Fic: Perfection
Jul. 24th, 2007 03:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
astri13Another little migrator from ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spnflashfic, this time for the housing challenge
Title: Perfection
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
astri13
Genre: Gen
Character: TeenSam
Rating: PG 13
Word Count: 1.152
Notes: Beta by the lovelyaizjanika
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; fair use only. Not created for profit.
It had been a long and bloody battle but after months of persistent nagging, pouting, and a generous use of the puppy dog eyes, Sam had emerged victorious, and the Winchester family council, consisting of John, mostly, had agreed to stay the entire duration of Sam's senior school year in one place. Maybe Sam had imagined something a little more exciting than Shermer, Illinois, but it would do.
House hunting had begun shortly thereafter, and, as luck seemed to be on their side for once, it didn't take long for a new home to be stamped with the Winchester seal of approval. Painted in a cheerful yellow tone, the simple, one-story building in the okay-you-could-do-better-but-it's-far-from-the-slums part of town gave a warm and inviting feeling. A white picket fence surrounded the neatly mowed lawn. Hellhound, the world's ugliest garden gnome that Dean had managed to find at some yard sale, faithfully stood guard on the premises.
Doing exercises on the fresh, green grass didn't feel half weird when their neighbour, Mrs. Williams, was contorting her sizeable body mass into something akin to Yoga exercises a few feet over. And sometimes, instead of running laps and doing push-ups, Sam and Dean would just toss around an old football, laughing and joking like two normal boys without a care in the world.
Coming home from school now, there was a newfound bounce in Sam's step. When he got a ride from a friend, he turned around at the door to wave back instead of ducking his head and running inside or worse, waving cheerfully and then having to walk all the way back from his pretend home to his real one.
The inside of their new residence was equally homey and well kept. Sam enjoyed the way you could sprawl on the couch without the requisite loose spring poking your kidney and the TV set was producing more than a sad, grainy picture. The bathroom tiles were clean and complete. Even an old bathtub was there, enticing you to a languorous soak.
And best of all, Sam had gotten his own room. Not that he didn't love Dean, but stumbling in on his big brother and a new friend conducting an anatomical experiment one time had left Sam scarred for life.
A room to himself also meant that now the occasional friend could be invited over for a study session so as precaution the weapons were kept in a special, locked drawer instead of sticking out of duffels or lying around in plain sight. Gun training was moved to a shooting range a few miles away so as not to disturb the quiet, little neighbourhood.
Weapon maintenance duty had been assigned to every second Wednesday and if Sam's play recitals happened to be on at the same time, well, it couldn't be helped. Dean didn't mind doing it anyhow, claiming it was making him go all Zen or something. To Sam the important thing was that Dean could do it in the kitchen where the two, large windows let in enough air so that the ratty, old smell of gun oil wouldn't permeate the whole place for days afterward.
Instead, now the scent of a home-cooked meal would linger in the air, and the three of them would actually sit down for a family dinner and talk about their day. Dad was working a steady job in construction, and Dean was doing part-time work both in an electronics store and a bakery of all places. It had been sooo worth it, when Dean hit Sam with a baguette after Sam had mocked Dean's new apron in the way only a little brother could.
Sam had even started encouraging Dean to take up some courses at the local Community College since really, his SAT scores hadn't been half bad. Sam was cautiously optimistic that he'd be able to wear his big brother down, though Dean had remained reluctant so far: "I don't think they offer Hunting 101. Besides why would I want to go back to school?"
It wasn't like Sam fooled himself; he just didn't mind checking out an occult text in the local library, when he also got the Lincoln biography he needed for his history presentation. Lots of people were interested in weirdo books after all, and the middle-aged librarian hadn't even given him a single glance.
And while classes and extracurricular activities were kicking his ass so hard that he often couldn't accompany his Dad and Dean on the occasional weekend trip, no one made a big fuss about it, not even Dad. So far a sprained ankle was the worst injury any of them had suffered this year anyway.
Sam likened them to a broken clock that, once it had found the perfect spot on the wall, had also found its perfect rhythm. Like a weird Winchester version of Feng shui.
So the sight of his Dad half-dragging, half-carrying a bloodied Dean in one night while Sam had been vegging out in front of the TV with his chemistry book came as quite a shock.
"Sammy, fetch me the first aid kit, quick."
"Sam," John barked when no assistance from Sam was forthcoming.
Sam swallowed and nodded. "Yes, sir." He ran across the obnoxiously creaking floorboards and into the bathroom. Ripping open the little drawer that held their medical supplies, Sam cursed when he found he'd gotten a splinter. Rotten, old thing.
Quickly he made his way back to the living room where John had lowered Dean's limp form to the couch. The carpet was splattered with Dean's blood, clashing terribly with its sickly yellow colour.
After handing the kit over to his Dad, Sam placed a calming hand on his brother's pale cheek. Dean attempted a weak smile but then grimaced in obvious pain.
Sam frowned. "Maybe we should get him upstairs. More comfortable than this old, piece-of-crap couch."
John just gave a disinterested "hmm" and ignored him, concentrating on Dean instead.
Suddenly shivering, Sam noticed how cold the room was. Probably those kitchen windows that didn't close properly, made it a bitch to heat the place.
"Sam." His Dad was holding out the car keys to him without taking his attention off of Dean. "Car's still parked out in the street. Go and move it into the driveway, would you?"
With a lingering look at Dean, Sam reluctantly made his way outside, stumbling over that stupid garden gnome in the darkness. He kicked it once more for good measure and went over to the Impala, parking it properly and quickly making his way back into the house.
