Old Man Willow - a spn_bigpretzel reverse bang ficlet
Originally posted by amber1960 at Old Man Willow - a spn_bigpretzel reverse bang ficlet
Old Man Willow
Author’s note: Inspired by mamapranayama’s lovely idylic wee!chester’s picture (see it large at the end of the fic). This one’s for you, babe.
Written for spn_bigpretzel’s summer art reversebang. Unbeta’d.
Summary: A story in which nothing really happens. It’s the summer of 1990. Days are long and hot, and the boys are staying at Bobby’s while John is hunting.
NB this is set the year before the flashback in A Very Supernatural Christmas.
Words: c1500
Rating: PG-13 for one F-bomb, Gen
Warnings: none
9am and the temperature on the thermometer that hung on Bobby’s kitchen wall was creeping up into the seventies already. Dean could feel the heat from the morning sun burning his skin where it fell through the dusty window onto his bare arm. He stared in fascination as the light gilded the fine hairs gold, then frowned at the way it highlighted his pesky freckles.
Sam was being boring again, reading his book when the sun was shining outside. Dean kicked at Bobby’s old wooden kitchen table, swinging his legs and making his chair rock, hoping to annoy Sam enough to lift his nose out from between those pages for a few minutes. No dice. Once his little brother got started on a book, it was like Sam had submersed himself inside a nuclear submarine and dived to the bottom of the ocean. Dean could talk to him for hours and Sam wouldn’t hear a thing. And he was even worse right at the start of a new story.
“Fuck!” Dean said, loudly. Just to test it out. Sam never stirred, but unfortunately for Dean, Bobby did, giving Dean a whack upside the head as he passed through the kitchen.
“Watch your language, Dean Winchester!”
“Ow! Aw, Bobby, I’m bored…,” Dean tried to stop his voice sounding like a whiny kid, but it was hard. Because he kinda was a kid, even though at eleven he’d never admit that fact, and right now he was feeling pretty whiny too. Dad had been gone for nearly a week, and hadn’t given them any idea when he’d be back. Dean needed something to do, preferably something that didn’t include reading.
“Can I come help you work on that Cadillac later?”
Bobby shook his head and Dean’s spirits sank further, until they took up residence in his scuffed up boots. Tinkering with Bobby’s cars was one of the high points of staying at Sioux Falls, and compensated somewhat for Dad’s long absences when John left his boys with the old hunter while he pursued evil things, and did all that exciting, heroic stuff that Dean wanted to do too. He couldn’t even talk to Sam about it, because Sammy had to be protected from all that evil because Sammy was only seven, and Dean’s job was looking after Sam.
So.
“Sorry, son, but I have to go into town today to get supplies.” Bobby obviously saw Dean perk up at that, because he was quick to add “And then I have to drive over to see old Mrs Barker. Said I’d take her some parts for her tractor, so I’m afraid you’ll have to stop here and watch your brother while I’m out. You know how old Ma Barker hates kids.”
Dean slumped back in his chair and kicked the table again petulantly. It just wasn’t fair. But Bobby was right; Dean didn’t want to take Sam anywhere near the old Barker farm. Old Ma Barker was one scary broad. Dean was half convinced she was a witch, or maybe even a troll or something. She had a big hairy wart on her chin and hands like spades that she liked to put to good use slapping any little boys stupid enough to get within range. Dean had been on the receiving end just the once, when he’d bumped into her ample backside running round a corner in the Seven Eleven, and once was quite enough. The red mark she’d left on his thigh had taken two days to fade. He shuddered at the thought.
Half an hour later, and the rumble of Bobby’s truck was fading into the distance. Sam was still reading, his book propped up on the table where he’d been sat since breakfast, twiddling his over-long hair round the pointer finger of his hand, and looking like he was there for the duration of the summer. It was a very fat book, so even though Sam was a fast reader compared to Dean, there was no chance Sam was going to finish this one any time soon.
