Fic: The Grinch Effect
Title: The Grinch Effect
Rating/Warning: PG (Language)
Wordcount: 1,900
Spoilers: None
Fandom: SPN
Category: Gen
Summary: John Winchester does Christmas. He fails, mostly.
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No money, no sue.
"What the hell is this?" Dean demands when they're bumping over cow-rutted land towards a loose grouping of trucks, campervans and Winnebagos that have seen better days. He's squinting through the dust layered on the Impala's windshield and he can't believe his dad is doing this.
"What you asked me to," John grumbles. He's wincing every time they bottom-out on the uneven ground, probably imagining the damage he's doing to the undercarriage. Most days they take John's truck when when there's even a chance of any cross-country but the truck had died on a back road two days ago, engine siezing and they'd had to leave it. Bobby had promised to get to it when he got back from a possession in Alabama.
"We're supposed to be spending Christmas doing something Sammy will like," Dean says slowly. He eyes his kid brother in the rear vision mirror. Despite all the jostling, Sam's dead to the world, oversized headphones hooked over his ears and mouth open. Dean would tease him about the drool if he didn't know that Sam was going to throw one hell of an epic bitch fit as soon as he was conscious.
Sam's sixteen, sullen and prone to terrible tempers. He and their dad have been catching at each other's rough edges for months now and Dean had been seeking some kind of a cease-fire. Had thought maybe his dad had actually understood instead of dragging them towards the one thing Sam seemed to be objecting to more vehemently than ever.
"He'll like this," his dad says and Dean sighs, exasperated that his dad would actually believe that, or at least convince himself it was true. "He liked it last time," John says, sounding a little less sure.
"He was eight last time," Dean points out. "He liked it because everyone kept giving him candy and thought he was adorable."
"He's still adorable," his dad says with a wry smirk and Dean rolls his eyes.
"You know he's just going to think you're doing this for you." Dean sees his dad tense, more than he was before because of the cross-country. Dean watches the side of his father's face flush a guilty red and he narrows his eyes. "Oh my god, this is for you."
"Jean Phillips had some info she wanted to pass on and Beck Meyer has a new way of packing salt rounds. They were both going to be here so I figured-"
"Goddamit!" Dean snaps, smacking a hand on the dash.
"That's enough of that Dean," his dad automatically returns, need to discipline so ingrained that he probably doesn't even realize he's doing it. "We can relax and do family shit like he's been wanting here too."
Dean wants to tell his dad that he's a selfish bastard, that for once it wouldn't have killed him to do something without an agenda. Sam will only see that he's been dragged another place on hunter business, will be blind to anything else it could be. Dean wants to call his dad on his bullshit but he doesn't because he's too tired to have the same argument, needs to keep a reserve for when Sam blows a gasket.
Dean looks over the seat this time at Sam, sees he woke up while they drew closer and his face has a pinched look to it. He's not saying anything and silence is always worse.
Dean hates the anticipation.
*
Dean actually doesn't mind spending Christmas amongst other hunters. They're mostly relaxed, ready to wind down and trade stories. They've been treating him like an adult since he was about fifteen which helps and Dean knows that part of the reason Sam hates it is because the other hunters take their lead from John, see him barking orders instead of asking Sam to do shit and assume he needs a firm hand.
It's true, they haven't been back to the annual gathering for about eight years, always on the wrong side of the country when Christmas rolled around. It's a rare opportunity to have a lot of knowledge in a small place and Dean can appreciate the value but it's not what he asked for, not what his dad agreed to. He feels a little betrayed, annoyed that Sam will see him as having been partly responsible for this.
Sam had wanted to stay back in Mill's Pond, had a loose circle of vapid friends he'd liked and wanted to spend the holiday with. Sam didn't often find a group he could mesh with being the perpetual new kid but Dean had been sure that John was going to do the right thing this time, find somewhere quiet and pretty for them to spend the winter break.
Instead Dean watches as Sam hauls their tents out of the back of the car, sleeping bags and extra blankets piled on top. The dirt underfoot isn't iced over yet, but it's promising to be so in the next few days. Every now and again Sam throws his dad's back a narrow-eyed glance, watching him mingle amongst the gathered hunters. Dean has been drawn into conversation with Marcus Freed who's twenty same as him, and unfortunately the youngest person there apart from Sam and Dean themselves by a long ways.
*
Sam retreats into their tent as soon as it's up. He'd done a good job, probably tempted to make a hash of their dad's tent as a little punishment but apparently resisting the urge. Dean's glad they aren't going to be pressed in, three-man. He doesn't think anyone would survive the night if that was the case.
