HOLY SHIT, I WROTE FIC!?
Okay, so I haven't written fanfic in like... Two years or something, but recently, I've had three fucking plot bunnies stuck in my head. Today, I got rid of one. So, for your consideration, I give you:
Four Times John Winchester was Told a Little White Lie (and One Time He was Told a Great Big Truth).
Supernatural/Watchmen x-over, PG-13, gen. John Winchester, o/c, Mary Winchester.
1,573 words, a few uses of cuss words (like, you know, eff and stuff.)
one: "Aw, honey. Christie has… Gone to see her Mommy and Daddy."
Jaw locked, bottom lip trembling softly, large brown eyes watering. Madelaine Winchester barely stood a chance up against her three and a half year old son. Just that sullen look in his eyes upon coming home from Grammaw's to find his little pet dog was gone. After Charlie -if that was even his real name, the bastard- had left, Madelaine’s mom had tried to help as best she could with John, and she always said that telling a child a little white lie to protect them from the cold, harsh pain of the truth was a good thing, just not to make a habit of it. So… One wouldn’t hurt.
Watching that watery eyed look become more stoic, less 'tears are just around the corner' and more 'i'll put on a brave face until she gets home', Madelaine pulled her son close, hugging his skinny little body to her's. She knew how he was hurting, had felt the same way too, when the dog hadn’t come in that morning. When after three hours, she’d started to worry, began doing laps of the block, hoping to see a happy ball of white and tan fur bounding towards her as she turned every corner. When finally, she found their pet, haphazardly laid in the gutter, eyes wide open but glazed, that tell-tale tire tread spreading across her soft fur.
One week later, and John came in from playing in the yard, a black and white kitten that had clearly seen better days -matted fur, a tear in the thin skin of its ear, shivering and too thin- and that bright gleam was back in those large brown eyes. Something needed saving, and Heaven help him, John Eric Winchester was gonna help.
two: “Johnny, I know he was your favourite bear. We must’ve left him by accident.”
They were unpacking the boxes, moving into the new apartment because yet another landlord had suggested that she maybe pay the rent in some way other than money. All because Charlie fucking Blake lost his nerve when Madelaine told him she was pregnant and he ran like the child he clearly was under that tough guy exterior. If he’d stuck around, between his seemingly infinite amount of money and the fact he was a big, tough man and not a little woman with her seven year old son.
They’d moved quickly, boxes collected from the grocery store round the corner, packed up with clothes and plates and pans and lamps and cuddly toys. Madelaine knew they’d forget to pack something, and she’d told John to make sure he packed extra carefully because they weren’t gonna be going back for anything they left behind. She hadn’t meant to use that as an excuse to leave her son’s favourite bear behind, but the man who had given it to John, the man she’d been told had stopped him outside their apartment block, asked if she was Madelaine Winchester’s son and had then given her little boy the plush toy with its soft light hair, the man who was ‘reeeeal tall momma, and his hair was dark like mine, and he seemed real strong too momma!’ sounded too much like Charlie for Madelaine to take.
So when they were packing, she took that little brown bear by its paw and she tossed it out of the window of their apartment, right into the garbage dumpster below. She should have felt guilty, she knew that, but if that little toy really was from John’s father… Well, she’d rather him sulk for a few weeks than keep hold of it, that’s for sure.
three: “My Dad? He’s a… He’s a salesman. You know, like Willy Loman.”
The first time John Winchester laid eyes on Mary Campbell, they were both in their Sophomore year. The Campbells had just moved into town, and there was a certain aura of mystery surrounding Samuel and Deanna, but Mary, their daughter… She was real pretty, and she was such a nice girl, too. They were paired up as lab partners; he was the awkward son of the single mother working two jobs to keep a roof over their head and food on their table, she was the bubbly daughter of the new family in town, and nobody knew anything about her, until she opened those pretty pink lips, tossed that wavy blonde hair out of her face and started to talk to him, to John Winchester, skinny little loser kid he was.
She told him all about how they moved around a lot because of her Daddy’s work, but that she didn’t mind because they’d promised her they’d settle here in Lawrence for awhile. She told him she wanted to be a cheerleader, asked if he thought she could try out this late into the semester. Then, to his surprise, she asked about him. Judging by the look on his face, he was surprised by her question, and as she learned at lunch, talking to some of the girls from their class, John Winchester was kind of like the outsider, so it made sense, in a weird sort of way. But, Mary could tell that there was more to it than him being some little weird kid, she’d met more than enough people in her life to know that much. So when she saw him, walking across the courtyard and towards the football field after school, she followed, caught up with him, talked for a little while.
He told all about growing up with his Mom and not much money, how people never seemed to give him much of a chance, how he really, really wanted to join the football team. She pulled him close and kissed him softly, told him she’d give him all the chances he needed.
four: “But Daaaaaaddy! De said it was ‘kay!”
