fic: how does your garden grow?
Sep. 27th, 2015 03:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
majestic_duxkTitle: How Does Your Garden Grow
Pairing: Sam and Dean
Rating: G
Kinks and warnings: fluff, schmoop, happy ending, domesticity
summary: Sam getting his hands all dirty, Sam getting bad knees as he ages, Sam being excited about his bean crop, Sam bringing vast quantities of zucchini to the Bunker kitchen and expecting Dean to figure out something to cook with it, Sam being wrathful and indignant about caterpillars, Sam out there all day with the sun hot on his neck and the soil cool in his hands thinking about nothing at all but the tactility and the way he's having this small, steady good effect on the world and coming back HAPPY.
a/n: This was written for a gorgeous prompt over in![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_masquerade.
--
If you’d asked Sam what he’d do when it was all over… well, he wouldn’t have had a clue. If he gave an honest answer, it probably would have been dead. Not that he would have answered. If you’d asked him, Sam would have been too busy trying to survive.
But then, they did survive.
They all survived.
After the initial shock had worn off, he’d been lost. His whole life had revolved around hunting: doing it, hating it, saving people, saving his brother. His whole life had been one long stream of hate and anger and danger and hunting.
But the end it was gone. And he couldn’t say he missed it. What kind of crazy would miss that? But it did leave emptiness behind, and Sam? Well, he’d never had the opportunity to know what to fill his life with.
--
If he’d ever stopped to think about it, he would have been worried for Dean. Dean’s whole identity was wrapped up in hunting, even more so than Sam. More than once he’d told Sam he couldn’t imagine anything else. The business was going to kill him. And while technically it had, it had never stuck.
After the initial oh god, we’re alive Dean decided to make them a home. So Sam did what he’d always done, and followed his brother, this time back to the bunker. And while nesting was never a word he would have associated with his brother, there was no denying the evidence of his own eyes. Dean took to cooking, and cleaning, and arranging like a duck to water, and slowly but surely the bunker was becoming their home. Suddenly, Dean had hobbies (including the cooking and cleaning, and needlepoint, apparently. Sam didn’t dare tease him. Dean still practised an hour every day at the shooting range). And while Sam was happy for him, it also left him bereft.
Dean had found something, and Sam had nothing. He was empty and aimless and didn’t know what to do.
Not until Dean grabbed him by the arm and hauled him outside.
“Dean?”
His brother didn’t answer, just dragged him out a door he never knew existed (Dean’s exploring had had some benefits), and he didn’t let go until they were standing in front of a small patch of earth.
“Dean?”
Dean pointed at a pile of tools – a spade, a watering can, a hoe and wheel barrow.
“We can get whatever else you want, Sammy, but your job, at least until you come up with something better, is to try and grow us something.”
Sam stared at the plot blankly. “Like what?”
Dean slapped him on the back then wrapped a rough arm around his shoulder. “Whatever you want. How about rabbit food? You seem to like that?”
What was he supposed to do? He’d never gardened. Sure, he knew how to dig, but that was holes six feet deep and vaguely human shaped. Gardening required more finesse. Squatting down beside the dirt patch, Sam picked up some of the loose soil, letting it run through his fingers. It didn’t feel so different to grave dirt. Quickly looking around, he confirmed that Dean was out of sight before holding it to his nose. It smelt different though. Fresh. New. Like a new beginning.
Maybe… maybe he’d give it a go. Just until he thought of something better.
--
Sam approached gardening the way he did everything in his life: research.
The first weeks were filled with climate charts, and seasonal rotations, and which crops worked best together (because he was not going to support a monoculture), and planting timetables. It took three weeks for him to even go outside again, and that was only at Dean’s urging, because Sam wasn’t ready to make any firm decisions.
“Gotta get a move on Sammy, otherwise nothing’s going to be ready before winter.”
So he just took a leap of faith and bought pretty much every seed there was at the local garden centre. He was even talked into getting seedlings “just for tomatoes and cucumbers, so they’ll be ready at the same time as the lettuce.” He set pots beside the garden, and hoed his rows in. After asking Dean, he found the workshop and made himself little signposts for each row. Blushing, he’d even asked Dean for paint so he could paint the pictures: lettuce, cabbage, beans, broccoli.
To his surprise, Dean hadn’t laughed. Instead he’d smiled, that truly happy smile that Sam had only seen since they made the bunker their home, and got him the paint.
“Gonna have to come out and see it one of these days, Sammy.”
“But not yet.”
Dean nodded. “Not yet.”
