Skipping Stones (An Interlude):
Skipping Stones
By: revenant_scribe
Genre: Gen, Wee!Chesters
Rating: G
Characters: Sam, Dean, John
Status: One-Shot
Word Count: 1,197
A/N: This fic was completed for the spn_summergen challenge, in response to se_parsons prompt for a peak at the Winchester family.
Summary: Passing-through Montana the Winchesters take a moment by a lake to stretch their legs.
It was the crunch of gravel beneath the tires of the impala that woke him, blinking open his bleary eyes and reluctantly lifting his head from where it had fallen to rest against his brother’s shoulder. “We’re stopping for a bit,” Dean told him, and Sam peered across his brother to the window which showed a wending river and a gravel beach just through the trees. Sam liked Montana for its scenery, and also because when they took pit stops it was always by some kind of water, and Sam really liked water.
“All right, boys,” their dad said, glancing in the rear-view before turning around to look them both alternately in the eye. “Scram,” he said, with a hint of a smile, and Sammy whooped and scrabbled across Dean’s lap and out the door. At eight years old, Sam didn’t spare much thought for personal space. He still crept into his brother’s bed when he had a nightmare, and sometimes even when he didn’t, they still shared a room no matter where they were staying - privacy was almost a foreign concept.
They’d been driving for hours and Sam’s whole body was thrumming with suppressed movement, like an itch just under his skin running deep and to the bone, and he went pelting down the path towards the water, stretching his legs out and feeling the wind. He didn’t have to look to know that Dean wasn’t far behind, and it took only a moment before his big brother had passed him, leading the way down to the water.
“Dean!” their dad shouted, trekking leisurely in their wake. “Don’t go letting your brother get his clothes wet, y’hear?”
“Yes, sir!” Dean called back, already prying off his own shoes and socks, rolling-up the cuffs on his jeans. “C’mere, Sammy,” Dean motioned Sam over and crouched down so Sam could rest a hand on his shoulder while they both worked to pry Sam’s shoes and socks off, Dean setting to work rolling his cuffs up passed his knees before they continued on their course into the water.
The air was fresh and the water cool, and being surrounded by all the open space was a welcome change from the confined hours they’d spent in the car. Sam glanced back towards their dad and watched as he settled onto a patch of grass, his shoes still on and a knife resting beside him on the ground. He had his journal braced on a knee and was flicking through the pages, glancing periodically at a map he’d partially unfolded, no doubt planning their route. It was comforting in its familiarity, but Sam couldn’t help feeling the disappointment he always felt when their father buried himself in maps and tomes and forgot about good grades and gold stars, and how Sam could run faster than any of his classmates ever could (but not as fast as Dean).
A gurgling ‘plunk’ and splashing recalled Sam’s attention to the water where ripples were racing across the surface disturbing the reflection of blue sky and clouds like cotton balls. Dean was standing with water up to his knees, licking at the cuffs of his faded jeans and grinning broadly, already turning back to the shore. He watched as Dean hefted another stone in his palm before launching that one into the water as well, curling his body in tight and then stretching out as he released the stone, propelling it a fair distance before it began to descend. Dean launched stones at the water the same way he pitched baseballs - easy and slow, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Sam flexed his feet, curling his toes around the pebbles and grit and reached blindly beneath the flat reflective surface of the water, fishing for the perfect flat rock. Snagging one he pulled away from the water, pushed his sleeve back further before twisting his body in a way he’d perfected, flicking the stone out across the water - four, five, six skips before it disappeared beneath the surface with a faint hint of a ripple, almost as far as Dean had pitched his stone. Sam grinned in satisfaction and set out in search of another ideal skipping stone.
“Here,” Dean dropped three smooth, flat rocks into Sam’s palm before turning back to the beach and continuing to sift beneath the water. The rocks were wet from having been fished from the shallows, and their surface felt like the yellow rubber duck that Sam pretended he no longer played with as he bathed. He rubbed his fingers against the worn surface before selecting one and flicking it out across the water. Nine skips.