Dean sighed heavily, then brightened up again. He wasn’t one to stay down for long and besides, he’d just had an idea.
He watched Sammy reading for a few more moments before making his move. He grabbed the big fat book right out of his brother’s hand and held it as high as he could over his head.
“Dean! Give it back!” Sam’s face was red and angry, but Dean wasn’t going to budge, even though the freaking thing weighed a ton.
“You can have it if you promise to come outside with me. Let’s go down to Silver Creek and play a bit then you can have your book back.”
Sam was pouting but Dean could see his resolve wavering at the thought of the cool waters of the creek. It had been so hot this summer in South Dakota, the temptation of dipping toes into fresh cold water was very tempting. Possibly even more tempting than whatever this book was about anyway. Dean took a peek at the cover - some trees and an old guy in a pointy hat. Lord of the Rings. Huh. Didn’t look that exciting but…
“And you can tell me what you’ve read so far on the way, hey Sammy?”
Sam nodded in reluctant agreement, but refused to leave the house without carrying the book himself, so Dean caved as he always did when Sam turned all puppy-dog on him, and handed it over.
“Just don’t read and walk at the same time, ‘kay?”
The boys made their way to the edge of the scrap yard, weaving through the heaps of rusting motors while Sam talked about Lord of the Rings non-stop. Dean held the wire fence up while Sam wriggled under, while telling Dean that this was just like the Hobbits slipping through the hedge when they were leaving Bag End, except that was night time of course, and he and Dean didn’t have Black Riders chasing after them, did they?
“Erm, no Sammy, no Black Riders here.” Dean said. He couldn’t help looking round to make sure, because although he’d never heard of these Black Riders, he knew there were other nasty things out there in the world. So even if he thought they were safe at Bobby’s, there was no harm in staying alert, right?
“I think the Hobbits are going to see elves and maybe meet some dwarves and stuff, but Gandalf should have come back to help guide them, and he hasn’t turned up, just like Dad,” Sam continued, a little breathless from talking and skipping at the same time, as he was prone to doing when distracted into forgetting that he was too old to skip now. Sam’s small cool fingers slipped into Dean’s hand and gripped tight as they walked side by side, and Dean certainly wasn’t too old to love the warm, wanted feeling that gave him, especially when there was nobody around to point and mock. He let the remark about Dad slide, not wanting to spoil the mood.
Dean wondered if the elves in Sam’s book were anything like the ones he’d helped Dad take out that time in Missouri. Ugly little creatures that spat, and chewed on his fingers like deranged hamsters. Somehow, he doubted it.
By the time they reached the gently sloping banks of Silver Creek, Dean was fully up to speed with the adventures of Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin. Sam (his Sam, of course) had apparently decided that he, Dean, could be Samwise Gamgee, while Sam was going to be Frodo Baggins. Dean wasn’t too happy at being relegated to side-kick status, especially one that sounded like some sort of weird fruit, but he’d take that over Sam ignoring him entirely, especially as Sam had even carefully laid his precious book down in order join him splashing around in the shallow creek. Apparently some Hobbits liked water.
Later, dripping and happy, Dean stretched out in the dappled shade under the giant willow to dry off, while Sam finally picked up the book again. The world smelled of summer - crushed grass, hot skin and damp earth where they’d dripped creek water everywhere.
Sam propped himself up against the gnarled grey bark of the tree and plunged back into Middle Earth, while Dean stared up through the gently swaying leaves at the endless blue of the sky, lazily tracking the jewelled flash of a monstrous primitive dragonfly as it darted across his eye-line. He’d read somewhere once that they’d found fossils with dragonflies in them, so in Dean’s view, that made them really cool, like dinosaurs. Cooler than elves or hobbits, he reckoned, though he didn’t tell Sammy that.
Maybe later he’d climb up the old tree and drop leaves and bugs down Sam’s neck, but for now he was content to lie there with his head pressed against his little brother’s damp side and do absolutely nothing.
