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Just a little wing!fic snippet set in the future timeline...
Family Ground
Dean and Mickey watch Sam fly.
521 words.
--
Mickey’s had Dean’s number pretty much since he was born.
Dean’s not sure how it happened. Okay, so he’s always been a sucker for little kids and apparently the puppy eyes and bitch face are hereditary traits that just maybe skipped him but showed up well and truly with Sam’s spawn but c’mon.
Dean knows he used to have a little willpower.
Sam’s going to be mad as hell. Dean knows this and yet…
Maybe because it was what they could share, just for a little while. Being grounded didn’t seem like something you would normally bond over, but Dean had given up all claim to normal a long time ago.
Dean sits on the barn’s roof, having fixed with a little pang of nostalgia the place Sam had fallen off all those years ago. Mickey is between his legs, narrow butt in the ‘V’ that they make. He complained at first but it’s the only way Dean can keep a proper grip on him. He has one arm snugged around Mickey’s waist; hand flat on his chest because the kid keeps leaning forward. The other is behind him, holding onto the edge of the window that leads out onto the roof.
“No one’s as cool as Dad,” Mickey breathes, eyes fixed on the circling form in the distance.
Dean chuffs a laugh. “Hey, what am I, chopped liver?” he complains. Mickey tilts his head back, baby-fine hair brushing Dean’s chin, too long just like his Dad’s. Mickey’s eyes are dark blue, the one decent thing he got from his mother.
“You’re… it’s different,” Mickey says and he’s so damn serious and uncertain looking, afraid he’s actually offended Dean in some way that Dean schools his expression because Mickey takes it the wrong way if you laugh. He’s always been solemn and passionate. Sam had had the seriousness driven into him, easy to laugh and bright as a kid.
Mickey seems to have skipped that stage.
“I’m the one you’d rather have drop you at school though, right?” Dean prompts and Mickey does smile then, small tentative thing that’s too quick and too fragile.
“Yeah,” he agrees, nodding and turning back to watch his dad perform lazy figure eights.
Sam needs to fly regularly as much as he needs to run to keep fit. He gets stiff through the shoulders and cramped in the wings if he goes a few days without.
Mickey leans back, hooking an arm up and around Dean’s neck. Dean tries to fight the grin because no matter what, Mickey has always been Sam’s body and soul. Being someone's dad... Dean never realised he would miss it until it was close enough to feel the pang of its absence. Mickey’s never been exactly distant, but the kid and Sam have this club of two that Dean will never touch, no matter how much either of them doesn’t mean to.
While Mickey stays blessedly wingless though, this remains. Dean and Mickey watching Sam arc and wheel from below. Dean doesn’t exactly dread the day he’ll be alone watching from the ground but he’s not really looking forward to it either.
Family Ground
Dean and Mickey watch Sam fly.
521 words.
--
Mickey’s had Dean’s number pretty much since he was born.
Dean’s not sure how it happened. Okay, so he’s always been a sucker for little kids and apparently the puppy eyes and bitch face are hereditary traits that just maybe skipped him but showed up well and truly with Sam’s spawn but c’mon.
Dean knows he used to have a little willpower.
Sam’s going to be mad as hell. Dean knows this and yet…
Maybe because it was what they could share, just for a little while. Being grounded didn’t seem like something you would normally bond over, but Dean had given up all claim to normal a long time ago.
Dean sits on the barn’s roof, having fixed with a little pang of nostalgia the place Sam had fallen off all those years ago. Mickey is between his legs, narrow butt in the ‘V’ that they make. He complained at first but it’s the only way Dean can keep a proper grip on him. He has one arm snugged around Mickey’s waist; hand flat on his chest because the kid keeps leaning forward. The other is behind him, holding onto the edge of the window that leads out onto the roof.
“No one’s as cool as Dad,” Mickey breathes, eyes fixed on the circling form in the distance.
Dean chuffs a laugh. “Hey, what am I, chopped liver?” he complains. Mickey tilts his head back, baby-fine hair brushing Dean’s chin, too long just like his Dad’s. Mickey’s eyes are dark blue, the one decent thing he got from his mother.
“You’re… it’s different,” Mickey says and he’s so damn serious and uncertain looking, afraid he’s actually offended Dean in some way that Dean schools his expression because Mickey takes it the wrong way if you laugh. He’s always been solemn and passionate. Sam had had the seriousness driven into him, easy to laugh and bright as a kid.
Mickey seems to have skipped that stage.
“I’m the one you’d rather have drop you at school though, right?” Dean prompts and Mickey does smile then, small tentative thing that’s too quick and too fragile.
“Yeah,” he agrees, nodding and turning back to watch his dad perform lazy figure eights.
Sam needs to fly regularly as much as he needs to run to keep fit. He gets stiff through the shoulders and cramped in the wings if he goes a few days without.
Mickey leans back, hooking an arm up and around Dean’s neck. Dean tries to fight the grin because no matter what, Mickey has always been Sam’s body and soul. Being someone's dad... Dean never realised he would miss it until it was close enough to feel the pang of its absence. Mickey’s never been exactly distant, but the kid and Sam have this club of two that Dean will never touch, no matter how much either of them doesn’t mean to.
While Mickey stays blessedly wingless though, this remains. Dean and Mickey watching Sam arc and wheel from below. Dean doesn’t exactly dread the day he’ll be alone watching from the ground but he’s not really looking forward to it either.
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