SPN FIC - Stays Holler
I've been watching Justified recently, and I'm intrigued by its portrayal of backwoods Kentucky -- of that hardscrabble existence that boils things down to their essence. Particularly, what that might mean for a kid who, if he or she lived anywhere outside the Holler, might simply be in middle school, inching toward adulthood one small step at a time.
"I don't need a babysitter," the boy said. Then he went back to staring out the front window, as if he expected to see something out there other than trees and Boyd's trashed old pickup.
CHARACTERS: Dean (age 13), Lila Jean (OFC, age 14)
GENRE: Gen, outsider POV
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 1202 words
STAYS HOLLER
By Carol Davis
"I don't need a babysitter," the boy said. Then he went back to staring out the front window, as if he expected to see something out there other than trees and Boyd's trashed old pickup.
Lila Jean had been dismissed by more people than she could hope to count. This was just one more, she decided, and since the person doing the dismissing was someone whose opinion didn't count for squat as far as she was concerned, she answered it with, "Suit yourself," then went back to laying out plates and dishes and cutlery. Eight places for supper, which was kind of a squeeze, and called for using the extra plates, the ones that didn't match.
She figured no one would notice. Mama would have, but it'd been three years since Mama had sat down to supper at this table.
Or any table.
"You might's well sit down," she told the boy after a while. "They won't be back 'til dark, maybe later."
He ignored her.
The other boy, the younger one, was sound asleep on the couch. He'd been watching cartoons on the TV for a while, after he got done flipping channels, but he was too worn out to stay awake - Lila could see that in the way his head kept dropping forward, or to one side. Finally, he'd just curled up into a ball and shut his eyes, which more or less left Lila alone with his brother.
Rather than go on giving him somebody to ignore, she pushed the swinging door and went out into the kitchen. The sun had come around, so it was a little brighter out there than in the front room. Seemed a lot more cheerful. She could still hear the TV after the door had swung shut, but it was muffled, and she could let herself pretend it was Mama in there, watching "The Price Is Right" or some soap opera or other while she tidied up the mess Daddy and the boys had made.
She'd drunk half a 7-Up when Dean Winchester made the door creak and came on into the kitchen like somebody had invited him.
"You give up on bein' a sentry?" she asked.
He scowled at her, but when she handed him a 7-Up, he didn't refuse it. He kept his eyes on her as he opened the can and took a couple of sips, as if he thought she might do something unexpected and he'd need to react right away. Pull a gun on him, maybe, or haul off and smack him one. Lila made sure she was out of easy reach when she asked him, "You a natural-born asshole, or you gotta work at it?"
His lips shaped themselves around an answer, but he didn't say it.
"People invite you into their house, you could bother to be cordial," she told him.
"You called me an asshole."
"I asked you if you wanted to play cards, and you told me you don't need no babysitter. I don't recall anybody identifyin' me as one. Thought you might want a way to occupy your time 'til your daddy gets back, and all I get for my trouble is you bein' rude to me."
He muttered something to the floor.
"Well, put a suit on it and call it a gentleman," Lila said dryly. "You'll pardon me if I ain't exactly overwhelmed by the depth of your sincerity."
His head snapped up. There was fire in his eyes. "Why don't you -"
"Yeah," Lila said. "Why don't I."
And the fire was gone, just as quick as it had appeared. He sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs like he'd gone boneless, the way Dewey Johnson always sat - though Dewey weighed a good four hundred pounds and had had emphysema as far back as Lila could remember. There wasn't much of an explanation for a thirteen-year-old to be sitting like that.
Well, one, maybe. "You're mad they didn't take you with 'em," Lila guessed.
Dean stared out the window for a while before he muttered, "I have to stay with Sam."
"Who's…how old?"
"Nine."
"And he needs a babysitter."
He shrugged and went on looking out the window. There was less to be seen out that way than out the front, unless you considered the back end of the shed to be interesting.
"He know how to shoot?" Lila asked.
He nodded.
