Mink (minkmix) wrote,

SPN Fic: Neighborhood Watch

Title: Neighborhood Watch
Author: Mink
Rating: PG - wee!&tee!chesters - Gen
Spoilers: General (for all aired episodes)*
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
A request from Chaz...
Summary: The Winchesters move into a brand new house and Sam finds a cute Girl Scout on their doorstep.

They’d moved in late Friday night.

By the time they’d taken what little they had and stacked it in the empty living room the dawn was rising pink and scarlet through the broad uncurtained bay windows. It was a decent set up. Two bedrooms, a gigantic common room perfect for all that furniture they didn’t own and a kitchen that actually seemed to have all its appliances in place. All working too.

The small freezer was a solid block of ice that Dean immediately volunteered to demolish with a hammer and some of John’s less precious screw drivers. He listened to the steady progress of it all day long as he sat at the one table he’d found in pieces in a storage closet.

It was covered in rings of paint. Too many different shades and spills of color for some kind of tedious house project. Catching sight of the cool blue green mixtures and searing orange smears between his open books and scattered papers John knew an artist had lived here once.

It was certainly cheap enough.


John looked up from his pen pressing too hard down into the notebook, his writing always lining the next five pages under it from the force of his wrist. He stood stiffly, the metal folding chair not doing much for his back when he ended up sitting for that long. Hoping that his lucky thirteen year old hadn’t slipped one of those screw drivers off the ice and right through his hand, he leaned into the starkly white décor of the kitchen.

Dean looked like he had managed to hack about half way through the thing. An impressive task considering how many days it would have taken to let it thaw out naturally. Clunks of ice sat in pools of growing water at Dean’s knees, the denim soaked dark blue, his shirt splattered with the same.

“Find something?” John asked.

Who knew? People left all sorts of weird shit in the freezer. Cash. Documents. Drugs. John once kept it a habit of keeping a gun in there for a long while until he couldn’t quite stomach what the cold did to all the various lubricants that made a pistol do its thing. As with most things in his life, he liked to know exactly what something was going to do when he had hold of it in his hands.

Dean wiped the back of his arm across his sweaty forehead and gestured to the freezer with his chin. John could now see the small bright red nicks and cuts on his hands from the tools slipping and sliding off their mark.

“It’s a- It’s a chicken.” His kid said in a voice that thinly veiled his abhorrence. There was a little disbelief mixed in there too. “Who would leave around a whole entire chicken?”

John smiled a little bit as Dean reached in and grabbed a hold with two hands onto the raw legs poking out from the icy excavation. For a moment he thought Dean was going to lose his grip and go crashing backwards into the garbage can, but instead, the entire refrigerator slid on its corner, and with one loud crack, everything came flying loose.

With a small cry of surprise, Dean did indeed make noisy impact with the plastic trash bin, a large pink raw and slimy whole chicken sprawled wings out on his chest. It left a large dripping hole in the ice where it used to be, a slurry soup of ripped poultry skin and pink water running down in clumps onto the floor.

“Oh—oh gross…” Dean muttered, flipping the thing off himself and sitting up in disgust.

It actually looked and smelled a lot like what happened to his last job just down south. John decided he’d just keep that information to himself.

He moved to help Dean to his feet despite the fact that the kid was coated in a fine layer of salmonella. That and whatever else was lurking in wait in the ice like some straight to VHS bio horror flick. John figured if this house was going to be struck down with an exhilarating and potentially extraterrestrial intestinal bacteria they might as well all go down together.

“Leave that there.” John instructed when Dean looked like he was going to pick the bird carcass back up again. “Get into the shower. In your clothes.”

“Yes, sir—“

“And make sure it’s hot. Really hot.” John added. “With lots of soap.”

John had never really minded cleaning up messes. Doing dishes. Loads of laundry. Sweeping up a floor. There was something mindless and liberating about the idea that there was a task that would have a beginning middle and an end. Something to look at and admire when you were finished. Something to cross off the never ending list. It was comforting. It was something tangible in a series of days and nights when he sometimes had to stop and hold on tight to the steering wheel just to make sure he was still there.