--
There was something peaceful about working in the garden. Sam loved to loosen the earth, and dig into the soil, making the small dips and holes with his fingers, dropping the seeds in before smoothing the topsoil over with his hands.
The scent of the earth as he wet it down was both heady, and soothing. And Sam spent every moment he could out there.
Dean kept his promise, and didn’t come to the garden, but he’d call from the door. “Sammy! Lunch! And bring your water bottle in, it’s hot today.”
--
“Dean! Dean!”
Dean came running from the house, gun at his side. Only to stop short. Sam was on his knees in front of the tiniest little plants he’d ever seen. Putting on the safety, he tucked the gun into the back of his pants. Sammy didn’t need to see that in his little slice of paradise. Still, he looked around suspiciously. Just in case.
“Whatcha got, Sammy?”
Sam turned to face Dean, a reverent smile on his face. “Look at them, Dean! These are bean sprouts.”
Dean attempted to make appropriate noises, but obviously failed, as Sam’s big, happy laugh rang out. “Fine. I’ll bring them to you when their ready to cook. And I expect you to make something delicious. There’s going to be lots.”
“I’ve never cooked a bean in my life, Sam!”
Sam’s smile was not gentle. “Good think you’ve got plenty of time to figure out how.”
--
In the end there was only one bowl of beans, and Dean steamed them before seasoning with lemon and pepper. They both agreed it was perfect.
--
Over the years, Sam’s garden grew bigger. He got Dean’s help to make the initial beds (“Even you can’t mess up digging, Dean. You’ve got years of practise”), but after that? It was all Sam’s.
Except…
“Dean! I need to borrow the car!”
“Sam? What?” Sam’s shouts had woken Dean from a… well, no. Hadn’t woken. He hadn’t been sleeping, just shutting his eyes for a moment.
Sam was too distressed to tease his big brother about afternoon naps. “There are caterpillars, Dean. Caterpillars! They’re eating my cabbages as we speak. Fuck! What can I use? I don’t want to poison them! My garden’s organic! Fuck… what do I buy?”
Dean had no idea, but was grateful for a much reduced cabbage crop.
--
He wasn’t so lucky with the zucchini.
“Sixteen fucking pounds of these… things?”
“Zucchini, Dean. They’re called zucchini. And the purple ones are eggplants. I know you can make something out of them, right? I mean… I grew these, Dean. For us!”
Even without the puppy dog eyes, Dean would have used as much as he was able.
“Thank fuck for the storage freezers,” he sighed somewhat morosely.
Still, even he couldn’t deny how convenient it was to pull out moussaka, or the parmigiana, or the manicotti after a long day of nothing when he didn’t feel like cooking.
--
"You seem to have found some peace here, Sam."
Sam looked up with a smile.
"So they gave you time off for good behaviour."
The angel frowned. "I have atoned, Sam. It was agreed-"
"Ok, Cas! Ok. What I meant was, it's good to see you."
Castiel looked over Sam's garden. It was now more than ten times the size of the original plot Dean had given him. And it was almost too much. Sam's body hurt these days, but he loved it out here.
"I like it here. You are a good caretaker. You remind me of Joseph."
Sam blinked.
"I will visit you again, Sam."
And Castiel left. The angel had never gained the ability to say goodbye. Sam couldn’t help the soft smile that crossed his lips. "I'd like that, Cas. I'd like that very much."
Picking up his basket, and grunting at strain in his back, Sam hurried back to the house. After all, fresh peas were even better when shared with family.
--
Pairing: Sam and Dean
Rating: G
Kinks and warnings: fluff, schmoop, happy ending, domesticity
summary: Sam getting his hands all dirty, Sam getting bad knees as he ages, Sam being excited about his bean crop, Sam bringing vast quantities of zucchini to the Bunker kitchen and expecting Dean to figure out something to cook with it, Sam being wrathful and indignant about caterpillars, Sam out there all day with the sun hot on his neck and the soil cool in his hands thinking about nothing at all but the tactility and the way he's having this small, steady good effect on the world and coming back HAPPY.
a/n: This was written for a gorgeous prompt over in
spn_masquerade. --
If you’d asked Sam what he’d do when it was all over… well, he wouldn’t have had a clue. If he gave an honest answer, it probably would have been dead. Not that he would have answered. If you’d asked him, Sam would have been too busy trying to survive.
But then, they did survive.
They all survived.
After the initial shock had worn off, he’d been lost. His whole life had revolved around hunting: doing it, hating it, saving people, saving his brother. His whole life had been one long stream of hate and anger and danger and hunting.
But the end it was gone. And he couldn’t say he missed it. What kind of crazy would miss that? But it did leave emptiness behind, and Sam? Well, he’d never had the opportunity to know what to fill his life with.