Little Sammy Winchester: messy brown curls, big brown eyes, the picture of his Daddy when he was a little boy himself, not that Sammy knew that, of course, but that’s what he’d been told by the one or two people he’d met who actually knew their Daddy well enough to remember the man he was before Mommy went away, or to have seen pictures. Really, Sammy didn’t know what they were talking about half the time, and he’d have to ask De to fill in the blanks, to which De would sigh that sad little sigh of his, tell Sammy that he’d tell him when he was older, adding ‘and it’s Dean, squirt!’ onto the end of it, usually just in time for Daddy coming over to clip De round the ear for pickin’ on his little brother.
But De was at big boy school now, learning to liturasee and arivmutic, meaning Sammy and Daddy were on their own a lot during the day. Which led to moments like these: with Sammy, now he was confident enough to walk for a good few minutes without anyone holding his hands to stop him falling on his little butt. Which meant of course, now, he could reach up and tug on the ratty old white sheet Daddy liked to pretend was a tablecloth, and rather than getting the cookie jar right into his hands, it landed on the floor, right at his feet with a thud-crack-smash!
Daddy had come running from his spot on the couch, and when he’d seen the mess and his eyes had landed on little Sammy, stood there, looking up with those little puppy eyes, Sammy saw Daddy go from all stiff to stiffer, then relaxing, getting down to Sammy’s level and calmly telling him off. All Sammy could do was blink up at Daddy, and sniffle as Daddy reached out to brush some of them curls off his forehead. Sammy said the first thing he thought of, a stock answer, ‘cause De always did say what Sammy did was okay. ‘Cept for calling him De.
five: ”I know you don’t believe me and I get that, but I am your father, end of discussion, boy.”
John Winchester: thirty-one years old, father of two sons, widower far too soon. That’s pretty much all the information Eddie had been able to dig up on the guy. He’d found him, years and years ago, back when he was just a boy, living in some shithole apartment with his Mom, and he even met the kid in ‘Nam -albeit briefly, while sharing a few cold ones one night- and had learned that he’d wound up in Kansas, high school dropout, working in his friend’s Dad’s garage, pretty little thing waiting for him back home.
Eddie remembered seeing a photo of them together, one that the kid had shown him out of pride, of course out of pride -the gal was a mighty fine piece of work- and now, easily one week of living left to live, he just knew he had to find his boy. He knew he’d fucked up one too many times in life; the things he’d done to women, killing kids in ‘Nam, beating the crap out of anyone who dared defy him, and worse still, enjoying it all… Now, surely now he could at least try to redeem himself. Maybe a little.
But with his boy looking at him, big tough guy with those wide shoulders, deep brown eyes, dark hair with natural little waves, thick stubble… Hell, the kid even had a scar in the same freakin’ place as his own, there was no way he could even pretend that John Eric Winchester wasn’t his boy.
Four Times John Winchester was Told a Little White Lie (and One Time He was Told a Great Big Truth).
Supernatural/Watchmen x-over, PG-13, gen. John Winchester, o/c, Mary Winchester.
1,573 words, a few uses of cuss words (like, you know, eff and stuff.)
one: "Aw, honey. Christie has… Gone to see her Mommy and Daddy."
Jaw locked, bottom lip trembling softly, large brown eyes watering. Madelaine Winchester barely stood a chance up against her three and a half year old son. Just that sullen look in his eyes upon coming home from Grammaw's to find his little pet dog was gone. After Charlie -if that was even his real name, the bastard- had left, Madelaine’s mom had tried to help as best she could with John, and she always said that telling a child a little white lie to protect them from the cold, harsh pain of the truth was a good thing, just not to make a habit of it. So… One wouldn’t hurt.
Watching that watery eyed look become more stoic, less 'tears are just around the corner' and more 'i'll put on a brave face until she gets home', Madelaine pulled her son close, hugging his skinny little body to her's. She knew how he was hurting, had felt the same way too, when the dog hadn’t come in that morning. When after three hours, she’d started to worry, began doing laps of the block, hoping to see a happy ball of white and tan fur bounding towards her as she turned every corner. When finally, she found their pet, haphazardly laid in the gutter, eyes wide open but glazed, that tell-tale tire tread spreading across her soft fur.
One week later, and John came in from playing in the yard, a black and white kitten that had clearly seen better days -matted fur, a tear in the thin skin of its ear, shivering and too thin- and that bright gleam was back in those large brown eyes. Something needed saving, and Heaven help him, John Eric Winchester was gonna help.
two: “Johnny, I know he was your favourite bear. We must’ve left him by accident.”
They were unpacking the boxes, moving into the new apartment because yet another landlord had suggested that she maybe pay the rent in some way other than money. All because Charlie fucking Blake lost his nerve when Madelaine told him she was pregnant and he ran like the child he clearly was under that tough guy exterior. If he’d stuck around, between his seemingly infinite amount of money and the fact he was a big, tough man and not a little woman with her seven year old son.
