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Three times the Winchesters were most definitely not equine, no way.
Randomly scribbled into semagic. Fie on you, crack horse!
1.
John's halfway through doing a sweep of the abandoned house when he realises that maybe it wasn't the best idea in the world to bring the boys with him. The realisation comes at about the same time things start appearing and disappearing at random around him, the house morphing and twisting back rapidly.
Not that he knew that was going to happen before he brought them. For all intents and purposes this is just a quick job, a stop-off on his way to the local library, researching the (albeit short) history of this house that'd seen a lot of action in the past couple of months; reports of strange lights and sightings before the resident had just quick up and left.
Hell, it isn't even night time, just an ordinary house, hastily abandoned with pieces of crippled furniture and odds and ends scattered about.
"Dean!" John calls as the wall ahead of him changes into a waterfall and then back again, quick like snap, and he spins about-face and startles when he comes nose-to-nose with a giant plush bear which disappears a moment later. He'd put Sammy down in the front room, instructed Dean to watch him as John quickly swept the rest of the house, but now he was struggling to get back to them, every step halted by another apparition - or, not apparition; they're real, if transient.
An over-sized donut with a thick fluff of sugar dusting.
The walls living, heaving leather.
The rear end of a huge bovine blocking the hall.
Floor flooded with vein-blue-tinged milk.
As he gets closer to his destination, he realises their appearances and disappearances aren't random, but rather dictated by a tinny-crashed, rapid rhythm coming from the room he left the boys in.
-crash- A rabbit standing on its hind legs -crash- a cascade of oil-slick-coloured marbles -crash- the floor unstable like John's walking across a giant pillow -crash-
He sees what it is when he finally - finally - gets to the doorway; Sammy's sitting at the center of the room, legs stretched out in front of him, clutching a brass blur between his chubby fists and drumming it against the floor between his knees over and over. Dean's hopping in a circle around him, keeping time as Sammy shrieks in delight, apparitions flickering brightly-coloured around them both and John is speechless only as long as it takes to see Dean manifest a monkey tail before he bellows, "Boys!"
Sam drops the lamp with a clatter and the last echoes of it are enough for the tail to disappear, thank god, and Dean stops mid-hop and looks over his shoulder sheepishly. John grits his teeth, strides over the last few steps to them.
"Da!" Sammy says, sticking his hands in the air, fingers wriggling demandingly, the need for John to pick him up right now apparently diverting his attention away from the... goddammit, the lamp he'd been playing with.
And if just shaking it around did that much... He reaches down, grips Sammy's chest beneath his arms, swings him up to rest on John's hip. John side-steps the lamp deliberately. "Dean," he says, and Dean's quiet and head-dipped beside him, close enough for his shoulder to brush John's thigh.
The floor of the house tips like a ship in a storm when he tries to walk across it; there's the low rattle-clatter of a handful-or-so of gum balls rolling back and forth in the far corners, but finally they make it out to the front door, onto the porch.
Looks like he'd be needing a sitter after all. No way he was bringing the boys back in there. "Dean," he says. "Take my hand." He holds out his free hand as Sammy kicks and wriggles in the other, buzzing spittle against the collar of John's shirt.
They step off the porch together and then stop as one.
The Chevy isn't where John parked it in the drive.
Instead, there's a sleek black horse, a fucking giant horse, nodding its head a little when it catches sight of them in one of its eight-ball eyes, scuffing one of its hubcap-hooves, but otherwise looking mildly bored. Its muzzle is just about bigger than Sam's entire body, and John clutches at him instinctually.
"Horsie!" Sammy crows, doing his very best to buck out of John's grip.
Dean's tugging on John's hand, his small body almost at a 45 degree angle as he strains against John's statue impression to get closer to the horse. John allows himself to be dragged, still keeping Sammy angled as far away from the tank-flanked whip-tailed crush-footed thing as possible.
It mouths at Dean's hand then tugs at the shoulder of Dean's shirt with its lips. Dean giggles. Sammy's toes poke a rapid staccatto into John's belly.
The horse's muzzle is suede-soft against John's knuckles, the coat over its shoulders gleaming like boot polish. It huffs thunderously against the palm of John's hand, looking not much less bored than it had previously. Impassive. Like the cavorting and shrieking of small children around it are no more than buzzing flies.
"Dad!" Dean's holding his arms in the air now, reaching toward the horse's back.
Oh no. No way. "I don't think so."
"Da-ad!" Dean's voice has an edge of petulance to it that it doesn't carry all that frequently lately, and it makes John's mouth twist half in easily-manipulated guilt, half irritation.
Jesus. John wipes a hand over his face, then rearranges Sammy against his shoulder, firm grip across his back. Sam's hair tickles his jaw as Sam twists his head, struggles to keep watching. John leans down, holding his hand out low for Dean to put his foot in. They have to get back to the motel somehow, after all.
