SPN FIC - TLC
Here -- have a bit of schmoop. Hopefully this will lift the mood a bit. :)
Characters: John and the wee!ones
Genre: Gen
Rating: G
Spoilers: none
Length: 300 words
TLC
By Carol Davis
"I can DO IT!" Sam trumpets with a ferocity that makes John's ears ring. He's got that solid look on his face, the one that says he's made up his mind and will not be swayed. The last time John tried, Sam went into a coughing-choking-gasping-flailing jag that lasted almost half an hour.
With a small sigh John inclines his head and extends his bared forearm toward Sam. Dean, open blue box of supplies balanced on his lap, looks down at its neatly organized contents and opens his mouth to protest. He's John's go-to guy. They all know that.
"My turn," Sam says, color rapidly rising up his neck into his face.
"Yeah, buddy," John agrees with a small gesture that tells Dean to back off, this one time. "It's your turn."
"Be careful," Dean warns, and gets no response, because Sam is already settling himself into place. He clamps his tongue between his teeth and slowly, diligently, peels the thin paper wrapper away. As he drops the no-longer-useful paper on the blanket beside him, he begins to hum, then softly croon. It's a familiar tune, familiar words, but Sam's never been much on figuring out the sense of lyrics. What comes out is something like:
I'se tuck on banny bran
Comes banny tuck ah me
With the focus of a brain surgeon he removes the protective tabs from the tape and gently lays the bandage on John's forearm, smoothing out the tape with the tip of his forefinger. When he's finished, he beams at John, then turns to scowl at his brother. "I take care of Daddy," he announces triumphantly.
Dean rolls his eyes in a silent groan of Whatever.
"I fix you, Daddy," Sam grins.
"Yeah, buddy," John says, reaching out to ruffle Sam's hair. "I'm all fixed."
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Characters: John and the wee!ones
Genre: Gen
Rating: G
Spoilers: none
Length: 300 words
TLC
By Carol Davis
"I can DO IT!" Sam trumpets with a ferocity that makes John's ears ring. He's got that solid look on his face, the one that says he's made up his mind and will not be swayed. The last time John tried, Sam went into a coughing-choking-gasping-flailing jag that lasted almost half an hour.
With a small sigh John inclines his head and extends his bared forearm toward Sam. Dean, open blue box of supplies balanced on his lap, looks down at its neatly organized contents and opens his mouth to protest. He's John's go-to guy. They all know that.
"My turn," Sam says, color rapidly rising up his neck into his face.
"Yeah, buddy," John agrees with a small gesture that tells Dean to back off, this one time. "It's your turn."
"Be careful," Dean warns, and gets no response, because Sam is already settling himself into place. He clamps his tongue between his teeth and slowly, diligently, peels the thin paper wrapper away. As he drops the no-longer-useful paper on the blanket beside him, he begins to hum, then softly croon. It's a familiar tune, familiar words, but Sam's never been much on figuring out the sense of lyrics. What comes out is something like:
I'se tuck on banny bran
Comes banny tuck ah me
With the focus of a brain surgeon he removes the protective tabs from the tape and gently lays the bandage on John's forearm, smoothing out the tape with the tip of his forefinger. When he's finished, he beams at John, then turns to scowl at his brother. "I take care of Daddy," he announces triumphantly.
Dean rolls his eyes in a silent groan of Whatever.
"I fix you, Daddy," Sam grins.
"Yeah, buddy," John says, reaching out to ruffle Sam's hair. "I'm all fixed."
~~~~~~~~~~~~