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"You Break It, You Bought It"
Title: You Break It, You Bought It
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG (Language)
Words: 612
Fandom: SPN
By:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kellifer_fic
Category: Gen
Spoilers: S2
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No money, no sue.
There was a strange little void in between the cushion and the seat back on the passenger’s side of the Impala that was a catchall to all manner of things. Sam liked exploring this space right before he parked his butt because oftentimes there were dangers lurking in the dark in the form of sticky, hairy, smelly things.
Every now and again though, treasure.
“Aha!” Sam said, letting out a crow of triumph as he unearthed a wadded up twenty dollar bill as he slid into his seat. Dean, already settled behind the wheel raised an eyebrow. Sam was expecting more enthusiasm considering they were about six hours away from their closest mail box and didn’t have enough cash to flash to make any seedy bar patrons even remotely interested in a game of pool.
Twenty bucks meant burgers and the next six hours not looking quite as bleak.
“Give it here,” Dean demanded, holding one hand out as he used the other to steer them onto the road.
“Why?” Sam asked, discovering to his dismay that at some point in probably the very distant past, they had been so flush with cash that apparently Dean had taken it upon himself to use the twenty-dollar bill as the final resting place for a wad of gum. The money was salvageable, but just barely.
“Cause it’s mine.”
Sam stopped trying to tweeze the bill open with his fingers without tearing it and retaining most of its structural integrity when Dean made his request. Sam paused in his labors and raised an eyebrow at his brother in return. “No way, dude. Community property,” he protested.
“S’mine. Give,” Dean repeated, waggling his fingers in the space between them.
“Why is it yours?” Sam asked again, finally liberating the money from the gum and only with the tiniest of tears left behind. He carefully smoothed it out on his knee and traced the two and the zero with his pinky.
“Everything in this car is mine,” Dean said like it was a forgone conclusion, written in blood and stone somewhere.
“Who says?” Sam said with a small snort of derision.
“Everything within the confines of this Impala is property of Dean Winchester,” Dean announced, flailing his hand about the car, narrowly missing clipping Sam in the nose, to illustrate his point.
“What, even me?”
“Especially you,” Dean said, tone suddenly serious. Sam blinked at him, looked out the windshield at the road disappearing under them and then turned his gaze back to Dean.
“I’m sorry, I think I just misheard. It sounds like you just said that you owned me.”
“I do,” Dean agreed with a shrug.
“That’s… Dean, you don’t own me.”
“’Course I do,” Dean said, now studiously not looking at Sam, but he wasn’t grinning either which was always the way Sam could tell Dean was messing with him. This was something different. This was… Dean being serious.
“Who says?”
“Dad.”
“Dad who?”
“How many fathers you think we have Sammy?”
Sam had gone back to his default position of just staring at Dean. He really couldn’t have guessed that his innocent discovery of a twenty-dollar bill would lead to something quite so disturbing. “Since when?” he asked instead, almost nervous about what Dean was going to come up with. Dean’s mind and more importantly Dean’s logic was often a scary place to venture into.
“Since you were three and Dad kinda threw you at me and said here, do something with this, it’s all yours,” Dean said, doing a fairly accurate and therefore disturbing impersonation of the late John Winchester, demon hunter.
“I…” Sam began but was at a loss.
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG (Language)
Words: 612
Fandom: SPN
By:
kellifer_ficCategory: Gen
Spoilers: S2
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No money, no sue.
There was a strange little void in between the cushion and the seat back on the passenger’s side of the Impala that was a catchall to all manner of things. Sam liked exploring this space right before he parked his butt because oftentimes there were dangers lurking in the dark in the form of sticky, hairy, smelly things.
Every now and again though, treasure.
“Aha!” Sam said, letting out a crow of triumph as he unearthed a wadded up twenty dollar bill as he slid into his seat. Dean, already settled behind the wheel raised an eyebrow. Sam was expecting more enthusiasm considering they were about six hours away from their closest mail box and didn’t have enough cash to flash to make any seedy bar patrons even remotely interested in a game of pool.
Twenty bucks meant burgers and the next six hours not looking quite as bleak.
“Give it here,” Dean demanded, holding one hand out as he used the other to steer them onto the road.
“Why?” Sam asked, discovering to his dismay that at some point in probably the very distant past, they had been so flush with cash that apparently Dean had taken it upon himself to use the twenty-dollar bill as the final resting place for a wad of gum. The money was salvageable, but just barely.
“Cause it’s mine.”
Sam stopped trying to tweeze the bill open with his fingers without tearing it and retaining most of its structural integrity when Dean made his request. Sam paused in his labors and raised an eyebrow at his brother in return. “No way, dude. Community property,” he protested.
“S’mine. Give,” Dean repeated, waggling his fingers in the space between them.
“Why is it yours?” Sam asked again, finally liberating the money from the gum and only with the tiniest of tears left behind. He carefully smoothed it out on his knee and traced the two and the zero with his pinky.
“Everything in this car is mine,” Dean said like it was a forgone conclusion, written in blood and stone somewhere.
“Who says?” Sam said with a small snort of derision.
“Everything within the confines of this Impala is property of Dean Winchester,” Dean announced, flailing his hand about the car, narrowly missing clipping Sam in the nose, to illustrate his point.
“What, even me?”
“Especially you,” Dean said, tone suddenly serious. Sam blinked at him, looked out the windshield at the road disappearing under them and then turned his gaze back to Dean.
“I’m sorry, I think I just misheard. It sounds like you just said that you owned me.”
“I do,” Dean agreed with a shrug.
“That’s… Dean, you don’t own me.”
“’Course I do,” Dean said, now studiously not looking at Sam, but he wasn’t grinning either which was always the way Sam could tell Dean was messing with him. This was something different. This was… Dean being serious.
“Who says?”
“Dad.”
“Dad who?”
“How many fathers you think we have Sammy?”
Sam had gone back to his default position of just staring at Dean. He really couldn’t have guessed that his innocent discovery of a twenty-dollar bill would lead to something quite so disturbing. “Since when?” he asked instead, almost nervous about what Dean was going to come up with. Dean’s mind and more importantly Dean’s logic was often a scary place to venture into.
“Since you were three and Dad kinda threw you at me and said here, do something with this, it’s all yours,” Dean said, doing a fairly accurate and therefore disturbing impersonation of the late John Winchester, demon hunter.
“I…” Sam began but was at a loss.
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