Hold Back The Years, Hold Back The Hours
Summary: in 1999, John leaves the boys at Bobby's over the winter. So he gives them Christmas.
Spoilers/setting: pre-series. One small spoiler for 7.10 (it's not plot related, but of great emotional impact imho)
Warnings: N/A
Wordcount: 762
A/N: can you tell I'm all ready for some holidays? Actually I’m not. It’s kind of funny, I haven’t even thought about Christmas/anything else at all yet in real life, but I’ve already written two fics about it... IDEK.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine, nor do I claim it as such. (This is why I shouldn't watch Death's Door at four in the morning.) Title is lifted from Patrick Wolf's "This Weather".
John drops his boys off at Singer Salvage, muttering something about “the thing that killed Mary”. It’s December 7th, 1999, and they don’t see him again for weeks. It’s, unsurprisingly, extremely cold, wind cutting right through their hats and coats and freezing their breath in the air, and John hasn’t even called Bobby to make sure he’s here and can take the boys.
He answers the door when Sam knocks, though, face contorting in surprise, but he quickly hides it. “Don’t tell me your damn fool dad is out huntin’ in this weather?”
“Yup.” Dean replies guardedly. His tone implies he’s not going to say any more; even at almost 21 he’s still John Winchester’s loyal little soldier, he won’t say anything to Bobby that his dad doesn’t want him to.
Bobby sighs and grumbles, even as he’s letting the boys in. Sam knocks his foot against the door frame, letting a lump of snow fall onto the carpet. He’s 16 now and built like a skinny colt, all limbs and length, messy brown hair falling almost to his shoulders in the back. (He’s stopped letting Dean cut his hair for him, and the result is definitely for the worse.) But hell if he hasn’t grown five inches since Bobby last saw them, in April; already almost as tall as his brother. Judging by the size of the snow-muddy footprints Bobby is now resignedly watching him track into the living room, he might even pass John one day. Bobby would kind of love to see that, if he’s being totally honest.
Dean shoots him an apologetic look before running after his little brother.
***
It’s almost Christmas, and it looks like Sam and Dean are still going to be here when the day comes. Neither of them seem too concerned about it, when he asks whether or not they think their dad will make it back in time.
Sam shrugs. “The last time he did Christmas was when I was ten.” he says, breaking a hunk of beef jerky off the stick he’s holding and shoving it in his mouth. Seems like that kid is always eating something. God knows Bobby’s had to replenish his stock about ten times as often as he normally would since they’ve been here. It’s worth it, though---he’s starting to look a little less emaciated.
Dean doesn’t say anything, just stares at the wall, his expression closed off. Bobby gets that. He’s sure had some shitty Christmases himself, but they’re still kids, even if neither of them thinks so, and they deserve their damn holiday.
***
For Christmas, Bobby does it up. Turkey. A scraggly pine tree from the yard that the boys carry in after he cuts it down, pine needles scratching them, and when he turns his back and then around again, he catches Dean with his head buried in the branches, breathing deeply with his eyes closed.
“What are ya doing, ya idjit?” Bobby asks.
Dean jerks his head out, looking like a rabbit caught in headlights, and Bobby softens. “Gonna scratch your fool eyes out.” he grumbles, but he’s smiling. “Come on.”
Sam grins, looking for a second like the little kid he was when Bobby met him, rather than the sulky teen he is now, and Bobby lets the two carry the tree in and stand it up while he lounges back against the wall.
He takes them into Sioux Falls downtown, gives them some cash and tells them to buy each other something. He doesn’t know what they get, but on Christmas morning they present him with a large newspaper wrapped package and he realizes that was a damn fool way to go about getting them presents.
That’s also when they buy the turkey, along with a bunch of other stuff that the boys pick out. That much, at least, they get. In the evening Bobby finds them involved in some idjit argument about Chuck Norris, and Bobby watches as Dean thrusts a handful of DVDs at his brother. Apparently he did get Sam something after all.
They watch movies late into the night, throwing down beer and popcorn, and throwing popcorn at each other. It’s snowing, frosting up the windows, and Bobby’s sure it looks like a greeting card outside but in here they’re warm and happy, and that’s all that matters. He tells himself he doesn’t hear an engine or ice cracking as if under the wheels of John Winchester’s new muscle truck. Maybe it’s selfish, but he wants to keep the boys to himself. Just for a little while longer.
