Proud Of Your Boys [1/1]
Title: Proud of Your BoysGenre: Pre-series, Gen
Rating: G
Characters: Sam, Dean, John
Word Count: 1068
Warning: reference to Pilot events, but aren't we all past warning for that? haha
Disclaimer: Alas, the Winchesters to not belong to me. *hangs head* Perhaps someday a fic of mine shall capture Kripke's attention and he'll make an episode out of it. Then they'll be mine. hehe A girl can dream can't she?
~*~*~
The sun shined hot and bright on the Carolina shore, the sky vivid blue over the cream colored sands. Two small boys, seven and three, played enthusiastically in the surf, racing the foamy water across the shell strewn beach.
John affectionately watched his sons through half-closed eyes from his comfortable, sprawling position on the sand. Neither boy had ever seen the ocean before, a fact evidenced by their high-pitched squeals of excitement as they pranced in the surf.
Sam's excited baby squeals over a particularly pretty shell brought a smile to John weary face. He was glad he'd decided to put off leaving town until after the weekend. His next job was a simple salt and burn, so he'd willingly given in to Dean's request for a beach trip.
It was good for the boys to have a little fun, and it did his own heart good to see them so happy and carefree. Sam was innocently unburdened by their lifestyle as of yet, but Dean had been shouldering the responsibility of knowledge for a good 3 years. He was too young to act so mature as he had been lately.
A frown settled unbidden over John's features and he gave an unconscious shake to shrug off the heavy thoughts. It was early summer, the sun was warm on his bare back, the ocean beckoning with cool welcoming arms: there was no place here for such heavy musings.
And yet he couldn't help but think of Mary, seeing her in their sons as the boys frolicked in the waves, both sporting Mary's blonde curls, and Sam her delicate features and blue-green eyes.
Even after three years, the sting of her loss was just as fresh as the day he'd lost her, and her memories dearer than ever. A smile uncharacteristically gentle for John Winchester curved his lips and he basked in the warm memories of his wife. Mary would be so proud of her boys; tough little tiger Dean, smart as a whip and fearless as a lion, eager to follow in Daddy's footsteps. And Sam: gentle, and appealing, his soulful, puppy-eyed gaze and long locks making him an instant favorite with everyone they encountered. And with his big little heart, he would willingly go with any stranger who smiled at him.
A shadow passed over John's face at the recollection of the close call they'd had a couple months ago.
They'd been on a supply run, stocking up on food, and Sam had wandered off around the corner. By the time John at noticed, Dean was gone too.
Heart in his mouth. John had set off on a fearful run to the front of the store, hoping to intercept his babies should they head in that direction. He reached the doors just in time to see Dean slam into the unpleasant looking man holding Sam, his flying tackle accompanied by screams and flailing fists.
"Put my brother down! You leave my Sam alone! Put him down you--" His sentence concluded in a series of expletives that John hadn't known he knew, but he barely registered this fact; his Papa Bear instincts were too busy snatching his son back and whaling the crap out of the creep who'd taken his little angel.
Dean, already overly protective of Sam since the fire, had become even more so following that incident. scarcely letting Sam out of his sight. John's mind was never uneasy when Sam was with Dean, though his feelings always seemed to come out in the form of "watch out for Sam." Wasn't like he didn't have complete faith in Dean.
A shout from Dean roused John from his thoughts and he was on his feet lightning quick, cat-like reflexes pulling him up.
But Dean was already there, scooping up Sam from where he'd been bowled over by a wave, face down in the foamy tide. Sam came up wide eyed and sputtering, pink lips forming a surprised 'O'.
John took two steps toward his sons but stopped once more at the sound of his eldest's voice.
"it's okay Sam, I got ya." Dean's high voice carried easily to John as he watched Dean lift Sam's arms over his head and thumped his little brother firmly on the back.
"I got you Sam," Dean repeated. "Arms up to let the air in. Atta boy. Spit the water out." His little hands wiped the water from Sam's eyes and squeezed the ocean from his long bangs.
John settled back down and watched his boys interact, a fond smile tugging proudly at his lips. He could hear their exchange easily even over the crashing waves.
" 's salty Dean," Sam sputtered, and Dean grinned nodding vigorously.
"You know why Sammy?" Dean led Sam up above the water line and settled them both on the sand. "Don't worry Sam, the water get cant you here. Promise. It's salty," he continued, wiggling his eyebrows conspiratorially, "because that mermaid you were reading about the other day -- you remember, the redhead?"
"Ariel," Sam supplied, grinning widely.
"Yeah, her. She has a magic handmill, down in the bottom of the ocean. See, it used to be on land, and it used to belong to a man. And it would grind out anything he wanted: gold, clothes, candy, pie, m'n'ms..."
John chuckled and shook his head. Oh Dean.
"... puppies, cars, anything. But he was selfish, and one day he got mad and broke the handle off while the mill was grinding out salt on his boat. The mill wouldn't stop and the boat sank and the mill sank down, down, down to the ocean floor, so now," Dean shrugged and raised his hands now. "Now it grinds out salt forever and ever way down where Ariel found it and put it in her treasure cave. Pretty cool huh?"
Sam nodded, bright eyed and enchanted with the tale, and John grinned, equally amused with Dean's twist on an old folktale. It wasn't accurate of course, but it dried Sam's tears and explained away the salt until Sam was old enough to understand the truth.
His eyes grew damp as Dean leaned over to hug Sam and kiss his unruly curls. Damn sand. The blasted stuff was aggravating his eyes. John raised a hand to his face and scrubbed at the imaginary granules. Mary would be so proud of her boys.