Dean watches John approach the tent, test the lines. When he's hovering over Dean and Sam's tent, Sam pointedly zips it closed. John says something to the closed tent that Dean doesn't catch, words caught by the wind. He doesn't know if there's a reply but their dad stalks away like there was, one he doesn't like.
"You and your brother can bunk in with me if you don't want to freeze your balls off outside," Marcus offers, swinging a hand in the direction of his Winnebago. It's a monster of a thing, Marcus living in it full time and Dean eyes it, knowing it's going to be much warmer and a lot more comfortable.
"Yeah, thanks," he agrees, knowing the invitation doesn't extend to John and Sam will like that. He knows Marcus and John had had a falling out about six months back and even though he doesn't know the exact details, he knows his dad would tell him if it were something that meant they had to steer clear of Marcus.
*
Sam doesn't need to be asked twice. He gathers his stuff and marches straight to Marcus' van, disappearing inside with his nose already buried in a book. John looks like he's going to say something but Dean holds up a hand. For once their dad takes the hint and bites his tongue.
"Give him one less thing to bitch about, okay?" Dean pleads and John nods stiffly, doesn't look impressed at all.
*
"There's a bonfire," Dean says, hoping to tempt Sam out of his hibernation. Sam's been a bundle of sleeping bag and hair for about twelve hours now with no sign of emerging. Marcus had just laughed and said, "Easiest guest I've ever had."
"How exciting," Sam says, voice muffled and flat from the sleeping bag and from his lack of overall enthusiasm.
"Hey, he could've dropped us off somewhere," Dean says because to hell with it, he's always going to defend their dad to Sam, and vice versa. "He wants to spend Christmas with us for once."
"I don't want to spend it with him," Sam snaps, finally flipping the edge of his sleeping bag down so Dean can see a corner of his face, one eye narrowed. "No one asked me."
"Can you stop being a bitch for once in your life?" Dean asks, knowing it's a mistake the moment he says it but unable to stop himself. He loves Sam, sometimes he's scared of how much and maybe that's why Sam can get under his skin like no one else, pry up his bad temper.
"Fine," Sam growls through clenched teeth, throws the sleeping bag aside and stands, popping his shoulders. Dean watches the pissed off way he yanks on his jacket and boots and almost tells Sam to forget it, it's probably better he stays in the van and ignores them.
He's spoiling for a fight, Dean has learned to read the signs.
"Maybe-" he starts to say and Sam glares, says, "You wanted me to come play nice," with a sneer that spells trouble.
Sam bangs out of the van and onto the ground. He skids a little because the grass is now brittle with ice and mud just underneath and that probably tips Sam over the edge.
He storms up to the fire that the other hunters are gathered around, including their dad and kicks at the barrel it's contained in. The barrel goes over, sprays burning wood and embers every which way. Everyone scrambles out of the way and then watches as the fire dies when it meets cold wet earth.
Dean knows it had been a hell of a chore to find dry wood and he watches as their dad marches up to Sam and grabs him by his jacket, shakes him back and forth like a doll. "Hey, Dad!" Dean yelps, because he knows what John Winchester looks like when he's going to take a swing and John Winchester looks like that now. Dean manages to get arms around Sam's middle and pries him out of John's grip, spins and sets him on his feet, gives him a kick in the butt to get going and Sam does.
John's left standing there, breathing hard and furious. The others disband, hunters not really the type to hang around for drama like normal people, so used to melting away in the darkness that it's like second nature. "What the hell is wrong with that kid?" John demands.
"He's sixteen," Dean says and John just stares at Dean for a second in the darkness.
"You weren't like that," John says finally, deflating before Dean's eyes.
"Yeah, well, they broke the mold and all that," Dean says and John huffs a helpless laugh, scrubs a hand over his head.
"Thanks," he says, reaching out and squeezing Dean's shoulder. "I was going to-"
"I know," Dean interrupts, doesn't want to hear it out loud.
"Just... we'll go," John says. "I got a lead on something and he obviously doesn't want to spend time with me. I'll drop you guys somewhere... nicer."
"Just..." Dean rubs a hand over his own face. "Just stick it out, don't prove him right," Dean says and John gives him a funny look before he nods.
*
Dean wakes up the next morning to low voices just outside the van. He sticks his head out, sees Sam and John hunched over a small fire, both cradling mugs. They're actually talking instead of yelling or giving each other the stink eye which is miraculous progress as far as Dean's concerned.
Dean thumps down the van's two steps louder than necessary and then shuffles Sam sideways on his precarious perch on a spare tyre until there's room for him as well. Sam shares his seat but draws the line at the coffee, holding it out and away from himself like he can sense Dean's intention to snatch it.
"Get your own," John huffs before Sam has a chance to and Dean treats his dad to a betrayed look. John smiles into his cup when Sam gives him a grateful grin.
