SPN FIC - Dean Winchester's Day Off
It's a gorgeous day -- one on which a teenage boy just can't be expected to face responsibility. You know... unless his dad is John Winchester, and he's supposed to be keeping an eye on Sam.
(NB: If you've never seen Ferris Bueller's Day Off, you're going to be... well, what are you even doing here? Go! Watch the movie!)
CHARACTERS: Teen!Dean (14) and Pastor Jim
GENRE: Gen
RATING: G
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 789 words
DEAN WINCHESTER'S DAY OFF
By Carol Davis
"Go," Jim said, but of course the boy didn't. Even a nudge to the shoulder accomplished nothing; Dean was as immovable as a statue.
Wood. Bronze. Marble.
The boy's sneakers might as well have been Super Glued to the floor.
"I'm serious," Jim told him.
Dean did nothing for a moment. Then he shrugged, and it was as eloquent as an aria.
"Go," Jim said again. "I've got a visit scheduled with the Colonel, and I think it's a safe bet he'll let Sam tinker with his new laptop computer. In fact, I'm pretty much sure he'll all but force it on Sam. He loves to show the thing off, and nothing lights a fire underneath him better than having a new victim. They'll be busy for hours, while I entertain myself with bad tea and a pile of copies of The New Republic. Flee while you have the chance."
"Supposed to keep an eye on Sam," Dean murmured.
"And you figure I'm not capable of that?"
"Doesn't matter what I think."
The boy wouldn't look at him - he was making an intensive study of the pattern of the small faux-Oriental throw rug covering the worn spot in the carpet between the living room and Jim's study - so Jim wandered over to the window and peered out into the yard. The panes were smudged, he observed, the result of the boys' less-than-diligent attempt to wash them a few days back.
"'Life moves pretty fast'," Jim said without turning. "'If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.'"
"Ferris Bueller," Dean said. "You're gonna quote Ferris Bueller to me?"
"Shouldn't I? He had a point."
"He also never met my dad."
"Your father -" Jim said, and stopped. Then he shook his head. "If it comes up, I'll take the fall. You're fourteen years old. It's a perfect day, and I see two options. You can walk downtown, grab a burger at the Tip-Top and see a discount movie at the Regal. Check out the new magazines at Buddy's. Or you can hitch a ride to the mall with Mrs. Lundquist, and take the bus back. Spend the day however you please. Sam will be perfectly safe. If anything got close, the Colonel would talk it to death."
"If we're going by the movie," Dean said dryly, "I'm supposed to boost somebody's car. Climb into the middle of a parade and sing 'Twist and Shout'. And get some really hot chick out of school so we can go swimming in our underwear."
"I'd advise against the underwear. And the car theft."
"But the parade? That's a 'go'?"
"If you can find one."
Dean huffed out a small, soft breath. His thumbs were tucked into the pockets of his jeans as, idly, he began to scuff his sneakers against the nap of the little Oriental rug. He was not one inch closer to the front door than he'd been five minutes ago.
"Why are you still here?" Jim asked him, smiling.
Dean's head came up, and something flashed through his eyes. There was a wry note in his voice when he said, "'A lot of people ditch and feel great for about an hour. Then they realize there's nothing to do.'"
"'The whole point is to take it easy. Cut loose and enjoy.'"
"And you're gonna entertain my brother."
"Run, Forrest, run."
"Wrong movie," Dean scoffed.
Chuckling, Jim fished out his wallet and plucked from it a twenty-dollar bill that he held out to Dean. "Advance payment for re-washing the windows tomorrow. Oh - and let's say, detailing my car." When Dean frowned, Jim pressed the bill into his hand. "'It doesn't matter whether you're fifty-five or seven. Everybody needs a day off once in a while.' Go. See a ball game. Eat something grotesque in a fancy restaurant. The Tip-Top was always a good bet for hot chicks - give it a try. I'll keep Principal Rooney off your tail."
"So you're… who? Grace, in the principal's office?"
"I don't have the hair for it," Jim replied. "But I know a righteous dude when I see one."
Dean stood pondering the wrinkled bill for a moment.
Then a smile broke through, and it was the same mischievous smirk the fictional Ferris was well-known for. Dean tucked the bill deep into his pocket (with as much elan as if it had been a hundred, not a twenty), then struck a pose for Jim: one that suggested he was holding a microphone, gyrating atop a parade float surrounded by costumed dancers.
"'Twist and Shout'," Jim said.