Lord knows he was.
Rating: G
Characters: Sam, Dean, John
Word Count: 1068
Warning: reference to Pilot events, but aren't we all past warning for that? haha
Disclaimer: Alas, the Winchesters to not belong to me. *hangs head* Perhaps someday a fic of mine shall capture Kripke's attention and he'll make an episode out of it. Then they'll be mine. hehe A girl can dream can't she?
~*~*~
The sun shined hot and bright on the Carolina shore, the sky vivid blue over the cream colored sands. Two small boys, seven and three, played enthusiastically in the surf, racing the foamy water across the shell strewn beach.
John affectionately watched his sons through half-closed eyes from his comfortable, sprawling position on the sand. Neither boy had ever seen the ocean before, a fact evidenced by their high-pitched squeals of excitement as they pranced in the surf.
Sam's excited baby squeals over a particularly pretty shell brought a smile to John weary face. He was glad he'd decided to put off leaving town until after the weekend. His next job was a simple salt and burn, so he'd willingly given in to Dean's request for a beach trip.
It was good for the boys to have a little fun, and it did his own heart good to see them so happy and carefree. Sam was innocently unburdened by their lifestyle as of yet, but Dean had been shouldering the responsibility of knowledge for a good 3 years. He was too young to act so mature as he had been lately.
A frown settled unbidden over John's features and he gave an unconscious shake to shrug off the heavy thoughts. It was early summer, the sun was warm on his bare back, the ocean beckoning with cool welcoming arms: there was no place here for such heavy musings.
And yet he couldn't help but think of Mary, seeing her in their sons as the boys frolicked in the waves, both sporting Mary's blonde curls, and Sam her delicate features and blue-green eyes.
Even after three years, the sting of her loss was just as fresh as the day he'd lost her, and her memories dearer than ever. A smile uncharacteristically gentle for John Winchester curved his lips and he basked in the warm memories of his wife. Mary would be so proud of her boys; tough little tiger Dean, smart as a whip and fearless as a lion, eager to follow in Daddy's footsteps. And Sam: gentle, and appealing, his soulful, puppy-eyed gaze and long locks making him an instant favorite with everyone they encountered. And with his big little heart, he would willingly go with any stranger who smiled at him.
A shadow passed over John's face at the recollection of the close call they'd had a couple months ago.
They'd been on a supply run, stocking up on food, and Sam had wandered off around the corner. By the time John at noticed, Dean was gone too.
Heart in his mouth. John had set off on a fearful run to the front of the store, hoping to intercept his babies should they head in that direction. He reached the doors just in time to see Dean slam into the unpleasant looking man holding Sam, his flying tackle accompanied by screams and flailing fists.
"Put my brother down! You leave my Sam alone! Put him down you--" His sentence concluded in a series of expletives that John hadn't known he knew, but he barely registered this fact; his Papa Bear instincts were too busy snatching his son back and whaling the crap out of the creep who'd taken his little angel.
Dean, already overly protective of Sam since the fire, had become even more so following that incident. scarcely letting Sam out of his sight. John's mind was never uneasy when Sam was with Dean, though his feelings always seemed to come out in the form of "watch out for Sam." Wasn't like he didn't have complete faith in Dean.
A shout from Dean roused John from his thoughts and he was on his feet lightning quick, cat-like reflexes pulling him up.
But Dean was already there, scooping up Sam from where he'd been bowled over by a wave, face down in the foamy tide. Sam came up wide eyed and sputtering, pink lips forming a surprised 'O'.
John took two steps toward his sons but stopped once more at the sound of his eldest's voice.
"it's okay Sam, I got ya." Dean's high voice carried easily to John as he watched Dean lift Sam's arms over his head and thumped his little brother firmly on the back.
"I got you Sam," Dean repeated. "Arms up to let the air in. Atta boy. Spit the water out." His little hands wiped the water from Sam's eyes and squeezed the ocean from his long bangs.
John settled back down and watched his boys interact, a fond smile tugging proudly at his lips. He could hear their exchange easily even over the crashing waves.
" 's salty Dean," Sam sputtered, and Dean grinned nodding vigorously.
"You know why Sammy?" Dean led Sam up above the water line and settled them both on the sand. "Don't worry Sam, the water get cant you here. Promise. It's salty," he continued, wiggling his eyebrows conspiratorially, "because that mermaid you were reading about the other day -- you remember, the redhead?"
"Ariel," Sam supplied, grinning widely.
"Yeah, her. She has a magic handmill, down in the bottom of the ocean. See, it used to be on land, and it used to belong to a man. And it would grind out anything he wanted: gold, clothes, candy, pie, m'n'ms..."
John chuckled and shook his head. Oh Dean.
"... puppies, cars, anything. But he was selfish, and one day he got mad and broke the handle off while the mill was grinding out salt on his boat. The mill wouldn't stop and the boat sank and the mill sank down, down, down to the ocean floor, so now," Dean shrugged and raised his hands now. "Now it grinds out salt forever and ever way down where Ariel found it and put it in her treasure cave. Pretty cool huh?"
Sam nodded, bright eyed and enchanted with the tale, and John grinned, equally amused with Dean's twist on an old folktale. It wasn't accurate of course, but it dried Sam's tears and explained away the salt until Sam was old enough to understand the truth.
His eyes grew damp as Dean leaned over to hug Sam and kiss his unruly curls. Damn sand. The blasted stuff was aggravating his eyes. John raised a hand to his face and scrubbed at the imaginary granules. Mary would be so proud of her boys.
Lord knows he was.