Dean gets his own.
Rating/Warning: PG (Language)
Wordcount: 1,900
Spoilers: None
Fandom: SPN
Category: Gen
Summary: John Winchester does Christmas. He fails, mostly.
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No money, no sue.
"What the hell is this?" Dean demands when they're bumping over cow-rutted land towards a loose grouping of trucks, campervans and Winnebagos that have seen better days. He's squinting through the dust layered on the Impala's windshield and he can't believe his dad is doing this.
"What you asked me to," John grumbles. He's wincing every time they bottom-out on the uneven ground, probably imagining the damage he's doing to the undercarriage. Most days they take John's truck when when there's even a chance of any cross-country but the truck had died on a back road two days ago, engine siezing and they'd had to leave it. Bobby had promised to get to it when he got back from a possession in Alabama.
"We're supposed to be spending Christmas doing something Sammy will like," Dean says slowly. He eyes his kid brother in the rear vision mirror. Despite all the jostling, Sam's dead to the world, oversized headphones hooked over his ears and mouth open. Dean would tease him about the drool if he didn't know that Sam was going to throw one hell of an epic bitch fit as soon as he was conscious.
Sam's sixteen, sullen and prone to terrible tempers. He and their dad have been catching at each other's rough edges for months now and Dean had been seeking some kind of a cease-fire. Had thought maybe his dad had actually understood instead of dragging them towards the one thing Sam seemed to be objecting to more vehemently than ever.
"He'll like this," his dad says and Dean sighs, exasperated that his dad would actually believe that, or at least convince himself it was true. "He liked it last time," John says, sounding a little less sure.
"He was eight last time," Dean points out. "He liked it because everyone kept giving him candy and thought he was adorable."
"He's still adorable," his dad says with a wry smirk and Dean rolls his eyes.
"You know he's just going to think you're doing this for you." Dean sees his dad tense, more than he was before because of the cross-country. Dean watches the side of his father's face flush a guilty red and he narrows his eyes. "Oh my god, this is for you."
"Jean Phillips had some info she wanted to pass on and Beck Meyer has a new way of packing salt rounds. They were both going to be here so I figured-"
"Goddamit!" Dean snaps, smacking a hand on the dash.
"That's enough of that Dean," his dad automatically returns, need to discipline so ingrained that he probably doesn't even realize he's doing it. "We can relax and do family shit like he's been wanting here too."
Dean wants to tell his dad that he's a selfish bastard, that for once it wouldn't have killed him to do something without an agenda. Sam will only see that he's been dragged another place on hunter business, will be blind to anything else it could be. Dean wants to call his dad on his bullshit but he doesn't because he's too tired to have the same argument, needs to keep a reserve for when Sam blows a gasket.
Dean looks over the seat this time at Sam, sees he woke up while they drew closer and his face has a pinched look to it. He's not saying anything and silence is always worse.
Dean hates the anticipation.
*
Dean actually doesn't mind spending Christmas amongst other hunters. They're mostly relaxed, ready to wind down and trade stories. They've been treating him like an adult since he was about fifteen which helps and Dean knows that part of the reason Sam hates it is because the other hunters take their lead from John, see him barking orders instead of asking Sam to do shit and assume he needs a firm hand.
It's true, they haven't been back to the annual gathering for about eight years, always on the wrong side of the country when Christmas rolled around. It's a rare opportunity to have a lot of knowledge in a small place and Dean can appreciate the value but it's not what he asked for, not what his dad agreed to. He feels a little betrayed, annoyed that Sam will see him as having been partly responsible for this.
Sam had wanted to stay back in Mill's Pond, had a loose circle of vapid friends he'd liked and wanted to spend the holiday with. Sam didn't often find a group he could mesh with being the perpetual new kid but Dean had been sure that John was going to do the right thing this time, find somewhere quiet and pretty for them to spend the winter break.
Instead Dean watches as Sam hauls their tents out of the back of the car, sleeping bags and extra blankets piled on top. The dirt underfoot isn't iced over yet, but it's promising to be so in the next few days. Every now and again Sam throws his dad's back a narrow-eyed glance, watching him mingle amongst the gathered hunters. Dean has been drawn into conversation with Marcus Freed who's twenty same as him, and unfortunately the youngest person there apart from Sam and Dean themselves by a long ways.
*
Sam retreats into their tent as soon as it's up. He'd done a good job, probably tempted to make a hash of their dad's tent as a little punishment but apparently resisting the urge. Dean's glad they aren't going to be pressed in, three-man. He doesn't think anyone would survive the night if that was the case.
Dean watches John approach the tent, test the lines. When he's hovering over Dean and Sam's tent, Sam pointedly zips it closed. John says something to the closed tent that Dean doesn't catch, words caught by the wind. He doesn't know if there's a reply but their dad stalks away like there was, one he doesn't like.
