SPN Ficlet: Prospecting
Title: Prospecting
Characters: John, Caleb, Sam, Dean
Classification: GEN, ficlet, past-fic
Rating: GEN, PG
Warnings: SPOILER FOR EP 2.15 TALL TALES. Will not make sense unless you've seen Season 2 episode "Tall Tales", might not make sense even then.
Word Count: 866 words
Disclaimer: Not mine, none of them, sigh.
Summary: Dean's introduction to the Weekly World News. Just a thought I had after the episode tonight. John's POV-ish
Prospecting
by CaffieneKitty
- - -
"How many times can Bigfoot get married anyway?" John said, tossing the black and white newspaper at the table.
Caleb smirked. "At least as many times as a human can, probably more in Nevada."
"Tell me you aren't serious about me reading that thing."
Caleb looked up from re-assembling a Dragunov rifle. "Yes, I'm serious. If there's a person out there that's survived an attack by a supernatural force, where else are they going to get their voice heard." He nudged the rejected paper with the telescopic gun sight. "Your leads on what killed your wife are slim enough without dismissing a possible source of information."
"But it's useless. It's all crap. Look at this." John picked up the paper and opened to a random page. "Man leaves wife for pig." He flipped to another random page. "Batboy spotted in New Mexico" Flipped again. "Wookies capture Elvis." He tossed the paper back onto the table. "What am I supposed to get out of that crap?"
Caleb ran a swab down the inside of the rifle's detached barrel, looking at the overhead light through it for shiny or dull patches. "Let's say you're a prospector. You head out into the hills, looking for gold. Get a hundred yards away from town, stick your shovel in the dirt, and don't see anything that's shiny. Are you going to go back to town in defeat and give up because you didn't see anything in that shovelful of dirt?"
"No, but it's not dirt these guys are shoveling, and I've never heard of anyone striking gold in a heap of shi-"
"Hi Daddy!" said Sammy, running in and tackling John's left leg.
"Hey there, sport," he said, changing gears and ruffling Sammy's hair.
Dean thudded around the corner and dropped his backpack in the doorway. "Sammy, that was cheating!"
"I won the race!" Sammy beamed up at John. "I won, Daddy! I beat Dean!"
"Is that so," John said, looking over to the doorway, but Dean had apparently teleported all the way across the room to hover beside the table full of carefully laid out gun parts on lint-free cloths and the rumpled copy of the Weekly World News.
"He cheated," Dean said, shifting from foot to foot, full of nervous energy after a day cooped up in the local school. "He got off the bus first, and Cissy McCormack was in front of me and she dropped her books, again, so I had to stop and help her. What kind of gun is that, Caleb?"
"Nuh-uh. I won, fair and square," Sammy smirked. "S'not my fault Cissy McCormack's always so clumsy around Dean."
"Whatever. It's not my fault she's clumsy either. It's a sniper rifle, isn't it?"
"Dean, stop bothering Caleb," John warned, prying Sam off his leg gently.
Caleb held up a hand and smiled. "It's okay, John. What makes you say it's a sniper rifle, Dean?"
"'Cause it's got a telescopic sight and it's got the, um the, stand thing," Dean said pointing, but carefully not touching without permission. "Are you done with the newspaper?"
Caleb looked up at John. "I think your Dad's done with it for now." He picked up the newsprint sheets and handed them to Dean, who reassembled the beleaguered paper. "Why don't you two head upstairs, there might be some leftover chili."
"Yay!" Sam squealed and thundered up the stairs.
Dean tucked the paper under one arm. "Thank you, Caleb! Thanks Dad! Wait for me Sam!" said Dean on his way out of the room and up the stairs as Sammy's gleeful shrieks of I won again! drifted down from the kitchen.
Caleb shook his head and laughed, threading the gunbarrel onto the stock.
John scratched his head and looked at Caleb. "Mind telling me what's so funny? You just gave the stupid newspaper you were so insistent I find gold in to my ten-year-old."
"Yes. About finding gold," Caleb grinned disingenuously. "Most effective prospectors use a bit more equipment than a shovel. Pans and shaker boxes or whatever, to make it easier to find the good bits in the aforementioned crap."
John frowned at Caleb, then up toward the ceiling where a small herd of elephants was tussling in the kitchen. "What, Dean?"
"That's the third Weekly World News he's snagged after you gave up on it."
"I've only gotten three."
"Just so." Caleb flexed the hinges on the rifle's folding stock. "He wants to read the paper."
"Doesn't make it less full of crap," John grumbled.
"I can give him some pointers on-" Caleb looked up and smirked, "-separating the potential gold from the dross, and he can watch for anything that might actually be worth looking into."
John shot a sideways glance at Caleb. "You're not joking."
"No, John. I'm not joking." He pushed the assembled rifle to the center of the table and wiped gun oil off his hands. "He seems to want to read it anyway. He might as well be checking through it for you."
"It'll rot his mind. We'll wind up chasing Elvis across Arizona."
"Arizona?"
"That's where the Wookies took him," sighed John, shaking his head. "The Weekly World News."
"Look on the bright side. If you catch Elvis, you'll never need to worry about money again."
John glared mildly at Caleb. "Ha." The ceiling shook. "Let's go see if the ravening hordes have left any chili."
