WBY - Busted
WBY - Busted
Characters: Jamie, River and Daddy!Dean
Summary: Well -he's busted.
“James Michael Winchester!”
Jamie startles from his bed at the sound of his father’s voice. He has been semi snoozing and falls on the floor with a thunk. Half asleep he glances at River who is reading in his own rack.
River looks at Jamie and nonchalantly but with a tinge of regret states simply, “Sucks to be you.”
Jamie flounders for moment then grabs jeans that have been lying on the ground, he semi-stands shoves his legs in the jeans but realizes that one pant leg is inside out. He hops a few short feet then bangs his knee hard on the dresser, “Owe!” He is still groggy enough that a more adult swear word just doesn’t tumble of his tongue.
Jamie plops his ass back on the ground and struggles with the inside out pant leg. He shoves his leg in then stands up zipping his jeans and snapping with one fluid motion. He doesn’t bother with his belt, it hangs undone in the jean belt loops. Barefoot and still half limping from the altercation with the dresser he scrambles for the door,
Jamie slows himself down, evens his breathing and walks as calmly as he can down the steps.
“Get your ass down her now!”
Jamie does the only thing he can think of, grabs the railing of steps and vaults over the side, skipping the last six and landing neatly in the living room. He grins just a bit because it was kind of cool.
“You think this is funny?”
“No, sir!” Jamie snaps straightening his shoulders automatically.
His father’s green eyes narrow at Jamie. His father knows something, something horrible that Jamie did.
But Jamie just doesn’t know what it could be.
“Whatever it was! It wasn’t me! Honest, Dad!"
“Oh, yes it was. Do you want me to tell you or do you want to admit it?”
“Admit what?”
“Jamie, I’m in no mood for your shenanigans,” Dad says. He sounds like he means it. Like he really, really, means it.
Jamie tries. He does. Because his father is giving him the Death Ray Glare. Mentally he lists his latest infractions. None of them are worthy of the Death Ray Glare. The DRG is reserved for really bad shit. Like camel poop or something just as atrocious and he can’t think of anything that would warrant it. Sure, he hasn’t been an angel, but he never is. That is a given. Just like the smell of gun oil and grave dirt.
But the DRG?
Jamie kind of whines - because if he’s going to get an ass whipping, so be it, but damn it if he will take one when he doesn’t deserve it. He’s not sure how to go about avoiding it though.
He hops to the left just as his father makes a grab for him.
Success!
Dad looks completely taken aback. He tilts his head like that dog on the radio - the old Victrola dog. Somebody said it was a pit bull. Jamie doesn’t know if that’s true but Dad can be a pit bull and Jamie wants no dog fight.
“Did you just run away from me?”
“No, sir. I evaded you. Not the same thing. Not at all.”
“Evasion? Running? What’s the difference?”
“It’s a tactical retreat.”
“TACTICAL RETREAT!” Dad bellows and his voice is low and gruff and yelling at the same time. How can that be? And the DRG is amped up to a level Jamie hasn’t seen before.
So Jamie runs. Sort of. He jumps the couch to put it between himself and his father. He’s seen this maneuver before with his uncles and Gramps. It’s not really a good move and it hadn’t worked out well for them but Jamie’s young and fast.
“Dad!” Jamie raises his hands, placating but eyes watching his father’s every move.
“If you take one more move. If I have to move one more step to catch you. I swear to God, you will not make it through the night. You better make damn sure you are caught up on all your transgressions and have made peace with the big guy upstairs because you are going to be chatting with him after you and I chat.”
Jamie blanches. DEAN WINCHESTER IS MAKING REFERENCES TO GOD! He knows his freckles are standing out against pale skin like those snow leopards. The fuzzy ones that are all white and cute but their spots just don’t seem to be quite right. Are they artic animals? How can it be camouflage if they live in the snow? Wouldn’t those spots just make it easier to see them coming? Jamie doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know why he’s thinking about snow leopards. Maybe because his father looks positively cat-like. Green eyes blazing and he’s in the Winchester version of a panther crouch. On the balls of his feet, ready to move right, left, over, under whatever he needs to catch Jamie.
Like a little bunny.
A fluffy, white bunny. WITH FRECKLES because a snow leopard could probably find a way out of this.
Jamie moans. He is so fucked. And he has no reason why he is fucked.
“Dad, Dad, Dad, pulleasse. Just tell me what I did,” Jamie is close to crying because he just doesn’t know! And his father is going to kill him. Dead. Meet GOD DEAD. If he has to die, he deserves to know what he did to deserve the death.
Dad stops then. Looks hard at Jamie.
Jamie knows he looks a mess, belt undone, barefoot, his damn knee is still hurting from the dresser. He thinks he’s sweating too and it’s not even that hot today. He can feel it dripping down his neck, in that little hollow that is always so exciting on a girl but not on himself. He thinks he stinks too. He took a shower this morning but adrenaline or maybe fear - he doesn’t know which - is permeating through him like a screen door. A broken screen door. Like the one Teague breaks routinely.
Jamie is not afraid of his father. He is not afraid of his father. He is not afraid of his father.
But he kinda thinks he might be now.
Dad continues to stare at him. Watching him. Evaluating him. Probably finding him wanting in some way.
Jamie just breathes. In. Out. In. Out.
Suddenly his father turns and bellows up the stairs, his voice a roar that reverberates through the house.
“RIVER WINCHESTER!”
end.
