FIC - Focus (wishlist 5/12)
Title: Focus
Author: verucasalt123
Fandom: Supernatural, Sam/Dean (underage, established relationship)
Summary: This isn’t Bobby’s mess, and he’s not cleaning it up.
Prompt/Prompter: wishlist_fic for moondansr’s prompt: Sam/Dean (age of your choice), Bobby walks in to see something the boys would rather have kept a secret. This came out a little angsty on Bobby's part, I hope you don't mind, it's just how it went in my brain.
Rating: R
Warnings: underage, sibling incest (non-explicit), alcohol use by minors, cursing
Disclaimer: ALL LIES
When the Winchester boys came to stay with him, Bobby liked to give them a little space. He didn’t get in their father’s face about it anymore, but he knew John was either completely absent or all over their case, nothing in between. So he always offered them two separate rooms to sleep in (even though one of them only had a couch and they never took him up on it anyway), let them decide what they wanted for dinner, tried to be around for what they needed but not hovering or badgering them about anything.
Well, sometimes he had to do a little badgering. Sam wouldn’t wake up before eleven in the morning unless he was forced, and Bobby wasn’t about to make breakfast twice.
Their visits were getting fewer and farther between as time passed and Dean got old enough to hunt with his Dad on a regular basis as long as the job wouldn’t leave Sam on his own more than a day or two. Bobby didn’t really get it - John had left Sam in a ten or eleven year old Dean’s care for a week or more many times, but even at fourteen, Sam wasn’t left to care for himself for very long. Over time, it became clear that it was Dean who insisted on this, not their father. No big surprise there.
On this particular visit, he’d left dinner for the boys and gone out to meet another hunter for an exchange of information and items. Bobby knew the guy, kind of, but not well enough that he’d invite him into his house, especially with Dean and Sam staying the weekend. Dean was on crutches and Sam didn’t have any interest in going on his father’s hunt in Dean’s place (not that John would have brought him along even if he did). It was summer break, so Sam’s school wasn’t an issue, which meant John was likely to take an extra day or two away.
The boys had never been any trouble, at least, not what Bobby would consider trouble for normal young boys, and now teenagers. He didn’t think twice about leaving them alone in the house for an hour or two. They knew to stay out of his study, not to touch something if they didn’t know what it was, and were certainly in possession of more gun safety knowledge than any other kids their age. It turned out he didn’t have to leave them for long, though, since this guy he was supposed to meet was a no-show. Bobby had hung around for 45 minutes, shot the shit with the bartender, then gave up and headed back home.
He could hear Dean and Sam in the living room, but they obviously hadn’t noticed he was there, based on the content of their loud conversation.
Laughing, Dean said, “I think you’ve had enough, Sammy.” Bobby waited for Sam to bitch about the nickname but that wasn’t his response.
“No way, Dean, those were not (pause) the terms (another pause) of our agreement”, Sam replied. After another minute of mostly-quiet, just some rustling noises like they were pushing each other around or something, he continued, “You want me to get up and fetch your beers, then I get one for myself too.” Sam was giggling, and Dean, surprisingly, didn’t seem to be arguing back.
Damn it. To be honest, Bobby wouldn’t have really minded Dean having a beer or two; he was eighteen and John never minded if Dean had a drink. But Sam…now that was a different story. He was much too young to be drinking, and how the hell had he convinced Dean to let him do it? Dean would have hobbled into the kitchen on crutches before he let Sam get drunk, Bobby would have bet on that in a heartbeat.
And he hadn’t said Dean could have any of his beer anyway. Bobby moved through the kitchen and walked into the living room to give them a ration of shit for it, but then stopped short at the sight in front of him.
Dean was on the sofa with a beer in his hand, his injured foot propped up on the table next to two empties and his uninjured foot on the floor.
Sam was also holding a beer.
Sam was also in Dean’s lap. Facing him, legs bent and straddled on either side of his brother’s.
Sam was also shirtless. As was Dean.
Who now realized they were no longer alone in the house, and whose eyes were as big as dinner plates. He looked terrified, and he sure wasn’t afraid of Bobby getting pissed off about his beer stash being low. It was clear that Sam had realized the same thing his brother had, and he slowly slid off of Dean and onto the couch cushion next to him, also looking like someone had just cocked a gun next to his ear.
The kid’s hair was a rumpled mess, his face was flushed, and on his neck, there was…nope. Not going there.
Bobby breathed in. Out. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Closed his eyes. Forced himself to focus. Tried to decide what the fuck it was, exactly, he was supposed to do with this situation, and how he could possibly react to it in a way that would not scar the boys for life. (Bobby was already scarred for life, this just piled a little more on top, and he didn’t figure Dean and Sam needed to be emotionally traumatized just because he was.)
When he opened his eyes, both of the Winchesters were still silent as the grave and staring at Bobby like he was a firing squad. In the end, Bobby took the easy way out. He wasn’t proud of it, but he just didn’t have it in him; as much as he loved these boys, he wasn’t their parent and there was a tiny little voice in the back of his head reminding him that these two kids (yes, still kids) really hadn’t ever had anyone but each other for company most of their lives. Still, he couldn’t just walk away, he had to say something.
“I didn’t tell either of you that you were welcome to help yourselves to alcohol while I was gone. Dean, you should know better, letting Sam drink like that at his age!”
“Yes sir, sorry, I - we - uh, really, I’m sorry, it was my fault, don’t be mad at Sam, okay?” It was perfectly clear that Dean was ready to take the blame for the entire…situation…but Bobby was no fool, and someone swearing on a stack of bibles couldn’t convince him that Dean would take advantage of his brother if he weren’t a willing participant in whatever the hell this was.
“You two dump out what’s left in your cans. I’m going to bed. You will wake up to a very long list of things that need to be done around here in the morning, got it?”
For a minute, Sam and Dean both just stared at him, seemingly stunned that the whole shirtless lap-sitting thing wasn’t being addressed, but when Bobby just said, “Got it?” in a louder voice, they nodded enthusiastically, knowing to leave well enough alone and more than happy to spend the entire next day working in the yard if Bobby was just going to tell them to pour out their beer and not call their father to report that they’d been…not just drinking, or whatever.
That was not a conversation he was having with John Winchester. It just wasn’t. Bobby’d had enough. He figured there was no way Dean or Sam was going to take any chance of Bobby seeing anything remotely similar to this again, ever, and that was enough for him. Even though it shouldn’t be, he knew damn well it shouldn’t be.
He turned and walked up the stairs, hearing Sam get up to pour out the rest of their beers and get rid of the cans, but still not saying a word. When he reached his bedroom, he shut the door. There was a fairly slim chance he’d get any sleep, but that was all right. He had a list of meaningless grunt work to write down so those two boys would be busy all the next day. Maybe by tomorrow night, he’d be able to convince himself there was nothing to worry about, and he wasn’t just being a coward by letting it go. Or maybe by tomorrow night, he’d have a chance to drink enough that he wouldn’t have trouble sleeping because he felt guilty about it.
Author: verucasalt123
Fandom: Supernatural, Sam/Dean (underage, established relationship)
Summary: This isn’t Bobby’s mess, and he’s not cleaning it up.
Prompt/Prompter: wishlist_fic for moondansr’s prompt: Sam/Dean (age of your choice), Bobby walks in to see something the boys would rather have kept a secret. This came out a little angsty on Bobby's part, I hope you don't mind, it's just how it went in my brain.
Rating: R
Warnings: underage, sibling incest (non-explicit), alcohol use by minors, cursing
Disclaimer: ALL LIES
When the Winchester boys came to stay with him, Bobby liked to give them a little space. He didn’t get in their father’s face about it anymore, but he knew John was either completely absent or all over their case, nothing in between. So he always offered them two separate rooms to sleep in (even though one of them only had a couch and they never took him up on it anyway), let them decide what they wanted for dinner, tried to be around for what they needed but not hovering or badgering them about anything.
Well, sometimes he had to do a little badgering. Sam wouldn’t wake up before eleven in the morning unless he was forced, and Bobby wasn’t about to make breakfast twice.
Their visits were getting fewer and farther between as time passed and Dean got old enough to hunt with his Dad on a regular basis as long as the job wouldn’t leave Sam on his own more than a day or two. Bobby didn’t really get it - John had left Sam in a ten or eleven year old Dean’s care for a week or more many times, but even at fourteen, Sam wasn’t left to care for himself for very long. Over time, it became clear that it was Dean who insisted on this, not their father. No big surprise there.
On this particular visit, he’d left dinner for the boys and gone out to meet another hunter for an exchange of information and items. Bobby knew the guy, kind of, but not well enough that he’d invite him into his house, especially with Dean and Sam staying the weekend. Dean was on crutches and Sam didn’t have any interest in going on his father’s hunt in Dean’s place (not that John would have brought him along even if he did). It was summer break, so Sam’s school wasn’t an issue, which meant John was likely to take an extra day or two away.
The boys had never been any trouble, at least, not what Bobby would consider trouble for normal young boys, and now teenagers. He didn’t think twice about leaving them alone in the house for an hour or two. They knew to stay out of his study, not to touch something if they didn’t know what it was, and were certainly in possession of more gun safety knowledge than any other kids their age. It turned out he didn’t have to leave them for long, though, since this guy he was supposed to meet was a no-show. Bobby had hung around for 45 minutes, shot the shit with the bartender, then gave up and headed back home.
