SPN FIC - Hopely - Eddie, 1984
This is a new experiment, in response to all the requests for outsider POV, with pre-series Winchesters. They say "Write what you know," so that's what's going on here. It's going to be a collection of portraits of the residents of a small town that John brings the boys to three times: 1984, 1991, and 1998. Every seven years, because there's something going on and he's determined to ... you know. Kill some evil sons of bitches. Some of these OCs will know there's a problem and some won't. All of them (and the places they live and work) are borrowed from my own life, with some literary license.
That's the setup. Hope you enjoy the results. Off we go ...
Sweet little boy. Green eyes just like jewels. He's looking inside the store like it's a treasure chest.
CHARACTERS: John, wee!Sammy, wee!Dean, OMC
GENRE: Gen (outsider POV)
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
Length: 990 words
HOPELY - Eddie, 1984
By Carol Davis
Ain’t much of a store. There’s a half-decent sign outside, left from twenty years ago, that says Next To New, but the paint’s kinda wore off of it, and it hangs a little bit crooked. Inside, there’s piles of things Eddie’s collected these last few weeks, that’s been given to him, that he’s pulled off the heaps in front of folks’ houses the night before trash day.
Next to new, that’s kind of a stretch.
Still and all, the place is his, and he figures it’s his duty to give this a go.
He lives in the back, in the room he’s made comfortable with a soft cot and a chair. What’s in the corner ain’t exactly a kitchen - it’s a little fridge, and a sink, and a microwave - but it’ll do fine. He’s not proud, not any more. And he ain’t grand. All he needs is a place to lie down, a place to sit, a way to warm up his meals. Keeping himself warm, that’d be good too, but the weather’s taking a turn lately and he’s starting to wonder whether the wind’s gonna find its way through the chinks in the walls and under the door.
This place was a drugstore years ago, folks have told him, run by a nice fella everybody liked. He’s gone now, passed away, so there’s no chance he’ll walk by and be ashamed of what his store looks like now.
It is what it is, Eddie thinks. No way around that.
He’s sitting where he always sits when the sun’s out, in an old lawn chair set up alongside the front door, when the new fella that moved in next door comes walking down the stairs. Lives up on the second floor, see, in the apartment that used to belong to Nut. The little boy’s walking just behind, hand on the railing so he won’t fall, and him, the new fella, he’s holding the baby, got the baby all tucked up close to him.
“See, Daddy, see?” the boy sings out when they get close.
“I see,” says the fella.
“They got things to buy. And there’s toys.”
It’s true, there’s a plastic laundry basket full of toys in there, mostly pieces of things, lots of different bright colors. It’s all clean, as best as Eddie could make it, because the little ones, everything goes in their mouths, and on his worst day he wouldn’t want a little one to get sick because he wasn’t careful enough about the cleaning. There’s other things, too: a couple old TVs, some kitchen stuff (bowls and cups and pots and pans), a rack of clothes, two boxes of books, lots of odds and ends.
The fella nods hello, looks past Eddie through the open doorway. Down at his knee, the little fella’s dancing, wants to go inside but won’t do it without permission. He’s got a fistful of his papa’s jacket, like he’s been told to hang on, stay close.
“Can we?” he begs, up, up, up, like he’s talking to the sky.
“Hold on,” his daddy says.
“Look around, if you want,” Eddie offers. “Take your time. No set price. Anything you like, we can talk.”
He’s young, this fella. Thirty, maybe. His clothes are decent but they don’t fit him quite right, like they were given to him, or he didn’t bother to pick and choose for his size. Same with the little boy: his jacket’s too big, his pants are rolled up at the cuffs. But they’re clean, the both of them, and the baby. No sign of a mother, so it’s the young fella who does all the caretaking. Does a good job of it, Eddie thinks, because they’re all clean and neat and the little boy’s a good egg. Calls his daddy “sir” sometimes, and says “please” and “thank you.”
Sweet little boy. Green eyes just like jewels. He’s looking inside the store like it’s a treasure chest.
Been a long time since Eddie’s looked at anything that way.
“Nothing in there dangerous,” Eddie says. “Little fella’s welcome to look, if that’s all right by you.”
The little one’s pulling in that direction, tipping towards the door.
“Hold on, Dean,” his daddy says.
Used to be proud, Eddie thinks. Used to be somebody else, in some whole other place. Used to think he knew who he was.
Funny how that changes when you don’t expect it to.
Dean’s daddy nods and cups his hand against the curve of his boy’s head, like he needs that little bit of a touch, just for a second. He lets go then, and so does the boy, and the fella’s barely gotten “All right, go ahead” out of his mouth when the boy scoots up onto the big curved stoop in front of the door, up the one step and inside, like that’s Disneyland in there, or Toys ‘R’ Us. Nothing but a collection of junk, Eddie thinks, but it is what it is, and maybe it all depends on your point of view.
He figures the boy’s daddy will follow him inside, but he stands there holding the baby, looking around a little bit, snuggling that baby close to his chest. What Eddie wants more than anything, right then, is to offer to hold that baby on his lap, so he can remember what his life was like before things all went sideways, but he knows that won’t fly.
He settles for saying, “I’m Eddie. This is my place.”
