Title: Blizzards and Boys.
Genre: Gen – PG
Summary: I asked for prompts and always_angel's caught my eye. WeeChester/TeenChester! Sam is 10, Dean 14, It's winter and cold as a bitch. They're stuck inside because of a blizzard and driving John insane until he handles it ;) - This may not be exactly what you were thinking but that is half the fun of prompts. Who knows where it will go!
He didn't mind the snow. It was a blinding blizzard and the Impala, despite being Detroit's finest wasn't a snow mobile, but the snow wasn't the problem.
The problem was the two little shits in the back seat.
Yes, both in the back seat. Because Dean had taken to vaulting over the front seat to pummel on Sammy at every chance he could get during the past four hours. John had hauled him back to the front the first three times then got tired and let him go.
It was a mistake.
Now instead of trying to keep Dean from killing his brother from the front seat, he was trying to prevent him from killing him in the back seat. John had an incredibly accurate front to back seat smack that unerringly connected to whichever boy needed it. But it required his hand leaving the wheel, even if momentarily, and while the blizzard was negotiable with two hands on the wheel, the slick icy snow underneath presented a problem one handed.
It was during one such disciplinary smack to Dean that caused the Impala to veer dangerously off the side of the road. He felt more than saw the snow bank hit her right front fender and in typical Impala fashion, she plowed her way through like she was meant for off road snow boarding. But John was no fool.
It was time to call it a night. Even if it was just a four hours into their drive.
"Dad." Dean bitched, "That one kinda hurt." He rubbed the shoulder that had taken the brunt of John's slap.
"I'll show you hurt. If you don't leave your brother alone you are gonna have to use a dictionary to find new words to express hurt."
He heard Dean's huff in the back and Sam's corresponding chuckle.
John figured he could push it, make both boy's throw an obligatory "sir" in his direction, but truth be told, he didn't have the inclination. Between the blizzard and the continuous scrapping behind him, all he wanted was a place to stop for the night.
He still held the upper hand, tenuous though it might seem.
"One more shove, push, punch or hell even a word and you both are gonna find yourselves sleeping on your bellies tonight. Got it?"
That seemed to catch their attention and he did get the "Yes, sir," he hadn't really cared about in the first place. It turned out that the threat of bodily injury could still shake his two miscreants up enough to perhaps hold off a full-blown war.
John pulled the Impala back out into the basically vacant two lane. Now, he just needed to find a place to hole up until this blizzard either blew over or blew itself out.
The choices were extremely limited. In fact, severely limited. The first and apparently only place on this road was a little more than a hovel disguised as a motel. That is, if a line of grayish colored rooms in a stretch just a bit longer than a fast food drive through was considered a motel. There were snow covered blobs that were apparently cars and all John could hope for was that one of those decrepit rooms was unoccupied.
He pulled up to the office, glared hard at the back seat and ordered, "Stay." It bothered him a bit that it sounded like the command for a dog but then he replayed the last four hours in his head and immediately gave himself absolution.
John pulled the door of the office, using considerable force to push the packed snow away from it. The man behind the counter looked quizzically at John as if this wasn't a motel. Or maybe just that he'd been out driving in a blizzard. No matter, John could care less.
"Do you have a room?"
The man scratched the back of his head and spoke through the cigarette dangling from his lips.
John was in no mood for games, "Yes, or no."
"Yes, but it's barely a room there's one bed, no TV and the heater's a might touchy. Don't normally rent it out at all, but seeing as how this is the only place 'tween here and Jackson, well, I can't rightly send you and your boys back out in the blizzard."
For a moment, John panicked. How did this man know he had two boys? Then it occurred to him that his well-trained mutts had obviously decided to leave their designated back seat. He turned toward the parked car and peered through the glass window to see a free for all snowball fight going on in and around his girl.
Both boys were in jeans and boots, which was good but neither was wearing a coat and apparently using the body heat of bare hands made for harder snowballs because the gloves that were in the back seat probably next to their fucking coats were no where to be seen.
"We'll take it." John growled and paid for it with Wade Majeski's credit card.
