i wanna watch you turn into a werewolf (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gorgeousnerd) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
firmament2009-05-04 08:50 pm
gorgeousnerd) wrote in firmament2009-05-04 08:50 pm
Entry tags:
"Refuge", Supernatural, PG, gen.
Title: Refuge
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Length: One-shot, 1260 words.
Characters/Pairings: Bobby, Sam.
Spoilers: 3x16.
Summary: Family doesn't end with blood.
Notes: This was written forrahnekat's birthday. She prompted me with Sam/Bobby and the prompt words "books, socks, hat". Luckily for me, it was a joke because I couldn't get a Sam/Bobby pairing to work with the story I was writing, but I think I managed to fit the rest in.
Refuge
When Sam stepped into Bobby Singer’s house for the first time, he nearly lost his footing and fell flat on his nose. Which, of course, got Dean laughing in his direction, but Sam only knew that because he could hear the quiet snort.
Sam couldn’t take his eyes off the books.
It wasn’t the first time that he’d seen so many books in one place; he’d spent more than a few weekends in libraries when he was old enough to sneak away from motel rooms and too young for Dad to take him on the hunts. But he’d never seen a house with so many books. They weren't on shelves, either. But then, he hadn’t been in too many houses, had he?
“See anything you like?” The voice was gruff, but kindly.
Sam looked over his shoulder to see a man that matched at least the first half of his voice. He was solid, grizzled, and looked like he’d be ready for a fight if he had half a reason. When the man realized that Sam was gazing at him, he looked away from the stacks of his books and smiled. It was small, but enough to tell Sam that whoever this was didn’t have anything against him.
He coughed. “Are…these all demon books?”
The man smiled a little wider, and the skin around his eyes bent. “Most are. Others cover the basics. The rest…”
“Rest?”
A callused finger pointed to a corner by the stairs. “Fiction.”
Sam laughed. This was definitely the opposite of any library he'd ever been in.
“Hey, Bobby.”
Sam and the man – who must have been Bobby because the only two other people in the room were Dean and Dad – turned to look toward the window. Dad leaned against the windowsill, looked outside, and gestured to Bobby.
Bobby clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Read anything you want, son. See if you can get that knucklehead brother of yours to join you.”
As Bobby walked off, Sam looked over at Dean, who looked like he was trying to set a table on fire using the lighter Dad had given him. He headed in his direction, smiling at the warm feeling in his stomach.
~
Sam Winchester hadn’t been bigger than Bobby when they’d first met. He'd been tall for an eleven-year-old, almost as tall as his older brother, but he wasn't as big as he was now. It was all Bobby could do to keep him upright long enough to get him to his couch, and he could hear his bones creak with every step he took.
Sam was bigger, and Bobby was older. Didn’t feel like much of a trade.
When they’d reached the couch, he lowered Sam onto it as best he could, which meant he ended up dropping him onto the couch from as low a height as he could manage. Sam bounced, and if Bobby hadn’t been there, he probably would have bounced right onto the floor. He caught him and rolled him back, hoping that Sam wasn’t too bruised.
But Sam didn’t really seem to notice whether he was hurt or not, and that was the trouble.
“You think you can sleep?” Bobby asked, pulling himself to his feet.
Of course, Sam didn’t answer. He hadn’t answered any of Bobby’s questions since they’d left New Harmony…or even when he’d caught up to Sam in New Harmony, come to think of it. All he’d done was put Dean (what was left of Dean) in the backseat of the Impala and sit in the passenger’s seat up front, and all Bobby could do in response was sit in the driver’s seat and get them away from the place. He hoped the Chevelle was in one piece – demons didn't seem the type for petty vandalism -- but it didn’t much matter if it wasn't.
What was really getting under Bobby’s skin wasn’t that Sam was screwed in the head; he’d been prepared for this for months. No, the real kicker was that he was acting just like Dean had after Sam had taken the knife to the back, and knowing how Dean had reacted…well, that just didn’t sit right with Bobby. And he’d be damned if he was going to shut his trap and leave this time.
“What are you going to do with Dean?”
Sam raised his watery eyes in Bobby’s direction. “I’m not gonna leave him there.”
“Course we’re not.” Bobby took his hat off and scratched at his head. “Can’t do anything ‘til you’ve slept some, though.”