“Look! Did you see?” Sam cried. “It skipped nine times!” He tugged at the sleeve of his big brother’s T-shirt with one hand and with the other waved out towards the place his rock had disappeared. “Dean!”
“Way to go, Sammy!” Dean said, a look of real pride on his features before he tossed his rock and sent the water roiling, the splash reaching far above both of their heads. In the sunlight, Sam could see how some stray droplets had fallen into his brother’s hair and glittered like a crown.
Sam watched the ripples and frowned down at the two other stones in his palm. Dean was wading further out, his calves half-submerged in the water and his head bent as he searched for another stone to throw. Sam trekked out after him, the water rising much higher so that it almost wet the edge of his rolled jeans, but not quite. When Dean picked-up another rock Sam shook his head, “That one’s not good. Here,” he handed over one of the smooth, flat ones that Dean had given him.
“I don’t skip stones, Sammy,” Dean said with a sort of certainty that had nothing to do with condescension. It was a statement of fact.
“Everyone can skip stones,” Sam assured. “It’s all in the wrist,” he stated with authority. Dean looked at him, squinting a bit in the midday sun. “You have to put a spin on it. Snap it from the wrist. Like this,” Sam demonstrated, feeling a tightness in his chest that always came when he was the one showing something to Dean - it didn’t happen often, but Sam savoured the moments when it did. Four skips and then the rock disappeared beneath the surface. “You try.”
Dean tossed the stone in the air and caught it, tilting it back-and-forth, assessing. “In the wrist, huh?” he asked, to which Sam nodded emphatically. He watched his older brother turn back to the water and then flick the stone out across the surface. It dropped with a hollow ‘plop’.
Sam was frowning, wondering how he could better describe skipping a stone so that Dean could learn. Dean grinned at the place where the stone had disappeared, clapping a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You can do the skipping, Sammy. I’ll just make the waves.” Dean’s casual confidence was such that Sam found himself grinning up at his big brother, and just that easily, Sam forgot who had taught him how to skip stones at the start.
------------
The End:
By: revenant_scribe
Genre: Gen, Wee!Chesters
Rating: G
Characters: Sam, Dean, John
Status: One-Shot
Word Count: 1,197
A/N: This fic was completed for the spn_summergen challenge, in response to se_parsons prompt for a peak at the Winchester family.
Summary: Passing-through Montana the Winchesters take a moment by a lake to stretch their legs.
It was the crunch of gravel beneath the tires of the impala that woke him, blinking open his bleary eyes and reluctantly lifting his head from where it had fallen to rest against his brother’s shoulder. “We’re stopping for a bit,” Dean told him, and Sam peered across his brother to the window which showed a wending river and a gravel beach just through the trees. Sam liked Montana for its scenery, and also because when they took pit stops it was always by some kind of water, and Sam really liked water.
“All right, boys,” their dad said, glancing in the rear-view before turning around to look them both alternately in the eye. “Scram,” he said, with a hint of a smile, and Sammy whooped and scrabbled across Dean’s lap and out the door. At eight years old, Sam didn’t spare much thought for personal space. He still crept into his brother’s bed when he had a nightmare, and sometimes even when he didn’t, they still shared a room no matter where they were staying - privacy was almost a foreign concept.
They’d been driving for hours and Sam’s whole body was thrumming with suppressed movement, like an itch just under his skin running deep and to the bone, and he went pelting down the path towards the water, stretching his legs out and feeling the wind. He didn’t have to look to know that Dean wasn’t far behind, and it took only a moment before his big brother had passed him, leading the way down to the water.
“Dean!” their dad shouted, trekking leisurely in their wake. “Don’t go letting your brother get his clothes wet, y’hear?”
“Yes, sir!” Dean called back, already prying off his own shoes and socks, rolling-up the cuffs on his jeans. “C’mere, Sammy,” Dean motioned Sam over and crouched down so Sam could rest a hand on his shoulder while they both worked to pry Sam’s shoes and socks off, Dean setting to work rolling his cuffs up passed his knees before they continued on their course into the water.
