SPN FIC - Row, Row, Row
tifaching asked for some Weechesters to brighten up her day, and the Muse and I couldn't help but oblige! So here's two small boys, a rowboat, and a pirate treasure waiting to be discovered ... if only Sammy can learn to row.
CHARACTERS: Dean (age 8), Sam (age 4)
GENRE: Gen
RATING: G
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 1000 words
ROW, ROW, ROW
By Carol Davis
"I can't do it, Dean! I don't know how to do it and I can't DO IT!"
You are such a dope, Dean thinks. You're a dope and a crybaby and you're a big royal pain in my BUTT.
"You said you knew how."
"But I donnnnnnn't," Sammy wails.
This started out to be a good plan. In fact, it's one of the most excellent plans Dean's ever thought of. It's almost guaranteed not to get anybody in trouble, it didn't involve stealing anything, and it gets rid of the problem of Sammy begging all day long to be the captain and row the boat, all by himself. But now, Sammy's sitting there at the back end of the boat, crying.
Pastor Jim says a thing. It's something like, the best plans of men and mice.
"You're a stupid dumbass," he whispers.
He doesn't mean Pastor Jim.
It's true, Sammy's arms are kind of short. But they're long enough for him to reach both oars and hold on. It's a small boat, and it's not like Sam needs to break any speed records. All he's got to do is make the boat move back and forth, out to "sea" and back again, and that's not hard. Even for a little crybaby dumbass.
"Sit there," Dean commands, pointing to the middle of the center seat.
Sam sits.
His lower lip slides out. But Dean pretty much figured that would happen, so he ignores it. He can do this, he thinks. And if Dean is gonna be like Dad someday, if he's gonna be a grownup like Dad and Uncle Bobby and Pastor Jim, he's gonna have to be able to teach people how to do things. If he can teach Sammy, he'll be able to teach pretty much anybody to do pretty much anything.
Besides - he's succeeded before. He taught Sam how to use the bathroom, and how to pour milk on his cereal without getting it all over the table.
So far, the shoe-tying thing is a bust, but… whatever.
"Stop crying," he tells his brother. "Captains don't cry."
Sam snuffles and wipes his nose with his hand.
"Now, you hold the oars, like this."
"They're too heavy," Sam protests.
"If you row a lot, you'll get muscles. Then it'll be easier."
"You don't have muscles."
"'Cause I don't row enough," Dean sighs, thinking of the new Spider-Man comic he could be reading right now, if he wasn't trying to do this. "Dad always rows. You want to have muscles like Dad?"
Sam chews his lip for a minute. Then he says, like he's not really sure, "Yeah?"
"Hold on, then. Like this. And pull."
The only time Dean has seen somebody make more of a stink about something than Sammy does about pretty much everything, was in that movie on TV that Dad made him turn off because it wasn't a "good thing to be watching." There was a lady in the hospital, in the movie, all sweaty and messed up, and she was yelling and grabbing things. Having a baby, Dad said.
It made Dean pretty glad he's not a girl.
And that he doesn't have to help somebody do that.
"Pull," he tells his brother, the way the people in the movie were telling that lady, "PUSH!"
Sam gets kind of red in the face. If he bit his lip any harder, he'd probably bite all the way through it. But he pulls on the oars, and the boat moves a little ways further from shore. "Do it again," Dean says, and Sam does.
"I did it!" Sam shrieks. "Dean, I'm rowin' the BOAT!"
Pastor Jim says there are actual miracles sometimes, and this sure seems like one of them. Sam starts yanking the oars over and over, pulling so hard that sweat starts to drip down the sides of his face. He's not doing it right, exactly, because he's barely dipping the oars into the water, but they're moving.
Then they're not.
"Hey," Sam complains. "Why're we stoppin'?"
"Because we're there."
"Where there?"
"At the magic island."
Sam scrunches his forehead. "I don't see it."
"There," Dean says, and points back to shore, twenty feet away from the end of the boat. There's a big log on the beach that people use to tie their boats to, to keep them from drifting away. Right now, this boat's the only one that's tied up, with twenty feet of rope. Enough to allow Sammy to row out a little ways, but stay in shallow water. Dean checked it out, before Sam came out of the cabin - even at the end of the twenty feet, the water didn't come up past Dean's knees, and you've got to be a serious dumbass to drown in water that shallow.
Heck, the water in the bathtub is almost that deep, if you fill the tub all the way up.
"Row us up on the sand," he tells Sam. "We've got to find the pirate treasure, and bring it back to the boat, then row it home."
"What kinda treasure?" Sam asks in the way that says to Dean, he's hooked.
"Gold and silver. And fancy jewels."
"Is it in a treasure chest?"
"Ummm… yeah."
There's a cardboard box that says STAR KIST TUNA on it, out in the tool shed behind the cabin. It's got a bunch of old junk in it (nothing useful, Dad said; also, nothing dangerous, which means it's okay to play with) and it's light enough that Sammy can carry it on his own.
It's light enough that it won't be a pain in the butt for Dean to carry, if Sam insists that captains don't do any carrying.
Sam rows like a crazy person, back to shore. When the boat bumps up onto the sand, he cheers and waves his arms.
Dean can't help but cheer along with him.
Maybe tomorrow, he thinks as they scramble out of the boat, he'll give that shoelace-tying thing another try.
