The Coalition For Disturbing Metaphors (halfshellvenus) wrote,
The Coalition For Disturbing Metaphors

Supernatural Gen Drabbles: Locked Down

Title: Locked Down
Author: HalfshellVenus
Characters: Dean, John, Sam (Gen)
Rating: PG
Summary: Four different drabble takes on "Cabin Fever" for supernatural100.


Indoor Games
It's raining again. Again.

They've been stuck in this motel for days now, where Daddy won't even let them play on the carpet.

"Stay on the bed," he said. "Pretend the floor is a lake with a monster in it."

Dean had fun racing to the bathroom, but then Daddy stopped the game because Sammy started screaming out The monster'll get Dean!

There are things under the bed. Maybe not fun things, but dust and lumps and paper.

Dean's itching to look again, but Daddy says No.

Two hours later it's still raining, and now even Dean's toys are bored…

Three weeks, and John's going crazy.

He has to keep regular hours. Has to talk to people— be pleasant and keep a civil tongue.

He doesn't wear a tie, but that's as good as it gets.

Now, cars don't yammer at you all day long, don't need you to be polite and professional with them. But people try his patience, and if it weren't for the damn money he'd have quit this job after Day One.

"How can I help you?" he says.

But inside he thinks, Your puny-ass problems aren't squat compared to the things I've seen and killed.

Sam's holed up in the bedroom studying again, and Dean can hardly stand it. What's so goddamn interesting about books?

Sam'll spend hours in there— hours— when they could be hunting stuff, or checking out girls by the downtown fountain. Then Sam'll go to the library until it's dark, and why the hell didn't Dad take them along instead of leaving them here to rot?

"You want anything special for dinner?" Going to the store beats hanging around.

"Nah." Sam doesn't even look at him.

Dean's Hemmingway novel mocks him from the bed. His essay's due on Monday.

Double crap.

Waiting It Out
At least Sam's not in the hospital anymore—not in traction either, figuratively or literally.

Dean got him out before their credit-card shell-game blew up in their faces, and now they're at a motel in Topeka. Where even the dust can't be bothered to move— Sam knows, because he's watched it for hours.

There's a line of chairs leading to the bathroom if he needs them, and the remote's nearby. Dean's out getting groceries or hustling pool or picking up women.

Goddamn if this whole thing isn't boring. Seriously— damn.

Sam's never missed hunting so bad in his entire life.

-------- fin --------

Tags: drabbles, my_fic, sn_gen
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