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Aug. 26th, 2012 03:19 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
heledren.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
hoodie_timeTitle: A Dark and Stormy Night
Characters: Bobby, Sam and Dean
Word Count: 498
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst, Weechester
Warnings: Allusions to past child abuse
Disclaimer: Not mine
A/N: Beta'd by the lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
xdarlingnickyx. X-posted to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sn_fic
Summary: Patterns learned in childhood are hard to break. .
It's raining like hell outside, too hard to actually pick up the boys by their scruffs and pitch them outside, but damn, Bobby's considering it. John dropped them off a week and a half ago, saying that he just had to burn a couple of ghosts in another state, he'd be back in a couple of days, and could Bobby just take them, please. Bobby's not usually one to give in to pleading, but a 'please' from John Winchester comes about once in a lifetime, so what is Bobby supposed to do?
Anyway, the point is that the man is way overdue, and between the crap weather and the high-strung stress of missing their Daddy, the boys are squirrelly. Bobby's already chased them out of his study twice after finding them making forts out of the giant tomes there... he's not sure whether he's madder about the damage to the old books when they fell, or the fact that he'd just barely pulled Sammy out in time. Now they're chasing around in the kitchen, yelling like damn hooligans and Bobby's got one hell of a migraine that might have to do with the amounts of whiskey he'd had last night after the kids were in bed.
There's a flash of lightning outside, and it's not the loud bang a moment later that stops Bobby's heart so much as the silence in the kitchen that follows, underlined by the low rumble of thunder from outside. Bobby's on his feet and in the doorway before his head can catch up with his feet, sweeping the room with a glance and taking in the details. Sam and Dean are frozen and pale, a new bullet hole in the wall and a revolver, safety off, lying on the floor where it's fallen from its shelf behind the door. Cold relief sweeps through Bobby and is pushed out by blinding rage, and before he knows it, he's got Dean collared in one hand with the other hand poised at the top of a downward path aimed right for the boy's face. Sam looks horrified and Dean's eyes are wide, scared, just a rim of green around the black. Somehow, Bobby manages to turn the raised hand into a finger pointing to the ceiling.
“Upstairs,” he chokes, “Now!”
The kids don't waste any time making themselves scarce, and the swirling emotions cloud Bobby's vision. Next thing he knows, he's standing at the kitchen sink, an open bottle in his hand. He stares at that hand, the one that held Dean in place as he...
All Bobby can see is his own Daddy, standing in this very kitchen on a rainy day not much different than this one. The bottle smashes against the wall, right over that little bullet hole, and Bobby punches the counter instead of taking that swallow.
“Damn, damn, damn!”
Characters: Bobby, Sam and Dean
Word Count: 498
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst, Weechester
Warnings: Allusions to past child abuse
Disclaimer: Not mine
A/N: Beta'd by the lovely
xdarlingnickyx. X-posted to sn_ficSummary: Patterns learned in childhood are hard to break. .
It's raining like hell outside, too hard to actually pick up the boys by their scruffs and pitch them outside, but damn, Bobby's considering it. John dropped them off a week and a half ago, saying that he just had to burn a couple of ghosts in another state, he'd be back in a couple of days, and could Bobby just take them, please. Bobby's not usually one to give in to pleading, but a 'please' from John Winchester comes about once in a lifetime, so what is Bobby supposed to do?
Anyway, the point is that the man is way overdue, and between the crap weather and the high-strung stress of missing their Daddy, the boys are squirrelly. Bobby's already chased them out of his study twice after finding them making forts out of the giant tomes there... he's not sure whether he's madder about the damage to the old books when they fell, or the fact that he'd just barely pulled Sammy out in time. Now they're chasing around in the kitchen, yelling like damn hooligans and Bobby's got one hell of a migraine that might have to do with the amounts of whiskey he'd had last night after the kids were in bed.
There's a flash of lightning outside, and it's not the loud bang a moment later that stops Bobby's heart so much as the silence in the kitchen that follows, underlined by the low rumble of thunder from outside. Bobby's on his feet and in the doorway before his head can catch up with his feet, sweeping the room with a glance and taking in the details. Sam and Dean are frozen and pale, a new bullet hole in the wall and a revolver, safety off, lying on the floor where it's fallen from its shelf behind the door. Cold relief sweeps through Bobby and is pushed out by blinding rage, and before he knows it, he's got Dean collared in one hand with the other hand poised at the top of a downward path aimed right for the boy's face. Sam looks horrified and Dean's eyes are wide, scared, just a rim of green around the black. Somehow, Bobby manages to turn the raised hand into a finger pointing to the ceiling.
“Upstairs,” he chokes, “Now!”
The kids don't waste any time making themselves scarce, and the swirling emotions cloud Bobby's vision. Next thing he knows, he's standing at the kitchen sink, an open bottle in his hand. He stares at that hand, the one that held Dean in place as he...
All Bobby can see is his own Daddy, standing in this very kitchen on a rainy day not much different than this one. The bottle smashes against the wall, right over that little bullet hole, and Bobby punches the counter instead of taking that swallow.
“Damn, damn, damn!”
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no subject
Date: 2012-08-25 07:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-25 07:23 pm (UTC)Sorry, I thought it was. Fixed now.
no subject
Date: 2012-08-25 07:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-25 10:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-27 03:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-26 03:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-27 03:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-26 10:59 am (UTC)Umm more needed here... Pretty please?
no subject
Date: 2012-08-27 03:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-26 09:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-27 03:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-08-27 04:13 am (UTC)but hey bobby! they turned out to be fine men! score 1 for the 'count till ten' program!
:P
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Date: 2012-08-27 03:39 pm (UTC)