"Well, hell, then. They started leavin' me alone when I was six."
"It's different," Dean said.
"I don't see how. What's he, delicate or somethin'?"
He fussed with the soda can for long enough that she knew he was deciding what to tell her. How much he ought to talk about his life. "It ain't none of your damn business" shot out of somebody's mouth pretty much every day around the Holler, but if you came down to it, there were no secrets here. Not a bit of anything that somebody didn't see, or overhear, or figure out. People sleeping with people they had no business sleeping with. Fights and killings and deals, robberies and vandalism.
"My mama went off with Daddy's friend Harlan," she said. "The two of 'em got shitfaced down't the roadhouse in Hadley, and on the way back he hit a tree goin' upwards of ninety miles an hour."
Dean thought that over for a while. Then he said, "I'm sorry."
"I don't think it much matters what killed 'em," Lila told him. "All I know is, it was fucked up, and they're dead. You want a sandwich? I'll make you a sandwich. God only knows when they'll be back. We could be eatin' supper at two in the morning."
"It's just a salt and burn," Dean said.
Damn, but he was earnest.
"You never been here before, have you?" Lila asked. When he shook his head, she told him, "There's bodies buried in places where there ain't even places, goin' back almost three hundred years. This holler's full of the angry dead."
"My dad -"
"You smoke weed?" Lila asked. "Drink? You pop your cherry yet?"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"You can hear 'em sometimes, in the middle of the night. Yeah, maybe it's just the wind. But the old folks'll tell you. There's people who were born here and never left. Don't know how to leave, and that don't change when they're dead. The ones your daddy and mine and th' others are lookin' for, they might not think a salt-and-burn's a good plan."
"But I don't understand -"
"That's the thing," Lila said. "You got a long way to go before you do."
He bristled at that. Had to, because he had ideas about himself. She let him do it for a couple of minutes, while she put together a sandwich on a plate and set it down in front of him.
"You ever kill anybody?" she asked him then.
He looked at her, hard and unblinking, but the toughness didn't last long. "No," he said.
"You will," she said softly. "Best you can hope for's that you don't get to like it."
Then she pushed open the swinging door and left him alone with his food.
* * * * *
"I don't need a babysitter," the boy said. Then he went back to staring out the front window, as if he expected to see something out there other than trees and Boyd's trashed old pickup.
CHARACTERS: Dean (age 13), Lila Jean (OFC, age 14)
GENRE: Gen, outsider POV
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 1202 words
STAYS HOLLER
By Carol Davis
"I don't need a babysitter," the boy said. Then he went back to staring out the front window, as if he expected to see something out there other than trees and Boyd's trashed old pickup.
Lila Jean had been dismissed by more people than she could hope to count. This was just one more, she decided, and since the person doing the dismissing was someone whose opinion didn't count for squat as far as she was concerned, she answered it with, "Suit yourself," then went back to laying out plates and dishes and cutlery. Eight places for supper, which was kind of a squeeze, and called for using the extra plates, the ones that didn't match.
She figured no one would notice. Mama would have, but it'd been three years since Mama had sat down to supper at this table.
Or any table.
"You might's well sit down," she told the boy after a while. "They won't be back 'til dark, maybe later."
He ignored her.
The other boy, the younger one, was sound asleep on the couch. He'd been watching cartoons on the TV for a while, after he got done flipping channels, but he was too worn out to stay awake - Lila could see that in the way his head kept dropping forward, or to one side. Finally, he'd just curled up into a ball and shut his eyes, which more or less left Lila alone with his brother.
Rather than go on giving him somebody to ignore, she pushed the swinging door and went out into the kitchen. The sun had come around, so it was a little brighter out there than in the front room. Seemed a lot more cheerful. She could still hear the TV after the door had swung shut, but it was muffled, and she could let herself pretend it was Mama in there, watching "The Price Is Right" or some soap opera or other while she tidied up the mess Daddy and the boys had made.
She'd drunk half a 7-Up when Dean Winchester made the door creak and came on into the kitchen like somebody had invited him.
