fic: The Kite-Eating Tree (Supernatural; Sam and Dean; gen)
The Kite-Eating Tree
Supernatural; Sam and Dean; g; 1110 words
"The kite-eating tree doesn't stand a chance."
Written for the spnflashfic prompt "hidden talents." Thanks to luzdeestrellas and amberlynne for looking it over.
~*~
The Kite-Eating Tree
Sam has just built up a good head of steam detailing What Is Wrong With People Who Don't Recycle when he realizes that not only is Dean not listening to him, Dean's not even walking next to him anymore.
With an annoyed sigh, he turns around to see Dean down on one knee in the grass, talking to a little girl with long dark hair clipped back in pink and purple butterfly barrettes.
"What's wrong, sweetheart? Where's your mom?" Dean is saying when Sam arrives.
The little girl is crying, soft hiccupping sobs that hurt to hear, and she points at the tree looming over them.
"It's up too high, Susie," says a pretty dark-haired woman who is obviously the little girl's mother. "I can't reach it." She eyes Sam and Dean skeptically as she puts a comforting arm around her daughter's shoulders.
"Can we help?" Dean asks, rising from his crouch, all concern for the little girl (and not a little come-on for her cute mom).
"The tree ate my kite," Susie chokes out, still pointing. "It was a birthday present."
They all look up at the tree, and when he squints, Sam can see the long paper tail fluttering in the breeze, bright blue against the dark green leaves.
"We'll get it for you," Dean says, grinning down at Susie, who's stopped crying to stare up at him, wide-eyed and entranced. Sam bites back a laugh at the evidence of Dean's nearly irresistible charm. "The kite-eating tree doesn't stand a chance."
Dean circles the trunk of the tree, looking for a low-hanging branch, and Sam, assailed by an unexpected spike of anxiety, follows him.
"Dean, do you really think this is a good idea?"
"I've climbed trees before, Sam." Dean reaches up, tugs on a branch to see if it'll hold his weight. "And I made a promise to a lady."
"Like you haven't broken a million of those."
Dean opens and closes his mouth, obviously rethinking his answer. "This is different."
"Dean."
Dean stops, cocks his head, forehead furrowed in confusion. "What crawled up your ass and died?"
"I didn't save your ass from hell for you to fall out of a tree and break your neck. And okay, it sounds really stupid when I say it like that. I just--" Sam waves a hand at the tree. "I don't like it."
"We've fought demons and vampires and zombies. I really don't think a kite-eating tree is gonna take me out."
"I know. I just--I can't explain it." Sam throws his hands up in the air, distressed and confused and more than a little annoyed at himself (being a little annoyed at Dean is a nearly constant state; he barely notices it anymore). "I just don't like it."
Dean pats him on the chest gently. "It's okay, Sammy. Really." He jumps and grabs a thick branch, dangles for a moment, and then starts climbing up. Sam can't help the shiver of fear that runs down his spine, though he knows it's ridiculous. "I'll be right down."
"Dean, be careful."
Dean grins down at him. "Always."
The tree rustles a bit as Dean makes his way to the kite, leaves raining down on Sam, Susie, and Susie's mom, who all stand beneath it staring up. A small crowd gathers around them--grown men probably don't climb trees very often around here--and Dean plays to it, and to the little girl whose kite he's rescuing, grinning down at the crowd, snapping off a playful little salute as he shimmies down, the bright blue and purple kite clutched in his hand, the long tail wrapped carefully around his arm.
He drops to the ground gracefully and hands Susie her kite. "Let me just get the string untangled," he says, "and you'll be good to go." It only takes him a couple of minutes to get the string rewound, fingers nimble and sure. "Come on, Susie. Let's fly this thing."
He starts off at a slow trot so the little girl can keep up, kite trailing behind them at shoulder level until the wind takes it, one hand letting the string out until it's floating high above them in the clear blue sky, the other hand holding Susie's, until she demands to be lifted up so she can handle the string with him. Her mother and Sam watch with indulgent smiles, Sam's odd anxiety eased by Dean's grin and the little girl's shrieks of laughter.
