Characters: John Wee!Sam and Wee!Dean
Genre: Gen, PG. A little language
Summary: The boys, John and the Impala.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I just like playing with the boys.
John knew the old girl. She didn't like to go below 65, in fact sometimes under 65 there was a slight shimmy, barely noticeable to anyone but him. He could never pin it down. He figured she just didn't like slow.
But somewhere on a long stretch of road between Dickinson and Galveston there was a slight change.
"Whatsat, Dad?" John could have sworn the kid was asleep.
"Nothin' Dean, get on back to sleep."
Dean yawned, wiped a bit of drool from his mouth. "Nah, Dad. It's something."
John quirked an eyebrow at his oldest. "Ya think I don't know my girl?"
Dean shot a brow right back. "No, sir – but something ain't right."
"Isn't right, Dean."
John watched as Dean grimaced. The kid was fine with correction when it came to shooting but never liked being called on his lack of grammatical expertise.
A moment later Sammy chirped from the backseat. "Dad, it's a shimmy."
John looked in the rear-view mirror at six-year-old Sam. The boy had been curled up against the backseat and the passenger window, nestled with a cocoon of blankets. It wasn't all that cold, but Sam liked to burrow.
"Ya, know, Dad. A shimmy. When something shakes a little inside." Sammy continued with infinite patience, as if John was not a master mechanic, as if a six year old knew more than his father.
Dean nodded astutely from the front seat. "Sammy's right, Dad. A shimmy."
John glared at Dean and then at Sam via the rear-view. "There's no shimmy, boys. Just the road. You would think a state as big as Texas would give a damn about their roads."
Sammy had completely unburrowed himself from the blankets.
"S'not the road Dad. It's the Impala." Sammy was tilting his head as if he was receiving two-way radio communications from the car.
"Sammy. Go to sleep. Don't worry about it." John turned to Dean. "You too. We have a big day tomorrow, get some rest."
Dean knew an order when he heard it. The boy turned and pressed his head to the passenger seat window and yawned another time.
Sammy though…John heard him push the blankets off. He risked another glance in the mirror. Sammy was laying in the back seat. Head against the back passenger door with a pillow behind him. His fingers were laced behind his head, knees propped up with a book on his lap.
"Sammy, you can't read a book in the middle of the night, kiddo. Go on. Sleep."
Sam didn't move.
"Did you hear me, son?"
John sighed. The boy was gonna be the death of him. "And…" John prompted gently.
"We could call it a wobble, Dad."
John raked a free hand through his hair.
"Damn it, Sam. It's not a wobble. It's not a shimmy. Go. To. Bed."
There was a brief snort from the back seat. John was not sure if it was a positive or a negative sound. But you can't really yell at a kid for snorting.
Then blissful quiet.
John listened to Dean's solid snores. Heard Sammy shift behind him but there was no rhythmic breathing from the back. It was quiet though so John let it slide.
John liked driving in the night. Considering the shit that happened at night John figured he should be more worried. But there was no one on the road to irritate him and his boys were here. The radio was on low with CCR singing about being down on the corner.
"What about a shiver, Dad? Can we call it a shiver?"
"Sam! Not a shimmy, not a wobble, not a damn shiver!"
With that the Impala bucked once, hard under his feet and then slowly de-accelerated. She coasted to the side of the road and then stopped on the crush and run shoulder.
Sammy tapped John on the shoulder and leaned over the front seat.