Rating: PG - teen!chesters - Gen
Spoilers: General (for all aired episodes)
Disclaimers: SPN & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: John fails while a teen Dean observes helpfully.
"D-Dad, I gotta tell you," Dean gagged. "This is good times."
"It sure is."
"Every Friday night should be just like this."
Given the Winchester work clock, weekends were meaningless so John hoped his kid would shut his sarcasm hole whenever he felt ready.
Dean apparently did not feel ready. "I'm not sure but I think I can actually smell the hepatitis."
John had to admit, it wasn't that far fetched. "Hand me the axe would ya?"
Having to lean double to walk the narrow and annoyingly low hang of the sewer tunnel, Dean groaned trying to dig into the duffel slung over his back. After handing over the tool, he tried to get comfortable by leaning against the slick stone wall and doing some whistling. John didn't know if it was wise to do all that unnecessary inhaling and exhaling in the present environment but he didn't feel like arguing. Shoving his flashlight under his arm, he eyed the rusted grate with a rotted lock that kept them from continuing further. One good knock outta do it.
"You might wanna hurry up on that," Dean suggested, pausing in his half way decent rendition of Swing Low Sweet Chariot. "It's almost the Witching Hour."
John frowned as the blade bounced off the old lock without a scratch. "What?"
"We are sitting under about ten college dormitories and about everyone of one of those bastards is about to leave the cafeteria."
Moving as much as he could to the side, John tried his next swing from a better angle. Witching Hour. Figures Dean would name a calamity such as that with something his old man might relate to.
"Sloppy Joes," Dean said gravely. "And tapioca pudding."
"How do you know?"
"Saw a sign."
That was grim news, but John didn't want to reward the boy with his alarm or gratitude of any kind. After he busted this goddamn gate, all they had to do was find a large mutant dog-slug-like creature no hunter had ever heard of before, and then hopefully kill it with whatever happened to be handy in the bag Dean was lugging. Meanwhile, the Decrepit Lock vs. Handy Axe fight was coming up a big win for the lock.
"Gimme a screwdriver."
Dean complied and then let out a sigh. One that denoted thoughtfulness. "Dad, I was just thinking..."
John jammed the screwdriver in and gave it a nice twist. It snapped neatly into two pieces.
"Maybe some of these jobs could be outsourced," Dean said. "Pay someone else to slither through crap? This is after all, America."
"That's what I got you for."
"Happiness doesn't count as currency-"
"Did you see anything out there besides some signs?"
"Some of the student body." Dean tried a little to keep the smile out of his voice. "A lot of the female type."
Jesus. Kid just turned sixteen and thinks he can tackle an eighteen year old freshie. John shrugged. With all worthwhile things there was always a dangerous learning curve.
"Find a wrench."
John winced when he heard the bag slip and splash down heavily into the ankle deep run off they were practically squatting in. To his boy's credit, the whistling came back as Dean started to rummage in the dank and flagrant dark. It took John a moment to figure out the tune. Fat Bottom Girls from Queen. It was definitely more upbeat than the last one and John did appreciate some good cheer at the moment. And screw the lock this time. He was going for the gate. The wrench was slippery but fastened onto the hinges nicely enough. The securely corroded and unmovable hinges. Great. No luck with the wrench. Who the hell installed this thing anyway? A fucking Army engineer?
Barely enough room and all John got was a groan of metal and the beginnings of a sprained wrist.
"Okay," John panted. "Pipe cutter."
"You really wanna spend another hour here?"
"Didn't bring it."
Slumping against the tunnel wall, John resisted the urge to take a seat in the gurgling stream of sewage. He also resisted the urge to rub his hands over his face. Which by now were about as filthy as his boots.
"Blow torch?" he tried.
Dean shook his head.
"What else do we got?"
John could see his spawn's grin quite clearly despite the gloom.
His son held his hand out expectedly for the axe.
Back to Plan A it would be then. As ineffectual as it was the first time, John made way for his son to give it a try. Why not? They had some time. If there was a Dog-Slug lurking nearby how fast could the thing be going anyway? It was stuffed with at least three well fed undergrads so not too much on the vroom.
"Here we go," Dean announced. "Hang back."
John hung back, and let his eldest stride forth (as much as one could in a cramped sewer) to do what needed to be done. Dean examined the problem at hand, raised the weapon..... and then with a triumphant shout let it fall with all his might.
"Hey look," John pointed. " A rat."
The swing of the axe took a swift and uselessly powerful turn right into the brick a few inches from Dean's boot.
"Sorry, nope" John corrected. "That was just a wad of toilet paper."
With sewage splashed up on his face and a broken axe handle in his hand, Dean didn't look as chipper as he had several moments ago.
"Not cool, dad."
John glanced up at what he could have swore was the far off sound of flushing toilets. Hundreds of them. About to let loose all at once...
Not cool at all.