Accent (G)
Title: Accent
Rating: G
Pairing/Characters: John, wee!Sam, wee!Dean
Summary: Sam develops something startling.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. The End.
Spoilers: None whatsoever
Author's Note: This is a tribute to all the "y'all"s and the "rrock starrs" and the "wa'n't"s that pass our dear Jared's lips and give Sam that little touch of class.
John looked up in surprise as he opened the front door, to find Dean standing in front of him, arms folded, and a highly disgruntled look on his face. John blinked. It wasn't like his twelve-year-old son to look like that, especially when his father had only just returned from a week away hunting a werewolf.
"Dean? What's the matter, boy?" he asked, glancing around the room, looking for a cause for this expression. Sam was curled up on the floor in front of the TV, giggling at Looten Plunder's latest foiling at the hands of Captain Planet. Dean scowled harder and tapped his foot.
"Dad, we have to move," he said firmly, without preamble. John frowned slightly and entered the apartment, dumping his bags on the floor. His son had to broach this issue right now? He'd thought Dean to have better judgement than that. He was exhausted, he was hungry, and he was in desperate need of a shower and twelve hours of sleep.
"Why? I thought you liked Texas," he asked, and he could be excused for being a little abrupt with his son. He sniffed, an intriguing scent catching his nose and he headed for the kitchen to check the stove. Dean followed him, casting a quick glance across at his brother.
"I do like it. It's Sammy, Dad," he said, watching John peek inside the oven.
"What about him?" John was only really half listening as he inspected the perfect-looking shepherd's pie cooking nicely on the shelf, and contemplated if he could fit in a shower before it was done. Dean shifted from foot to foot.
"He has a new friend at school. Chad." Dean's tone revealed his distrust for this new person. John glanced at him and straightened with a sigh.
"He's not in trouble, is he?" he asked wearily; and was a little relieved when Dean shook his head quickly.
"No sir. He's invited Sammy to his birthday next week. I met his mom after school yesterday, she's real nice, and she said I could go too if I wanted." Dean's tone didn't reveal if he actually wanted to go or not. John ran his fingers through his hair, grimacing as he felt the werewolf blood matted into the side, and started towards the bathroom.
"So, the kid's a bad sort?" he asked, keeping up interest, at least until he was sure of what was bothering his eldest so badly. Dean followed again, keeping a respectful distance.
"Well... no... He's smart like Sammy, and he's an only child, and his family have no history of violence or anything bad. Sammy says he has loads of toys, and he can play the piano ‘cause he takes lessons every Tuesday, and he can draw really well, and he has a horse. His mom is a Sunday School teacher so she's always home and she bakes them cookies, and his dad works for a law firm that takes on big cases, but he's always home in time to watch Chad's Little League games." Any ill-feelings Dean may or may not have been harbouring for his own father's failings in that area were carefully hidden away. John sighed and stepped into the bathroom, turning the shower on.
"So then, what's the problem?" he asked, examining Dean's expression with a little more intent at last. Dean frowned in distaste.
"Chad's sooooo cool, that Sammy wants to be just like him. In every way he can." The sound of the cartoon's end credits could be heard, and then John's youngest appeared, grinning from ear to ear.
"Howdy Pa!" he exclaimed, stopping by Dean's side. "Ya'll're home agen! Dean's made us the gosh-dern best pie fer dinner, aren't ya glad ya'll came home in tahme?"
John paused, blinked, glanced from Sam's round face to Dean's scowl of irritation, and then burst out laughing, even though his muscles ached and he was smelly and tired and sore.
"This? This is why you-" John could hardly speak for laughing, especially when Dean's expression turned from irritated to affronted at his father's unexpected reaction. Sam giggled too, even though he wasn't sure what he was laughing at. "Shuuur, pardner, Ah'm plenty glad to be home fer dinner," John replied, and Dean made a sound of disgust. "Now git, you two, I gotta clean up."
Dean pointed his finger accusingly at his father. "You haven't been stuck home with him all week with that goddamn annoying accent!" he exclaimed, and Sam poked his tongue out at his brother, glad for once that his dad was on his side.
"Dean, watch your language. I said git, you two. G'wan."
"YeeHAW!" Sam yelled, galloping back into the lounge to watch Power Rangers. Dean narrowed his eyes accusingly, as if John had just signed his death sentence.
"You'll be sorry," he said darkly, and turned on his heel to go make sure his pie wasn't burning. John snorted and closed the bathroom door. It was only a childish accent, what could be so bad about that? Sam'd grow out of it, sooner or later.
