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Title: Training Winchester
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG (Language)
Words: 1,168
Fandom: SPN
By:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kellifer_fic
Category: Gen - preseries
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No money, no sue.
Notes: Written fordeirdre_c's birthday
Most kids can look forward to summer.
Most kids, who aren’t Winchesters.
Summer is the time that John Winchester gets creative, coming up with bizarre training sessions in the hopes of tiring his two sons out enough that he’ll get some peace. Dean is twenty now, out of school a few years but Sam is still head-in-the-books enthralled with the whole thing. He would spend the entire hot, dry season stuffed in a library somewhere but John has other ideas.
Ideas involving a stop watch.
A little healthy competition never hurt anybody.
000
John watches his two sons, standing in the middle of the field. Sam is casting sullenly about, maybe looking for a means of escape but Dean looks determined. He’s already got his shovel poised, ready to go.
“This is stupid!” Sam announces and John thinks maybe Sam is finally going to step over that line from insolent passive protest to full-on disobedience. He needs to cut Sam off at the knees before he can get that far.
Keeping Sam just shy of exhaustion has been working wonders.
John raises an arm, clicks the stopwatch on and hollers, “Go!”
Dean starts, quick and efficient. His muscles move smoothly and there is a dark V of sweat on the back of his shirt already. He marks out his space and starts digging. Sam is staring at his brother and for a moment John thinks he’s just going to passive-aggressive his way out of this and sit down, refuse to participate, but then the air of competition grips him and Sam hefts his own shovel.
John had been counting on the healthy dose of competitiveness between his sons and the fact that Sam didn’t want Dean gloating probably more than he wanted to be difficult.
Sam’s put on muscle and height in the last few months and he and Dean are now of a height. John is starting to think that Sam might even pass him by a whisker or two when he finally quits growing.
Wouldn’t that be a sight, having to look up to his son.
Sam’s started after Dean, but he’s catching up quickly. Dean glances over his shoulder, manages to spy Sam actually making good headway and speeds up, which John thought would have been nigh on impossible.
His shoulders are aching just watching the two of them go.
In the car on the way over, John had explained patiently how speed in this could someday save their lives. Dean had been whole-heartedly in agreement and Sam silent. It seemed to be Sam’s default position lately which John thought was worse than the yelling. He’d been hoping the yelling would stop but now he missed it.
Dean’s already waist deep in the hole he’s making and Sam’s just shy of that. John glances at the stopwatch and then back at his boys. “C’mon, the spirit of some old lady could have beaten you two to a pulp by now,” John jeers and again, he’s amazed by the fact that both of his boys get faster in response. Dirt is flying and there’s nothing but the sound of the shovels hitting the earth and the boys grunting. John had thought that maybe there’d be some gentle ribbing back and forth but these are his creations, intent on the job at hand to the exclusion of all else.
This isn’t fun for either of them and John feels a pang where it hurts.
Dean calls a halt first, hand raising but only maybe a hair before Sam’s. John goes over to inspect and while it isn’t perfect, the six-foot hole Dean is standing in, blinking up at John with dirt smudged across his face and strangely, mashed into his hair, is good enough. John glances sideways and can see Sam’s hands on the lip of his own hole and the top half of his face. Even without seeing his mouth, John can tell he’s scowling.
“You would’a won if you hadn’t wasted time,” John snaps and he knows he’s doing two things with his words.
He’s punishing Sam and taking away from Dean’s victory.
Dean doesn’t gloat that night. The three of them eat pizza in silence and his sons crash early. John smiles a little when he hears Sam talking quietly in their shared bedroom, extolling Dean’s prowess in kicking his ass with gentle admiration and affection. What makes him smile harder is Dean huffing a laugh and agreeing.
000
Dean and Sam are both looking at the pieces of paper in their hands.
“Gertrude McNally? Dude, are you making this up?” Dean asks, squinting at John’s chicken scratch. It’s nearly two am and still almost as warm as the day.
Still, something about a boneyard makes John feel cold, always has.
“She’s out there. You just have to find her before Sam finds Michael Branch.” John waggles the stopwatch. “And you both have to beat eight minutes.”
“You wanna trade?” Sam asks, proffering his piece of paper and Dean just raises an eyebrow at him and clutches his own piece of paper to his chest. They both suspect, and with good reason, that Sam’s assignment is further away. Dean’s still stronger than his brother, but Sam’s made the track team at the last five schools with good reason.
Kid’s damn fast.
John’s just evening the odds.
John clicks the stopwatch without preamble or announcement and both his boys look at him for a beat before they tear off. Right as they reach the first ring of stones, Dean manages to clip Sam in the back of his foot and Sam goes ass over teakettle, Dean cackling as he races off.
John rolls his eyes.
000
John is watching Sam and Dean at the bottom of the motel pool. They both have hand weights to hold themselves at the bottom and are carefully ignoring each other. There’s no horseplay when they're training like this because the skill is in being able to relax completely.
Neither of them had protested about this one. Having Dean only a week ago pushed facedown into a puddle by a Creayc meant that they both saw the value in it.
Dean still has the scrapes on his face.
000
“The groin muscles, called the adductor muscle group-“
“Shutup.”
“Consists of six muscles that span the distance from the inner-“
“I swear if you don’t shut the hell up right now-“
“-pelvis to the inner part of theeeargh! Dean, that better have been water!”
John smiles, sitting at the kitchen table with his notes spread around him. Dean Winchester with a groin pull as a result of a fairly arduous obstacle course means that he won't be the only father in town sleeping better that night.
000
“I can’t. I got school tomorrow, thank Christ.”
Most kids can look forward to summer.