Susie's father shows up about ten minutes later, so Dean hands her off, but not before she gives him a big hug and a kiss, and he actually blushes when she thanks him.
"I didn't know you could fly a kite," Sam says as they continue their walk through the park.
Dean rubs a hand over his chin. "I wasn't sure I still could. Been damn near twenty years since the last time I did it." They stop at a pushcart vendor, and Dean buys them both hotdogs. "You don't remember that summer at Pastor Jim's? The year I broke my wrist?"
Sam has vague memories of waiting with Pastor Jim for Dad to bring Dean home from the hospital, and clearer ones of drawing all over the cast on Dean's arm. "You fell out of that tree behind the parish house," he says slowly, and he's not sure if he's remembering it or if he's just remembering what it must have looked like, because Dean used to tell the story occasionally. "We were flying a kite. It looked like a...dragon?"
"Nah, it was shaped like a butterfly," Dean says, shoving the last bite of his first hotdog into his mouth, relish and ketchup on his chin. "One of the ladies who cooked for Pastor Jim gave it to you. But I told you it was a dragon, 'cause dragons are cooler." He starts on the second hotdog, chewing with his mouth wide open and a smile on his face. He looks like the nine-year-old Sam remembers from that day, all rough-edged joy and bravado, even if Sam has to revise his memory to include a kite shaped like a butterfly. "Is that why you were so--" Dean waves the hand not holding his hotdog "--just now?"
Sam shrugs, finishes off his own hotdogs. Probably. "I wasn't." Dean knows he's lying, but lets it stand. He hands Dean a napkin. "You've got ketchup all over your face. Can't take you anywhere."
Dean scrubs the napkin over his face quickly and beams at Sam. "Come on, Sammy, I'll buy you an ice cream." He bumps his shoulder into Sam's, and Sam bumps him back, content.
end
originally posted in spnflashfic on 3/18/07.
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
Supernatural; Sam and Dean; g; 1110 words
"The kite-eating tree doesn't stand a chance."
Written for the spnflashfic prompt "hidden talents." Thanks to luzdeestrellas and amberlynne for looking it over.
~*~
The Kite-Eating Tree
Sam has just built up a good head of steam detailing What Is Wrong With People Who Don't Recycle when he realizes that not only is Dean not listening to him, Dean's not even walking next to him anymore.
With an annoyed sigh, he turns around to see Dean down on one knee in the grass, talking to a little girl with long dark hair clipped back in pink and purple butterfly barrettes.
"What's wrong, sweetheart? Where's your mom?" Dean is saying when Sam arrives.
The little girl is crying, soft hiccupping sobs that hurt to hear, and she points at the tree looming over them.
"It's up too high, Susie," says a pretty dark-haired woman who is obviously the little girl's mother. "I can't reach it." She eyes Sam and Dean skeptically as she puts a comforting arm around her daughter's shoulders.
"Can we help?" Dean asks, rising from his crouch, all concern for the little girl (and not a little come-on for her cute mom).
"The tree ate my kite," Susie chokes out, still pointing. "It was a birthday present."
They all look up at the tree, and when he squints, Sam can see the long paper tail fluttering in the breeze, bright blue against the dark green leaves.
"We'll get it for you," Dean says, grinning down at Susie, who's stopped crying to stare up at him, wide-eyed and entranced. Sam bites back a laugh at the evidence of Dean's nearly irresistible charm. "The kite-eating tree doesn't stand a chance."
Dean circles the trunk of the tree, looking for a low-hanging branch, and Sam, assailed by an unexpected spike of anxiety, follows him.
"Dean, do you really think this is a good idea?"
"I've climbed trees before, Sam." Dean reaches up, tugs on a branch to see if it'll hold his weight. "And I made a promise to a lady."
"Like you haven't broken a million of those."