They’d moved quickly, boxes collected from the grocery store round the corner, packed up with clothes and plates and pans and lamps and cuddly toys. Madelaine knew they’d forget to pack something, and she’d told John to make sure he packed extra carefully because they weren’t gonna be going back for anything they left behind. She hadn’t meant to use that as an excuse to leave her son’s favourite bear behind, but the man who had given it to John, the man she’d been told had stopped him outside their apartment block, asked if she was Madelaine Winchester’s son and had then given her little boy the plush toy with its soft light hair, the man who was ‘reeeeal tall momma, and his hair was dark like mine, and he seemed real strong too momma!’ sounded too much like Charlie for Madelaine to take.
So when they were packing, she took that little brown bear by its paw and she tossed it out of the window of their apartment, right into the garbage dumpster below. She should have felt guilty, she knew that, but if that little toy really was from John’s father… Well, she’d rather him sulk for a few weeks than keep hold of it, that’s for sure.
three: “My Dad? He’s a… He’s a salesman. You know, like Willy Loman.”
The first time John Winchester laid eyes on Mary Campbell, they were both in their Sophomore year. The Campbells had just moved into town, and there was a certain aura of mystery surrounding Samuel and Deanna, but Mary, their daughter… She was real pretty, and she was such a nice girl, too. They were paired up as lab partners; he was the awkward son of the single mother working two jobs to keep a roof over their head and food on their table, she was the bubbly daughter of the new family in town, and nobody knew anything about her, until she opened those pretty pink lips, tossed that wavy blonde hair out of her face and started to talk to him, to John Winchester, skinny little loser kid he was.
She told him all about how they moved around a lot because of her Daddy’s work, but that she didn’t mind because they’d promised her they’d settle here in Lawrence for awhile. She told him she wanted to be a cheerleader, asked if he thought she could try out this late into the semester. Then, to his surprise, she asked about him. Judging by the look on his face, he was surprised by her question, and as she learned at lunch, talking to some of the girls from their class, John Winchester was kind of like the outsider, so it made sense, in a weird sort of way. But, Mary could tell that there was more to it than him being some little weird kid, she’d met more than enough people in her life to know that much. So when she saw him, walking across the courtyard and towards the football field after school, she followed, caught up with him, talked for a little while.
He told all about growing up with his Mom and not much money, how people never seemed to give him much of a chance, how he really, really wanted to join the football team. She pulled him close and kissed him softly, told him she’d give him all the chances he needed.
four: “But Daaaaaaddy! De said it was ‘kay!”
Little Sammy Winchester: messy brown curls, big brown eyes, the picture of his Daddy when he was a little boy himself, not that Sammy knew that, of course, but that’s what he’d been told by the one or two people he’d met who actually knew their Daddy well enough to remember the man he was before Mommy went away, or to have seen pictures. Really, Sammy didn’t know what they were talking about half the time, and he’d have to ask De to fill in the blanks, to which De would sigh that sad little sigh of his, tell Sammy that he’d tell him when he was older, adding ‘and it’s Dean, squirt!’ onto the end of it, usually just in time for Daddy coming over to clip De round the ear for pickin’ on his little brother.
But De was at big boy school now, learning to liturasee and arivmutic, meaning Sammy and Daddy were on their own a lot during the day. Which led to moments like these: with Sammy, now he was confident enough to walk for a good few minutes without anyone holding his hands to stop him falling on his little butt. Which meant of course, now, he could reach up and tug on the ratty old white sheet Daddy liked to pretend was a tablecloth, and rather than getting the cookie jar right into his hands, it landed on the floor, right at his feet with a thud-crack-smash!
Daddy had come running from his spot on the couch, and when he’d seen the mess and his eyes had landed on little Sammy, stood there, looking up with those little puppy eyes, Sammy saw Daddy go from all stiff to stiffer, then relaxing, getting down to Sammy’s level and calmly telling him off. All Sammy could do was blink up at Daddy, and sniffle as Daddy reached out to brush some of them curls off his forehead. Sammy said the first thing he thought of, a stock answer, ‘cause De always did say what Sammy did was okay. ‘Cept for calling him De.
five: ”I know you don’t believe me and I get that, but I am your father, end of discussion, boy.”
John Winchester: thirty-one years old, father of two sons, widower far too soon. That’s pretty much all the information Eddie had been able to dig up on the guy. He’d found him, years and years ago, back when he was just a boy, living in some shithole apartment with his Mom, and he even met the kid in ‘Nam -albeit briefly, while sharing a few cold ones one night- and had learned that he’d wound up in Kansas, high school dropout, working in his friend’s Dad’s garage, pretty little thing waiting for him back home.
Eddie remembered seeing a photo of them together, one that the kid had shown him out of pride, of course out of pride -the gal was a mighty fine piece of work- and now, easily one week of living left to live, he just knew he had to find his boy. He knew he’d fucked up one too many times in life; the things he’d done to women, killing kids in ‘Nam, beating the crap out of anyone who dared defy him, and worse still, enjoying it all… Now, surely now he could at least try to redeem himself. Maybe a little.
But with his boy looking at him, big tough guy with those wide shoulders, deep brown eyes, dark hair with natural little waves, thick stubble… Hell, the kid even had a scar in the same freakin’ place as his own, there was no way he could even pretend that John Eric Winchester wasn’t his boy.