Ficlet: Hug it out, party on 1/1
Title: Hug it out, party on
Genre: Gen
Word Count: 865
Summary: Sam and Dean fight. Garth suggests hugs.
Spoilers: None really, but takes place in some nebulous season 7 time period.
Warning: THIS IS SUCH A BULLSHITTY PIECE OF FLUFF. But I’m posting it anyway, because there’s bound to be someone out there who’ll enjoy it.
Note: Confession: When I was a teenager I used to watch DJ Qualls' terrible movies all the time. I thought he was so adorable. Imagine my joy when he became a guest star on my favorite show. So I just HAD to write Garth some hurty backstory, forgive me.
Disclaimer: I made all this shit up.
Hug it out, party on
by wave obscura
“I think you guys need to hug it out,” Garth told Sam and Dean one day.
The fight between the brothers had started, as it apparently often did, with Dean leaving his boots in the bathroom. Sam came out of the shower complaining that not only did he have smell his brother’s rank fucking feet for his whole shower, but he’d tripped over the boots and come dangerously close to falling and cracking his skull on the edge of the sink.
That sink is porcelain, Dean had retorted. Would’ve become talcum powder under the force of your thick skull.
To which Sam responded: This isn’t 1930, Dean. It’s acrylic, not porcelain.
Well excuse my ass, Bob Villa, Dean shouted, and it had all kind of escalated from there.
Garth watched the brothers fight-- a few punches here and there, but mostly they threw each other back and forth across the room like a pair of unfashionable pro-wrestlers, until they were both too out of breath to continue and fell to the floor, Dean on top of Sam, both of them still weakly trying to strangle one another and breathlessly mumbling “fucker” and “asshole.”
And that’s when Garth suggested hugs.
“I know you live in some LaLa Land where everything is happy all the time,” Dean grumbled, “But newsflash: hugs don’t solve everything.”
Dean had his brother trapped in the crook of his elbow, and Sam’s face was very rapidly turning purple.
Garth smiled.
“Dean,” he said gently, “You don’t hug because it solves everything. You hug because you can. Because you never know when it’ll be the last time.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean cursed as Sam busted free of the headlock and rolled to safety a few feet away, his chest heaving.
Garth shrugged. “I’d give anything to hug my baby brother again.”
“You have a brother?” Sam croaked, rubbing his neck.
“Had,” Garth corrected. “He passed.”
Horror passed briefly over the brothers’ faces. “I’m sorry,” Sam said. They watched Garth dig the dog-eared photo out of his wallet. Dean took it and looked, and when Sam crept over to see, Dean held it just out of his view.
“Let me see it, Dean,” Sam demanded, trying to snatch the picture. Like a reflex Dean held it over his head. Sam easily reached up and plucked it from his hand.
“Holy shit,” he said. “Your baby brother?”
“He’s huge,” Dean said. “He looks bigger than Sam.”
“He looks bigger than me,” Sam agreed. “What was his name?”
Garth took the photo from Sam and looked at it. “Wayne. His name was Wayne.”
Dean snorted. “Wayne and Garth? Seriously?”
“Yeah. Party on,” Garth whispered, touching the photo. He and Wayne, posing in an Oregon convenience store after winning $10,000 off a Bingo scratch-it.
Wayne had loved his Bingo scratch-its.
“How...” Sam began. “Uh, how did he...?”
“There was a-- a fire poker. We were digging up a grave and I gave it to him, you know. For protection. I, uh, I thought it was iron. It wasn’t. He got it through the chest.”
“Fuck,” Dean said.
“That’s awful,” Sam said.
Garth nodded. “Yeah. At the time... it almost killed me. I drank a whole four pack of wine coolers that night. Blacked out, woke up and it was two weeks later. But now, I guess I try to see things differently.”
Sam and Dean looked at each other.
“Differently how?” Dean asked.
“When he was dying, well.” Garth paused. His throat tightened, went thick. “It didn’t take but forty-five seconds. And I got to hold him, you know, and tell him I loved him, that everything was going to be alright. And he went without a lot of pain-- hell, I don’t think he even had time to figure out what was happening to him. So I think we got pretty lucky, I mean, what better can two hunters ask for?”
“But you gave him the firepoker,” Dean said, his tone vaguely hysterical. “Didn’t you feel guilty? Didn’t you want to make a deal?”
“Dean,” Sam said sharply, and punched Dean in the shoulder, hard enough that he staggered and nearly fell. “Shut up.”
“It’s okay, Sam,” Garth said. “Dean’s just projecting. It’s a big brother thing.” He winked knowingly at Dean, and Sam raised an eyebrow.
Garth looked at the picture of Wayne one last time and then put the picture back in his wallet, put his wallet back in his pocket.
“Of course I wanted to make a deal,” he continued. “I would have done anything. But it would have broken his heart. It would have killed him all over again. So I didn’t.”
Sam and Dean listened to this and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, avoiding each other’s eyes.
Garth made a gesture in the air like he was pushing the two brothers together.
“Now hug,” he said, “Do it for Wayne.”
Sam and Dean looked at each other again, this time for much longer. Dean sheepishly opened his arms, and Sam sheepishly opened his.
Garth mouthed the words you guys are lucky. His throat was a little too thick to say it out loud.