The air was fresh and the water cool, and being surrounded by all the open space was a welcome change from the confined hours they’d spent in the car. Sam glanced back towards their dad and watched as he settled onto a patch of grass, his shoes still on and a knife resting beside him on the ground. He had his journal braced on a knee and was flicking through the pages, glancing periodically at a map he’d partially unfolded, no doubt planning their route. It was comforting in its familiarity, but Sam couldn’t help feeling the disappointment he always felt when their father buried himself in maps and tomes and forgot about good grades and gold stars, and how Sam could run faster than any of his classmates ever could (but not as fast as Dean).
A gurgling ‘plunk’ and splashing recalled Sam’s attention to the water where ripples were racing across the surface disturbing the reflection of blue sky and clouds like cotton balls. Dean was standing with water up to his knees, licking at the cuffs of his faded jeans and grinning broadly, already turning back to the shore. He watched as Dean hefted another stone in his palm before launching that one into the water as well, curling his body in tight and then stretching out as he released the stone, propelling it a fair distance before it began to descend. Dean launched stones at the water the same way he pitched baseballs - easy and slow, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Sam flexed his feet, curling his toes around the pebbles and grit and reached blindly beneath the flat reflective surface of the water, fishing for the perfect flat rock. Snagging one he pulled away from the water, pushed his sleeve back further before twisting his body in a way he’d perfected, flicking the stone out across the water - four, five, six skips before it disappeared beneath the surface with a faint hint of a ripple, almost as far as Dean had pitched his stone. Sam grinned in satisfaction and set out in search of another ideal skipping stone.
“Here,” Dean dropped three smooth, flat rocks into Sam’s palm before turning back to the beach and continuing to sift beneath the water. The rocks were wet from having been fished from the shallows, and their surface felt like the yellow rubber duck that Sam pretended he no longer played with as he bathed. He rubbed his fingers against the worn surface before selecting one and flicking it out across the water. Nine skips.
“Look! Did you see?” Sam cried. “It skipped nine times!” He tugged at the sleeve of his big brother’s T-shirt with one hand and with the other waved out towards the place his rock had disappeared. “Dean!”
“Way to go, Sammy!” Dean said, a look of real pride on his features before he tossed his rock and sent the water roiling, the splash reaching far above both of their heads. In the sunlight, Sam could see how some stray droplets had fallen into his brother’s hair and glittered like a crown.
Sam watched the ripples and frowned down at the two other stones in his palm. Dean was wading further out, his calves half-submerged in the water and his head bent as he searched for another stone to throw. Sam trekked out after him, the water rising much higher so that it almost wet the edge of his rolled jeans, but not quite. When Dean picked-up another rock Sam shook his head, “That one’s not good. Here,” he handed over one of the smooth, flat ones that Dean had given him.
“I don’t skip stones, Sammy,” Dean said with a sort of certainty that had nothing to do with condescension. It was a statement of fact.
“Everyone can skip stones,” Sam assured. “It’s all in the wrist,” he stated with authority. Dean looked at him, squinting a bit in the midday sun. “You have to put a spin on it. Snap it from the wrist. Like this,” Sam demonstrated, feeling a tightness in his chest that always came when he was the one showing something to Dean - it didn’t happen often, but Sam savoured the moments when it did. Four skips and then the rock disappeared beneath the surface. “You try.”
Dean tossed the stone in the air and caught it, tilting it back-and-forth, assessing. “In the wrist, huh?” he asked, to which Sam nodded emphatically. He watched his older brother turn back to the water and then flick the stone out across the surface. It dropped with a hollow ‘plop’.
Sam was frowning, wondering how he could better describe skipping a stone so that Dean could learn. Dean grinned at the place where the stone had disappeared, clapping a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You can do the skipping, Sammy. I’ll just make the waves.” Dean’s casual confidence was such that Sam found himself grinning up at his big brother, and just that easily, Sam forgot who had taught him how to skip stones at the start.
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The End: