SPN FIC - Motor Vehicles
It's a perfectly good summer day, and of course, Sam's come up with a dumb way to spend it. But there's something that might come in handy, somewhere down the line...
CHARACTERS: Dean (age 13), Sam (age 9), Bobby
GENRE: Gen
RATING: G
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 568 words
MOTOR VEHICLES
By Carol Davis
"Why have you got to turn everything into school?" Dean groans, because it's a perfectly good summer day, sunny and warm, and Sam's walking around with a clipboard and a pencil, carefully logging all the vehicles in Bobby's junkyard.
"It's useful," Sam says.
Dean looks over to where Bobby's pulling parts off an old wrecked Pontiac LeMans. Bobby's not paying a lot of attention to either one of them. You'd think so, at least. Really, Bobby doesn't ever miss a whole lot.
"Do you need a list?" Dean asks him, after Sam's moved out of earshot.
Bobby taps his temple with his fingertips. "Got it all up here. But if your brother wants to write it all down, I'm not gonna argue with him. It's keeping him busy. And besides - looks to me like you're the smart one in this equation."
"It's a waste of time."
"You got all the time in the world, kid. It's yours to waste."
Sam's voice drifts around a stack of pancaked cars. "Dean? Hey, Dean?"
"Your master's voice," Bobby quips.
Sam's fixed on making that dumb list, but he can't identify makes and models, unless it's spelled out for him somewhere on the car. The year of the car? Forget it. He's made a guess a few times, and is always off by a mile. But he refuses to write "blue station wagon." He needs an assistant, he decided. Insists on having an assistant - somebody who knows their butt from a hole in the wall about cars. Dean trails him around the junkyard for a while, providing information, then - the moment Sam turns his back - wanders back to Bobby.
"You got a lot of new stuff," he says. "That school bus. And a cherry picker. And - what's that gray thing?"
"Street sweeper."
"How come?"
"County wanted to get rid of 'em," Bobby replies. "Got tired of storing 'em. They had an auction, and nobody bit. So I got 'em for a song. They're good for parts."
"Can you drive all of 'em?"
"How do you figure they got back here?"
Dean ponders that for a minute, trying to ignore Sam's noisy demands for his return. "Would you teach me?" he asks after a minute.
"Why? You got a real yen to drive a street sweeper?"
Dean's shoulder twitches in something that's not quite a shrug. "I don't know. It could come in handy."
"You think so, huh?"
Bobby looks out across the junkyard for a minute. He's thinking about something, remembering something, it looks like, but he doesn't say what. It's not a bad memory; Dean can tell that much. It's something that makes Bobby smile a little.
"Will you?" Dean asks.
"What, right now?"
"No. When I'm -"
"Taller?" Still smiling, Bobby reaches out and ruffles Dean's hair. "Sure, kid. Why not. You get a few more inches on you, then come on back and I'll teach you how to drive whatever you pick. Street sweeper. Cherry picker. There's a cement truck back there - you learn how to drive that, you could get yourself an actual job."
There's something in his tone that makes Dean frown.
Job?
"I -" he starts.
"DEAN!!!" Sam roars. "I don't know what this IS!!!"
"I think I've already got a job," Dean sighs. He shakes his head as he shuffles off to rejoin his brother.
"Thanks," he says over his shoulder.
"Any time," Bobby replies.
* * * * *
CHARACTERS: Dean (age 13), Sam (age 9), Bobby
GENRE: Gen
RATING: G
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 568 words
MOTOR VEHICLES
By Carol Davis
"Why have you got to turn everything into school?" Dean groans, because it's a perfectly good summer day, sunny and warm, and Sam's walking around with a clipboard and a pencil, carefully logging all the vehicles in Bobby's junkyard.
"It's useful," Sam says.
Dean looks over to where Bobby's pulling parts off an old wrecked Pontiac LeMans. Bobby's not paying a lot of attention to either one of them. You'd think so, at least. Really, Bobby doesn't ever miss a whole lot.
"Do you need a list?" Dean asks him, after Sam's moved out of earshot.
Bobby taps his temple with his fingertips. "Got it all up here. But if your brother wants to write it all down, I'm not gonna argue with him. It's keeping him busy. And besides - looks to me like you're the smart one in this equation."
"It's a waste of time."
"You got all the time in the world, kid. It's yours to waste."
Sam's voice drifts around a stack of pancaked cars. "Dean? Hey, Dean?"
"Your master's voice," Bobby quips.
Sam's fixed on making that dumb list, but he can't identify makes and models, unless it's spelled out for him somewhere on the car. The year of the car? Forget it. He's made a guess a few times, and is always off by a mile. But he refuses to write "blue station wagon." He needs an assistant, he decided. Insists on having an assistant - somebody who knows their butt from a hole in the wall about cars. Dean trails him around the junkyard for a while, providing information, then - the moment Sam turns his back - wanders back to Bobby.
"You got a lot of new stuff," he says. "That school bus. And a cherry picker. And - what's that gray thing?"
"Street sweeper."
"How come?"
"County wanted to get rid of 'em," Bobby replies. "Got tired of storing 'em. They had an auction, and nobody bit. So I got 'em for a song. They're good for parts."
"Can you drive all of 'em?"
"How do you figure they got back here?"
Dean ponders that for a minute, trying to ignore Sam's noisy demands for his return. "Would you teach me?" he asks after a minute.
"Why? You got a real yen to drive a street sweeper?"
Dean's shoulder twitches in something that's not quite a shrug. "I don't know. It could come in handy."
"You think so, huh?"
Bobby looks out across the junkyard for a minute. He's thinking about something, remembering something, it looks like, but he doesn't say what. It's not a bad memory; Dean can tell that much. It's something that makes Bobby smile a little.
"Will you?" Dean asks.
"What, right now?"
"No. When I'm -"
"Taller?" Still smiling, Bobby reaches out and ruffles Dean's hair. "Sure, kid. Why not. You get a few more inches on you, then come on back and I'll teach you how to drive whatever you pick. Street sweeper. Cherry picker. There's a cement truck back there - you learn how to drive that, you could get yourself an actual job."
There's something in his tone that makes Dean frown.
Job?
"I -" he starts.
"DEAN!!!" Sam roars. "I don't know what this IS!!!"
"I think I've already got a job," Dean sighs. He shakes his head as he shuffles off to rejoin his brother.
"Thanks," he says over his shoulder.
"Any time," Bobby replies.
* * * * *