Title: No Refills
Rating: PG - wee!Chesters - Gen
Spoilers: General (for all aired episodes)
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: John's kids don't like being taken to the
No matter how John disguised the actual purpose of an unexpected trip in the car one of his son’s was never fooled.
All morning he had made sure to replicate the exact routine conditions of every other and typical day. He burned the toast. With the aid of some tap water he divided less than a cup of milk left in the carton between three bowls of cereal. There was the messy sprawl of the morning paper. The casual greeting carefully neutral as his children sleepily made their way to breakfast.
When it was time to drop the subterfuge, John did so as artfully as to be expected. As usual, it was a snap to get the four year old to wait obliviously in the car for a trip to the nonexistent zoo, but his oldest had wisely gone to ground. There were only so many places to hide in a trailer but it was still a pleasant surprise when Dean managed to find another innovative place to wedge himself into.
The oven wasn’t a new one but it still was one of John’s favorites.
The implementation of brute force always worked better than a few half hearted threats to a stovetop. Even though there wasn’t so much screaming, there was always a lot of well aimed kicking. John was grateful that the kid was still small and light enough to inflict minimum damage. He shook his boy a few times until Dean released his death grip on the grilling rack and then made sure to secure him properly over a shoulder. It was usually then that the kid accepted his short term destiny and hung limply for the trip to the front seat.
As soon as they were in the actual doctor’s office and behind those swinging doors, John washed his hands of it. His spawn were someone else’s problem for about $500 bucks an uninsured hour. He’d catch up on his National Geographic and enjoy the peaceful hum of the piped in muzak. It was time to drink some coffee and hope like hell that Sammy didn’t bite anyone with a good lawyer. If he was really lucky, the receptionist would let him change the channel from the 24 hour news network and kick back with some ESPN.
After a short while his boys would reemerge with matching lollipops and identical displeasure. Another year of weighing, tagging, stethoscoping, vaccinating, tongue depressoring and other assorted humiliations would be completed. All that was left was the silent walk back to the parking lot that always reminded him that he had to take his kids in for maintenance a lot less than the damn car.
“Mr. Winchester?” The nurse asked.
“I know, cash only.”
“Uh, you can have this filled at any local pharmacy.” She smiled as she handed him a small slip of paper. “You have a great day!”
John blinked down at the small list of medications. This was supposed to be when the yearly trauma for all three of them came to an end.
But this year fate looked John in the face and tried not to laugh.
John looked in his son’s mouth doubtfully.
“Stick out your tongue.”
Dean hesitantly complied.
There it was. The tiny white pill was pushed back as far as it could go before any danger of actually swallowing it might occur. John supposed therein lay the beauty and the curse of being blessed with mentally sound children. If there were rules to bend, everything turned to rubber. Trying to get a pill into this kid was like trying to put toothpaste back into the tube. John scrubbed his hands through his hair and tried out his voice of reason just for kicks.
“What do I gotta do, Dean?” He tried not to sound like he felt. “Do I have to put it in a piece of cheese and hope you don’t notice?”
John’s frustration grew a little more when he heard the attempt at genuine encouragement.
“Give it here.”
He held out a hand and waited for the kid to maneuver the pill around and spit it out.
“I want one!”
“Sammy, get off the table and go play outside.”
“Watch the tube.”
“Didn’t that neighbor lady leave some cake?”
The kitchen chair clattered backwards onto the floor in the four year olds’ haste to get to the fridge.
His other kid was hanging on the table edge miserably, duty keeping him in the vicinity of his chair and abject horror causing him to steadily ooze closer to the floor. Although John could now only see his eyes, he knew his son was putting in some good mileage on that hi def frown of his.
“Do I have worms?” Dean asked quietly.
“No worms.” John rolled the antibiotic between his fingertips. “Just sick.”
“I don’t feel sick?” Dean ventured.
“You don’t look sick.” John tiredly agreed. “But its why that cough of yours is hanging around.”
Dean attempted to stifle the cough in question as it arrived right on cue to prove his father’s point.
“Look? I’ll take one too.”
“No you won’t.” Dean’s disbelief was utter and unchallengeable.
“Honor amongst thieves, dude.” John shook a less soggy tablet out of the bottle. “See?”
Dean looked sincerely pained.
For a moment it seemed like his kid might consider the act if he didn’t have to go down alone. But the moment passed as quickly as it had abruptly arrived. Glancing at his watch, John decided not to do this for another hour.
“Okay.” He sighed. “I guess I’ll have to make ya a deal.”
Hiding most of his face behind folded arms, the boy’s brows rose hopefully.
“You take this pill and you never have to take another one ever again.”
Dean’s brows went in the opposite direction in furrowed suspicion.
He had noticed over the years that his own unwavering eye contact usually did better than a signed promise for most adults. It seemed it worked pretty good on seven year olds too. Dean grabbed the pill like it was the cure for homework and shoved it down.
John kept his mouth shut when his boy reached for his beer to finish off the dreaded deed. The stuff did specify that it not be taken with alcohol but concessions were a necessity of life. Dean grimaced around it like a condemned man and thunked the bottle back down on the table in grim triumph. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he met his father eye to eye and nodded solemnly with a tough job done.
“Until tomorrow.” John amended.
The tragic betrayal on his son’s face made him feel a tinge of guilt. But not anything that was going to keep him up at night. He was fairly certain the boy would repay his deceit tenfold come the next pill popping. By the sound of the bedroom door slamming the next endeavor to medicate was going to get more than ugly. John considered the cheese trick might not be such a bad idea. If that didn’t work there was always a good old fashioned head lock and the sink hose.
He made a quick mental note to lock up all his personal valuables in the trunk for the duration of the tetracycline regiment.
John picked up the next amber prescription bottle and eyed Sam who had forgone the use of a plate and instead gone face down into the tupperware. He shook the container to get his youngest child’s attention away from trying to set the fastest all time land speed record for cake demolition.
“Yer up, Sammy.”
“Am I sick?”
“As a dog.”
“As a dog!”
Sammy tended to repeat things he found likeable. He crashed into his father’s lap and held up his palms so the time released capsules of goodness could rain on down. John didn’t know why, but he really appreciated occasions of mindless optimism.
Especially when it came with a chocolate frosted covered grin.