Fic: Expertise
Title: Expertise
Author: brate7
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Gen, G
Word Count: 750
Summary: John needs Dean's help with little Sammy.
There is also a podfic of this story read by the amazing juice817 here.
Expertise
By Brate
John Winchester opened the door slowly, looking in on his sleeping son. He didn't want to disturb him, but there wasn't any other option.
"Dean," he called softly.
There was no response from the lump on the bed.
"Dean," he called louder.
His ten-year-old snapped to attention, sitting up, eyes wide and unfocused.
Something besides pride ate at John's gut, seeing his son react that way even while in a drugged and sickened stupor.
"Is it Sammy?" Dean asked.
John's voice caught in his throat. He'd been a Marine, for God's sake. He was a hunter, had faced down demons, ghosts, and werewolves. He should be able to handle this on his own.
"Dad?" Dean was still sitting up, looking at his father, obviously getting worried by his silence.
"He won't eat," John blurted out.
"Wha-?" Switching gears that fast was beyond Dean in this condition.
"Sammy won't eat his breakfast," John said slower.
Dean processed that for a moment. "Did you make eggs?"
"Yep."
"Scrambled?"
"Of course." Even John knew that much.
"You put cheese in 'em?"
"Yes."
"Ketchup?"
"On top of them."
Dean closed his eyes and nodded. "He likes it on the side so he can choose how much he wants on each bite."
"Oh. All right."
"It's okay, Dad. He's just fussy."
John smiled wanly. Even when Dean was sick and out of it, he was still trying to make his dad feel better. "All right, you go back to sleep now."
"Yessir," Dean slurred. He dropped back down on the bed and settled in.
John closed the door and returned to the kitchen. He eyed the five-year-old seated at the table, frowning as Sam made sculptures out of his red-coated eggs.
"Sorry, Sammy. I'll make them right this time." John picked the plate up and rinsed off the "bad eggs."
A blinding smile was his reward.
*****
John sighed, wishing he didn't need to go in there again. For the remainder of the morning, he'd made sure Dean stayed hydrated, but otherwise he let him sleep as much as possible, knowing that was the best thing for him.
For the most part, Sammy had been mollified with cartoons. He'd kept relatively quiet, leaving his big brother alone.
But feeding the kid was problematic. First the breakfast fiasco and now this.
John crept back into the boys' room, which was ridiculous seeing as he'd have to wake Dean to talk to him, but still he couldn't break years of habit. If the boys were asleep when John returned from a hunt, he would sneak in to check on them, giving each a light kiss on the head. He was halfway certain Dean was only feigning sleep at those times, but he was definitely dead to the world now, making it that much harder on John.
Brushing a hand over Dean's forehead, John automatically checked his temperature-down a bit from earlier-then moved to his shoulder. John shook it gently.
Dean's eyes cracked open. "What now?"
"He says his sandwich 'tastes wrong.'"
"Wrong?" Dean echoed.
"That's all he'll tell me."
"He likes a little peanut butter and a lot of jelly," Dean murmured, half-asleep.
"Yeah, he actually managed to stop crying long enough to get that across."
"Didja take the crusts off?"
"Yes." Obviously.
Dean paused. For a second, John wondered if he'd fallen asleep, then Dean opened his eyes and asked, "How'd you cut it?"
"Pardon?"
"How'd you cut the sandwich?" Dean spoke distinctly, as if John was slow.
"I cut it in half, then squared."
Dean rolled to his side. "He likes them in triangles."
John snorted. "Well, damn." He gave Dean's shoulder a squeeze and stood.
Dean tucked his hands in next to his head. "Oh, and if you make mac and cheese, don't mix the hot dogs in with the macaroni. He hates that."
"Too late. That's why I fell back on PB&J."
"Oh… sorry."
"It's all right, go back to sleep."
John was almost to the door when Dean muttered, "Dad?"
"Yeah, kiddo?"
"Order a pizza for dinner."
John grinned. "You got it."
Just as he was closing the door, he heard, "Dad?"
Stopping the movement, John peeked his head back in.
Dean's tired voice recited, "Thin crust, cheese only, extra sauce."
"Thanks, son. Get some sleep."
"Uh-huh." Then Dean was out.