Old Man Willow
Author’s note: Inspired by mamapranayama’s lovely idylic wee!chester’s picture (see it large at the end of the fic). This one’s for you, babe.
Written for spn_bigpretzel’s summer art reversebang. Unbeta’d.
Summary: A story in which nothing really happens. It’s the summer of 1990. Days are long and hot, and the boys are staying at Bobby’s while John is hunting.
NB this is set the year before the flashback in A Very Supernatural Christmas.
Words: c1500
Rating: PG-13 for one F-bomb, Gen
Warnings: none
9am and the temperature on the thermometer that hung on Bobby’s kitchen wall was creeping up into the seventies already. Dean could feel the heat from the morning sun burning his skin where it fell through the dusty window onto his bare arm. He stared in fascination as the light gilded the fine hairs gold, then frowned at the way it highlighted his pesky freckles.
Sam was being boring again, reading his book when the sun was shining outside. Dean kicked at Bobby’s old wooden kitchen table, swinging his legs and making his chair rock, hoping to annoy Sam enough to lift his nose out from between those pages for a few minutes. No dice. Once his little brother got started on a book, it was like Sam had submersed himself inside a nuclear submarine and dived to the bottom of the ocean. Dean could talk to him for hours and Sam wouldn’t hear a thing. And he was even worse right at the start of a new story.
“Fuck!” Dean said, loudly. Just to test it out. Sam never stirred, but unfortunately for Dean, Bobby did, giving Dean a whack upside the head as he passed through the kitchen.
“Watch your language, Dean Winchester!”
“Ow! Aw, Bobby, I’m bored…,” Dean tried to stop his voice sounding like a whiny kid, but it was hard. Because he kinda was a kid, even though at eleven he’d never admit that fact, and right now he was feeling pretty whiny too. Dad had been gone for nearly a week, and hadn’t given them any idea when he’d be back. Dean needed something to do, preferably something that didn’t include reading.
“Can I come help you work on that Cadillac later?”
Bobby shook his head and Dean’s spirits sank further, until they took up residence in his scuffed up boots. Tinkering with Bobby’s cars was one of the high points of staying at Sioux Falls, and compensated somewhat for Dad’s long absences when John left his boys with the old hunter while he pursued evil things, and did all that exciting, heroic stuff that Dean wanted to do too. He couldn’t even talk to Sam about it, because Sammy had to be protected from all that evil because Sammy was only seven, and Dean’s job was looking after Sam.
So.
“Sorry, son, but I have to go into town today to get supplies.” Bobby obviously saw Dean perk up at that, because he was quick to add “And then I have to drive over to see old Mrs Barker. Said I’d take her some parts for her tractor, so I’m afraid you’ll have to stop here and watch your brother while I’m out. You know how old Ma Barker hates kids.”
Dean slumped back in his chair and kicked the table again petulantly. It just wasn’t fair. But Bobby was right; Dean didn’t want to take Sam anywhere near the old Barker farm. Old Ma Barker was one scary broad. Dean was half convinced she was a witch, or maybe even a troll or something. She had a big hairy wart on her chin and hands like spades that she liked to put to good use slapping any little boys stupid enough to get within range. Dean had been on the receiving end just the once, when he’d bumped into her ample backside running round a corner in the Seven Eleven, and once was quite enough. The red mark she’d left on his thigh had taken two days to fade. He shuddered at the thought.
Half an hour later, and the rumble of Bobby’s truck was fading into the distance. Sam was still reading, his book propped up on the table where he’d been sat since breakfast, twiddling his over-long hair round the pointer finger of his hand, and looking like he was there for the duration of the summer. It was a very fat book, so even though Sam was a fast reader compared to Dean, there was no chance Sam was going to finish this one any time soon.
Dean sighed heavily, then brightened up again. He wasn’t one to stay down for long and besides, he’d just had an idea.