"You and your brother can bunk in with me if you don't want to freeze your balls off outside," Marcus offers, swinging a hand in the direction of his Winnebago. It's a monster of a thing, Marcus living in it full time and Dean eyes it, knowing it's going to be much warmer and a lot more comfortable.
"Yeah, thanks," he agrees, knowing the invitation doesn't extend to John and Sam will like that. He knows Marcus and John had had a falling out about six months back and even though he doesn't know the exact details, he knows his dad would tell him if it were something that meant they had to steer clear of Marcus.
*
Sam doesn't need to be asked twice. He gathers his stuff and marches straight to Marcus' van, disappearing inside with his nose already buried in a book. John looks like he's going to say something but Dean holds up a hand. For once their dad takes the hint and bites his tongue.
"Give him one less thing to bitch about, okay?" Dean pleads and John nods stiffly, doesn't look impressed at all.
*
"There's a bonfire," Dean says, hoping to tempt Sam out of his hibernation. Sam's been a bundle of sleeping bag and hair for about twelve hours now with no sign of emerging. Marcus had just laughed and said, "Easiest guest I've ever had."
"How exciting," Sam says, voice muffled and flat from the sleeping bag and from his lack of overall enthusiasm.
"Hey, he could've dropped us off somewhere," Dean says because to hell with it, he's always going to defend their dad to Sam, and vice versa. "He wants to spend Christmas with us for once."
"I don't want to spend it with him," Sam snaps, finally flipping the edge of his sleeping bag down so Dean can see a corner of his face, one eye narrowed. "No one asked me."
"Can you stop being a bitch for once in your life?" Dean asks, knowing it's a mistake the moment he says it but unable to stop himself. He loves Sam, sometimes he's scared of how much and maybe that's why Sam can get under his skin like no one else, pry up his bad temper.
"Fine," Sam growls through clenched teeth, throws the sleeping bag aside and stands, popping his shoulders. Dean watches the pissed off way he yanks on his jacket and boots and almost tells Sam to forget it, it's probably better he stays in the van and ignores them.
He's spoiling for a fight, Dean has learned to read the signs.
"Maybe-" he starts to say and Sam glares, says, "You wanted me to come play nice," with a sneer that spells trouble.
Sam bangs out of the van and onto the ground. He skids a little because the grass is now brittle with ice and mud just underneath and that probably tips Sam over the edge.
He storms up to the fire that the other hunters are gathered around, including their dad and kicks at the barrel it's contained in. The barrel goes over, sprays burning wood and embers every which way. Everyone scrambles out of the way and then watches as the fire dies when it meets cold wet earth.
Dean knows it had been a hell of a chore to find dry wood and he watches as their dad marches up to Sam and grabs him by his jacket, shakes him back and forth like a doll. "Hey, Dad!" Dean yelps, because he knows what John Winchester looks like when he's going to take a swing and John Winchester looks like that now. Dean manages to get arms around Sam's middle and pries him out of John's grip, spins and sets him on his feet, gives him a kick in the butt to get going and Sam does.
John's left standing there, breathing hard and furious. The others disband, hunters not really the type to hang around for drama like normal people, so used to melting away in the darkness that it's like second nature. "What the hell is wrong with that kid?" John demands.
"He's sixteen," Dean says and John just stares at Dean for a second in the darkness.
"You weren't like that," John says finally, deflating before Dean's eyes.
"Yeah, well, they broke the mold and all that," Dean says and John huffs a helpless laugh, scrubs a hand over his head.
"Thanks," he says, reaching out and squeezing Dean's shoulder. "I was going to-"
"I know," Dean interrupts, doesn't want to hear it out loud.
"Just... we'll go," John says. "I got a lead on something and he obviously doesn't want to spend time with me. I'll drop you guys somewhere... nicer."
"Just..." Dean rubs a hand over his own face. "Just stick it out, don't prove him right," Dean says and John gives him a funny look before he nods.
*
Dean wakes up the next morning to low voices just outside the van. He sticks his head out, sees Sam and John hunched over a small fire, both cradling mugs. They're actually talking instead of yelling or giving each other the stink eye which is miraculous progress as far as Dean's concerned.
Dean thumps down the van's two steps louder than necessary and then shuffles Sam sideways on his precarious perch on a spare tyre until there's room for him as well. Sam shares his seat but draws the line at the coffee, holding it out and away from himself like he can sense Dean's intention to snatch it.
"Get your own," John huffs before Sam has a chance to and Dean treats his dad to a betrayed look. John smiles into his cup when Sam gives him a grateful grin.
Dean gets his own.