John stepped out of the office into seven inches of snow and grabbed Sam first. He was closer. Then he whistled sharply and Dean popped his head up from behind the Impala. He opened the door rear passenger door shoved number two son in and actually booted number one in with size 12s on his snow covered ass.
Instead of looking worried they were both laughing when he got back to the driver seat.
He drove the Impala to the very last door at the end of the motel.
Damn if it wasn't number 13.
John unlocked the door. It had a key, old fashioned and obviously less than pristine. He had to jiggle it twice before it opened and he was seriously considering his pick set before the tumblers finally moved and the door swung in.
"Boys." He said behind him. It wasn't necessary, they were already dragging their butts in along with their duffles.
"Dad, this sucks." Dean wasn't whining just stating facts.
"Yeah, well, at least we are out of the snow."
"Barely." Sam commented, kicking snow on the brown carpet.
"How 'bout we try the next town over, Dad?" Dean asked.
John glared. He'd rather be hogtied and forced to drink battery acid than to stand another moment with those two in the back seat. Not to mention the fact that the constant smacking of his children was going to wreck his car.
"It'll do, Dean."
"Do?" Sam jumped in, "There's not even a TV."
"So, go to sleep."
"On what?" Sam continued.
John looked at what passed for the bed. Well, it was a full- which meant that they could physically all fit on it, if they didn't move and if no one had had burritos for lunch. John did a mental flashback to lunch. Hamburgers thank God. But John was a big man and Dean a growing boy, Sammy was still small enough to not take up too much room but it was going to be rough.
Other than the bed, there was a small table with a chair. Maybe the boys could have the bed and he could sleep on the chair with a pillow? He'd slept in worse places but his back protested before he'd even fully formulated the thought.
"All of us?" That was Dean. Two singles were doable in his book, he and Sammy could share even if it was uncomfortable but one full? That was a stretch.
John considered the floor. There was almost nothing that could get him to sleep on the floor. It was damp, brown and had questionable stains. At least the bed was off the ground.
"It'll be a family bonding experience."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Why don't I sleep in the bathtub?"
John gestured to the bathroom. "Just a shower."
"Well, fu…" Dean started but stopped John threw the full Winchester glare in his direction."
"Fudge." He finished with a smirk.
It was going to be a long night.
By 2100, John was ready to sacrifice the Impala to the blizzard. He figured he could cuff the boys somehow. He wasn't quite sure if it would work because they were both pretty good at getting out of cuffs. But he might be able to pull it off. If they were each cuffed behind their backs, they couldn't hit each other. But it wouldn't stop them from kicking each other or the back of his seat. That was the determining factor for staying in the cell like room with snow piling up against the doors and windows.
They were fighting again. Or maybe it was the continuation of the entire day. John felt like a coward when he locked himself in the bathroom and sat on the toilet.
When did he lose control over his kids? He pinched the bridge of his nose and longed for some whisky. Hell, he'd drink a water glass of rubbing alcohol if he could find it.
This particular fight was centering on the bed, since the bed was the only possible thing they could fight over except for the chair and the desk, which were obviously too low for even their standards.
John thought about taking both the pillows and propping himself up on the toilet, legs against the shower and using the extra blanket from the Impala. It was quieter in the bathroom and maybe he could turn the water on so that instead of the incessant dripping faucet, it would be more of a gently stream of water and that might make him think of something Zen like. John dismissed it. It would just make him want to piss.
But he would be in the bathroom and that would be the place to be for pissing. And he would have a locked door between him and the boys. Of course if one of them had to use the head, he'd have to move. His boys might like pissing in snow – they did actually like writing their names – but pissing in a blizzard was not something they would probably do.
Then again a snowball battle sans coats and gloves had seemed appropriate earlier in the day. Still that did not actually place their dicks in jeopardy.
John sighed. No. He was the adult. He was the grown up. He could handle two boys even if their names were Winchester.
He stepped out of the bathroom resolutely.
