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Title: Setting Down Your Boots
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kellifer_fic
Rating: PG (language)
Word Count: 1,144
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no offense, no money.
Notes: One of the Happy Ending prompts.
Summary: This is where they stop.
Sisters, Dean thinks. Fuckin’ typical.
000
Sam has always reminded Dean of a plant. Leave him somewhere a little too long and he starts trying to put down all kinds of roots. Actually, Dean equates Sam more with a potato because those little buggers sprout roots even when sitting in a plastic bag in a cupboard. They quest for earth and a place to rest even when there’s no hope.
“What are you doing?” Sam asks. He’s on the phone and has the handset cradled between his chin and shoulder. He’s been talking to her for over an hour. The she that might finally stop their directionless rambling. Dean knew it was only a matter of time before a girl-shaped wall sprung up between them but he’d been hoping to have a few extra years on the road before that happened.
Not so soon.
“I was just thinkin’ you were like a potato,” Dean says and Sam frowns at him like he thinks Dean is a little nuts. “You know, with the roots in a bag.” Dean rolls his eyes and sighs, “Sounded better in my head.”
000
She is Grace Finemore. She was the victim of a rather nasty Imp infestation in her townhouse. Dean wasn’t sure how she’d gotten their number but they turned up on her doorstep and he watched both Grace and Sam take one look at each other and he knew it was done.
She vacated to her sister’s place for the three days it took to get rid of every single one and then she cooked them the best home-cooked meal Dean had had in a long time. Sam stayed after Dean left, claiming that he wanted to be sure they’d cleared out all the Imps before he left her alone and Dean had just raised his eyebrows and hadn’t argued.
Sam had turned up the next morning back at the hotel with a goofy smile and a number which he’d made use of every night since. They’d had a poltergeist to get to three states away and while Sam hadn’t made an issue out of going, Dean also noticed the way he was the only one to peruse the papers for their next case in the diners they stopped in on the way.
It was slipping away and Dean wasn’t quite sure how to catch it.
“I guess it’s time,” Dean said when they were done and Sam had clenched his hands into fists.
“If you’re asking me to choose you know who it’ll be,” he’d said, voice hollow.
“I’m not,” Dean had said although he’d been about to suggest they go their separate ways. It warmed him through that Sam wasn’t even seeing that as an option.
“Okay,” Sam had said, smiling with pure relief.
000
Grace finds them an apartment before they even get back. Her mother, semi-retired, now works real estate and the place is clean, small and cheap which Dean is glad for. Sam gives up the bigger room with the bay window with only a token protest and Dean figures it’s because he’s so thrilled to be stopping that he’ll agree to anything.
It doesn’t really hit Dean that the whole settling down thing is happening until they’ve been in the place for a week and he’s nailing a picture hook into the wall for a girly print that Sam had picked up at the local market. Dean just has to stop and sit down for a minute because it’s a bit of a shock to realise that the open road is no longer his domain, that they’ve bought furniture and kitchen appliances and whatever phoofy rug Sam’s out hunting for. He has an honest to god address and that just stops him cold.
Dean packs, quick and methodical like always, has his duffle on his shoulder and is almost out of his bedroom when he hears the front door open and close, Sam bellowing that he has coffee and a whole bag of cookie bits from the local bakery that they were just going to throw out.
Dean drops his duffle and then kicks it under the bed but later that night Sam keeps looking at him like he knows something is up. Dean finds his duffle unpacked and all his stuff put back away when he heads for bed and he wants to tell Sam he’s sorry for panicking but he’s pretty sure Sam already knows.
000
Georgia is the polar opposite of her sister, dark where Grace is blonde, crass where Grace is sweet. She drinks a mouthful of Dean’s beer without spitting out her gum when she’s over the first time and Dean thinks that is just plain wrong.
Sam keeps watching them like he’s expecting something and Dean belatedly realises that the whole thing is a setup. He doesn’t blame Sam for wanting Dean to have something to anchor himself to the life they’re setting up but he’s way off the mark.
“She’s just like you,” Sam says, mystified that his brilliant match-making bears no fruit.
“I’m going to forget you said that,” Dean growls.
000
Georgia becomes a regular fixture but Dean can’t complain because it seems that she is joined at the hip with Grace, just like him and Sammy. He watches them have silent conversations in the kitchen and finish each other’s thoughts and something in him warms towards both girls.
000
They don’t really mean to sleep together because it’ll complicate things but they do. What surprises Dean is that he enjoys himself immensely and doesn’t want to either escape or her to leave after. They lay side by side afterwards, both stiff and staring at the ceiling and then Georgia chuckles and rolls over, raising an eyebrow.
“Not a word to Grace,” she says. “I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Same for Sam,” Dean agrees and they both smile at each other.
000
Sam, of course, knows straight away.
“I knew it,” Sam crows, doing a little dance in the middle of their living room that Dean wishes desperately he had a camera for.
“Shut up,” Dean grumbles.
000
Grace has a small townhouse with a backyard and Dean and Sam sit on the back steps, sipping beers while the girls BBQ. Something male inside him suggested that he and Sam should be the ones wielding tongs but Grace had chased them both out of the way.
“This is nice,” Dean says, leaning back on his elbows. He has a couple of interviews with two local garages the next day, one of them specialising in vintage and prestige cars. Getting a nine to five job seals his fate more than the picture hooks but Dean finds that he doesn’t really care.
“Yeah it is,” Sam agrees and they clink the necks of their bottles together and watch the sun go down.