Characters: Jamie, River and Daddy!Dean
Summary: Well -he's busted.
“James Michael Winchester!”
Jamie startles from his bed at the sound of his father’s voice. He has been semi snoozing and falls on the floor with a thunk. Half asleep he glances at River who is reading in his own rack.
River looks at Jamie and nonchalantly but with a tinge of regret states simply, “Sucks to be you.”
Jamie flounders for moment then grabs jeans that have been lying on the ground, he semi-stands shoves his legs in the jeans but realizes that one pant leg is inside out. He hops a few short feet then bangs his knee hard on the dresser, “Owe!” He is still groggy enough that a more adult swear word just doesn’t tumble of his tongue.
Jamie plops his ass back on the ground and struggles with the inside out pant leg. He shoves his leg in then stands up zipping his jeans and snapping with one fluid motion. He doesn’t bother with his belt, it hangs undone in the jean belt loops. Barefoot and still half limping from the altercation with the dresser he scrambles for the door,
Jamie slows himself down, evens his breathing and walks as calmly as he can down the steps.
“Get your ass down her now!”
Jamie does the only thing he can think of, grabs the railing of steps and vaults over the side, skipping the last six and landing neatly in the living room. He grins just a bit because it was kind of cool.
“You think this is funny?”
“No, sir!” Jamie snaps straightening his shoulders automatically.
His father’s green eyes narrow at Jamie. His father knows something, something horrible that Jamie did.
But Jamie just doesn’t know what it could be.
“Whatever it was! It wasn’t me! Honest, Dad!"
“Oh, yes it was. Do you want me to tell you or do you want to admit it?”
“Admit what?”
“Jamie, I’m in no mood for your shenanigans,” Dad says. He sounds like he means it. Like he really, really, means it.
Jamie tries. He does. Because his father is giving him the Death Ray Glare. Mentally he lists his latest infractions. None of them are worthy of the Death Ray Glare. The DRG is reserved for really bad shit. Like camel poop or something just as atrocious and he can’t think of anything that would warrant it. Sure, he hasn’t been an angel, but he never is. That is a given. Just like the smell of gun oil and grave dirt.
But the DRG?
Jamie kind of whines - because if he’s going to get an ass whipping, so be it, but damn it if he will take one when he doesn’t deserve it. He’s not sure how to go about avoiding it though.
He hops to the left just as his father makes a grab for him.
Success!
Dad looks completely taken aback. He tilts his head like that dog on the radio - the old Victrola dog. Somebody said it was a pit bull. Jamie doesn’t know if that’s true but Dad can be a pit bull and Jamie wants no dog fight.
“Did you just run away from me?”
“No, sir. I evaded you. Not the same thing. Not at all.”
“Evasion? Running? What’s the difference?”
“It’s a tactical retreat.”
“TACTICAL RETREAT!” Dad bellows and his voice is low and gruff and yelling at the same time. How can that be? And the DRG is amped up to a level Jamie hasn’t seen before.
So Jamie runs. Sort of. He jumps the couch to put it between himself and his father. He’s seen this maneuver before with his uncles and Gramps. It’s not really a good move and it hadn’t worked out well for them but Jamie’s young and fast.
“Dad!” Jamie raises his hands, placating but eyes watching his father’s every move.
“If you take one more move. If I have to move one more step to catch you. I swear to God, you will not make it through the night. You better make damn sure you are caught up on all your transgressions and have made peace with the big guy upstairs because you are going to be chatting with him after you and I chat.”
Jamie blanches. DEAN WINCHESTER IS MAKING REFERENCES TO GOD! He knows his freckles are standing out against pale skin like those snow leopards. The fuzzy ones that are all white and cute but their spots just don’t seem to be quite right. Are they artic animals? How can it be camouflage if they live in the snow? Wouldn’t those spots just make it easier to see them coming? Jamie doesn’t know. He doesn’t even know why he’s thinking about snow leopards. Maybe because his father looks positively cat-like. Green eyes blazing and he’s in the Winchester version of a panther crouch. On the balls of his feet, ready to move right, left, over, under whatever he needs to catch Jamie.
Like a little bunny.
A fluffy, white bunny. WITH FRECKLES because a snow leopard could probably find a way out of this.
Jamie moans. He is so fucked. And he has no reason why he is fucked.
“Dad, Dad, Dad, pulleasse. Just tell me what I did,” Jamie is close to crying because he just doesn’t know! And his father is going to kill him. Dead. Meet GOD DEAD. If he has to die, he deserves to know what he did to deserve the death.
Dad stops then. Looks hard at Jamie.
Jamie knows he looks a mess, belt undone, barefoot, his damn knee is still hurting from the dresser. He thinks he’s sweating too and it’s not even that hot today. He can feel it dripping down his neck, in that little hollow that is always so exciting on a girl but not on himself. He thinks he stinks too. He took a shower this morning but adrenaline or maybe fear - he doesn’t know which - is permeating through him like a screen door. A broken screen door. Like the one Teague breaks routinely.
Jamie is not afraid of his father. He is not afraid of his father. He is not afraid of his father.
But he kinda thinks he might be now.
Dad continues to stare at him. Watching him. Evaluating him. Probably finding him wanting in some way.
Jamie just breathes. In. Out. In. Out.
Suddenly his father turns and bellows up the stairs, his voice a roar that reverberates through the house.
“RIVER WINCHESTER!”
end.