Most kids, who aren’t Winchesters.
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG (Language)
Words: 1,168
Fandom: SPN
By:
kellifer_ficCategory: Gen - preseries
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No money, no sue.
Notes: Written for
deirdre_c's birthdayMost kids can look forward to summer.
Most kids, who aren’t Winchesters.
Summer is the time that John Winchester gets creative, coming up with bizarre training sessions in the hopes of tiring his two sons out enough that he’ll get some peace. Dean is twenty now, out of school a few years but Sam is still head-in-the-books enthralled with the whole thing. He would spend the entire hot, dry season stuffed in a library somewhere but John has other ideas.
Ideas involving a stop watch.
A little healthy competition never hurt anybody.
John watches his two sons, standing in the middle of the field. Sam is casting sullenly about, maybe looking for a means of escape but Dean looks determined. He’s already got his shovel poised, ready to go.
“This is stupid!” Sam announces and John thinks maybe Sam is finally going to step over that line from insolent passive protest to full-on disobedience. He needs to cut Sam off at the knees before he can get that far.
Keeping Sam just shy of exhaustion has been working wonders.
John raises an arm, clicks the stopwatch on and hollers, “Go!”
Dean starts, quick and efficient. His muscles move smoothly and there is a dark V of sweat on the back of his shirt already. He marks out his space and starts digging. Sam is staring at his brother and for a moment John thinks he’s just going to passive-aggressive his way out of this and sit down, refuse to participate, but then the air of competition grips him and Sam hefts his own shovel.
John had been counting on the healthy dose of competitiveness between his sons and the fact that Sam didn’t want Dean gloating probably more than he wanted to be difficult.
Sam’s put on muscle and height in the last few months and he and Dean are now of a height. John is starting to think that Sam might even pass him by a whisker or two when he finally quits growing.
Wouldn’t that be a sight, having to look up to his son.
Sam’s started after Dean, but he’s catching up quickly. Dean glances over his shoulder, manages to spy Sam actually making good headway and speeds up, which John thought would have been nigh on impossible.
His shoulders are aching just watching the two of them go.
In the car on the way over, John had explained patiently how speed in this could someday save their lives. Dean had been whole-heartedly in agreement and Sam silent. It seemed to be Sam’s default position lately which John thought was worse than the yelling. He’d been hoping the yelling would stop but now he missed it.
Dean’s already waist deep in the hole he’s making and Sam’s just shy of that. John glances at the stopwatch and then back at his boys. “C’mon, the spirit of some old lady could have beaten you two to a pulp by now,” John jeers and again, he’s amazed by the fact that both of his boys get faster in response. Dirt is flying and there’s nothing but the sound of the shovels hitting the earth and the boys grunting. John had thought that maybe there’d be some gentle ribbing back and forth but these are his creations, intent on the job at hand to the exclusion of all else.
This isn’t fun for either of them and John feels a pang where it hurts.
Dean calls a halt first, hand raising but only maybe a hair before Sam’s. John goes over to inspect and while it isn’t perfect, the six-foot hole Dean is standing in, blinking up at John with dirt smudged across his face and strangely, mashed into his hair, is good enough. John glances sideways and can see Sam’s hands on the lip of his own hole and the top half of his face. Even without seeing his mouth, John can tell he’s scowling.
“You would’a won if you hadn’t wasted time,” John snaps and he knows he’s doing two things with his words.
He’s punishing Sam and taking away from Dean’s victory.
Dean doesn’t gloat that night. The three of them eat pizza in silence and his sons crash early. John smiles a little when he hears Sam talking quietly in their shared bedroom, extolling Dean’s prowess in kicking his ass with gentle admiration and affection. What makes him smile harder is Dean huffing a laugh and agreeing.
Dean and Sam are both looking at the pieces of paper in their hands.
“Gertrude McNally? Dude, are you making this up?” Dean asks, squinting at John’s chicken scratch. It’s nearly two am and still almost as warm as the day.
Still, something about a boneyard makes John feel cold, always has.
“She’s out there. You just have to find her before Sam finds Michael Branch.” John waggles the stopwatch. “And you both have to beat eight minutes.”
“You wanna trade?” Sam asks, proffering his piece of paper and Dean just raises an eyebrow at him and clutches his own piece of paper to his chest. They both suspect, and with good reason, that Sam’s assignment is further away. Dean’s still stronger than his brother, but Sam’s made the track team at the last five schools with good reason.
Kid’s damn fast.
John’s just evening the odds.
John clicks the stopwatch without preamble or announcement and both his boys look at him for a beat before they tear off. Right as they reach the first ring of stones, Dean manages to clip Sam in the back of his foot and Sam goes ass over teakettle, Dean cackling as he races off.
John rolls his eyes.
John is watching Sam and Dean at the bottom of the motel pool. They both have hand weights to hold themselves at the bottom and are carefully ignoring each other. There’s no horseplay when they're training like this because the skill is in being able to relax completely.
Neither of them had protested about this one. Having Dean only a week ago pushed facedown into a puddle by a Creayc meant that they both saw the value in it.
Dean still has the scrapes on his face.
“The groin muscles, called the adductor muscle group-“
“Shutup.”
“Consists of six muscles that span the distance from the inner-“
“I swear if you don’t shut the hell up right now-“
“-pelvis to the inner part of theeeargh! Dean, that better have been water!”
John smiles, sitting at the kitchen table with his notes spread around him. Dean Winchester with a groin pull as a result of a fairly arduous obstacle course means that he won't be the only father in town sleeping better that night.
“I can’t. I got school tomorrow, thank Christ.”
Most kids can look forward to summer.
Most kids, who aren’t Winchesters.