Those Two Boys - oneshot
Title: Those Two Boys
Author: culturegeek76
Rating: G
Summary: A woman remembers the Winchester boys from way back, and there’s no real plot to speak of. It’s a PWP without the pr0n.
Warning: None really. You might think it’s weird and not like it. It’s written from the POV of an OC.
Disclaimer: Sam and Dean belong to a corporate power that is kind enough to broadcast their exploits weekly on TV. I’m just writing down what I think of those boys. Thoughts are free, right? So is this story. So, don’t sue, ok?
Author's Notes: This story is written in the “you are doing this/that/the other” POV, which I know is considered kinda crappy in the fanfic world. It just wrote itself this way, ok? Inspired by the FanFic100 Challenge, Number 40 - Sight.
Those Two Boys
One summer, when you were much younger, two boys moved into the house across the street from yours.
One was tall and skinny, all elbows and knees and spit. He was probably about fourteen at the time, just hitting a growth spurt. He had messy brown hair that fell in his face, his nose always in a book. Sometimes you’d swear you’d see him get out of the car and walk right into the house without even glancing up from whatever he was reading that day.
The other had short blond hair and this grin… this grin so bright it was like looking at a lightbulb. He was the older of the two, maybe 18, and he practically glowed he was so beautiful.
That whole summer you played outside as much as you could, watching those two boys across the street, wondering who they were.
Once, you were playing catch with your little brother and the ball rolled into their yard. It stopped right near the foot of the younger one, but he was so busy reading he didn’t even notice. You crossed the street timidly, hanging at the end of their driveway until the older boy looked up from polishing the car and saw you standing there. (He was always doing something to that damned car, washing it, fixing it, touching it as though he was somehow connected to it; like it would disappear if he let go of it.)
He’d tossed you the ball with a wink and that grin. You didn’t even really know what sex was then, but you’d felt this little flip-flop in your stomach, a warmth that made you feel *funny* down *there*, just from him looking at you.
At times you’d hear yelling from inside the house, and the front door would slam and then you’d see the younger one standing outside, his face serious, face red and fists clenched, and your Mama would pull you away from the front window muttering to your father about “those neighbors across the street.”
Sometimes, late at night, when you were supposed to be asleep you would hear the rumble of that shiny black car as it pulled up to the house, and you’d wonder where they had been. One night, you’d stood on your bed and peeked out the window and you saw those two boys get out of the car with their Daddy. The older one was limping along, held up by his father, the younger one’s face drawn tight with fear and panic.
A few days later you saw him out in the yard with a girl, leaning against the car, his fngers hooked in her belt loops. You watched as he kissed her, laughed, kissed her again, and you wondered what it was like to kiss a boy; this boy.
Then one day they were gone. They’d just left, like that. No moving truck, no boxes. Nothing. You woke up one morning and the car wasn’t there and you never saw those boys again.
Now you are older, and sometimes at night you find yourself thinking about those boys. You wonder what happened to them, what they are like now, where they are. They would be older too, and you wonder what they look like. You wonder if the younger one grew into his height, became graceful and lean. You wonder if he still reads books, if his face is still serious and indignant. The other you are sure is still a thing of beauty, oozing sex and mischief.
You thought you saw him once, in a truck stop in Dakota, standing next to that sleek black car. You’d made eye contact and he’d grinned at you; your stomach had flip-flopped again and for a split second you could have sworn it was that boy. But then you had doubted it, passed it off as coincidence; just another boy with a car in the middle of nowhere.
You drove past the old house a few weeks ago and you couldn’t help but look across the street, something in you hoping you’d see them standing there. You’d laughed at yourself when you didn’t, but you just had to look. Just in case.
One morning, you will wake up and go outside and you will see those two boys, standing by that car in the parking lot of the motel across the street. Some children will be playing catch nearby, and the ball will roll to a stop at the younger one’s feet. He’ll have his nose in a book and he won’t notice.
The older one will see the girl, lingering on the pavement, and he will toss her the ball with a wink and that grin. She will be too young to even know what sex is, but when she comes back with the ball, her cheeks will be pink and she’ll have had that first taste of whatever it was you felt all those years ago.
He will look at you, and catch your eye and grin and for a split second he will think that he remembers you, that little girl from across the street. But then he will doubt it, pass it off as coincidence; just another girl in a town in the middle of nowhere.