Dean opens and closes his mouth, obviously rethinking his answer. "This is different."
"Dean."
Dean stops, cocks his head, forehead furrowed in confusion. "What crawled up your ass and died?"
"I didn't save your ass from hell for you to fall out of a tree and break your neck. And okay, it sounds really stupid when I say it like that. I just--" Sam waves a hand at the tree. "I don't like it."
"We've fought demons and vampires and zombies. I really don't think a kite-eating tree is gonna take me out."
"I know. I just--I can't explain it." Sam throws his hands up in the air, distressed and confused and more than a little annoyed at himself (being a little annoyed at Dean is a nearly constant state; he barely notices it anymore). "I just don't like it."
Dean pats him on the chest gently. "It's okay, Sammy. Really." He jumps and grabs a thick branch, dangles for a moment, and then starts climbing up. Sam can't help the shiver of fear that runs down his spine, though he knows it's ridiculous. "I'll be right down."
"Dean, be careful."
Dean grins down at him. "Always."
The tree rustles a bit as Dean makes his way to the kite, leaves raining down on Sam, Susie, and Susie's mom, who all stand beneath it staring up. A small crowd gathers around them--grown men probably don't climb trees very often around here--and Dean plays to it, and to the little girl whose kite he's rescuing, grinning down at the crowd, snapping off a playful little salute as he shimmies down, the bright blue and purple kite clutched in his hand, the long tail wrapped carefully around his arm.
He drops to the ground gracefully and hands Susie her kite. "Let me just get the string untangled," he says, "and you'll be good to go." It only takes him a couple of minutes to get the string rewound, fingers nimble and sure. "Come on, Susie. Let's fly this thing."
He starts off at a slow trot so the little girl can keep up, kite trailing behind them at shoulder level until the wind takes it, one hand letting the string out until it's floating high above them in the clear blue sky, the other hand holding Susie's, until she demands to be lifted up so she can handle the string with him. Her mother and Sam watch with indulgent smiles, Sam's odd anxiety eased by Dean's grin and the little girl's shrieks of laughter.
Susie's father shows up about ten minutes later, so Dean hands her off, but not before she gives him a big hug and a kiss, and he actually blushes when she thanks him.
"I didn't know you could fly a kite," Sam says as they continue their walk through the park.
Dean rubs a hand over his chin. "I wasn't sure I still could. Been damn near twenty years since the last time I did it." They stop at a pushcart vendor, and Dean buys them both hotdogs. "You don't remember that summer at Pastor Jim's? The year I broke my wrist?"
Sam has vague memories of waiting with Pastor Jim for Dad to bring Dean home from the hospital, and clearer ones of drawing all over the cast on Dean's arm. "You fell out of that tree behind the parish house," he says slowly, and he's not sure if he's remembering it or if he's just remembering what it must have looked like, because Dean used to tell the story occasionally. "We were flying a kite. It looked like a...dragon?"
"Nah, it was shaped like a butterfly," Dean says, shoving the last bite of his first hotdog into his mouth, relish and ketchup on his chin. "One of the ladies who cooked for Pastor Jim gave it to you. But I told you it was a dragon, 'cause dragons are cooler." He starts on the second hotdog, chewing with his mouth wide open and a smile on his face. He looks like the nine-year-old Sam remembers from that day, all rough-edged joy and bravado, even if Sam has to revise his memory to include a kite shaped like a butterfly. "Is that why you were so--" Dean waves the hand not holding his hotdog "--just now?"
Sam shrugs, finishes off his own hotdogs. Probably. "I wasn't." Dean knows he's lying, but lets it stand. He hands Dean a napkin. "You've got ketchup all over your face. Can't take you anywhere."
Dean scrubs the napkin over his face quickly and beams at Sam. "Come on, Sammy, I'll buy you an ice cream." He bumps his shoulder into Sam's, and Sam bumps him back, content.
end
originally posted in spnflashfic on 3/18/07.
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~