Disinfectant. Hot boiling water from the pan. About every paper towel they had. He even managed to clean out what was left in the ice box too, frost free and wiped and scrubbed clean of any and all pervasive bacterium. Running his hands under the tap, the water as hot as he could take it, he lathered up to his elbows like a surgeon.


Drying his hands on a raw chicken free wash cloth, John saw his nine year old appear in the opposite doorway. Just in time to miss helping out cleaning up the mess. That was okay. He knew Sam had been carefully taking everything they had stored in boxes and stacking them against the walls. With no shelves, wardrobes or desks it was the closest semblance of unpacking they could conceivably get to. It was mostly just books anyway. Since they were going to be in one spot for more than a few months he had even gotten out a few extra cases he’d put in storage last time they’d been this way. He knew there were more than a few volumes in there that Sammy had never seen before.

John had expected a few questions but not this fast.

“What’s up?”

Sam leaned against the doorframe, twisting up leg around the other and hiding his hands.

“T-There’s someone here.”

John stopped trying to make the sticky kitchen drawer under the sink close and looked up at his son sharply.

“What did I tell you about answering the door?”

Sam bounced up and down a few times, shaking his head and holding out his previously hidden hands in a show of compliancy. There was a slightly condescending look in his eyes that he used just for times like these. When Sam wanted to show his father that his old man was being over reactive. Out of line. Worried too much. Never gave his kids (that were way smarter than he knew anyway) one single break.

“It’s just a girl.” Sam explained with a small toss of his head.

John used a good shove of his knee to slam the uncooperative drawer closed.

“A girl?”

Sam tried to take back the smile, but it was already out there. “Y-yeah?”

John sighed. He wasn’t quite sure when it happened but his youngest had started getting pretty happy and full of good cheer whenever there happened to be something of the opposite sex around. Not very long ago the owners of the XX had been nothing but nonsensical vehicles infested with cooties and of less interest to his young son than the thirty minute financial news report that came after sports.

Not anymore.

Walking the small hallway to the open door, John briefly checked what he was wearing and felt his face for whenever it was last that he’d bothered to shave. Deeming it all passable in case this was some other attempt by a good samaritan to tip off the cops that’d they’d spotted someone questionable move into the area, he crossed his arms and leaned into the doorway.

Sammy was correct.

There was a young girl about Sam’s age standing on the concrete steps and squinting up in the afternoon sun. She had a grass green beret on, a matching skirt and a sash across her shoulder that reminded John of some kind of eco-friendly Hitler-Jugend. Messy pigtails and one knee sock had fallen down to her ankle. John guessed when you were a nine year old boy this was what passed as pure sex in keds.

“Wanna buy some cookies?” She asked.

John saw no cookies but she was holding up a sheet of paper and a pen.

“Yes!” Sam blurted out. “Yes, please?” He looked up questionably to his father, the ultimate owner of the cash that would make them cookie owners and maker of dreams come true.

John had no idea the kid had even snuck up back behind him.

“That yer mom over there?”

The girl checked back over her shoulder.

“She drives me around to the good blocks.”

Pushing open the screen that stood between them and the young girl with the cookie spreadsheet, he nodded her in. Ignoring Sam’s scramble to get out of her way while simultaneously trying show her to the one and only table they had in the place, John looked out at the old banged up and at least a couple decades old Pacer sitting quietly by the curb.

The hood was up and there was a very upset stream of language coming out from underneath it.

“Hi.” John said as he leaned down to take a look.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about cars would you?”

She had black hair, up in a messy ponytail and tinged brown in the bright sunlight. Dark cheerful upturned eyes like her daughter. Her generic white T-shirt was slashed with engine grease and crumpled with sweat. She wore a pair of jeans that had been around long enough to form and fit to her hips and thighs, pockets frayed with use. No rings on any fingers. John figured, for a middle aged man, this was what passed for pure sex under a steaming car hood.

“I might know a thing or three.”

John glanced over the ancient transmission coated with so much burnt on engine oil he wondered how she even got the thing backed out of he driveway.