"Thanks, man," Dean said with a slightly different smile - one that was all his own - and a moment later he was gone.
* * * * *
(NB: If you've never seen Ferris Bueller's Day Off, you're going to be... well, what are you even doing here? Go! Watch the movie!)
CHARACTERS: Teen!Dean (14) and Pastor Jim
GENRE: Gen
RATING: G
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 789 words
DEAN WINCHESTER'S DAY OFF
By Carol Davis
"Go," Jim said, but of course the boy didn't. Even a nudge to the shoulder accomplished nothing; Dean was as immovable as a statue.
Wood. Bronze. Marble.
The boy's sneakers might as well have been Super Glued to the floor.
"I'm serious," Jim told him.
Dean did nothing for a moment. Then he shrugged, and it was as eloquent as an aria.
"Go," Jim said again. "I've got a visit scheduled with the Colonel, and I think it's a safe bet he'll let Sam tinker with his new laptop computer. In fact, I'm pretty much sure he'll all but force it on Sam. He loves to show the thing off, and nothing lights a fire underneath him better than having a new victim. They'll be busy for hours, while I entertain myself with bad tea and a pile of copies of The New Republic. Flee while you have the chance."
"Supposed to keep an eye on Sam," Dean murmured.
"And you figure I'm not capable of that?"
"Doesn't matter what I think."
The boy wouldn't look at him - he was making an intensive study of the pattern of the small faux-Oriental throw rug covering the worn spot in the carpet between the living room and Jim's study - so Jim wandered over to the window and peered out into the yard. The panes were smudged, he observed, the result of the boys' less-than-diligent attempt to wash them a few days back.
"'Life moves pretty fast'," Jim said without turning. "'If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.'"
"Ferris Bueller," Dean said. "You're gonna quote Ferris Bueller to me?"
"Shouldn't I? He had a point."
"He also never met my dad."
"Your father -" Jim said, and stopped. Then he shook his head. "If it comes up, I'll take the fall. You're fourteen years old. It's a perfect day, and I see two options. You can walk downtown, grab a burger at the Tip-Top and see a discount movie at the Regal. Check out the new magazines at Buddy's. Or you can hitch a ride to the mall with Mrs. Lundquist, and take the bus back. Spend the day however you please. Sam will be perfectly safe. If anything got close, the Colonel would talk it to death."
"If we're going by the movie," Dean said dryly, "I'm supposed to boost somebody's car. Climb into the middle of a parade and sing 'Twist and Shout'. And get some really hot chick out of school so we can go swimming in our underwear."
"I'd advise against the underwear. And the car theft."
"But the parade? That's a 'go'?"
"If you can find one."
Dean huffed out a small, soft breath. His thumbs were tucked into the pockets of his jeans as, idly, he began to scuff his sneakers against the nap of the little Oriental rug. He was not one inch closer to the front door than he'd been five minutes ago.
"Why are you still here?" Jim asked him, smiling.
Dean's head came up, and something flashed through his eyes. There was a wry note in his voice when he said, "'A lot of people ditch and feel great for about an hour. Then they realize there's nothing to do.'"
"'The whole point is to take it easy. Cut loose and enjoy.'"
"And you're gonna entertain my brother."
"Run, Forrest, run."
"Wrong movie," Dean scoffed.
Chuckling, Jim fished out his wallet and plucked from it a twenty-dollar bill that he held out to Dean. "Advance payment for re-washing the windows tomorrow. Oh - and let's say, detailing my car." When Dean frowned, Jim pressed the bill into his hand. "'It doesn't matter whether you're fifty-five or seven. Everybody needs a day off once in a while.' Go. See a ball game. Eat something grotesque in a fancy restaurant. The Tip-Top was always a good bet for hot chicks - give it a try. I'll keep Principal Rooney off your tail."
"So you're… who? Grace, in the principal's office?"
"I don't have the hair for it," Jim replied. "But I know a righteous dude when I see one."
Dean stood pondering the wrinkled bill for a moment.
Then a smile broke through, and it was the same mischievous smirk the fictional Ferris was well-known for. Dean tucked the bill deep into his pocket (with as much elan as if it had been a hundred, not a twenty), then struck a pose for Jim: one that suggested he was holding a microphone, gyrating atop a parade float surrounded by costumed dancers.
"'Twist and Shout'," Jim said.
"Thanks, man," Dean said with a slightly different smile - one that was all his own - and a moment later he was gone.
* * * * *