SPN FIC - Me and My Shadow
Just a little bit of wee!Sammy schmoop, with the smallest Winchester and his very good friend.
CHARACTERS: wee!Sammy, OFC (Mrs. Lundquist, Pastor Jim's housekeeper)
GENRE: Gen
RATING: G
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 500 words
ME AND MY SHADOW
By Carol Davis
He follows her from task to task, watching her make the beds, wash the breakfast dishes, sort the laundry into darks and lights. Each time she turns to look at him he smiles, quick and brilliant, and ducks away a step or two to linger in a doorway or around a corner.
It's coy, she thinks, like he's trying to woo her.
"Do you want to help?" she asks.
The small head pivots from side to side.
Usually, he's attached to his brother, but Dean's down with a cold, napping on the couch, dozing his way through a succession of old movies playing on one of the cable channels. So Sam is all hers, and after a while she wonders how it makes Dean feel to have his every step dogged like this, to be shadowed by this grinning, apple-cheeked little person.
Not until she sits down to match clean socks into pairs does he settle onto the floor, into the best approximation of cross-legged he can manage. He could use a pair of socks, she thinks; he's been padding around barefoot all day (the past several days, maybe) and the soles of his feet are grimy. There's a mostly-healed scratch on one of them, just below his big toe, and when he notices her noticing it, he begins to prod the cut with the tip of his finger.
"So," she says mildly. "What's new with you?"
Sam ponders that for a moment, then shrugs. "I got serious thoughts."
"I see."
"Like Dad. He gots a lot of serious thoughts. I got some too."
"I'm sure you do."
"Do you got serious thoughts?"
"Sometimes."
"Not now?"
"Right now, I have socks."
A giggle burbles out. His gaze shoots to one side, to where Dean is huddled in snuffling sleep on the nubby-plaid couch, and Sam claps both hands to his mouth to stifle the wayward noise. His eyes above the crisscrossed fingers are bright with glee, and she thinks of the trio of monkeys, Sam currently playing the role of Speak-No-Evil.
"There could be a cookie in it for somebody who's willing to help," she says, nodding at the basket of socks.
One blondish eyebrow arches.
She goes on sorting, and after a moment he shuffles in close, clambering up onto the arm of the big chair she chose to occupy during her chore. Rather than reach into the jumble of socks in the laundry basket, he leans against her shoulder and murmurs into her ear, "Is that a billion of socks?"
"Could be."
He's warm, both soft and bony at the same time. Smiling, she turns her head and presses a kiss to his temple.
"Are you my good friend?" he asks, suddenly solemn. "Pastor Jim says you're his very good friend. Are you my friend too, and Dean's?"
"Of course," she says.
"That's a good thing, huh? Is that a very good thing?"
Serious thoughts, indeed, she thinks. "Yes," she tells the child. "It's a very good thing."
* * * * *
CHARACTERS: wee!Sammy, OFC (Mrs. Lundquist, Pastor Jim's housekeeper)
GENRE: Gen
RATING: G
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 500 words
ME AND MY SHADOW
By Carol Davis
He follows her from task to task, watching her make the beds, wash the breakfast dishes, sort the laundry into darks and lights. Each time she turns to look at him he smiles, quick and brilliant, and ducks away a step or two to linger in a doorway or around a corner.
It's coy, she thinks, like he's trying to woo her.
"Do you want to help?" she asks.
The small head pivots from side to side.
Usually, he's attached to his brother, but Dean's down with a cold, napping on the couch, dozing his way through a succession of old movies playing on one of the cable channels. So Sam is all hers, and after a while she wonders how it makes Dean feel to have his every step dogged like this, to be shadowed by this grinning, apple-cheeked little person.
Not until she sits down to match clean socks into pairs does he settle onto the floor, into the best approximation of cross-legged he can manage. He could use a pair of socks, she thinks; he's been padding around barefoot all day (the past several days, maybe) and the soles of his feet are grimy. There's a mostly-healed scratch on one of them, just below his big toe, and when he notices her noticing it, he begins to prod the cut with the tip of his finger.
"So," she says mildly. "What's new with you?"
Sam ponders that for a moment, then shrugs. "I got serious thoughts."
"I see."
"Like Dad. He gots a lot of serious thoughts. I got some too."
"I'm sure you do."
"Do you got serious thoughts?"
"Sometimes."
"Not now?"
"Right now, I have socks."
A giggle burbles out. His gaze shoots to one side, to where Dean is huddled in snuffling sleep on the nubby-plaid couch, and Sam claps both hands to his mouth to stifle the wayward noise. His eyes above the crisscrossed fingers are bright with glee, and she thinks of the trio of monkeys, Sam currently playing the role of Speak-No-Evil.
"There could be a cookie in it for somebody who's willing to help," she says, nodding at the basket of socks.
One blondish eyebrow arches.
She goes on sorting, and after a moment he shuffles in close, clambering up onto the arm of the big chair she chose to occupy during her chore. Rather than reach into the jumble of socks in the laundry basket, he leans against her shoulder and murmurs into her ear, "Is that a billion of socks?"
"Could be."
He's warm, both soft and bony at the same time. Smiling, she turns her head and presses a kiss to his temple.
"Are you my good friend?" he asks, suddenly solemn. "Pastor Jim says you're his very good friend. Are you my friend too, and Dean's?"
"Of course," she says.
"That's a good thing, huh? Is that a very good thing?"
Serious thoughts, indeed, she thinks. "Yes," she tells the child. "It's a very good thing."
* * * * *