fathers and sons - SN/Leverage - PG
Title: fathers and sons
Fandom: Supernatural/Leverage
Disclaimer: not my characters
Warnings: pre-series for both
Pairings: implied OMC/Eliot
Rating: PGish
Wordcount: 930
Point of view: third
Prompt: John, wee!Sam, wee!Dean, wee!Eliot, John comes across a young Eliot Spencer
They've just crossed the state line into Oregon and John's bone-deep exhausted. Sammy finally drifted off to sleep only half an hour ago and Dean's curled up next to him in the backseat, yawning so wide John's jaw hurts at the thought.
"Go to sleep, son," John tells him, yawning himself. "I'll wake you when we stop."
Dean shakes his head, determined to keep John company. He told John so way back in Reno, when they stopped to stock up on supplies. He's a big boy now, so he can stay up with John.
John shakes his head and sighs, focusing back on the road. Dean'll be asleep in ten minutes, tops, and if John's remembering right, there's a hotel about twenty miles on. He's getting so tired it's dangerous and they can head out again in the morning.
Well. He drains his can of soda and amends that to the afternoon.
o0o
Ten hours of interrupted sleep is a luxury of the past, but John wakes well into the afternoon.
"Dean?" he calls, instantly on alert. He sits up, scanning the room. Neither of the boys is accounted for and panic starts dully thumping in his gut.
It's only after he stands that he sees the note on the dresser: gone swimin in Dean's just-learned scrawl.
Relief intermingles with anger that Dean left the room, taking Sammy with him, and didn't bother waking John to tell him.
Of course, Dean's a big boy now. He likes to take care of Sammy and John, nevermind that he's all of seven and still needs to be taken care of himself.
o0o
They are both at the pool, Sammy splashing on the stairs and Dean within reach of him, trying to see how long he can hold his breath.
“Dean!” John calls; they both look up. “It’s time to go.” Not only do they both lack swimming trunks-Dean’s in one of John’s shirts and his underwear, Sammy in Dean’s shirt-but they’re already running late.
“Yes’r,” Dean says. He herds Sammy out of the pool. John picks Sammy up and heads back to the room, Dean at his side.
o0o
They get lunch in town, even though it’s really more of a supper, the day’s run so late. “Maybe we should stay the night again,” he muses aloud, while Dean’s finishing up his burger. Sammy’s already made a mess of his mashed potatoes. “We’d just have to stop two towns over, anyway.”
Dean blinks up at him. John nods. “Yeah, we’ll get another room for the night,” he says.
o0o
John actually gets up at a reasonable hour the next morning and straightens the room before rousing the boys. He settles Sammy into his seat with his favorite stuffed rabbit and makes sure Dean buckles up.
“We good to go, boys?” he asks.
Dean nods. Sammy makes his rabbit roar and laughs.
o0o
John first notices the kid outside a truckstop just north of Madras. He’s about twelve, in clothes that are too big, with a split lip and two shiners. Then John’s attention is caught by Sammy’s temper-tantrum and the kid is forgotten.
But John sees him again at the Washington welcome center, slouching against the wall by the men’s room, looking too old and infinitely young at the same time. John bundles his boys into the car, tells Dean to lock the doors, and heads back.
When he gets there, he sees the kid slipping into a truck with a roughneck. John glances around, but no one’s watching, so he stalks to the driver’s door and pulls the man out.
o0o
Dean is silent in the back with Sammy; the kid, who refuses to tell John his name, is steaming shotgun.
“I didn’t ask for your help,” is the only thing he’s said so far that wasn’t a muttered curse.
“Where you goin’?” John asks placidly.
The kid glares at him. “Olympia.”
“Family?” John asks, refusing to get riled up.
“I got an aunt there. She’ll-” The kid cuts off, turning his back to John so he can glare out the window.
“You know,” John says, switching lanes to pass on Oldsmobile. “Kid, if you’re gonna be on your own, you should learn how to fight.”
He glances into the rearview, at Mary’s boys. The thought of Dean out on his own, trying to do what this kid was-it makes his blood boil.
“Yeah,” the kid mutters.
The ride is silent after that.
o0o
John leaves the boys in the car when he walks the kid to his aunt’s door. The kid just huddles in his jacket, so John knocks.
An older woman answers and her mouth drops open. “Eliot Spencer!” she howls. “Your mother’s been frantic lookin’ for you, boy!”
The kid, Eliot, scoffs. “Pissed off I left is more like it,” he says.
That just sends the woman into an even greater diatribe and John taps Eliot on the shoulder. “Be good, you hear?” he says. “And learn to fight.”
Eliot nods. As John turns to go, he says, “Hey, uh, sir?” John looks back. Eliot ducks his head and murmurs, “Thanks. For, you know…”
John nods, now, and says, “Remember, Eliot. If you’re gonna be takin’ care of yourself, you need to know how to defend-and attack.”
The woman pulls Eliot into the house, never even sparing John a glance, and he heads back to his car. He twists in his seat to look at the boys; Sammy’s asleep, but Dean is watching him.
“Hey, Dean,” he asks, “You ready to learn how to shoot a gun?”