"You give up on bein' a sentry?" she asked.
He scowled at her, but when she handed him a 7-Up, he didn't refuse it. He kept his eyes on her as he opened the can and took a couple of sips, as if he thought she might do something unexpected and he'd need to react right away. Pull a gun on him, maybe, or haul off and smack him one. Lila made sure she was out of easy reach when she asked him, "You a natural-born asshole, or you gotta work at it?"
His lips shaped themselves around an answer, but he didn't say it.
"People invite you into their house, you could bother to be cordial," she told him.
"You called me an asshole."
"I asked you if you wanted to play cards, and you told me you don't need no babysitter. I don't recall anybody identifyin' me as one. Thought you might want a way to occupy your time 'til your daddy gets back, and all I get for my trouble is you bein' rude to me."
He muttered something to the floor.
"Well, put a suit on it and call it a gentleman," Lila said dryly. "You'll pardon me if I ain't exactly overwhelmed by the depth of your sincerity."
His head snapped up. There was fire in his eyes. "Why don't you -"
"Yeah," Lila said. "Why don't I."
And the fire was gone, just as quick as it had appeared. He sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs like he'd gone boneless, the way Dewey Johnson always sat - though Dewey weighed a good four hundred pounds and had had emphysema as far back as Lila could remember. There wasn't much of an explanation for a thirteen-year-old to be sitting like that.
Well, one, maybe. "You're mad they didn't take you with 'em," Lila guessed.
Dean stared out the window for a while before he muttered, "I have to stay with Sam."
"Who's…how old?"
"Nine."
"And he needs a babysitter."
He shrugged and went on looking out the window. There was less to be seen out that way than out the front, unless you considered the back end of the shed to be interesting.
"He know how to shoot?" Lila asked.
He nodded.
"Well, hell, then. They started leavin' me alone when I was six."
"It's different," Dean said.
"I don't see how. What's he, delicate or somethin'?"
He fussed with the soda can for long enough that she knew he was deciding what to tell her. How much he ought to talk about his life. "It ain't none of your damn business" shot out of somebody's mouth pretty much every day around the Holler, but if you came down to it, there were no secrets here. Not a bit of anything that somebody didn't see, or overhear, or figure out. People sleeping with people they had no business sleeping with. Fights and killings and deals, robberies and vandalism.
"My mama went off with Daddy's friend Harlan," she said. "The two of 'em got shitfaced down't the roadhouse in Hadley, and on the way back he hit a tree goin' upwards of ninety miles an hour."
Dean thought that over for a while. Then he said, "I'm sorry."
"I don't think it much matters what killed 'em," Lila told him. "All I know is, it was fucked up, and they're dead. You want a sandwich? I'll make you a sandwich. God only knows when they'll be back. We could be eatin' supper at two in the morning."
"It's just a salt and burn," Dean said.
Damn, but he was earnest.
"You never been here before, have you?" Lila asked. When he shook his head, she told him, "There's bodies buried in places where there ain't even places, goin' back almost three hundred years. This holler's full of the angry dead."
"My dad -"
"You smoke weed?" Lila asked. "Drink? You pop your cherry yet?"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"You can hear 'em sometimes, in the middle of the night. Yeah, maybe it's just the wind. But the old folks'll tell you. There's people who were born here and never left. Don't know how to leave, and that don't change when they're dead. The ones your daddy and mine and th' others are lookin' for, they might not think a salt-and-burn's a good plan."
"But I don't understand -"
"That's the thing," Lila said. "You got a long way to go before you do."
He bristled at that. Had to, because he had ideas about himself. She let him do it for a couple of minutes, while she put together a sandwich on a plate and set it down in front of him.
"You ever kill anybody?" she asked him then.
He looked at her, hard and unblinking, but the toughness didn't last long. "No," he said.
"You will," she said softly. "Best you can hope for's that you don't get to like it."
Then she pushed open the swinging door and left him alone with his food.
* * * * *