Author:
kellifer_ficRating: PG (language)
Word Count: 1,144
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue, no offense, no money.
Notes: One of the Happy Ending prompts.
Summary: This is where they stop.
Sisters, Dean thinks. Fuckin’ typical.
Sam has always reminded Dean of a plant. Leave him somewhere a little too long and he starts trying to put down all kinds of roots. Actually, Dean equates Sam more with a potato because those little buggers sprout roots even when sitting in a plastic bag in a cupboard. They quest for earth and a place to rest even when there’s no hope.
“What are you doing?” Sam asks. He’s on the phone and has the handset cradled between his chin and shoulder. He’s been talking to her for over an hour. The she that might finally stop their directionless rambling. Dean knew it was only a matter of time before a girl-shaped wall sprung up between them but he’d been hoping to have a few extra years on the road before that happened.
Not so soon.
“I was just thinkin’ you were like a potato,” Dean says and Sam frowns at him like he thinks Dean is a little nuts. “You know, with the roots in a bag.” Dean rolls his eyes and sighs, “Sounded better in my head.”
She is Grace Finemore. She was the victim of a rather nasty Imp infestation in her townhouse. Dean wasn’t sure how she’d gotten their number but they turned up on her doorstep and he watched both Grace and Sam take one look at each other and he knew it was done.
She vacated to her sister’s place for the three days it took to get rid of every single one and then she cooked them the best home-cooked meal Dean had had in a long time. Sam stayed after Dean left, claiming that he wanted to be sure they’d cleared out all the Imps before he left her alone and Dean had just raised his eyebrows and hadn’t argued.
Sam had turned up the next morning back at the hotel with a goofy smile and a number which he’d made use of every night since. They’d had a poltergeist to get to three states away and while Sam hadn’t made an issue out of going, Dean also noticed the way he was the only one to peruse the papers for their next case in the diners they stopped in on the way.
It was slipping away and Dean wasn’t quite sure how to catch it.
“I guess it’s time,” Dean said when they were done and Sam had clenched his hands into fists.
“If you’re asking me to choose you know who it’ll be,” he’d said, voice hollow.
“I’m not,” Dean had said although he’d been about to suggest they go their separate ways. It warmed him through that Sam wasn’t even seeing that as an option.
“Okay,” Sam had said, smiling with pure relief.
Grace finds them an apartment before they even get back. Her mother, semi-retired, now works real estate and the place is clean, small and cheap which Dean is glad for. Sam gives up the bigger room with the bay window with only a token protest and Dean figures it’s because he’s so thrilled to be stopping that he’ll agree to anything.
It doesn’t really hit Dean that the whole settling down thing is happening until they’ve been in the place for a week and he’s nailing a picture hook into the wall for a girly print that Sam had picked up at the local market. Dean just has to stop and sit down for a minute because it’s a bit of a shock to realise that the open road is no longer his domain, that they’ve bought furniture and kitchen appliances and whatever phoofy rug Sam’s out hunting for. He has an honest to god address and that just stops him cold.
Dean packs, quick and methodical like always, has his duffle on his shoulder and is almost out of his bedroom when he hears the front door open and close, Sam bellowing that he has coffee and a whole bag of cookie bits from the local bakery that they were just going to throw out.
Dean drops his duffle and then kicks it under the bed but later that night Sam keeps looking at him like he knows something is up. Dean finds his duffle unpacked and all his stuff put back away when he heads for bed and he wants to tell Sam he’s sorry for panicking but he’s pretty sure Sam already knows.
Georgia is the polar opposite of her sister, dark where Grace is blonde, crass where Grace is sweet. She drinks a mouthful of Dean’s beer without spitting out her gum when she’s over the first time and Dean thinks that is just plain wrong.
Sam keeps watching them like he’s expecting something and Dean belatedly realises that the whole thing is a setup. He doesn’t blame Sam for wanting Dean to have something to anchor himself to the life they’re setting up but he’s way off the mark.
“She’s just like you,” Sam says, mystified that his brilliant match-making bears no fruit.
“I’m going to forget you said that,” Dean growls.
Georgia becomes a regular fixture but Dean can’t complain because it seems that she is joined at the hip with Grace, just like him and Sammy. He watches them have silent conversations in the kitchen and finish each other’s thoughts and something in him warms towards both girls.
They don’t really mean to sleep together because it’ll complicate things but they do. What surprises Dean is that he enjoys himself immensely and doesn’t want to either escape or her to leave after. They lay side by side afterwards, both stiff and staring at the ceiling and then Georgia chuckles and rolls over, raising an eyebrow.
“Not a word to Grace,” she says. “I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Same for Sam,” Dean agrees and they both smile at each other.
Sam, of course, knows straight away.
“I knew it,” Sam crows, doing a little dance in the middle of their living room that Dean wishes desperately he had a camera for.
“Shut up,” Dean grumbles.
Grace has a small townhouse with a backyard and Dean and Sam sit on the back steps, sipping beers while the girls BBQ. Something male inside him suggested that he and Sam should be the ones wielding tongs but Grace had chased them both out of the way.
“This is nice,” Dean says, leaning back on his elbows. He has a couple of interviews with two local garages the next day, one of them specialising in vintage and prestige cars. Getting a nine to five job seals his fate more than the picture hooks but Dean finds that he doesn’t really care.
“Yeah it is,” Sam agrees and they clink the necks of their bottles together and watch the sun go down.