They really were fighting. Dean had Sam in a headlock and they were thrashing on the bed. A bed that really had seen better days and would probably not withstand too many more. Certainly not if the Winchester boys had anything to do with it.
"BOYS!" John used every ounce of command he had. He'd only been a corporal in the Corp, but he'd been a Marine and he'd had a Gunny who could stop a boy in his tracks with just one word. It was the Gunny's voice that John used and apparently it worked for his boys too.
Sam was panting and his shirt was off. It was hotter than hell in the room because at this particular moment, the on again, off again heater was in tropical mode. Dean had his shirt on, but it was wet with sweat and Sam's head was in Dean's armpit.
"Dean…" John looked around for someplace else to send the boy. "Corner."
Dean quirked an eyebrow, "Corner?"
"Yes, corner, damn it. Find a corner and put your nose in it."
Dean shrugged and planted himself in a corner. Sam sat sullenly on the chair.
John looked at the bed and it's complete set of disarray and then set about making it again. It gave him a purpose and it kept his mind off Thing One and Thing Two. Then once it was made to his satisfaction, he grabbed the duffle with the guns in it and pulled out the Mossberg. A quick glance told him it was clean. They all were clean. Cleaning them again was a waste of energy.
"Uh, Dad?" Dean asked from the corner, "How long am I supposed to stay here? I mean, me and a corner haven't been this close since I was six and tried to fly offa that barn at Caleb's."
"Act like a child, get treated like a child."
Dean huffed but didn't move.
John glanced at Sam who obviously had gotten the better of the two places to be. He was teetering on two feet of the chair, tilting it at an angle that was sure to end in a bloody forehead.
"Sam, all four feet on the ground or you get the corner and Dean get's the chair."
Dean turned to look at his brother, "Yeah, Samantha, wouldn't want you to break a nail or something while your balancing on that damn chair."
"DEAN! NOSE TO THE CORNER." Dean pivoted back to his corner but not with the crispness that John would have liked. And Sam did drop the chair onto all four feet.
There was blissful silence then. Until Dean started singing softly and off key Zep's Black Dog.
Sam started singing too, loudly, "Shower the people you love with love."
Dean turned again toward Sam, voice both puzzled and furious at the same time "Are you singing James Taylor over Led Zeppelin?"
"Yeah? What of it? I like singer songwriters." Sam continued even louder, "Show them the way that you feeeeeel."
"Hey, hey momma say the way you move, gonna make you sweat gonna make you groove." Then came the mandatory guitar riff, "da na na na…"
John almost started pounding his head on the wall.
He was going to die. Die in this hotel room with his children. Oddly enough, they were going to be the ones that killed him.
Then it occurred to him, once again, he was bigger, he was stronger, hell he was THE DAD.
"THAT'S IT!" This time he roared. So loudly in fact the people in the next room stopped their apparent adult amusement, thinking that his bellow was for their obviously loud and industrious lovemaking skills.
Which really? John had barely noticed.
"Teeth, piss, bed in that order. Not another song. Not another punch. Not another 'He's breathin' my air'. Not another fucking word. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir." They both said. Quietly but clearly.
They headed into the bathroom, Dean first while Sam waited respectfully and blessedly quietly for his brother to get done. Then Sam went in and shut the door with barely a creak. Dean padded to the bed, pulled down the covers and settled himself on the right side of the bed wearing only boxers because again, the snow was piling up outside but their jacked up heater was making the room almost unbearable.
John had tried to fix it but apparently his car mechanic skills did not translate to heating and air conditioning units. Especially ones that were probably twenty years old.
Sam came out and lay down next to Dean – leaving an appropriate distance between them.
John sat on the chair. He didn't have the energy to walk to the bed and honestly the chair felt pretty comfortable. Dean reached over and turned out the light.
The reflection of the moon spilled in to the tiny motel room, glaring off the bright white of the snow. It bathed the room in a soft glow even with the light out in the dark. John settled his heavy frame back on the chair. It groaned in protest but held his weight.
From the bed he heard a rustle, a murmur and then Dean spoke up, respectful and low.
"You know, Dad. All you had to do was ask."