He watched Sammy reading for a few more moments before making his move. He grabbed the big fat book right out of his brother’s hand and held it as high as he could over his head.
“Dean! Give it back!” Sam’s face was red and angry, but Dean wasn’t going to budge, even though the freaking thing weighed a ton.
“You can have it if you promise to come outside with me. Let’s go down to Silver Creek and play a bit then you can have your book back.”
Sam was pouting but Dean could see his resolve wavering at the thought of the cool waters of the creek. It had been so hot this summer in South Dakota, the temptation of dipping toes into fresh cold water was very tempting. Possibly even more tempting than whatever this book was about anyway. Dean took a peek at the cover - some trees and an old guy in a pointy hat. Lord of the Rings. Huh. Didn’t look that exciting but…
“And you can tell me what you’ve read so far on the way, hey Sammy?”
Sam nodded in reluctant agreement, but refused to leave the house without carrying the book himself, so Dean caved as he always did when Sam turned all puppy-dog on him, and handed it over.
“Just don’t read and walk at the same time, ‘kay?”
The boys made their way to the edge of the scrap yard, weaving through the heaps of rusting motors while Sam talked about Lord of the Rings non-stop. Dean held the wire fence up while Sam wriggled under, while telling Dean that this was just like the Hobbits slipping through the hedge when they were leaving Bag End, except that was night time of course, and he and Dean didn’t have Black Riders chasing after them, did they?
“Erm, no Sammy, no Black Riders here.” Dean said. He couldn’t help looking round to make sure, because although he’d never heard of these Black Riders, he knew there were other nasty things out there in the world. So even if he thought they were safe at Bobby’s, there was no harm in staying alert, right?
“I think the Hobbits are going to see elves and maybe meet some dwarves and stuff, but Gandalf should have come back to help guide them, and he hasn’t turned up, just like Dad,” Sam continued, a little breathless from talking and skipping at the same time, as he was prone to doing when distracted into forgetting that he was too old to skip now. Sam’s small cool fingers slipped into Dean’s hand and gripped tight as they walked side by side, and Dean certainly wasn’t too old to love the warm, wanted feeling that gave him, especially when there was nobody around to point and mock. He let the remark about Dad slide, not wanting to spoil the mood.
Dean wondered if the elves in Sam’s book were anything like the ones he’d helped Dad take out that time in Missouri. Ugly little creatures that spat, and chewed on his fingers like deranged hamsters. Somehow, he doubted it.
By the time they reached the gently sloping banks of Silver Creek, Dean was fully up to speed with the adventures of Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin. Sam (his Sam, of course) had apparently decided that he, Dean, could be Samwise Gamgee, while Sam was going to be Frodo Baggins. Dean wasn’t too happy at being relegated to side-kick status, especially one that sounded like some sort of weird fruit, but he’d take that over Sam ignoring him entirely, especially as Sam had even carefully laid his precious book down in order join him splashing around in the shallow creek. Apparently some Hobbits liked water.
Later, dripping and happy, Dean stretched out in the dappled shade under the giant willow to dry off, while Sam finally picked up the book again. The world smelled of summer - crushed grass, hot skin and damp earth where they’d dripped creek water everywhere.
Sam propped himself up against the gnarled grey bark of the tree and plunged back into Middle Earth, while Dean stared up through the gently swaying leaves at the endless blue of the sky, lazily tracking the jewelled flash of a monstrous primitive dragonfly as it darted across his eye-line. He’d read somewhere once that they’d found fossils with dragonflies in them, so in Dean’s view, that made them really cool, like dinosaurs. Cooler than elves or hobbits, he reckoned, though he didn’t tell Sammy that.
Maybe later he’d climb up the old tree and drop leaves and bugs down Sam’s neck, but for now he was content to lie there with his head pressed against his little brother’s damp side and do absolutely nothing.