Plenty of oil. Leaking and otherwise. Plugs were all in place. Coolant low but nothing to sweat about. Ducking into the drivers seat he looked over the dash and bit at the inside of his lip a little bit.

“There might be a free box of cookies in for ya?” She grinned in a playful way.

John smiled back, unwilling or just unable to tell her that the problem here was that she’d just run out of gas. He was about to make up something about her starter to spare her any further embarrassment when the screen door banged open loudly against the porch wall.

Mom!! MMMom!!!

John watched the young girl in her faltering uniform almost stumble through the door and narrowly avoid taking the quickest and most painful way down the wooden steps.

He groaned softly.

What was it now? Did Sam take her for a stroll by the small extra spare room where they kept all the rifles lined up in a row waiting to be bored and oiled? Maybe she spotted the decimated raw chicken sitting pink and bloody on top of the garbage pile along side the hammer and sharp screw drivers that John hadn’t decontaminated yet.

Unsure if the little girl had seen that horror, or the open boxes of ammo he had stacked neatly by his air mattress, he wasn’t exactly sure. He decided to go with the deceased chicken and try to babble his way out of it.

“My boy, uh, my other son, he was trying to fix the freezer and there was a something stuck in it. It was dead.” John assured her when her expression slowly and oddly shifted from curiosity to worry. “I was just about planning on tossing it out but—“

“MOM!!!” Breathless, she halted at her mother’s side and shoved her paper up into the woman’s face.

It was that cookie sheet.

“He bought ALL Of them Mom.” She was grinning so hard she was almost in tears. “ALL OF THEM!”

Sammy had appeared sheepishly on the porch, not quite able to look John in the eye. “J-Just the Thin Mints. And- and the Samoas.”

“And the Do-si-does!” She proudly held up her now very cluttered sheet of paper.

Eyeing the sheet, her mother hesitantly nodded. “There-there sure are a lot of boxes on here?”

“Well...” John suddenly found himself shrugging, and smiled the smile he knew put people around him at ease. He could smell her shampoo. Something fruity and clean. “What’s the harm? I got two growing boys here all on my own. They sure as hell never met a cookie they didn’t like. Or any food at for that matter…”

He liked the way his laugh sounded with hers. Natural. Easy.

Sammy was in no way fooled and stayed within the relative safety of the porch and a partly opened screen door. The woman’s tentative smile returned, her brief look at the ring John wore on his left hand softened with consideration at his words. Sliding out his wallet, he counted out the obscene amount of twenties it cost him to complete his kid’s transaction.

“Why don’t you go on inside? Got the a/c workin and there’s some beer in the fridge. Kool aid for the kids.” His open hand towards the stairs was what was left of his invitation. “I’ll get you up and running in no time flat.”

He didn’t have to tell Sammy to quickly return inside and start shutting doors that needed to be closed. Hopefully Dean wouldn’t wander out naked and give their guests a surprise show when his shower was done with.

John thought about how long it would take him to get his gas tank out from the storage shed they’d been given reign over out back in the small yard. While she cracked a beer and took a seat, he could fill her old Pacer up and she’d never be the wiser.

Rubbing a knuckle across his brow, he knew there was a reason that socializing always made him a little bit tired. But her bright smile and pretty dark eyes made him forget all about that for the moment.

John shook his head to himself.

Buying cookies.

Sweet play Sammy. He’d have to give the kid some credit where credit was due. There was plenty of time for that after the dust had settled and John had himself a name and a phone number. The wad of cash he’d handed over was worth it.

Even if over sixty boxes of the junk was on its way.

They’d subsisted on less and weirder things before. Besides, maybe with a little bit of luck, they would have moved by the time the truck load of cookies finally caught up with them.

Until then, the company was just fine with him.

*Instead of using: None in the spoiler category, I will now be playing it on the safe side and casting the net to include anything and everything that’s been aired on American television in either season. The only thing I do not consider a spoiler or will not put behind a cut is an episode title. I don’t really write episodal fiction so I’d like to think of this LJ as pretty much spoiler free, but ya never know!

I should really put all this shit in my LJ info huh? :p
Tags: gen, john pov, spn one shot, wee & teen!chesters
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