As it turned out, much, much later.
Rating: G
Pairing/Characters: John, wee!Sam, wee!Dean
Summary: Sam develops something startling.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. The End.
Spoilers: None whatsoever
Author's Note: This is a tribute to all the "y'all"s and the "rrock starrs" and the "wa'n't"s that pass our dear Jared's lips and give Sam that little touch of class.
John looked up in surprise as he opened the front door, to find Dean standing in front of him, arms folded, and a highly disgruntled look on his face. John blinked. It wasn't like his twelve-year-old son to look like that, especially when his father had only just returned from a week away hunting a werewolf.
"Dean? What's the matter, boy?" he asked, glancing around the room, looking for a cause for this expression. Sam was curled up on the floor in front of the TV, giggling at Looten Plunder's latest foiling at the hands of Captain Planet. Dean scowled harder and tapped his foot.
"Dad, we have to move," he said firmly, without preamble. John frowned slightly and entered the apartment, dumping his bags on the floor. His son had to broach this issue right now? He'd thought Dean to have better judgement than that. He was exhausted, he was hungry, and he was in desperate need of a shower and twelve hours of sleep.
"Why? I thought you liked Texas," he asked, and he could be excused for being a little abrupt with his son. He sniffed, an intriguing scent catching his nose and he headed for the kitchen to check the stove. Dean followed him, casting a quick glance across at his brother.
"I do like it. It's Sammy, Dad," he said, watching John peek inside the oven.
"What about him?" John was only really half listening as he inspected the perfect-looking shepherd's pie cooking nicely on the shelf, and contemplated if he could fit in a shower before it was done. Dean shifted from foot to foot.
"He has a new friend at school. Chad." Dean's tone revealed his distrust for this new person. John glanced at him and straightened with a sigh.
"He's not in trouble, is he?" he asked wearily; and was a little relieved when Dean shook his head quickly.
"No sir. He's invited Sammy to his birthday next week. I met his mom after school yesterday, she's real nice, and she said I could go too if I wanted." Dean's tone didn't reveal if he actually wanted to go or not. John ran his fingers through his hair, grimacing as he felt the werewolf blood matted into the side, and started towards the bathroom.
"So, the kid's a bad sort?" he asked, keeping up interest, at least until he was sure of what was bothering his eldest so badly. Dean followed again, keeping a respectful distance.
"Well... no... He's smart like Sammy, and he's an only child, and his family have no history of violence or anything bad. Sammy says he has loads of toys, and he can play the piano ‘cause he takes lessons every Tuesday, and he can draw really well, and he has a horse. His mom is a Sunday School teacher so she's always home and she bakes them cookies, and his dad works for a law firm that takes on big cases, but he's always home in time to watch Chad's Little League games." Any ill-feelings Dean may or may not have been harbouring for his own father's failings in that area were carefully hidden away. John sighed and stepped into the bathroom, turning the shower on.
"So then, what's the problem?" he asked, examining Dean's expression with a little more intent at last. Dean frowned in distaste.
"Chad's sooooo cool, that Sammy wants to be just like him. In every way he can." The sound of the cartoon's end credits could be heard, and then John's youngest appeared, grinning from ear to ear.
"Howdy Pa!" he exclaimed, stopping by Dean's side. "Ya'll're home agen! Dean's made us the gosh-dern best pie fer dinner, aren't ya glad ya'll came home in tahme?"
John paused, blinked, glanced from Sam's round face to Dean's scowl of irritation, and then burst out laughing, even though his muscles ached and he was smelly and tired and sore.
"This? This is why you-" John could hardly speak for laughing, especially when Dean's expression turned from irritated to affronted at his father's unexpected reaction. Sam giggled too, even though he wasn't sure what he was laughing at. "Shuuur, pardner, Ah'm plenty glad to be home fer dinner," John replied, and Dean made a sound of disgust. "Now git, you two, I gotta clean up."
Dean pointed his finger accusingly at his father. "You haven't been stuck home with him all week with that goddamn annoying accent!" he exclaimed, and Sam poked his tongue out at his brother, glad for once that his dad was on his side.
"Dean, watch your language. I said git, you two. G'wan."
"YeeHAW!" Sam yelled, galloping back into the lounge to watch Power Rangers. Dean narrowed his eyes accusingly, as if John had just signed his death sentence.
"You'll be sorry," he said darkly, and turned on his heel to go make sure his pie wasn't burning. John snorted and closed the bathroom door. It was only a childish accent, what could be so bad about that? Sam'd grow out of it, sooner or later.
As it turned out, much, much later.