At Your Service
Title: At Your Service
Author: ZanneS
Genre: WeeChester/TeenWinchester
Rating: PG (bad language)
Characters: John, Sam, and Dean
Summary: Short of cash, John gets pressed into a job he doesn't want and has more trouble dealing with the everyday problems than he ever did in his regular job.
Author's Notes: Thanks to
gestaltrose for beta-ing! This story has been sitting around since Jesus was in diapers. I figured it was time to make it grow up and kick it out of the proverbial house so here it is. You've been warned. Kripke owns 'em, but he doesn't make 'em play dress up anymore. *sniff* I wrote a couple of other stories in this 'verse (if you can call it that - it's based around events between hunts where John and the boys try normal and screw it up royally). Here's one with the Weechesters http://zannes.livejournal.com/20434.html and one with TeenWinchesters http://zannes.livejournal.com/17434.html.
At Your Service
The Impala pulled smoothly under the flickering lights of the gas station’s portico, as far as possible from the door so that the interior of the car lay shaded in varying degrees of darkness, hiding the Winchester secrets in a cocoon of black steel and beige leather.
John stepped out first, quickly scanning the area before tapping the roof of the car with his knuckles, alerting his boys that all was clear. Dean hopped out next, unfolding his lengthening limbs from the car with a faint grimace, his muscles stiff and aching from sitting for so long. He arched his back, trying to work out the kinks as Sam slipped from the car to stand beside him, fidgeting a little on his feet.
“Okay, boys,” John began. “I’ll go grab the key, you two wait outside.”
Dean waved him off, steering Sam towards the restrooms with a push to the shoulder. “No problem, Dad. I wanna practice my lock-picking.”
John arched an eyebrow. “If Sammy has an accident, you’re cleaning it up Dean. Got it?”
“Daaa-aad,” piped up Sam indignantly, a humiliated flush coloring his cheeks as John walked around the car. “I’m ten. I don’t have accidents anymore.”
Dean was already sprinting around the corner of the building, where a faded sign proclaimed the restrooms to be situated. John leaned down, resting his hand on Sam’s shoulder as he whispered gruffly in Sam’s ear, “I know, Sammy. It’s just to give Dean some incentive. You wanna bet he’s already got that door open?”
Sam grinned, loping clumsily after his brother, his shoelaces dragging through the leftover rain puddles as he vanished beyond the edge of the Quicki-Mart.
John walked towards the small convenience store, mentally calculating how much cash he had on hand, what snacks might be considered a vegetable - potato chips counted…right? Yeah, they counted, particularly if they had the ranch flavoring, like salad dressing - and what his boys would actually eat. He might be able to get them to eat the dried fruit out of the trail mix since there were M&M’s mixed in with that.
Oh, crap…Sam had that weird thing with raisins. Maybe the kind with the cranberries?
John would give it another try, at least.
As John counted the wad of ones he pulled out of his coat pocket, he used his back to open the door to the store, blindly entering the room and turning to slam head first into the chest of a very bored-looking police officer. John dropped several bills on the floor, the faint wind from the slowly closing door blowing them across the linoleum until they caught against a sunscreen display across from the exit.
“Sorry, sir,” the policeman offered politely. “It might not be a good idea to be here right now.”
“What?!” a squat man with a permanent frown growled rudely across the room. “You tryin’ to scare off my customers now?” He put his hands on his hips, the motion making him look like nothing less than a misshapen toadstool standing over the figure zipped in the coroner’s bag at his feet. The forensic team members remaining just rolled their eyes in John’s direction, ensuring that everything was secure as they continued with their business.
“No, Mr. Lewan,” the police officer replied with a half-hidden sigh. “But with the recent murder of your employee….”
“Guy was a dumb-ass,” Mr. Lewan stated. “Probably accidentally shot himself.”
“Yes, sir,” the police officer replied with only a touch of sarcasm. “I’m sure he shot himself three times…in the back. That’s quite a common accident to have.”
“What am I gonna do now?!” Mr. Lewan complained with a smoky rumble, the effect of far too many Marlboros mixed with whiskey. “You know how much business I’ll lose if I close up? I need someone to cover this shit-hole of a shift….”
Mr. Lewan suddenly quieted, his beady eyes fixing on John as his nostrils flared, scenting fresh meat. His gaze traveled over the impressively large man edging his way towards the doorway, trying not to catch the cop’s attention.
Guy seemed tough. While he looked like a bum with his baggy coat and unshaven scruff, the guy certainly didn’t appear to be the typical druggie Mr. Lewan would expect to see in this kind of store at 3:00 in the morning on a Wednesday. Wouldn’t get the munchies and eat his entire stock in the span of a shift like that one pot-headed malcontent did. Looked a little scary, too. Maybe he wouldn’t get robbed nearly as often.
This had possibilities.
“Hey, buddy…” Mr. Lewan began cajolingly, freezing John in his tracks. “You want a job?”
John blinked in consternation, his refusal already on his lips.
“C’mon, just until I find someone more permanent. Pay you double what I was payin’ this guy,” Mr. Lewan continued, tossing a thumb in the direction of the body being wheeled out. “You don’t look like enough of an idiot to accidentally shoot yourself.”
“…in the back…three times…” the cop murmured under his breath in muted disbelief. “Yeah, it was an accident, Quincy.” He trailed after the body being rolled out the back door, where all the county vehicles had been parked out-of-sight at Mr. Lewan’s request.
“Free snacks,” Mr. Lewan added reluctantly. “That’s my final offer.”
John glanced down at the handful of bills he was still holding, taking only a second more to consider. “Sure, but I can’t do it for long.”
“Not a problem,” Mr. Lewan said with what John supposed was meant to be a reassuring smile; that fact that he looked more like rat baring his incisors at a particularly rank piece of cheese didn’t seem to occur to Mr. Lewan. “Deadbeats are makin’ me close down for the rest of the night so you can start tomorrow, 12:00AM-5:00AM shift. Deal?”
“Deal,” John replied, already eyeing the snacks he’d grab for the boys. There were even half gallons of milk in the refrigerators in the back with those little variety boxes of cereal nearby.
“We don’t offer insurance,” Mr. Lewan told him as he bustled out the door. “No gun under the counter anymore because the damn cops took it. You’re on your own.”
“No worries,” John murmured quietly as he followed the man outside. “I can take care of myself.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The hotel located conveniently next door could never in any universe be considered anything resembling a family establishment. The women scattered around the parking lot offered a few descriptive suggestions for possible entertainment as the Winchesters made their way to their room that made more than just Dean’s ears prick up, if the boy’s run to the bathroom was any indication.
John quelled Sam’s burgeoning curiosity with a pointed glare and a warning not to loan Dean any money for as long as they stayed there. John just hoped that two dollars and a half a pack of gum couldn’t get Dean into any trouble with the…entrepreneurial ladies outside.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The clientele that frequented the Quicki-Mart didn’t really notice the staff change at first. Since the primary shoppers were teenagers with a chronic case of the munchies, gang members debating the merits of shoplifting Colt 45 vs. Jagermeister, or patrons of the ladies frequenting the parking lot next door looking for a cheap box of condoms and a pack of cigs, John wasn’t too insulted by their utter lack of awareness of their surroundings. He was merely relieved when they managed to make it in and out of the store with minimal effort and only minor damage.
The sheer number of stoners that frequented the establishment increased the likelihood of their noticing the change in the face of customer service first. Lenny - whoooaa…dudes. Did you see that? - the most observant of the bunch - Pete grew a beard like overnight - not that that was saying much - who’s Pete? Duuuude, he’s the red-haired guy at the counter that takes our moola - seemed to notice something amiss on their third visit of John’s first shift.
An intensive debate regarding hair color - the counter-dude has blue hair, not red… No, dude, it’s purple! Look at the highlights, man! You guys are trippin’… It’s as black as the bottom of a burned out bowl, dudes…. - took place in the Ho-Ho’s aisle on their next visit the following morning.
On the second visit of day two, Lenny and his boys ambled up to the counter with bloodshot eyes and peered closely at John, studying his face - he’s all blurry like Pete… But Pete’s head only reached the Marboloros; this guy is hittin’ the Camels…. - his hair - his hair’s softer than Pete’s…. Dudes! Counter-dude just totally knocked Jason on his ass! - and from the one’s current position on the floor, his shoes - Counter-dude’s got big feet… Jason, get off the floor, man. That’s where Chazz threw up his Slurpee last week before the EMT dudes took him away. Right, Chazz? …Chazz? Oh, there you are. You keep disappearin’, dickwad… - before landing on his nametag. Joan? Duuudes, counter-dude has a girl’s name. Wait, Pete’s a girl?
John went home that evening to have a long talk with his boys about the dangers of drugs - the primary danger being an immediate and painful death because if John caught either Dean or Sam doing it, he would kill one or both of them depending upon how much coffee he might have had that day.
One needed to be firm when molding malleable young minds.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shoplifting was a constant problem, considering the area. At first, John let the obviously armed customers wander out with what they wanted because he wasn’t about to die rescuing a pack of Twinkies from being mauled by a bunch of teenagers. Or, more to the point, wind up wrapped in plastic as Mr. Lewan complained - punctuated by his outraged phlegmy hacks around the cigarette dangling from his lower lip - about another dumb-ass employee shooting himself in the back three times.
Black dogs, wyverns or the occasional malevolent spirit were one thing, but hormonally hyped up teenagers protecting their turf and jonesing for sugar was entirely another.
Why had he taken this job again? Oh, yeah…free food for the two hungry boys he had back at the motel.
John finally had it one evening when a kid Dean’s age wandered in and boldly shoved a package of Snowballs and a Gatorade - holy shit, wouldn’t that be fuckin’ cold, Jimmy? No wonder you got snowballs.... Shut the fuck up, man! I’m tellin’ a story here… - down his pants. John had the kid on the floor - seriously, man, guy was a stone cold bad-ass… - with his arm pressing into the back of the boy’s neck - like a fuckin’ pretzel…couldn’t even reach my steel, man - before the kid could even turn around. After a quick frisking - found the knife in my boot, too! Heh, loser. Got taken down by a grandpa… - John hefted him up by one hand - did he spank you? *snort* Not cool, dude. We should beat down your wimpy ass right now… - and shook him like a rag doll. John told the boy that he’d be willing to give him what he tried to steal if he worked for it - worse than my parole officer, man. Thought he was gonna beat my ass if I so much as squinted… - and stuck a mop in his hand. After exactly sixty minutes of hard labor, John passed the boy his Snowballs and Gatorade - told me I’d just earned $4.25 worth of shit and if I didn’t want to be moppin’ up a 7-11 the rest of my life, I should stay in school… - before hustling the kid out the door. Dude, you just lived an Afterschool Special.
John then made it a point to tag a shoplifter just before clean-up every morning; nothing like killing two birds with one stone - give the shit work to a kid in order to teach him a valuable life lesson while getting his work taken care of at the same time. Nothing like profiting from his civic duty.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The ladies’ business consortium next door noticed the change. The offers for services rendered became a tad more descriptive when John walked home every morning as the ladies were clearing out of the parking lot of the motel to catch a few hours of sleep. They appreciated someone taking a firm hand with the misdirected youth of their community.
They all agreed - not only was he damn fine looking, but that John Winchester was a fucking Mother Theresa when it came to kids. They’d do him for free if they weren’t such upstanding businesswomen.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the span of less than a week, John developed a rather close working relationship with Lenny and his gang of malcontents, exchanging pleasantries - whoa, Joan! How you doin’, dude? - when he came into work every night. Lenny and his cronies proved particularly helpful when emergencies arose - Joan, maaaan, someone just totally yakked over by the Twinkies and it wasn’t me, I swear… - willing to give that extra bit of effort - Chazz totally ate it when he stepped in…Chazz? Chazz! Dude! Stop disappearin’ on us like that, you fucker…. - to make sure the store ran smoothly. They offered endless suggestions - you should totally put the Corn Nuts by the Twizzlers, ‘cause kids need to eat veggies ‘n fruit ‘n shit like all the time, dude… - to improve operations.
With such future entrepreneurs on-hand to assist him, how could anything ever go wrong?
John realized he spoke too soon when he turned one afternoon to find Lenny - sprout says he’s yours, Joan - hunching lazily behind Sam while he pawed through the beef jerky jar on the counter. Immediate interrogation regarding Dean’s - little dude with the spiky hair and bad attitude? - whereabouts proved fruitless with the lure of snack food so near. The rest of Lenny’s troop had faded into the background - we’ll be perusin’ the Playboys, Len - proving once more that idiots and children have some kind of perverse survival instinct unexplainable by scientific methods. Unable to translate Sam’s reply around the bulging cheeks full of dehydrated meat products, Lenny kindly filled John in on what Dean - such a little pimp, yo. He’s out makin’ the moves on Minerva…. Who the fuck names their kid Minerva? I dunno, Kev, who the fuck names a boy Joan? - was currently doing. *snort* He’ll be doin’ Minerva if he’s got a ten spot on him…or some weed. Dude! Do we have to swab you down with Chlorox again?!
John pushed his way past Lenny, ordering Sam to stay put as he slammed open the door to the Quicki-Mart, leaving an awed gaggle of blown-eyed boys - whoa…Joan is pissed. Chazz? Chazz! Asshole! Where do you keep goin’? Keep and eye on the rugrat, okay… - pressing their noses against the glass front of the store and leaving oil-smudged prints of their slack-jawed faces behind as they watched the roiling fury of John Winchester - dude is a bad-ass, totally - sweep across the parking lot like an incoming storm.
Minerva barely had time to blink, and if Dean hadn’t been distracted by his nether regions he might have turned tail and run when he saw John’s dark glower nearly drop his new lady friend on the spot. He felt him before he saw him, John’s hand reaching out to grab Dean by the back of the neck and escorting him back to the safety of the building next door.
With hand-prints added to the mural of grease now decorating the window that John was certainly not going to clean, God-dammit, a rather unfortunate series of events began to transpire. Just as John reached the door, a well-dressed man who had been watching him march Dean at a quick-step across the parking lot made John pause with a light touch on his arm. “You have him well-trained, I see. How much for the boy?”
It was an almost choreographed sucking in of breath and surge forward as Lenny and the gang pressed themselves more firmly against the glass to observe the imminent slaughter, watching with wide eyes as John reared back without even thinking and slammed his fist across the man’s jaw. He went down, his expensive suit wrinkling as the oil-stained asphalt ruined the fabric beyond all hope.
“Sam,” John stated curtly, his even tone somehow managing to be heard clearly through the closed door. “We’re leaving.” At that, Sam hurried out of the store, running to keep up with his father as he dragged Dean back to their room to pack.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Lenny and his gang followed John and the boys back to the Impala, watching with open-mouthed wonder as the Winchesters stripped their motel room in under three minutes, stuffing their bags in the car and checking out before Lenny and the others had time to arrange themselves in a huddled cluster in the parking lot.
As the car revved into gear, a purring rumble spilling across the lot as the ladies waved their goodbyes to the Winchester men - Minerva throwing Dean a playful wink that made him squirm in his seat out of his father’s line of sight - Lenny and his boys finally caught on. Whoa, Joan. You leavin’, dude? And you’re takin’ the littlest squirt with you? Man, who are we gonna watch TMNT with? We can’t hang without our Donatello, dude!
John cast a rueful glance at Sam in the rearview mirror, making Sam squirm down until he all but disappeared from sight as Dean had done only moments earlier. At least now it was apparent where Lenny and his buds spent the time between their frequent visits to the store for snack foods.
With a shake of his head and an off-hand wave to the group of young men moping around the Impala, John carefully edged the car towards the exit, hoping they had enough common sense to move out of the way of a motorized vehicle.
John rolled to a stop for a moment and stuck his head out the window. “Tell Mr. Lewan you’re taking over for me, Lenny. Can keep your boys fed and out of trouble for a while.” With that word of advice, John drove off into the night, a mournful Dean sticking his head up to glance out the back window to wave goodbye to Minerva before his dad saw him.
That bigger little dude is gonna be trouble when he’s older. Lenny and his crew were at a loss as to what to do with John gone and milled aimlessly around the parking lot for several minutes before inspiration struck. Hey, you wanna go get some nachos at the Circle-K?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Back in the parking lot of the gas station, Chazz floated over to stare down at the man who was just beginning to regain consciousness. He blinked groggily up into Chazz’s bloodshot eyes and frowned, his lip curling into a disgusted sneer as he took in the rumpled stoner looming over him.
His look of contempt quickly turned to one of confusion and then horror as Chazz suddenly flickered in and out, his colors paling to a silver screen gray as his form misted into insubstantiality. “What in the hell?”
Chazz lifted his hand, studying it front and back with his brow furrowed in confusion. He’d been feeling a little out of it since last week when he thought he might have OD’ed, but things were back to normal the next day when he met up with Lenny and the gang at the store. He didn’t remember anything, but that was normal.
But he was feeling so tired. Maybe this man could help.
Chazz reached out, his hand sinking into the man’s chest until a sudden surge of energy swept up his arm, like the best high he’d ever had. The man convulsed against the oil-stained asphalt as Chazz solidified, his gray-toned skin turning a healthy pink as the man’s movements began to slow. With a satisfied sigh, Chazz pulled back his hand, letting the man flop limply to the side as he stood and took a deep breath.
He felt good.
“Yo! Chazz, you stupid fuck. Where ya been? Joan left with the sprouts.” Lenny glanced down at the slack-mouthed man lying wide-eyed and unmoving on the pavement. “He still out? Joan is so bad-ass.” He jerked his head towards the empty mini-mart. “Let’s go grab some cheesy goodness, dudes.”
Chazz smiled emptily, stepping over the body and making his way into the store behind his friends.
Author: ZanneS
Genre: WeeChester/TeenWinchester
Rating: PG (bad language)
Characters: John, Sam, and Dean
Summary: Short of cash, John gets pressed into a job he doesn't want and has more trouble dealing with the everyday problems than he ever did in his regular job.
Author's Notes: Thanks to
gestaltrose for beta-ing! This story has been sitting around since Jesus was in diapers. I figured it was time to make it grow up and kick it out of the proverbial house so here it is. You've been warned. Kripke owns 'em, but he doesn't make 'em play dress up anymore. *sniff* I wrote a couple of other stories in this 'verse (if you can call it that - it's based around events between hunts where John and the boys try normal and screw it up royally). Here's one with the Weechesters http://zannes.livejournal.com/20434.html and one with TeenWinchesters http://zannes.livejournal.com/17434.html.
At Your Service
The Impala pulled smoothly under the flickering lights of the gas station’s portico, as far as possible from the door so that the interior of the car lay shaded in varying degrees of darkness, hiding the Winchester secrets in a cocoon of black steel and beige leather.
John stepped out first, quickly scanning the area before tapping the roof of the car with his knuckles, alerting his boys that all was clear. Dean hopped out next, unfolding his lengthening limbs from the car with a faint grimace, his muscles stiff and aching from sitting for so long. He arched his back, trying to work out the kinks as Sam slipped from the car to stand beside him, fidgeting a little on his feet.
“Okay, boys,” John began. “I’ll go grab the key, you two wait outside.”
Dean waved him off, steering Sam towards the restrooms with a push to the shoulder. “No problem, Dad. I wanna practice my lock-picking.”
John arched an eyebrow. “If Sammy has an accident, you’re cleaning it up Dean. Got it?”
“Daaa-aad,” piped up Sam indignantly, a humiliated flush coloring his cheeks as John walked around the car. “I’m ten. I don’t have accidents anymore.”
Dean was already sprinting around the corner of the building, where a faded sign proclaimed the restrooms to be situated. John leaned down, resting his hand on Sam’s shoulder as he whispered gruffly in Sam’s ear, “I know, Sammy. It’s just to give Dean some incentive. You wanna bet he’s already got that door open?”
Sam grinned, loping clumsily after his brother, his shoelaces dragging through the leftover rain puddles as he vanished beyond the edge of the Quicki-Mart.
John walked towards the small convenience store, mentally calculating how much cash he had on hand, what snacks might be considered a vegetable - potato chips counted…right? Yeah, they counted, particularly if they had the ranch flavoring, like salad dressing - and what his boys would actually eat. He might be able to get them to eat the dried fruit out of the trail mix since there were M&M’s mixed in with that.
Oh, crap…Sam had that weird thing with raisins. Maybe the kind with the cranberries?
John would give it another try, at least.
As John counted the wad of ones he pulled out of his coat pocket, he used his back to open the door to the store, blindly entering the room and turning to slam head first into the chest of a very bored-looking police officer. John dropped several bills on the floor, the faint wind from the slowly closing door blowing them across the linoleum until they caught against a sunscreen display across from the exit.
“Sorry, sir,” the policeman offered politely. “It might not be a good idea to be here right now.”
“What?!” a squat man with a permanent frown growled rudely across the room. “You tryin’ to scare off my customers now?” He put his hands on his hips, the motion making him look like nothing less than a misshapen toadstool standing over the figure zipped in the coroner’s bag at his feet. The forensic team members remaining just rolled their eyes in John’s direction, ensuring that everything was secure as they continued with their business.
“No, Mr. Lewan,” the police officer replied with a half-hidden sigh. “But with the recent murder of your employee….”
“Guy was a dumb-ass,” Mr. Lewan stated. “Probably accidentally shot himself.”
“Yes, sir,” the police officer replied with only a touch of sarcasm. “I’m sure he shot himself three times…in the back. That’s quite a common accident to have.”
“What am I gonna do now?!” Mr. Lewan complained with a smoky rumble, the effect of far too many Marlboros mixed with whiskey. “You know how much business I’ll lose if I close up? I need someone to cover this shit-hole of a shift….”
Mr. Lewan suddenly quieted, his beady eyes fixing on John as his nostrils flared, scenting fresh meat. His gaze traveled over the impressively large man edging his way towards the doorway, trying not to catch the cop’s attention.
Guy seemed tough. While he looked like a bum with his baggy coat and unshaven scruff, the guy certainly didn’t appear to be the typical druggie Mr. Lewan would expect to see in this kind of store at 3:00 in the morning on a Wednesday. Wouldn’t get the munchies and eat his entire stock in the span of a shift like that one pot-headed malcontent did. Looked a little scary, too. Maybe he wouldn’t get robbed nearly as often.
This had possibilities.
“Hey, buddy…” Mr. Lewan began cajolingly, freezing John in his tracks. “You want a job?”
John blinked in consternation, his refusal already on his lips.
“C’mon, just until I find someone more permanent. Pay you double what I was payin’ this guy,” Mr. Lewan continued, tossing a thumb in the direction of the body being wheeled out. “You don’t look like enough of an idiot to accidentally shoot yourself.”
“…in the back…three times…” the cop murmured under his breath in muted disbelief. “Yeah, it was an accident, Quincy.” He trailed after the body being rolled out the back door, where all the county vehicles had been parked out-of-sight at Mr. Lewan’s request.
“Free snacks,” Mr. Lewan added reluctantly. “That’s my final offer.”
John glanced down at the handful of bills he was still holding, taking only a second more to consider. “Sure, but I can’t do it for long.”
“Not a problem,” Mr. Lewan said with what John supposed was meant to be a reassuring smile; that fact that he looked more like rat baring his incisors at a particularly rank piece of cheese didn’t seem to occur to Mr. Lewan. “Deadbeats are makin’ me close down for the rest of the night so you can start tomorrow, 12:00AM-5:00AM shift. Deal?”
“Deal,” John replied, already eyeing the snacks he’d grab for the boys. There were even half gallons of milk in the refrigerators in the back with those little variety boxes of cereal nearby.
“We don’t offer insurance,” Mr. Lewan told him as he bustled out the door. “No gun under the counter anymore because the damn cops took it. You’re on your own.”
“No worries,” John murmured quietly as he followed the man outside. “I can take care of myself.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The hotel located conveniently next door could never in any universe be considered anything resembling a family establishment. The women scattered around the parking lot offered a few descriptive suggestions for possible entertainment as the Winchesters made their way to their room that made more than just Dean’s ears prick up, if the boy’s run to the bathroom was any indication.
John quelled Sam’s burgeoning curiosity with a pointed glare and a warning not to loan Dean any money for as long as they stayed there. John just hoped that two dollars and a half a pack of gum couldn’t get Dean into any trouble with the…entrepreneurial ladies outside.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The clientele that frequented the Quicki-Mart didn’t really notice the staff change at first. Since the primary shoppers were teenagers with a chronic case of the munchies, gang members debating the merits of shoplifting Colt 45 vs. Jagermeister, or patrons of the ladies frequenting the parking lot next door looking for a cheap box of condoms and a pack of cigs, John wasn’t too insulted by their utter lack of awareness of their surroundings. He was merely relieved when they managed to make it in and out of the store with minimal effort and only minor damage.
The sheer number of stoners that frequented the establishment increased the likelihood of their noticing the change in the face of customer service first. Lenny - whoooaa…dudes. Did you see that? - the most observant of the bunch - Pete grew a beard like overnight - not that that was saying much - who’s Pete? Duuuude, he’s the red-haired guy at the counter that takes our moola - seemed to notice something amiss on their third visit of John’s first shift.
An intensive debate regarding hair color - the counter-dude has blue hair, not red… No, dude, it’s purple! Look at the highlights, man! You guys are trippin’… It’s as black as the bottom of a burned out bowl, dudes…. - took place in the Ho-Ho’s aisle on their next visit the following morning.
On the second visit of day two, Lenny and his boys ambled up to the counter with bloodshot eyes and peered closely at John, studying his face - he’s all blurry like Pete… But Pete’s head only reached the Marboloros; this guy is hittin’ the Camels…. - his hair - his hair’s softer than Pete’s…. Dudes! Counter-dude just totally knocked Jason on his ass! - and from the one’s current position on the floor, his shoes - Counter-dude’s got big feet… Jason, get off the floor, man. That’s where Chazz threw up his Slurpee last week before the EMT dudes took him away. Right, Chazz? …Chazz? Oh, there you are. You keep disappearin’, dickwad… - before landing on his nametag. Joan? Duuudes, counter-dude has a girl’s name. Wait, Pete’s a girl?
John went home that evening to have a long talk with his boys about the dangers of drugs - the primary danger being an immediate and painful death because if John caught either Dean or Sam doing it, he would kill one or both of them depending upon how much coffee he might have had that day.