1.
John's halfway through doing a sweep of the abandoned house when he realises that maybe it wasn't the best idea in the world to bring the boys with him. The realisation comes at about the same time things start appearing and disappearing at random around him, the house morphing and twisting back rapidly.
Not that he knew that was going to happen before he brought them. For all intents and purposes this is just a quick job, a stop-off on his way to the local library, researching the (albeit short) history of this house that'd seen a lot of action in the past couple of months; reports of strange lights and sightings before the resident had just quick up and left.
Hell, it isn't even night time, just an ordinary house, hastily abandoned with pieces of crippled furniture and odds and ends scattered about.
"Dean!" John calls as the wall ahead of him changes into a waterfall and then back again, quick like snap, and he spins about-face and startles when he comes nose-to-nose with a giant plush bear which disappears a moment later. He'd put Sammy down in the front room, instructed Dean to watch him as John quickly swept the rest of the house, but now he was struggling to get back to them, every step halted by another apparition - or, not apparition; they're real, if transient.
An over-sized donut with a thick fluff of sugar dusting.
The walls living, heaving leather.
The rear end of a huge bovine blocking the hall.
Floor flooded with vein-blue-tinged milk.
As he gets closer to his destination, he realises their appearances and disappearances aren't random, but rather dictated by a tinny-crashed, rapid rhythm coming from the room he left the boys in.
-crash- A rabbit standing on its hind legs -crash- a cascade of oil-slick-coloured marbles -crash- the floor unstable like John's walking across a giant pillow -crash-
He sees what it is when he finally - finally - gets to the doorway; Sammy's sitting at the center of the room, legs stretched out in front of him, clutching a brass blur between his chubby fists and drumming it against the floor between his knees over and over. Dean's hopping in a circle around him, keeping time as Sammy shrieks in delight, apparitions flickering brightly-coloured around them both and John is speechless only as long as it takes to see Dean manifest a monkey tail before he bellows, "Boys!"
Sam drops the lamp with a clatter and the last echoes of it are enough for the tail to disappear, thank god, and Dean stops mid-hop and looks over his shoulder sheepishly. John grits his teeth, strides over the last few steps to them.
"Da!" Sammy says, sticking his hands in the air, fingers wriggling demandingly, the need for John to pick him up right now apparently diverting his attention away from the... goddammit, the lamp he'd been playing with.
And if just shaking it around did that much... He reaches down, grips Sammy's chest beneath his arms, swings him up to rest on John's hip. John side-steps the lamp deliberately. "Dean," he says, and Dean's quiet and head-dipped beside him, close enough for his shoulder to brush John's thigh.
The floor of the house tips like a ship in a storm when he tries to walk across it; there's the low rattle-clatter of a handful-or-so of gum balls rolling back and forth in the far corners, but finally they make it out to the front door, onto the porch.
Looks like he'd be needing a sitter after all. No way he was bringing the boys back in there. "Dean," he says. "Take my hand." He holds out his free hand as Sammy kicks and wriggles in the other, buzzing spittle against the collar of John's shirt.
They step off the porch together and then stop as one.
The Chevy isn't where John parked it in the drive.
Instead, there's a sleek black horse, a fucking giant horse, nodding its head a little when it catches sight of them in one of its eight-ball eyes, scuffing one of its hubcap-hooves, but otherwise looking mildly bored. Its muzzle is just about bigger than Sam's entire body, and John clutches at him instinctually.
"Horsie!" Sammy crows, doing his very best to buck out of John's grip.
Dean's tugging on John's hand, his small body almost at a 45 degree angle as he strains against John's statue impression to get closer to the horse. John allows himself to be dragged, still keeping Sammy angled as far away from the tank-flanked whip-tailed crush-footed thing as possible.
It mouths at Dean's hand then tugs at the shoulder of Dean's shirt with its lips. Dean giggles. Sammy's toes poke a rapid staccatto into John's belly.
The horse's muzzle is suede-soft against John's knuckles, the coat over its shoulders gleaming like boot polish. It huffs thunderously against the palm of John's hand, looking not much less bored than it had previously. Impassive. Like the cavorting and shrieking of small children around it are no more than buzzing flies.
"Dad!" Dean's holding his arms in the air now, reaching toward the horse's back.
Oh no. No way. "I don't think so."
"Da-ad!" Dean's voice has an edge of petulance to it that it doesn't carry all that frequently lately, and it makes John's mouth twist half in easily-manipulated guilt, half irritation.
Jesus. John wipes a hand over his face, then rearranges Sammy against his shoulder, firm grip across his back. Sam's hair tickles his jaw as Sam twists his head, struggles to keep watching. John leans down, holding his hand out low for Dean to put his foot in. They have to get back to the motel somehow, after all.
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