Tinnitus (1/30, G, Missouri, Sam, Dean, John)
Title: Tinnitus
Author: acerbus_instar
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Prompt: #01: Sound
Word Count: 600
Summary: For spn_30snapshots table, Liars and Thieves, part of a prequel series to my AU fic, Swift Hounds of Lússa (but no need to read it first). This installment: Missouri's heard a lot of interesting things in her time, in ways more than figurative - but this is a new one.
1989
A Thursday in March, that’s when the Winchesters - all of them, not just the daddy - show up on Missouri Moseley’s dusty front porch. There’s road salt clinging to their car and miles of asphalt written on their frames; John’s got a curly mop of hair buried into his shoulder, a pair of wary eyes hovering next to his hip, and a peculiar hum all about him that Missouri’s never heard before.
John Winchester is an odd one, a low timbre and high frequency underlined by the dissonance of the underworld he runs in. That has started in on his kids, the older one particularly. It’s almost as if his rhythm’s built around the discordance of the unnatural.
The young one, though. He hums. Loud, even when she isn’t listening. She’s never heard anything like it.
Dean takes his brother’s hand and goes outside, soon as Missouri and John set to talking about adult things (a quick jump and twitch of a beat, disgust in that light childish sense).
John is surprised when she says, “So you told him what you do.”
“Figured it out himself,” he replies, smoothing out into calm.
“He’s bright.”
It’s a sweet two-toned meter, his love for them, prideful, and she smiles as he says, “Sammy too.” The uncertain stumble at the end is her cue.
“You’ve come about him.” Missouri twitches her lips, bemused. “Scared to ask hunters when your son might be-“ She stops, and frowns, listening, studying him.
He dips into low fury - protective fear. Missouri preempts him. “John…”
“It needs to stop.”
“He’s something, John. I don’t know what. More often it’s a gift-“
“Not in our line of work. It’s chum in the god-damn water,” he replies furiously.
“Then you train him, and you train him well, or you keep him off the path you’re taking. Because this sort of thing - if it is what you think it is - it can’t just be shut off, John Winchester. Ain’t no way. No way I’ve heard of.”
When the kids come in, Sammy happily smeared with dirt, Dean scrubbing at the finger-streaks on his shirt with disgust, John asks them to sit down and they do. They talk. School, for Dean, and the prospect of school for Sammy. The car. The roads. Sammy’s dumb teddy bear that he still takes with him everywhere. It’s all happy, light tones, the brothers’ cadences twined into each other so well it turns into one smooth harmony.
But when she begins to listen closer, the younger brother goes still, interrupting his own rambling tale of earthworms and grasshoppers with, “What’re you doing?” And then it’s gone. Everything. The room’s dead quiet. She’s never heard so much quiet.
A perturbed smile. “Listenin’ to you, sweetie.”
“You listen loud,” he says uncertainly.
“Sorry, hon. I’ll try to be quieter.”
Dean looks at his father - a shadow over Missouri’s shoulder - and elbows his brother in the side. “Finish your story, Sammy.”
The kid beams and starts to wriggle in his seat again, diving back into his story with exuberance and hand gestures. A slow ringing starts building up in the back of her head, the flat tone of an empty line.
She shows the Winchesters out not much later. Sammy is looking at her curiously, but calls her nice and thanks her for the cookies and the stories before bounding out the door without a goodbye. Dean just waves distractedly and runs after him.
When John asks, she can only say, “Hon, I just don’t know.”
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Author: acerbus_instar
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Prompt: #01: Sound
Word Count: 600
Summary: For spn_30snapshots table, Liars and Thieves, part of a prequel series to my AU fic, Swift Hounds of Lússa (but no need to read it first). This installment: Missouri's heard a lot of interesting things in her time, in ways more than figurative - but this is a new one.
1989
A Thursday in March, that’s when the Winchesters - all of them, not just the daddy - show up on Missouri Moseley’s dusty front porch. There’s road salt clinging to their car and miles of asphalt written on their frames; John’s got a curly mop of hair buried into his shoulder, a pair of wary eyes hovering next to his hip, and a peculiar hum all about him that Missouri’s never heard before.
John Winchester is an odd one, a low timbre and high frequency underlined by the dissonance of the underworld he runs in. That has started in on his kids, the older one particularly. It’s almost as if his rhythm’s built around the discordance of the unnatural.
The young one, though. He hums. Loud, even when she isn’t listening. She’s never heard anything like it.
Dean takes his brother’s hand and goes outside, soon as Missouri and John set to talking about adult things (a quick jump and twitch of a beat, disgust in that light childish sense).
John is surprised when she says, “So you told him what you do.”
“Figured it out himself,” he replies, smoothing out into calm.
“He’s bright.”
It’s a sweet two-toned meter, his love for them, prideful, and she smiles as he says, “Sammy too.” The uncertain stumble at the end is her cue.
“You’ve come about him.” Missouri twitches her lips, bemused. “Scared to ask hunters when your son might be-“ She stops, and frowns, listening, studying him.
He dips into low fury - protective fear. Missouri preempts him. “John…”
“It needs to stop.”
“He’s something, John. I don’t know what. More often it’s a gift-“
“Not in our line of work. It’s chum in the god-damn water,” he replies furiously.
“Then you train him, and you train him well, or you keep him off the path you’re taking. Because this sort of thing - if it is what you think it is - it can’t just be shut off, John Winchester. Ain’t no way. No way I’ve heard of.”
When the kids come in, Sammy happily smeared with dirt, Dean scrubbing at the finger-streaks on his shirt with disgust, John asks them to sit down and they do. They talk. School, for Dean, and the prospect of school for Sammy. The car. The roads. Sammy’s dumb teddy bear that he still takes with him everywhere. It’s all happy, light tones, the brothers’ cadences twined into each other so well it turns into one smooth harmony.
But when she begins to listen closer, the younger brother goes still, interrupting his own rambling tale of earthworms and grasshoppers with, “What’re you doing?” And then it’s gone. Everything. The room’s dead quiet. She’s never heard so much quiet.
A perturbed smile. “Listenin’ to you, sweetie.”
“You listen loud,” he says uncertainly.
“Sorry, hon. I’ll try to be quieter.”
Dean looks at his father - a shadow over Missouri’s shoulder - and elbows his brother in the side. “Finish your story, Sammy.”
The kid beams and starts to wriggle in his seat again, diving back into his story with exuberance and hand gestures. A slow ringing starts building up in the back of her head, the flat tone of an empty line.
She shows the Winchesters out not much later. Sammy is looking at her curiously, but calls her nice and thanks her for the cookies and the stories before bounding out the door without a goodbye. Dean just waves distractedly and runs after him.
When John asks, she can only say, “Hon, I just don’t know.”
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