One needed to be firm when molding malleable young minds.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Shoplifting was a constant problem, considering the area. At first, John let the obviously armed customers wander out with what they wanted because he wasn’t about to die rescuing a pack of Twinkies from being mauled by a bunch of teenagers. Or, more to the point, wind up wrapped in plastic as Mr. Lewan complained - punctuated by his outraged phlegmy hacks around the cigarette dangling from his lower lip - about another dumb-ass employee shooting himself in the back three times.
Black dogs, wyverns or the occasional malevolent spirit were one thing, but hormonally hyped up teenagers protecting their turf and jonesing for sugar was entirely another.
Why had he taken this job again? Oh, yeah…free food for the two hungry boys he had back at the motel.
John finally had it one evening when a kid Dean’s age wandered in and boldly shoved a package of Snowballs and a Gatorade - holy shit, wouldn’t that be fuckin’ cold, Jimmy? No wonder you got snowballs.... Shut the fuck up, man! I’m tellin’ a story here… - down his pants. John had the kid on the floor - seriously, man, guy was a stone cold bad-ass… - with his arm pressing into the back of the boy’s neck - like a fuckin’ pretzel…couldn’t even reach my steel, man - before the kid could even turn around. After a quick frisking - found the knife in my boot, too! Heh, loser. Got taken down by a grandpa… - John hefted him up by one hand - did he spank you? *snort* Not cool, dude. We should beat down your wimpy ass right now… - and shook him like a rag doll. John told the boy that he’d be willing to give him what he tried to steal if he worked for it - worse than my parole officer, man. Thought he was gonna beat my ass if I so much as squinted… - and stuck a mop in his hand. After exactly sixty minutes of hard labor, John passed the boy his Snowballs and Gatorade - told me I’d just earned $4.25 worth of shit and if I didn’t want to be moppin’ up a 7-11 the rest of my life, I should stay in school… - before hustling the kid out the door. Dude, you just lived an Afterschool Special.
John then made it a point to tag a shoplifter just before clean-up every morning; nothing like killing two birds with one stone - give the shit work to a kid in order to teach him a valuable life lesson while getting his work taken care of at the same time. Nothing like profiting from his civic duty.
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The ladies’ business consortium next door noticed the change. The offers for services rendered became a tad more descriptive when John walked home every morning as the ladies were clearing out of the parking lot of the motel to catch a few hours of sleep. They appreciated someone taking a firm hand with the misdirected youth of their community.
They all agreed - not only was he damn fine looking, but that John Winchester was a fucking Mother Theresa when it came to kids. They’d do him for free if they weren’t such upstanding businesswomen.
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In the span of less than a week, John developed a rather close working relationship with Lenny and his gang of malcontents, exchanging pleasantries - whoa, Joan! How you doin’, dude? - when he came into work every night. Lenny and his cronies proved particularly helpful when emergencies arose - Joan, maaaan, someone just totally yakked over by the Twinkies and it wasn’t me, I swear… - willing to give that extra bit of effort - Chazz totally ate it when he stepped in…Chazz? Chazz! Dude! Stop disappearin’ on us like that, you fucker…. - to make sure the store ran smoothly. They offered endless suggestions - you should totally put the Corn Nuts by the Twizzlers, ‘cause kids need to eat veggies ‘n fruit ‘n shit like all the time, dude… - to improve operations.
With such future entrepreneurs on-hand to assist him, how could anything ever go wrong?
John realized he spoke too soon when he turned one afternoon to find Lenny - sprout says he’s yours, Joan - hunching lazily behind Sam while he pawed through the beef jerky jar on the counter. Immediate interrogation regarding Dean’s - little dude with the spiky hair and bad attitude? - whereabouts proved fruitless with the lure of snack food so near. The rest of Lenny’s troop had faded into the background - we’ll be perusin’ the Playboys, Len - proving once more that idiots and children have some kind of perverse survival instinct unexplainable by scientific methods. Unable to translate Sam’s reply around the bulging cheeks full of dehydrated meat products, Lenny kindly filled John in on what Dean - such a little pimp, yo. He’s out makin’ the moves on Minerva…. Who the fuck names their kid Minerva? I dunno, Kev, who the fuck names a boy Joan? - was currently doing. *snort* He’ll be doin’ Minerva if he’s got a ten spot on him…or some weed. Dude! Do we have to swab you down with Chlorox again?!
John pushed his way past Lenny, ordering Sam to stay put as he slammed open the door to the Quicki-Mart, leaving an awed gaggle of blown-eyed boys - whoa…Joan is pissed. Chazz? Chazz! Asshole! Where do you keep goin’? Keep and eye on the rugrat, okay… - pressing their noses against the glass front of the store and leaving oil-smudged prints of their slack-jawed faces behind as they watched the roiling fury of John Winchester - dude is a bad-ass, totally - sweep across the parking lot like an incoming storm.