The boy opened his mouth, and Bobby braced himself. But then, Sam nodded.
“I guess I’m not doing much good right now,” he said, his voice barely rising above the creaking of the house.
Bobby looked at Sam's feet. His shoes were muddy, probably from the sprinkler run he and Dean did earlier, and considering how many holes the things had, his socks were probably soaked all the way through. But that wasn't something the kid was going to notice, so he bent, creaking knees and all, and started unlacing Sam's shoes.
He could feel Sam looking at him as if his gaze could touch him. And maybe it could, knowing the kind of firepower he probably had lurking under the surface...which brought up something else. Maybe it was too early to press the point, but Bobby had to try.
“Saw Ruby,” he said, not looking up from the shoes.
Sam sniffed. “Wasn't Ruby.”
The hard edge to Sam's voice told Bobby exactly who it was. “How'd you stop her?”
The room went quiet. If Bobby was the kind of guy who got nervous, now would have been the time for it. Not because Sam was dangerous, although he was right now. Because if this shut him up for good, stopped him from talking to Bobby, he would have no way to keep either of them safe.
Maybe Sam figured that much. “Scared her off.”
“What?” Bobby looked up.
Sam bit his lip and looked at the books lining the walls. “I scared her off.”
Now she wasn't going to be content with killing Dean; she was going to be pissed that Sam had managed to get rid of her. But as messed as the situation was, Bobby felt his shoulders lose their tension. Sam told him a little of what happened, and right after it all went down, too.
He pulled Sam's shoes off. If his socks had been anything other than a dark, muddy brown, he didn't know.
~
It only took a couple of days for Sam to get off the couch.
Bobby had mostly left him alone. There was a little part of his brain that remembered how he'd felt after his wife...but Dean was Sam's brother, and more, and Sam would definitely need time. There was plenty for Bobby to do around the house: protection spells, contact follow-ups (mostly about his car), and work in the yard (man had to make a living somehow). He kept an eye on Sam, was around if he needed him, but still kept out of his way if he didn't want him there.
But on day three, Sam was up early, pulling clothes out of the trunk of the Impala. Bobby went up to him, shielding his eyes from the sunlight of dawn.
“Goin' anywhere?”
Sam shook his head. “Best place to do research is here.”
Bobby patted a hand on his shoulder, then walked back into the house. It was time to get to work.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: PG
Length: One-shot, 1260 words.
Characters/Pairings: Bobby, Sam.
Spoilers: 3x16.
Summary: Family doesn't end with blood.
Notes: This was written for
rahnekat's birthday. She prompted me with Sam/Bobby and the prompt words "books, socks, hat". Luckily for me, it was a joke because I couldn't get a Sam/Bobby pairing to work with the story I was writing, but I think I managed to fit the rest in.When Sam stepped into Bobby Singer’s house for the first time, he nearly lost his footing and fell flat on his nose. Which, of course, got Dean laughing in his direction, but Sam only knew that because he could hear the quiet snort.
Sam couldn’t take his eyes off the books.
It wasn’t the first time that he’d seen so many books in one place; he’d spent more than a few weekends in libraries when he was old enough to sneak away from motel rooms and too young for Dad to take him on the hunts. But he’d never seen a house with so many books. They weren't on shelves, either. But then, he hadn’t been in too many houses, had he?
“See anything you like?” The voice was gruff, but kindly.
Sam looked over his shoulder to see a man that matched at least the first half of his voice. He was solid, grizzled, and looked like he’d be ready for a fight if he had half a reason. When the man realized that Sam was gazing at him, he looked away from the stacks of his books and smiled. It was small, but enough to tell Sam that whoever this was didn’t have anything against him.
He coughed. “Are…these all demon books?”
The man smiled a little wider, and the skin around his eyes bent. “Most are. Others cover the basics. The rest…”
“Rest?”
A callused finger pointed to a corner by the stairs. “Fiction.”
Sam laughed. This was definitely the opposite of any library he'd ever been in.
“Hey, Bobby.”
Sam and the man – who must have been Bobby because the only two other people in the room were Dean and Dad – turned to look toward the window. Dad leaned against the windowsill, looked outside, and gestured to Bobby.
Bobby clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Read anything you want, son. See if you can get that knucklehead brother of yours to join you.”