***
gift me with comments?
Spoilers/setting: pre-series. One small spoiler for 7.10 (it's not plot related, but of great emotional impact imho)
Warnings: N/A
Wordcount: 762
A/N: can you tell I'm all ready for some holidays? Actually I’m not. It’s kind of funny, I haven’t even thought about Christmas/anything else at all yet in real life, but I’ve already written two fics about it... IDEK.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine, nor do I claim it as such. (This is why I shouldn't watch Death's Door at four in the morning.) Title is lifted from Patrick Wolf's "This Weather".
John drops his boys off at Singer Salvage, muttering something about “the thing that killed Mary”. It’s December 7th, 1999, and they don’t see him again for weeks. It’s, unsurprisingly, extremely cold, wind cutting right through their hats and coats and freezing their breath in the air, and John hasn’t even called Bobby to make sure he’s here and can take the boys.
He answers the door when Sam knocks, though, face contorting in surprise, but he quickly hides it. “Don’t tell me your damn fool dad is out huntin’ in this weather?”
“Yup.” Dean replies guardedly. His tone implies he’s not going to say any more; even at almost 21 he’s still John Winchester’s loyal little soldier, he won’t say anything to Bobby that his dad doesn’t want him to.
Bobby sighs and grumbles, even as he’s letting the boys in. Sam knocks his foot against the door frame, letting a lump of snow fall onto the carpet. He’s 16 now and built like a skinny colt, all limbs and length, messy brown hair falling almost to his shoulders in the back. (He’s stopped letting Dean cut his hair for him, and the result is definitely for the worse.) But hell if he hasn’t grown five inches since Bobby last saw them, in April; already almost as tall as his brother. Judging by the size of the snow-muddy footprints Bobby is now resignedly watching him track into the living room, he might even pass John one day. Bobby would kind of love to see that, if he’s being totally honest.
Dean shoots him an apologetic look before running after his little brother.
***
It’s almost Christmas, and it looks like Sam and Dean are still going to be here when the day comes. Neither of them seem too concerned about it, when he asks whether or not they think their dad will make it back in time.
Sam shrugs. “The last time he did Christmas was when I was ten.” he says, breaking a hunk of beef jerky off the stick he’s holding and shoving it in his mouth. Seems like that kid is always eating something. God knows Bobby’s had to replenish his stock about ten times as often as he normally would since they’ve been here. It’s worth it, though---he’s starting to look a little less emaciated.
Dean doesn’t say anything, just stares at the wall, his expression closed off. Bobby gets that. He’s sure had some shitty Christmases himself, but they’re still kids, even if neither of them thinks so, and they deserve their damn holiday.
***
For Christmas, Bobby does it up. Turkey. A scraggly pine tree from the yard that the boys carry in after he cuts it down, pine needles scratching them, and when he turns his back and then around again, he catches Dean with his head buried in the branches, breathing deeply with his eyes closed.
“What are ya doing, ya idjit?” Bobby asks.
Dean jerks his head out, looking like a rabbit caught in headlights, and Bobby softens. “Gonna scratch your fool eyes out.” he grumbles, but he’s smiling. “Come on.”
Sam grins, looking for a second like the little kid he was when Bobby met him, rather than the sulky teen he is now, and Bobby lets the two carry the tree in and stand it up while he lounges back against the wall.
He takes them into Sioux Falls downtown, gives them some cash and tells them to buy each other something. He doesn’t know what they get, but on Christmas morning they present him with a large newspaper wrapped package and he realizes that was a damn fool way to go about getting them presents.
That’s also when they buy the turkey, along with a bunch of other stuff that the boys pick out. That much, at least, they get. In the evening Bobby finds them involved in some idjit argument about Chuck Norris, and Bobby watches as Dean thrusts a handful of DVDs at his brother. Apparently he did get Sam something after all.
They watch movies late into the night, throwing down beer and popcorn, and throwing popcorn at each other. It’s snowing, frosting up the windows, and Bobby’s sure it looks like a greeting card outside but in here they’re warm and happy, and that’s all that matters. He tells himself he doesn’t hear an engine or ice cracking as if under the wheels of John Winchester’s new muscle truck. Maybe it’s selfish, but he wants to keep the boys to himself. Just for a little while longer.
***
gift me with comments?