He could hear Dean and Sam in the living room, but they obviously hadn’t noticed he was there, based on the content of their loud conversation.
Laughing, Dean said, “I think you’ve had enough, Sammy.” Bobby waited for Sam to bitch about the nickname but that wasn’t his response.
“No way, Dean, those were not (pause) the terms (another pause) of our agreement”, Sam replied. After another minute of mostly-quiet, just some rustling noises like they were pushing each other around or something, he continued, “You want me to get up and fetch your beers, then I get one for myself too.” Sam was giggling, and Dean, surprisingly, didn’t seem to be arguing back.
Damn it. To be honest, Bobby wouldn’t have really minded Dean having a beer or two; he was eighteen and John never minded if Dean had a drink. But Sam…now that was a different story. He was much too young to be drinking, and how the hell had he convinced Dean to let him do it? Dean would have hobbled into the kitchen on crutches before he let Sam get drunk, Bobby would have bet on that in a heartbeat.
And he hadn’t said Dean could have any of his beer anyway. Bobby moved through the kitchen and walked into the living room to give them a ration of shit for it, but then stopped short at the sight in front of him.
Dean was on the sofa with a beer in his hand, his injured foot propped up on the table next to two empties and his uninjured foot on the floor.
Sam was also holding a beer.
Sam was also in Dean’s lap. Facing him, legs bent and straddled on either side of his brother’s.
Sam was also shirtless. As was Dean.
Who now realized they were no longer alone in the house, and whose eyes were as big as dinner plates. He looked terrified, and he sure wasn’t afraid of Bobby getting pissed off about his beer stash being low. It was clear that Sam had realized the same thing his brother had, and he slowly slid off of Dean and onto the couch cushion next to him, also looking like someone had just cocked a gun next to his ear.
The kid’s hair was a rumpled mess, his face was flushed, and on his neck, there was…nope. Not going there.
Bobby breathed in. Out. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Closed his eyes. Forced himself to focus. Tried to decide what the fuck it was, exactly, he was supposed to do with this situation, and how he could possibly react to it in a way that would not scar the boys for life. (Bobby was already scarred for life, this just piled a little more on top, and he didn’t figure Dean and Sam needed to be emotionally traumatized just because he was.)
When he opened his eyes, both of the Winchesters were still silent as the grave and staring at Bobby like he was a firing squad. In the end, Bobby took the easy way out. He wasn’t proud of it, but he just didn’t have it in him; as much as he loved these boys, he wasn’t their parent and there was a tiny little voice in the back of his head reminding him that these two kids (yes, still kids) really hadn’t ever had anyone but each other for company most of their lives. Still, he couldn’t just walk away, he had to say something.
“I didn’t tell either of you that you were welcome to help yourselves to alcohol while I was gone. Dean, you should know better, letting Sam drink like that at his age!”
“Yes sir, sorry, I - we - uh, really, I’m sorry, it was my fault, don’t be mad at Sam, okay?” It was perfectly clear that Dean was ready to take the blame for the entire…situation…but Bobby was no fool, and someone swearing on a stack of bibles couldn’t convince him that Dean would take advantage of his brother if he weren’t a willing participant in whatever the hell this was.
“You two dump out what’s left in your cans. I’m going to bed. You will wake up to a very long list of things that need to be done around here in the morning, got it?”
For a minute, Sam and Dean both just stared at him, seemingly stunned that the whole shirtless lap-sitting thing wasn’t being addressed, but when Bobby just said, “Got it?” in a louder voice, they nodded enthusiastically, knowing to leave well enough alone and more than happy to spend the entire next day working in the yard if Bobby was just going to tell them to pour out their beer and not call their father to report that they’d been…not just drinking, or whatever.
That was not a conversation he was having with John Winchester. It just wasn’t. Bobby’d had enough. He figured there was no way Dean or Sam was going to take any chance of Bobby seeing anything remotely similar to this again, ever, and that was enough for him. Even though it shouldn’t be, he knew damn well it shouldn’t be.
He turned and walked up the stairs, hearing Sam get up to pour out the rest of their beers and get rid of the cans, but still not saying a word. When he reached his bedroom, he shut the door. There was a fairly slim chance he’d get any sleep, but that was all right. He had a list of meaningless grunt work to write down so those two boys would be busy all the next day. Maybe by tomorrow night, he’d be able to convince himself there was nothing to worry about, and he wasn’t just being a coward by letting it go. Or maybe by tomorrow night, he’d have a chance to drink enough that he wouldn’t have trouble sleeping because he felt guilty about it.