The young fella looks around, looks long and hard like he’s trying to decide on something. Closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, some kind of decision’s been made, although his heart doesn’t seem any the lighter for it.
“John,” he says quietly, low and gruff, and it seems like a gift, one he doesn’t offer to very many. “I’m John.”
Then he follows his boy into the store.
* * * * *
That's the setup. Hope you enjoy the results. Off we go ...
Sweet little boy. Green eyes just like jewels. He's looking inside the store like it's a treasure chest.
CHARACTERS: John, wee!Sammy, wee!Dean, OMC
GENRE: Gen (outsider POV)
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
Length: 990 words
HOPELY - Eddie, 1984
By Carol Davis
Ain’t much of a store. There’s a half-decent sign outside, left from twenty years ago, that says Next To New, but the paint’s kinda wore off of it, and it hangs a little bit crooked. Inside, there’s piles of things Eddie’s collected these last few weeks, that’s been given to him, that he’s pulled off the heaps in front of folks’ houses the night before trash day.
Next to new, that’s kind of a stretch.
Still and all, the place is his, and he figures it’s his duty to give this a go.
He lives in the back, in the room he’s made comfortable with a soft cot and a chair. What’s in the corner ain’t exactly a kitchen - it’s a little fridge, and a sink, and a microwave - but it’ll do fine. He’s not proud, not any more. And he ain’t grand. All he needs is a place to lie down, a place to sit, a way to warm up his meals. Keeping himself warm, that’d be good too, but the weather’s taking a turn lately and he’s starting to wonder whether the wind’s gonna find its way through the chinks in the walls and under the door.
This place was a drugstore years ago, folks have told him, run by a nice fella everybody liked. He’s gone now, passed away, so there’s no chance he’ll walk by and be ashamed of what his store looks like now.
It is what it is, Eddie thinks. No way around that.
He’s sitting where he always sits when the sun’s out, in an old lawn chair set up alongside the front door, when the new fella that moved in next door comes walking down the stairs. Lives up on the second floor, see, in the apartment that used to belong to Nut. The little boy’s walking just behind, hand on the railing so he won’t fall, and him, the new fella, he’s holding the baby, got the baby all tucked up close to him.
“See, Daddy, see?” the boy sings out when they get close.
“I see,” says the fella.
“They got things to buy. And there’s toys.”
It’s true, there’s a plastic laundry basket full of toys in there, mostly pieces of things, lots of different bright colors. It’s all clean, as best as Eddie could make it, because the little ones, everything goes in their mouths, and on his worst day he wouldn’t want a little one to get sick because he wasn’t careful enough about the cleaning. There’s other things, too: a couple old TVs, some kitchen stuff (bowls and cups and pots and pans), a rack of clothes, two boxes of books, lots of odds and ends.
The fella nods hello, looks past Eddie through the open doorway. Down at his knee, the little fella’s dancing, wants to go inside but won’t do it without permission. He’s got a fistful of his papa’s jacket, like he’s been told to hang on, stay close.
“Can we?” he begs, up, up, up, like he’s talking to the sky.
“Hold on,” his daddy says.
“Look around, if you want,” Eddie offers. “Take your time. No set price. Anything you like, we can talk.”
He’s young, this fella. Thirty, maybe. His clothes are decent but they don’t fit him quite right, like they were given to him, or he didn’t bother to pick and choose for his size. Same with the little boy: his jacket’s too big, his pants are rolled up at the cuffs. But they’re clean, the both of them, and the baby. No sign of a mother, so it’s the young fella who does all the caretaking. Does a good job of it, Eddie thinks, because they’re all clean and neat and the little boy’s a good egg. Calls his daddy “sir” sometimes, and says “please” and “thank you.”
Sweet little boy. Green eyes just like jewels. He’s looking inside the store like it’s a treasure chest.
Been a long time since Eddie’s looked at anything that way.
“Nothing in there dangerous,” Eddie says. “Little fella’s welcome to look, if that’s all right by you.”
The little one’s pulling in that direction, tipping towards the door.
“Hold on, Dean,” his daddy says.
Used to be proud, Eddie thinks. Used to be somebody else, in some whole other place. Used to think he knew who he was.
Funny how that changes when you don’t expect it to.
Dean’s daddy nods and cups his hand against the curve of his boy’s head, like he needs that little bit of a touch, just for a second. He lets go then, and so does the boy, and the fella’s barely gotten “All right, go ahead” out of his mouth when the boy scoots up onto the big curved stoop in front of the door, up the one step and inside, like that’s Disneyland in there, or Toys ‘R’ Us. Nothing but a collection of junk, Eddie thinks, but it is what it is, and maybe it all depends on your point of view.
He figures the boy’s daddy will follow him inside, but he stands there holding the baby, looking around a little bit, snuggling that baby close to his chest. What Eddie wants more than anything, right then, is to offer to hold that baby on his lap, so he can remember what his life was like before things all went sideways, but he knows that won’t fly.
He settles for saying, “I’m Eddie. This is my place.”
The young fella looks around, looks long and hard like he’s trying to decide on something. Closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, some kind of decision’s been made, although his heart doesn’t seem any the lighter for it.
“John,” he says quietly, low and gruff, and it seems like a gift, one he doesn’t offer to very many. “I’m John.”
Then he follows his boy into the store.
* * * * *