* * * * *
AUTHOR'S NOTE: We have old home movies of my brother, beaming like a crazy thing, because he could row the boat all by himself out to the end of that rope and back. So this is for him, as well.
CHARACTERS: Dean (age 8), Sam (age 4)
GENRE: Gen
RATING: G
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 1000 words
ROW, ROW, ROW
By Carol Davis
"I can't do it, Dean! I don't know how to do it and I can't DO IT!"
You are such a dope, Dean thinks. You're a dope and a crybaby and you're a big royal pain in my BUTT.
"You said you knew how."
"But I donnnnnnn't," Sammy wails.
This started out to be a good plan. In fact, it's one of the most excellent plans Dean's ever thought of. It's almost guaranteed not to get anybody in trouble, it didn't involve stealing anything, and it gets rid of the problem of Sammy begging all day long to be the captain and row the boat, all by himself. But now, Sammy's sitting there at the back end of the boat, crying.
Pastor Jim says a thing. It's something like, the best plans of men and mice.
"You're a stupid dumbass," he whispers.
He doesn't mean Pastor Jim.
It's true, Sammy's arms are kind of short. But they're long enough for him to reach both oars and hold on. It's a small boat, and it's not like Sam needs to break any speed records. All he's got to do is make the boat move back and forth, out to "sea" and back again, and that's not hard. Even for a little crybaby dumbass.
"Sit there," Dean commands, pointing to the middle of the center seat.
Sam sits.
His lower lip slides out. But Dean pretty much figured that would happen, so he ignores it. He can do this, he thinks. And if Dean is gonna be like Dad someday, if he's gonna be a grownup like Dad and Uncle Bobby and Pastor Jim, he's gonna have to be able to teach people how to do things. If he can teach Sammy, he'll be able to teach pretty much anybody to do pretty much anything.
Besides - he's succeeded before. He taught Sam how to use the bathroom, and how to pour milk on his cereal without getting it all over the table.
So far, the shoe-tying thing is a bust, but… whatever.
"Stop crying," he tells his brother. "Captains don't cry."
Sam snuffles and wipes his nose with his hand.
"Now, you hold the oars, like this."
"They're too heavy," Sam protests.
"If you row a lot, you'll get muscles. Then it'll be easier."
"You don't have muscles."
"'Cause I don't row enough," Dean sighs, thinking of the new Spider-Man comic he could be reading right now, if he wasn't trying to do this. "Dad always rows. You want to have muscles like Dad?"
Sam chews his lip for a minute. Then he says, like he's not really sure, "Yeah?"
"Hold on, then. Like this. And pull."
The only time Dean has seen somebody make more of a stink about something than Sammy does about pretty much everything, was in that movie on TV that Dad made him turn off because it wasn't a "good thing to be watching." There was a lady in the hospital, in the movie, all sweaty and messed up, and she was yelling and grabbing things. Having a baby, Dad said.
It made Dean pretty glad he's not a girl.
And that he doesn't have to help somebody do that.
"Pull," he tells his brother, the way the people in the movie were telling that lady, "PUSH!"
Sam gets kind of red in the face. If he bit his lip any harder, he'd probably bite all the way through it. But he pulls on the oars, and the boat moves a little ways further from shore. "Do it again," Dean says, and Sam does.
"I did it!" Sam shrieks. "Dean, I'm rowin' the BOAT!"
Pastor Jim says there are actual miracles sometimes, and this sure seems like one of them. Sam starts yanking the oars over and over, pulling so hard that sweat starts to drip down the sides of his face. He's not doing it right, exactly, because he's barely dipping the oars into the water, but they're moving.
Then they're not.
"Hey," Sam complains. "Why're we stoppin'?"
"Because we're there."
"Where there?"
"At the magic island."
Sam scrunches his forehead. "I don't see it."
"There," Dean says, and points back to shore, twenty feet away from the end of the boat. There's a big log on the beach that people use to tie their boats to, to keep them from drifting away. Right now, this boat's the only one that's tied up, with twenty feet of rope. Enough to allow Sammy to row out a little ways, but stay in shallow water. Dean checked it out, before Sam came out of the cabin - even at the end of the twenty feet, the water didn't come up past Dean's knees, and you've got to be a serious dumbass to drown in water that shallow.
Heck, the water in the bathtub is almost that deep, if you fill the tub all the way up.
"Row us up on the sand," he tells Sam. "We've got to find the pirate treasure, and bring it back to the boat, then row it home."
"What kinda treasure?" Sam asks in the way that says to Dean, he's hooked.
"Gold and silver. And fancy jewels."
"Is it in a treasure chest?"
"Ummm… yeah."
There's a cardboard box that says STAR KIST TUNA on it, out in the tool shed behind the cabin. It's got a bunch of old junk in it (nothing useful, Dad said; also, nothing dangerous, which means it's okay to play with) and it's light enough that Sammy can carry it on his own.
It's light enough that it won't be a pain in the butt for Dean to carry, if Sam insists that captains don't do any carrying.
Sam rows like a crazy person, back to shore. When the boat bumps up onto the sand, he cheers and waves his arms.
Dean can't help but cheer along with him.
Maybe tomorrow, he thinks as they scramble out of the boat, he'll give that shoelace-tying thing another try.
* * * * *
AUTHOR'S NOTE: We have old home movies of my brother, beaming like a crazy thing, because he could row the boat all by himself out to the end of that rope and back. So this is for him, as well.