withimpunity (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
withimpunity) wrote2008-10-02 03:39 am
withimpunity) wrote2008-10-02 03:39 am
Entry tags:
random ramblings! beware!
So my drabbling is broked. I tried drabbling for the winchesters100 prompt "neverland" prompt tonight, and these two thingies are the bastard children of my efforts. More than drabbles, but not quite ficlets. Idk, you can read them if you want too. \p/
When Sam starts third grade they rent a real house and John works a real job, and Sammy thinks he’s in heaven. There’s a bright green Astroturf welcome mat at the front steps, a cuckoo clock hanging in the living room, and an actual treehouse in the backyard. It feels alien, like they’ve slipped into some alternate universe, and Dean doesn’t like it, not a bit.
His skin feels too tight all the time and he flinches every time the ice cream truck rolls down the street, blaring that god awful, creepy ass music. He keeps every window and door lined with a thick layer of salt, even though Dad says there’s nothing to hunt here. When Dean charges at a door-to-door salesman with a silver blade, John just holds him back and slams the door in the man’s face, holding Dean against his chest and crying into his hair, muttering, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” over and over. Dean doesn’t understand why he stopped him.
The next morning John tells them to pack their things and Sammy cries, like Sammy always does, but Dean feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest. He feels so much better that he packs his stuff and Sammy’s and loads both of their things into the trunk. When they finally get on the road Dean curls up in the front seat and rests his head against the seat belt, John’s journal clutched tightly in his hands, and falls asleep quickly to the static and beeping of John’s police scanner.
Home sweet home.
The year Sam starts sixth grade they rent a real house. They have neighbors and a lawn and a genuine treehouse in their backyard. John mumbles that they’re too old to be messing around with the damn thing, but they never had a treehouse obviously, and childlike enthusiasm overrides their logic.
At first it’s a sanctuary, somewhere for Sam to hide out after a fight, but it turns into something more. It’s where Dean gives Sam a rather crude version of “the talk,” where Sam first tells Dean his dreams of going to college one day. It’s the first place Dean falls asleep with Sam reading Shakespeare to him, and it’s where Sam kisses him for the first time, hands at Dean’s waist, lips firm and certain against his.
Its where everything began and where everything started falling apart.
When Sam starts third grade they rent a real house and John works a real job, and Sammy thinks he’s in heaven. There’s a bright green Astroturf welcome mat at the front steps, a cuckoo clock hanging in the living room, and an actual treehouse in the backyard. It feels alien, like they’ve slipped into some alternate universe, and Dean doesn’t like it, not a bit.
His skin feels too tight all the time and he flinches every time the ice cream truck rolls down the street, blaring that god awful, creepy ass music. He keeps every window and door lined with a thick layer of salt, even though Dad says there’s nothing to hunt here. When Dean charges at a door-to-door salesman with a silver blade, John just holds him back and slams the door in the man’s face, holding Dean against his chest and crying into his hair, muttering, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” over and over. Dean doesn’t understand why he stopped him.
The next morning John tells them to pack their things and Sammy cries, like Sammy always does, but Dean feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest. He feels so much better that he packs his stuff and Sammy’s and loads both of their things into the trunk. When they finally get on the road Dean curls up in the front seat and rests his head against the seat belt, John’s journal clutched tightly in his hands, and falls asleep quickly to the static and beeping of John’s police scanner.
Home sweet home.
The year Sam starts sixth grade they rent a real house. They have neighbors and a lawn and a genuine treehouse in their backyard. John mumbles that they’re too old to be messing around with the damn thing, but they never had a treehouse obviously, and childlike enthusiasm overrides their logic.
At first it’s a sanctuary, somewhere for Sam to hide out after a fight, but it turns into something more. It’s where Dean gives Sam a rather crude version of “the talk,” where Sam first tells Dean his dreams of going to college one day. It’s the first place Dean falls asleep with Sam reading Shakespeare to him, and it’s where Sam kisses him for the first time, hands at Dean’s waist, lips firm and certain against his.
Its where everything began and where everything started falling apart.