:::
The end.
Genre: Gen
Word Count: 865
Summary: Sam and Dean fight. Garth suggests hugs.
Spoilers: None really, but takes place in some nebulous season 7 time period.
Warning: THIS IS SUCH A BULLSHITTY PIECE OF FLUFF. But I’m posting it anyway, because there’s bound to be someone out there who’ll enjoy it.
Note: Confession: When I was a teenager I used to watch DJ Qualls' terrible movies all the time. I thought he was so adorable. Imagine my joy when he became a guest star on my favorite show. So I just HAD to write Garth some hurty backstory, forgive me.
Disclaimer: I made all this shit up.
Hug it out, party on
by wave obscura
“I think you guys need to hug it out,” Garth told Sam and Dean one day.
The fight between the brothers had started, as it apparently often did, with Dean leaving his boots in the bathroom. Sam came out of the shower complaining that not only did he have smell his brother’s rank fucking feet for his whole shower, but he’d tripped over the boots and come dangerously close to falling and cracking his skull on the edge of the sink.
That sink is porcelain, Dean had retorted. Would’ve become talcum powder under the force of your thick skull.
To which Sam responded: This isn’t 1930, Dean. It’s acrylic, not porcelain.
Well excuse my ass, Bob Villa, Dean shouted, and it had all kind of escalated from there.
Garth watched the brothers fight-- a few punches here and there, but mostly they threw each other back and forth across the room like a pair of unfashionable pro-wrestlers, until they were both too out of breath to continue and fell to the floor, Dean on top of Sam, both of them still weakly trying to strangle one another and breathlessly mumbling “fucker” and “asshole.”
And that’s when Garth suggested hugs.
“I know you live in some LaLa Land where everything is happy all the time,” Dean grumbled, “But newsflash: hugs don’t solve everything.”
Dean had his brother trapped in the crook of his elbow, and Sam’s face was very rapidly turning purple.
Garth smiled.
“Dean,” he said gently, “You don’t hug because it solves everything. You hug because you can. Because you never know when it’ll be the last time.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean cursed as Sam busted free of the headlock and rolled to safety a few feet away, his chest heaving.
Garth shrugged. “I’d give anything to hug my baby brother again.”
“You have a brother?” Sam croaked, rubbing his neck.
“Had,” Garth corrected. “He passed.”
Horror passed briefly over the brothers’ faces. “I’m sorry,” Sam said. They watched Garth dig the dog-eared photo out of his wallet. Dean took it and looked, and when Sam crept over to see, Dean held it just out of his view.
“Let me see it, Dean,” Sam demanded, trying to snatch the picture. Like a reflex Dean held it over his head. Sam easily reached up and plucked it from his hand.
“Holy shit,” he said. “Your baby brother?”
“He’s huge,” Dean said. “He looks bigger than Sam.”
“He looks bigger than me,” Sam agreed. “What was his name?”
Garth took the photo from Sam and looked at it. “Wayne. His name was Wayne.”
Dean snorted. “Wayne and Garth? Seriously?”
“Yeah. Party on,” Garth whispered, touching the photo. He and Wayne, posing in an Oregon convenience store after winning $10,000 off a Bingo scratch-it.
Wayne had loved his Bingo scratch-its.
“How...” Sam began. “Uh, how did he...?”
“There was a-- a fire poker. We were digging up a grave and I gave it to him, you know. For protection. I, uh, I thought it was iron. It wasn’t. He got it through the chest.”
“Fuck,” Dean said.
“That’s awful,” Sam said.
Garth nodded. “Yeah. At the time... it almost killed me. I drank a whole four pack of wine coolers that night. Blacked out, woke up and it was two weeks later. But now, I guess I try to see things differently.”
Sam and Dean looked at each other.
“Differently how?” Dean asked.
“When he was dying, well.” Garth paused. His throat tightened, went thick. “It didn’t take but forty-five seconds. And I got to hold him, you know, and tell him I loved him, that everything was going to be alright. And he went without a lot of pain-- hell, I don’t think he even had time to figure out what was happening to him. So I think we got pretty lucky, I mean, what better can two hunters ask for?”
“But you gave him the firepoker,” Dean said, his tone vaguely hysterical. “Didn’t you feel guilty? Didn’t you want to make a deal?”
“Dean,” Sam said sharply, and punched Dean in the shoulder, hard enough that he staggered and nearly fell. “Shut up.”
“It’s okay, Sam,” Garth said. “Dean’s just projecting. It’s a big brother thing.” He winked knowingly at Dean, and Sam raised an eyebrow.
Garth looked at the picture of Wayne one last time and then put the picture back in his wallet, put his wallet back in his pocket.
“Of course I wanted to make a deal,” he continued. “I would have done anything. But it would have broken his heart. It would have killed him all over again. So I didn’t.”
Sam and Dean listened to this and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, avoiding each other’s eyes.
Garth made a gesture in the air like he was pushing the two brothers together.
“Now hug,” he said, “Do it for Wayne.”
Sam and Dean looked at each other again, this time for much longer. Dean sheepishly opened his arms, and Sam sheepishly opened his.
Garth mouthed the words you guys are lucky. His throat was a little too thick to say it out loud.
:::
The end.