While Sam watched his father carefully cleaning the claw wounds on Dean's right side with holy water before sewing them shut while Dean clenched his fists against the pain, face growing even paler, Sam looked around and all he could think was how he wouldn't miss this dump when they finally left it behind.
spnflashfic, this time for the housing challengeTitle: Perfection
Author:
astri13Genre: Gen
Character: TeenSam
Rating: PG 13
Word Count: 1.152
Notes: Beta by the lovely
aizjanika Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; fair use only. Not created for profit.
It had been a long and bloody battle but after months of persistent nagging, pouting, and a generous use of the puppy dog eyes, Sam had emerged victorious, and the Winchester family council, consisting of John, mostly, had agreed to stay the entire duration of Sam's senior school year in one place. Maybe Sam had imagined something a little more exciting than Shermer, Illinois, but it would do.
House hunting had begun shortly thereafter, and, as luck seemed to be on their side for once, it didn't take long for a new home to be stamped with the Winchester seal of approval. Painted in a cheerful yellow tone, the simple, one-story building in the okay-you-could-do-better-but-it's-far-from-the-slums part of town gave a warm and inviting feeling. A white picket fence surrounded the neatly mowed lawn. Hellhound, the world's ugliest garden gnome that Dean had managed to find at some yard sale, faithfully stood guard on the premises.
Doing exercises on the fresh, green grass didn't feel half weird when their neighbour, Mrs. Williams, was contorting her sizeable body mass into something akin to Yoga exercises a few feet over. And sometimes, instead of running laps and doing push-ups, Sam and Dean would just toss around an old football, laughing and joking like two normal boys without a care in the world.
Coming home from school now, there was a newfound bounce in Sam's step. When he got a ride from a friend, he turned around at the door to wave back instead of ducking his head and running inside or worse, waving cheerfully and then having to walk all the way back from his pretend home to his real one.
The inside of their new residence was equally homey and well kept. Sam enjoyed the way you could sprawl on the couch without the requisite loose spring poking your kidney and the TV set was producing more than a sad, grainy picture. The bathroom tiles were clean and complete. Even an old bathtub was there, enticing you to a languorous soak.
And best of all, Sam had gotten his own room. Not that he didn't love Dean, but stumbling in on his big brother and a new friend conducting an anatomical experiment one time had left Sam scarred for life.
A room to himself also meant that now the occasional friend could be invited over for a study session so as precaution the weapons were kept in a special, locked drawer instead of sticking out of duffels or lying around in plain sight. Gun training was moved to a shooting range a few miles away so as not to disturb the quiet, little neighbourhood.
Weapon maintenance duty had been assigned to every second Wednesday and if Sam's play recitals happened to be on at the same time, well, it couldn't be helped. Dean didn't mind doing it anyhow, claiming it was making him go all Zen or something. To Sam the important thing was that Dean could do it in the kitchen where the two, large windows let in enough air so that the ratty, old smell of gun oil wouldn't permeate the whole place for days afterward.
Instead, now the scent of a home-cooked meal would linger in the air, and the three of them would actually sit down for a family dinner and talk about their day. Dad was working a steady job in construction, and Dean was doing part-time work both in an electronics store and a bakery of all places. It had been sooo worth it, when Dean hit Sam with a baguette after Sam had mocked Dean's new apron in the way only a little brother could.
Sam had even started encouraging Dean to take up some courses at the local Community College since really, his SAT scores hadn't been half bad. Sam was cautiously optimistic that he'd be able to wear his big brother down, though Dean had remained reluctant so far: "I don't think they offer Hunting 101. Besides why would I want to go back to school?"
It wasn't like Sam fooled himself; he just didn't mind checking out an occult text in the local library, when he also got the Lincoln biography he needed for his history presentation. Lots of people were interested in weirdo books after all, and the middle-aged librarian hadn't even given him a single glance.
And while classes and extracurricular activities were kicking his ass so hard that he often couldn't accompany his Dad and Dean on the occasional weekend trip, no one made a big fuss about it, not even Dad. So far a sprained ankle was the worst injury any of them had suffered this year anyway.
Sam likened them to a broken clock that, once it had found the perfect spot on the wall, had also found its perfect rhythm. Like a weird Winchester version of Feng shui.
So the sight of his Dad half-dragging, half-carrying a bloodied Dean in one night while Sam had been vegging out in front of the TV with his chemistry book came as quite a shock.
"Sammy, fetch me the first aid kit, quick."
"Sam," John barked when no assistance from Sam was forthcoming.
Sam swallowed and nodded. "Yes, sir." He ran across the obnoxiously creaking floorboards and into the bathroom. Ripping open the little drawer that held their medical supplies, Sam cursed when he found he'd gotten a splinter. Rotten, old thing.
Quickly he made his way back to the living room where John had lowered Dean's limp form to the couch. The carpet was splattered with Dean's blood, clashing terribly with its sickly yellow colour.
After handing the kit over to his Dad, Sam placed a calming hand on his brother's pale cheek. Dean attempted a weak smile but then grimaced in obvious pain.
Sam frowned. "Maybe we should get him upstairs. More comfortable than this old, piece-of-crap couch."
John just gave a disinterested "hmm" and ignored him, concentrating on Dean instead.
Suddenly shivering, Sam noticed how cold the room was. Probably those kitchen windows that didn't close properly, made it a bitch to heat the place.
"Sam." His Dad was holding out the car keys to him without taking his attention off of Dean. "Car's still parked out in the street. Go and move it into the driveway, would you?"
With a lingering look at Dean, Sam reluctantly made his way outside, stumbling over that stupid garden gnome in the darkness. He kicked it once more for good measure and went over to the Impala, parking it properly and quickly making his way back into the house.
While Sam watched his father carefully cleaning the claw wounds on Dean's right side with holy water before sewing them shut while Dean clenched his fists against the pain, face growing even paler, Sam looked around and all he could think was how he wouldn't miss this dump when they finally left it behind.