- - -
(that's all)
Characters: John, Caleb, Sam, Dean
Classification: GEN, ficlet, past-fic
Rating: GEN, PG
Warnings: SPOILER FOR EP 2.15 TALL TALES. Will not make sense unless you've seen Season 2 episode "Tall Tales", might not make sense even then.
Word Count: 866 words
Disclaimer: Not mine, none of them, sigh.
Summary: Dean's introduction to the Weekly World News. Just a thought I had after the episode tonight. John's POV-ish
Prospecting
by CaffieneKitty
- - -
"How many times can Bigfoot get married anyway?" John said, tossing the black and white newspaper at the table.
Caleb smirked. "At least as many times as a human can, probably more in Nevada."
"Tell me you aren't serious about me reading that thing."
Caleb looked up from re-assembling a Dragunov rifle. "Yes, I'm serious. If there's a person out there that's survived an attack by a supernatural force, where else are they going to get their voice heard." He nudged the rejected paper with the telescopic gun sight. "Your leads on what killed your wife are slim enough without dismissing a possible source of information."
"But it's useless. It's all crap. Look at this." John picked up the paper and opened to a random page. "Man leaves wife for pig." He flipped to another random page. "Batboy spotted in New Mexico" Flipped again. "Wookies capture Elvis." He tossed the paper back onto the table. "What am I supposed to get out of that crap?"
Caleb ran a swab down the inside of the rifle's detached barrel, looking at the overhead light through it for shiny or dull patches. "Let's say you're a prospector. You head out into the hills, looking for gold. Get a hundred yards away from town, stick your shovel in the dirt, and don't see anything that's shiny. Are you going to go back to town in defeat and give up because you didn't see anything in that shovelful of dirt?"
"No, but it's not dirt these guys are shoveling, and I've never heard of anyone striking gold in a heap of shi-"
"Hi Daddy!" said Sammy, running in and tackling John's left leg.
"Hey there, sport," he said, changing gears and ruffling Sammy's hair.
Dean thudded around the corner and dropped his backpack in the doorway. "Sammy, that was cheating!"
"I won the race!" Sammy beamed up at John. "I won, Daddy! I beat Dean!"
"Is that so," John said, looking over to the doorway, but Dean had apparently teleported all the way across the room to hover beside the table full of carefully laid out gun parts on lint-free cloths and the rumpled copy of the Weekly World News.
"He cheated," Dean said, shifting from foot to foot, full of nervous energy after a day cooped up in the local school. "He got off the bus first, and Cissy McCormack was in front of me and she dropped her books, again, so I had to stop and help her. What kind of gun is that, Caleb?"
"Nuh-uh. I won, fair and square," Sammy smirked. "S'not my fault Cissy McCormack's always so clumsy around Dean."
"Whatever. It's not my fault she's clumsy either. It's a sniper rifle, isn't it?"
"Dean, stop bothering Caleb," John warned, prying Sam off his leg gently.
Caleb held up a hand and smiled. "It's okay, John. What makes you say it's a sniper rifle, Dean?"
"'Cause it's got a telescopic sight and it's got the, um the, stand thing," Dean said pointing, but carefully not touching without permission. "Are you done with the newspaper?"
Caleb looked up at John. "I think your Dad's done with it for now." He picked up the newsprint sheets and handed them to Dean, who reassembled the beleaguered paper. "Why don't you two head upstairs, there might be some leftover chili."
"Yay!" Sam squealed and thundered up the stairs.
Dean tucked the paper under one arm. "Thank you, Caleb! Thanks Dad! Wait for me Sam!" said Dean on his way out of the room and up the stairs as Sammy's gleeful shrieks of I won again! drifted down from the kitchen.
Caleb shook his head and laughed, threading the gunbarrel onto the stock.
John scratched his head and looked at Caleb. "Mind telling me what's so funny? You just gave the stupid newspaper you were so insistent I find gold in to my ten-year-old."
"Yes. About finding gold," Caleb grinned disingenuously. "Most effective prospectors use a bit more equipment than a shovel. Pans and shaker boxes or whatever, to make it easier to find the good bits in the aforementioned crap."
John frowned at Caleb, then up toward the ceiling where a small herd of elephants was tussling in the kitchen. "What, Dean?"
"That's the third Weekly World News he's snagged after you gave up on it."
"I've only gotten three."
"Just so." Caleb flexed the hinges on the rifle's folding stock. "He wants to read the paper."
"Doesn't make it less full of crap," John grumbled.
"I can give him some pointers on-" Caleb looked up and smirked, "-separating the potential gold from the dross, and he can watch for anything that might actually be worth looking into."
John shot a sideways glance at Caleb. "You're not joking."
"No, John. I'm not joking." He pushed the assembled rifle to the center of the table and wiped gun oil off his hands. "He seems to want to read it anyway. He might as well be checking through it for you."
"It'll rot his mind. We'll wind up chasing Elvis across Arizona."
"Arizona?"
"That's where the Wookies took him," sighed John, shaking his head. "The Weekly World News."
"Look on the bright side. If you catch Elvis, you'll never need to worry about money again."
John glared mildly at Caleb. "Ha." The ceiling shook. "Let's go see if the ravening hordes have left any chili."
- - -
(that's all)