I mean it. I really mean it. Can you FEEL me meaning it!? XD I have set aside some actual time tomorrow to re-read every last sentence of Indoctrination to get my BeatDeanGrooveBACKON and there WILL be another chapter out THIS WEEK SO HELP ME JEBBA. I have no idea how so many stupid things got in the way its timely conclusion and for that I apologize to the two people out there that might still be remotely interested. Besides myself. ha! XD
Anywayz, just letting you know that that fic won't die a sad quiet death like Detour. (which I have decided I won't post another chapter of until it's completely done and finished for my own sake.)
In other news...
Dean: *holds up sparklers* HAPPY MEMORIAL DAY.
Sam: *eats a hot dog*
Dean: REMEMBER OUR GREAT AND UH TIMELY EVENTS.
Sam: *mows into watermelon slice*
Dean: CHERISH THE AWESOMELY TRAGIC HISTORY OF OUR TREES AND UH....UH... presidents?
Sam: Memorial Day, originally called Decoration Day, is a day of remembrance for those who have died in our nation's service. There are many stories as to its actual beginnings, with over two dozen cities and towns laying claim to being the birthplace of the holiday. There is also evidence that organized women's groups in the South were decorating graves before the end of the Civil War: a hymn published in 1867, "Kneel Where Our Loves are Sleeping" by Nella L. Sweet carried the—
Dean: HAPPY DEAD WAR DUDE DAY. *re-raises sparklers*
Sam: We thank you for making the ultimate sacrifice for our country, our freedom, and life as we know it.
Dean: And killer salads made with mayonnaise!
Sam: Especially the coleslaw. *thumbs up*
Rating: PG - wee!!chesters - Gen
Spoilers: General (for all aired episodes)
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Camp fires and star gazing.
John had his eyes closed but he was phasing in and out of not quite sleep. That slipping feeling when your soul became unanchored from your waking world, ready to drift away to wherever it made off to when you checked out. He didn’t want to quite let go to the tenuous hold he had on what promised a nice neat quick exit into nothing.
“Hey, dad? You awake?”
With a deep yawn he readjusted his arms crossed under his head, his legs almost numb from being crossed at the ankles for so long with his boots still laced up. He supposed it was a pretty stupid way to let yourself spend the night but stupid didn’t really bother him most of the time.
“I gotta question?”
Dean always made sure he had permission to do just about anything. At least when potential repercussions were within ear shot or striking distance. When John had worked out just how the ebb and flow of the nature of Dean’s obedience operated he realized he was glad. Complete blind compliance was a sign of intelligence that he knew his boy was far and well above. As long as his kid knew when and where to pull that autonomous bullshit, everything around here was just fine.
“Okay.” John murmured, clearing his throat with his unused voice. “Fire at will.”
“What is all that?”
John cracked one eye open to see what Dean might be referring to. The fire was low but it was warm enough that John felt almost close to perfect even on the edge of the deep end of August this far north. His kids had been feeding the thing all afternoon and into the evening, a nice thick red glowing blanket of embers hot enough to keep the heat flowing all through the night.
“I mean, what the hell is all … all that?”
John had started to give up on telling the boy not to use certain words. It was like trying to stop Niagara falls or tell a cat to quit sleeping all the time. He figured he should be half glad that the sporadic curses he heard were the only ones Dean had found fit so far to pluck from John’s own colorful vocabulary.
Dean was waiting somewhat impatiently for a response.
A little confused, John could only assume the vague gesture his mouthy ten year old was making with his hands was in reference to the sky above. Was Dean asking him what the hell the sky was? John was used to the occasional questions from his sons. The youngest usually had him faking his own brilliance for a while until he could look it up himself in a book that knew better. But Dean rarely stumped him. Dean asked questions John could get his own head around. Normal questions. Practical knowledge and useful handouts that could be brought around when one needed something to get through the day. How to get the car going or unlock a jammed rifle. Figure out what brand of cop would do exactly what and where if they did the wrong thing at the best speed. How deep to dig and how high to aim. These were things John felt he could impart with about as much confidence a man could have.
John took a good hard look at the spray of light in all its various pale intensities hanging there silent. Some of glittered dully but most of sat in its relative stillness against what looked almost purple when you got this far away from the city lights.
He had to laugh a little then. His spawn was going to lay the Big Question on him? Right now? While he was half asleep and without even the benefit of a good fifth of whiskey to make him particularly eloquent in whatever poetic stream of bullshit he was supposed to offer up in the face of the wonders of all wonders? Dean sure did have some faith in his old man if he thought he had the answer to that one right on the tip of his tongue.
“Space, the final frontier….”
“No.” Dean grumbled, unsure of how to rearticulate his thoughts. “I mean, at a school they said that everything you see up there is all stars right?”
John nodded even though his son wasn’t turned in his direction. He realized his kid was a little annoyed. It was an exasperation John recognized when his eldest thought he was being misunderstood.
“And they said... they said that all those stars might not even be there anymore because the light takes so damn slow to go anywhere, that by the time we see it, the whole thing could have gone to shit like a billion years ago already.”
John felt his eyebrows rise in the surprising cant of the philosophical his boy was struggling with for some reason at this very moment. In some kind of sudden understanding he didn’t know he’d have, he was reminded of his own long forgotten frustration with the concept of the nature of theory. It was something he’d held onto ever since he was maybe about Dean’s age and sitting behind one of those desks taking everything being told on pure trust alone. It had been a long time since he’d thought about his dislike for the way Science liked to carefully catalogue what was in all reality pure abstract. Besides, before Darwin made his mark there had to be some kid who took it to heart when some scholar claimed that full grown quacking ducks appeared from blocks of wood in Spontaneous Generation. The world had once indeed been decidedly flat. Tomatoes had been deemed a dangerous poisonous fruit.
Sometimes the cold hard facts weren’t right on the money.
You could tell someone all day that their hand was made up of something called molecules, and there was nothing about a molecule that wasn’t made up of an atom, but then what? You couldn’t see it without a machine. You couldn’t smell it even if you had said machine. Did these things even have a color? John knew all about the headache that came on when you tried to wrap your mind around something so large (or small) and unfathomable that was apparently all explained in as many books as you felt like reading. As far as John was considered, you might as well go about trying to prove every aspect of God.
“It would be weird.” Dean continued, digging a stick down around the dirt at his feet. “If-If everything up there well, just isn’t even there anymore.”
John had never considered that particular thought before. Punching his jacket behind his head into a better shape, he realized that the idea his son had thought about enough to try to vocalize, was actually a pretty horrifying one. Dead light millions of years old reaching its conclusion on random patches of rock it found circling out there in the dark.
“I don’t think it’s all gone.” He said.
Dean did look up over at him then, the troubled crease in his brow smoothing a little with the idea that his father might know something about it after all.
“We’re still here aren’t we?” John tried.
Considering the words for a moment, his son reached around and pulled his backpack over to his side. After a few snagged zippers and some ripping Velcro, John saw the long smooth shape of the metal flashlight in his hands. Shaking it once to make the failing batteries connect, Dean focused the bright luminous circle on the near by car. Studying it briefly and deciding it adequate, he pointed it straight up towards the questionable heavens.
“What are you doin’?” John was forced to ask.
“Just sending some back.”