As Bobby walked off, Sam looked over at Dean, who looked like he was trying to set a table on fire using the lighter Dad had given him. He headed in his direction, smiling at the warm feeling in his stomach.
Sam Winchester hadn’t been bigger than Bobby when they’d first met. He'd been tall for an eleven-year-old, almost as tall as his older brother, but he wasn't as big as he was now. It was all Bobby could do to keep him upright long enough to get him to his couch, and he could hear his bones creak with every step he took.
Sam was bigger, and Bobby was older. Didn’t feel like much of a trade.
When they’d reached the couch, he lowered Sam onto it as best he could, which meant he ended up dropping him onto the couch from as low a height as he could manage. Sam bounced, and if Bobby hadn’t been there, he probably would have bounced right onto the floor. He caught him and rolled him back, hoping that Sam wasn’t too bruised.
But Sam didn’t really seem to notice whether he was hurt or not, and that was the trouble.
“You think you can sleep?” Bobby asked, pulling himself to his feet.
Of course, Sam didn’t answer. He hadn’t answered any of Bobby’s questions since they’d left New Harmony…or even when he’d caught up to Sam in New Harmony, come to think of it. All he’d done was put Dean (what was left of Dean) in the backseat of the Impala and sit in the passenger’s seat up front, and all Bobby could do in response was sit in the driver’s seat and get them away from the place. He hoped the Chevelle was in one piece – demons didn't seem the type for petty vandalism -- but it didn’t much matter if it wasn't.
What was really getting under Bobby’s skin wasn’t that Sam was screwed in the head; he’d been prepared for this for months. No, the real kicker was that he was acting just like Dean had after Sam had taken the knife to the back, and knowing how Dean had reacted…well, that just didn’t sit right with Bobby. And he’d be damned if he was going to shut his trap and leave this time.
“What are you going to do with Dean?”
Sam raised his watery eyes in Bobby’s direction. “I’m not gonna leave him there.”
“Course we’re not.” Bobby took his hat off and scratched at his head. “Can’t do anything ‘til you’ve slept some, though.”
The boy opened his mouth, and Bobby braced himself. But then, Sam nodded.
“I guess I’m not doing much good right now,” he said, his voice barely rising above the creaking of the house.
Bobby looked at Sam's feet. His shoes were muddy, probably from the sprinkler run he and Dean did earlier, and considering how many holes the things had, his socks were probably soaked all the way through. But that wasn't something the kid was going to notice, so he bent, creaking knees and all, and started unlacing Sam's shoes.
He could feel Sam looking at him as if his gaze could touch him. And maybe it could, knowing the kind of firepower he probably had lurking under the surface...which brought up something else. Maybe it was too early to press the point, but Bobby had to try.
“Saw Ruby,” he said, not looking up from the shoes.
Sam sniffed. “Wasn't Ruby.”
The hard edge to Sam's voice told Bobby exactly who it was. “How'd you stop her?”
The room went quiet. If Bobby was the kind of guy who got nervous, now would have been the time for it. Not because Sam was dangerous, although he was right now. Because if this shut him up for good, stopped him from talking to Bobby, he would have no way to keep either of them safe.
Maybe Sam figured that much. “Scared her off.”
“What?” Bobby looked up.
Sam bit his lip and looked at the books lining the walls. “I scared her off.”
Now she wasn't going to be content with killing Dean; she was going to be pissed that Sam had managed to get rid of her. But as messed as the situation was, Bobby felt his shoulders lose their tension. Sam told him a little of what happened, and right after it all went down, too.
He pulled Sam's shoes off. If his socks had been anything other than a dark, muddy brown, he didn't know.
It only took a couple of days for Sam to get off the couch.
Bobby had mostly left him alone. There was a little part of his brain that remembered how he'd felt after his wife...but Dean was Sam's brother, and more, and Sam would definitely need time. There was plenty for Bobby to do around the house: protection spells, contact follow-ups (mostly about his car), and work in the yard (man had to make a living somehow). He kept an eye on Sam, was around if he needed him, but still kept out of his way if he didn't want him there.
But on day three, Sam was up early, pulling clothes out of the trunk of the Impala. Bobby went up to him, shielding his eyes from the sunlight of dawn.
“Goin' anywhere?”
Sam shook his head. “Best place to do research is here.”
Bobby patted a hand on his shoulder, then walked back into the house. It was time to get to work.