John closed the door, letting his head drop against it. The irony of it didn't escape him. While he'd been becoming an expert in hunting things, Dean had become an expert in something else.
end
Author: brate7
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Gen, G
Word Count: 750
Summary: John needs Dean's help with little Sammy.
There is also a podfic of this story read by the amazing juice817 here.
Expertise
By Brate
John Winchester opened the door slowly, looking in on his sleeping son. He didn't want to disturb him, but there wasn't any other option.
"Dean," he called softly.
There was no response from the lump on the bed.
"Dean," he called louder.
His ten-year-old snapped to attention, sitting up, eyes wide and unfocused.
Something besides pride ate at John's gut, seeing his son react that way even while in a drugged and sickened stupor.
"Is it Sammy?" Dean asked.
John's voice caught in his throat. He'd been a Marine, for God's sake. He was a hunter, had faced down demons, ghosts, and werewolves. He should be able to handle this on his own.
"Dad?" Dean was still sitting up, looking at his father, obviously getting worried by his silence.
"He won't eat," John blurted out.
"Wha-?" Switching gears that fast was beyond Dean in this condition.
"Sammy won't eat his breakfast," John said slower.
Dean processed that for a moment. "Did you make eggs?"
"Yep."
"Scrambled?"
"Of course." Even John knew that much.
"You put cheese in 'em?"
"Yes."
"Ketchup?"
"On top of them."
Dean closed his eyes and nodded. "He likes it on the side so he can choose how much he wants on each bite."
"Oh. All right."
"It's okay, Dad. He's just fussy."
John smiled wanly. Even when Dean was sick and out of it, he was still trying to make his dad feel better. "All right, you go back to sleep now."
"Yessir," Dean slurred. He dropped back down on the bed and settled in.
John closed the door and returned to the kitchen. He eyed the five-year-old seated at the table, frowning as Sam made sculptures out of his red-coated eggs.
"Sorry, Sammy. I'll make them right this time." John picked the plate up and rinsed off the "bad eggs."
A blinding smile was his reward.
*****
John sighed, wishing he didn't need to go in there again. For the remainder of the morning, he'd made sure Dean stayed hydrated, but otherwise he let him sleep as much as possible, knowing that was the best thing for him.
For the most part, Sammy had been mollified with cartoons. He'd kept relatively quiet, leaving his big brother alone.
But feeding the kid was problematic. First the breakfast fiasco and now this.
John crept back into the boys' room, which was ridiculous seeing as he'd have to wake Dean to talk to him, but still he couldn't break years of habit. If the boys were asleep when John returned from a hunt, he would sneak in to check on them, giving each a light kiss on the head. He was halfway certain Dean was only feigning sleep at those times, but he was definitely dead to the world now, making it that much harder on John.
Brushing a hand over Dean's forehead, John automatically checked his temperature-down a bit from earlier-then moved to his shoulder. John shook it gently.
Dean's eyes cracked open. "What now?"
"He says his sandwich 'tastes wrong.'"
"Wrong?" Dean echoed.
"That's all he'll tell me."
"He likes a little peanut butter and a lot of jelly," Dean murmured, half-asleep.
"Yeah, he actually managed to stop crying long enough to get that across."
"Didja take the crusts off?"
"Yes." Obviously.
Dean paused. For a second, John wondered if he'd fallen asleep, then Dean opened his eyes and asked, "How'd you cut it?"
"Pardon?"
"How'd you cut the sandwich?" Dean spoke distinctly, as if John was slow.
"I cut it in half, then squared."
Dean rolled to his side. "He likes them in triangles."
John snorted. "Well, damn." He gave Dean's shoulder a squeeze and stood.
Dean tucked his hands in next to his head. "Oh, and if you make mac and cheese, don't mix the hot dogs in with the macaroni. He hates that."
"Too late. That's why I fell back on PB&J."
"Oh… sorry."
"It's all right, go back to sleep."
John was almost to the door when Dean muttered, "Dad?"
"Yeah, kiddo?"
"Order a pizza for dinner."
John grinned. "You got it."
Just as he was closing the door, he heard, "Dad?"
Stopping the movement, John peeked his head back in.
Dean's tired voice recited, "Thin crust, cheese only, extra sauce."
"Thanks, son. Get some sleep."
"Uh-huh." Then Dean was out.
John closed the door, letting his head drop against it. The irony of it didn't escape him. While he'd been becoming an expert in hunting things, Dean had become an expert in something else.
end