while Sam dries. They end up in the living room, sprawled out on the too-small couch, legs tangled together. Sam uses Dean to prop up his text book as he finishes his homework (AP English).
Later, Sam watches the TV and Dean watches the clock, ears listening out for the Impala's engine. There's nothing.
Sam's eyes are drooping a little before midnight so Dean gently nudges him awake by poking him in the ribs (too damn visible, not enough meat on him).
"Get to bed, squirt."
"I'm not tired," Sam yawns.
"Sure," Dean says. He grabs Sam's hands and pulls him to his feet, leading him back into the kitchen. Their toothbrushes are on the windowsill, as is the jug they use to wash their hair (no shampoo though, only soap). Dean sits and watches Sam brush his teeth.
"I'm going out for a bit," he says. Sam turns to him and frowns.
"Where?"
"I'm just going to try to grab a little extra cash, okay? Just go to bed and I'll be back home before you even wake up."
"This isn't going to be legal. Is it?" Sam says quietly, gaze dropping to the ground.
"It's fine," Dean insists. "Go get your pyjamas on, okay?"
"But what if you get caught?"
"I won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do. I'm smart, Sammy. I know how to not get caught."
"If you get caught, I'll be on my own," Sam says, spits into the sink.
Dean puts on a smile. "You know me, Sammy. I'm smart. Go to bed, alright?"
Sam sighs and stumbles tiredly by (holes in his socks, toes poking out). He pauses in the doorway.
"Thanks, Dean. And I'm really sorry."
Dean frowns. "What do you mean?"
"Thanks for being here, for looking out for me. And I'm sorry dad left it all up to you."
He disappears into the pitch black bedroom (faulty wiring), the door clicking shut behind him. Dean looks out the kitchen window and finds no sign of the Impala or their dad.
No sign of either for another week (once the food ran out, no luck hustling). John orders them to pack their bags and they hit the road. They drive for miles and fill their empty stomachs with diner grease (until Sammy throws up), and they eat well in the next state until their dad vanishes again (twenty dollars on the table and a promise to be back a week before he'll actually turn up). Dean gets up early and gets Sammy ready for school.
He keeps them going, hungry or not.
Summary: Dad's gone. Food is running out. Dean keeps them both going.
Word Count: 900 aprox
Author's Note: An exploration of Sam and Dean's childhood, how they managed without the support of their father while he was hunting. This does not shed a positive light on John, as my fics usually do, and it portrays serious child neglect. The style of writing is very experimental, too. Basically, this is just a lot of playing around with words.
The kitchen (well, it's a counter with a microwave on top and a mini fridge next to it) is thick with steam. The portable gas hob is burning on the table, a pot of packet Ramen noodles are bubbling as Dean stirs with a fork. He tosses in two small heads of broccoli (which he may have stolen from someone's garden). Then, he opens the fridge (a cup of milk, a wrinkly tomato, and a packet of ham). He grabs the ham.
"Sammy?"
"Yeah?"
"Set the table, would you? Dinner's almost done."
The sofa in the living room (has a tear in the centre, the frame is broken) creaks under Sam's weight, the floorboards (one is missing, lets in a draft) groan under his feet. Next thing, Sam is scrubbing a couple of plates clean (cracked and stained), then drying them with a moth-eaten towel (more holes than fabric). He peers into the pot as he sets the plates and forks in their places.
"Am I seeing things or is there a real vegetable in there?"
"Your eyes are not deceiving you, Sammy. Those right there are real, authentic veggies."
"I thought we didn't have any money left for anything new until next week," Sam says.
"I have my ways, little brother."
Sam rolls his eyes. "If you get arrested for stealing broccoli, I'll pretend I don't have a brother."
"What if I got arrested for stealing something cool, like a car?"
Sam shrugs. "Maybe I'd be willing to put money in your commissary, then."
Dean laughs. He takes the pot away from the heat and turns off the gas. Sam grabs a couple of glasses and fills them with tap water (takes a few attempts before the liquid comes out clear). When they're done, the plates are half-full of beef-flavoured noodles, one head of broccoli, and one slice of ham each.
"Dig in," Dean beams. They haven't had a dinner this good in several days (they had no dinner at all three days ago) so he doesn't hesitate in stuffing his face.
Sam pokes at his food (stomach growling in protest).
"When is dad coming back?" he asks.
Dean looks up to find his little brother's miserable face (not enough fat on his cheeks).
"Soon," Dean promises.
"He said he'd be back last week. What are we gonna do about food?"
"I'm getting paid next week."
"What about this week?"
Dean sighs. "Don't worry about that, okay?"
"Too late. I'm already worrying."
"Well, that's my job. You just think about school or whatever."
"I need lunch," Sam says quietly. "The teachers are starting to look at me weird. They're asking why I'm not eating lunch, if anything's wrong at home."
"What do you tell them?"
"I tell them everything's fine 'cause it is."
Dean smiles. "Eat your dinner."
When they've finished eating (plates licked clean), Dean washes the dishes while Sam dries. They end up in the living room, sprawled out on the too-small couch, legs tangled together. Sam uses Dean to prop up his text book as he finishes his homework (AP English).
Later, Sam watches the TV and Dean watches the clock, ears listening out for the Impala's engine. There's nothing.
Sam's eyes are drooping a little before midnight so Dean gently nudges him awake by poking him in the ribs (too damn visible, not enough meat on him).
"Get to bed, squirt."
"I'm not tired," Sam yawns.
"Sure," Dean says. He grabs Sam's hands and pulls him to his feet, leading him back into the kitchen. Their toothbrushes are on the windowsill, as is the jug they use to wash their hair (no shampoo though, only soap). Dean sits and watches Sam brush his teeth.
"I'm going out for a bit," he says. Sam turns to him and frowns.
"Where?"
"I'm just going to try to grab a little extra cash, okay? Just go to bed and I'll be back home before you even wake up."
"This isn't going to be legal. Is it?" Sam says quietly, gaze dropping to the ground.
"It's fine," Dean insists. "Go get your pyjamas on, okay?"
"But what if you get caught?"
"I won't."
"You don't know that."
"I do. I'm smart, Sammy. I know how to not get caught."
"If you get caught, I'll be on my own," Sam says, spits into the sink.
Dean puts on a smile. "You know me, Sammy. I'm smart. Go to bed, alright?"
Sam sighs and stumbles tiredly by (holes in his socks, toes poking out). He pauses in the doorway.
"Thanks, Dean. And I'm really sorry."
Dean frowns. "What do you mean?"
"Thanks for being here, for looking out for me. And I'm sorry dad left it all up to you."
He disappears into the pitch black bedroom (faulty wiring), the door clicking shut behind him. Dean looks out the kitchen window and finds no sign of the Impala or their dad.
No sign of either for another week (once the food ran out, no luck hustling). John orders them to pack their bags and they hit the road. They drive for miles and fill their empty stomachs with diner grease (until Sammy throws up), and they eat well in the next state until their dad vanishes again (twenty dollars on the table and a promise to be back a week before he'll actually turn up). Dean gets up early and gets Sammy ready for school.
He keeps them going, hungry or not.