Minerva barely had time to blink, and if Dean hadn’t been distracted by his nether regions he might have turned tail and run when he saw John’s dark glower nearly drop his new lady friend on the spot. He felt him before he saw him, John’s hand reaching out to grab Dean by the back of the neck and escorting him back to the safety of the building next door.
With hand-prints added to the mural of grease now decorating the window that John was certainly not going to clean, God-dammit, a rather unfortunate series of events began to transpire. Just as John reached the door, a well-dressed man who had been watching him march Dean at a quick-step across the parking lot made John pause with a light touch on his arm. “You have him well-trained, I see. How much for the boy?”
It was an almost choreographed sucking in of breath and surge forward as Lenny and the gang pressed themselves more firmly against the glass to observe the imminent slaughter, watching with wide eyes as John reared back without even thinking and slammed his fist across the man’s jaw. He went down, his expensive suit wrinkling as the oil-stained asphalt ruined the fabric beyond all hope.
“Sam,” John stated curtly, his even tone somehow managing to be heard clearly through the closed door. “We’re leaving.” At that, Sam hurried out of the store, running to keep up with his father as he dragged Dean back to their room to pack.
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Lenny and his gang followed John and the boys back to the Impala, watching with open-mouthed wonder as the Winchesters stripped their motel room in under three minutes, stuffing their bags in the car and checking out before Lenny and the others had time to arrange themselves in a huddled cluster in the parking lot.
As the car revved into gear, a purring rumble spilling across the lot as the ladies waved their goodbyes to the Winchester men - Minerva throwing Dean a playful wink that made him squirm in his seat out of his father’s line of sight - Lenny and his boys finally caught on. Whoa, Joan. You leavin’, dude? And you’re takin’ the littlest squirt with you? Man, who are we gonna watch TMNT with? We can’t hang without our Donatello, dude!
John cast a rueful glance at Sam in the rearview mirror, making Sam squirm down until he all but disappeared from sight as Dean had done only moments earlier. At least now it was apparent where Lenny and his buds spent the time between their frequent visits to the store for snack foods.
With a shake of his head and an off-hand wave to the group of young men moping around the Impala, John carefully edged the car towards the exit, hoping they had enough common sense to move out of the way of a motorized vehicle.
John rolled to a stop for a moment and stuck his head out the window. “Tell Mr. Lewan you’re taking over for me, Lenny. Can keep your boys fed and out of trouble for a while.” With that word of advice, John drove off into the night, a mournful Dean sticking his head up to glance out the back window to wave goodbye to Minerva before his dad saw him.
That bigger little dude is gonna be trouble when he’s older. Lenny and his crew were at a loss as to what to do with John gone and milled aimlessly around the parking lot for several minutes before inspiration struck. Hey, you wanna go get some nachos at the Circle-K?
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Back in the parking lot of the gas station, Chazz floated over to stare down at the man who was just beginning to regain consciousness. He blinked groggily up into Chazz’s bloodshot eyes and frowned, his lip curling into a disgusted sneer as he took in the rumpled stoner looming over him.
His look of contempt quickly turned to one of confusion and then horror as Chazz suddenly flickered in and out, his colors paling to a silver screen gray as his form misted into insubstantiality. “What in the hell?”
Chazz lifted his hand, studying it front and back with his brow furrowed in confusion. He’d been feeling a little out of it since last week when he thought he might have OD’ed, but things were back to normal the next day when he met up with Lenny and the gang at the store. He didn’t remember anything, but that was normal.
But he was feeling so tired. Maybe this man could help.
Chazz reached out, his hand sinking into the man’s chest until a sudden surge of energy swept up his arm, like the best high he’d ever had. The man convulsed against the oil-stained asphalt as Chazz solidified, his gray-toned skin turning a healthy pink as the man’s movements began to slow. With a satisfied sigh, Chazz pulled back his hand, letting the man flop limply to the side as he stood and took a deep breath.
He felt good.
“Yo! Chazz, you stupid fuck. Where ya been? Joan left with the sprouts.” Lenny glanced down at the slack-mouthed man lying wide-eyed and unmoving on the pavement. “He still out? Joan is so bad-ass.” He jerked his head towards the empty mini-mart. “Let’s go grab some cheesy goodness, dudes.”
Chazz smiled emptily, stepping over the body and making his way into the store behind his friends.