--
If he’d ever stopped to think about it, he would have been worried for Dean. Dean’s whole identity was wrapped up in hunting, even more so than Sam. More than once he’d told Sam he couldn’t imagine anything else. The business was going to kill him. And while technically it had, it had never stuck.
After the initial oh god, we’re alive Dean decided to make them a home. So Sam did what he’d always done, and followed his brother, this time back to the bunker. And while nesting was never a word he would have associated with his brother, there was no denying the evidence of his own eyes. Dean took to cooking, and cleaning, and arranging like a duck to water, and slowly but surely the bunker was becoming their home. Suddenly, Dean had hobbies (including the cooking and cleaning, and needlepoint, apparently. Sam didn’t dare tease him. Dean still practised an hour every day at the shooting range). And while Sam was happy for him, it also left him bereft.
Dean had found something, and Sam had nothing. He was empty and aimless and didn’t know what to do.
Not until Dean grabbed him by the arm and hauled him outside.
“Dean?”
His brother didn’t answer, just dragged him out a door he never knew existed (Dean’s exploring had had some benefits), and he didn’t let go until they were standing in front of a small patch of earth.
“Dean?”
Dean pointed at a pile of tools – a spade, a watering can, a hoe and wheel barrow.
“We can get whatever else you want, Sammy, but your job, at least until you come up with something better, is to try and grow us something.”
Sam stared at the plot blankly. “Like what?”
Dean slapped him on the back then wrapped a rough arm around his shoulder. “Whatever you want. How about rabbit food? You seem to like that?”
What was he supposed to do? He’d never gardened. Sure, he knew how to dig, but that was holes six feet deep and vaguely human shaped. Gardening required more finesse. Squatting down beside the dirt patch, Sam picked up some of the loose soil, letting it run through his fingers. It didn’t feel so different to grave dirt. Quickly looking around, he confirmed that Dean was out of sight before holding it to his nose. It smelt different though. Fresh. New. Like a new beginning.
Maybe… maybe he’d give it a go. Just until he thought of something better.
--
Sam approached gardening the way he did everything in his life: research.
The first weeks were filled with climate charts, and seasonal rotations, and which crops worked best together (because he was not going to support a monoculture), and planting timetables. It took three weeks for him to even go outside again, and that was only at Dean’s urging, because Sam wasn’t ready to make any firm decisions.
“Gotta get a move on Sammy, otherwise nothing’s going to be ready before winter.”
So he just took a leap of faith and bought pretty much every seed there was at the local garden centre. He was even talked into getting seedlings “just for tomatoes and cucumbers, so they’ll be ready at the same time as the lettuce.” He set pots beside the garden, and hoed his rows in. After asking Dean, he found the workshop and made himself little signposts for each row. Blushing, he’d even asked Dean for paint so he could paint the pictures: lettuce, cabbage, beans, broccoli.
To his surprise, Dean hadn’t laughed. Instead he’d smiled, that truly happy smile that Sam had only seen since they made the bunker their home, and got him the paint.
“Gonna have to come out and see it one of these days, Sammy.”
“But not yet.”
Dean nodded. “Not yet.”
--
There was something peaceful about working in the garden. Sam loved to loosen the earth, and dig into the soil, making the small dips and holes with his fingers, dropping the seeds in before smoothing the topsoil over with his hands.
The scent of the earth as he wet it down was both heady, and soothing. And Sam spent every moment he could out there.
Dean kept his promise, and didn’t come to the garden, but he’d call from the door. “Sammy! Lunch! And bring your water bottle in, it’s hot today.”
--
“Dean! Dean!”
Dean came running from the house, gun at his side. Only to stop short. Sam was on his knees in front of the tiniest little plants he’d ever seen. Putting on the safety, he tucked the gun into the back of his pants. Sammy didn’t need to see that in his little slice of paradise. Still, he looked around suspiciously. Just in case.
“Whatcha got, Sammy?”
Sam turned to face Dean, a reverent smile on his face. “Look at them, Dean! These are bean sprouts.”
Dean attempted to make appropriate noises, but obviously failed, as Sam’s big, happy laugh rang out. “Fine. I’ll bring them to you when their ready to cook. And I expect you to make something delicious. There’s going to be lots.”
“I’ve never cooked a bean in my life, Sam!”
Sam’s smile was not gentle. “Good think you’ve got plenty of time to figure out how.”
--
In the end there was only one bowl of beans, and Dean steamed them before seasoning with lemon and pepper. They both agreed it was perfect.
--
Over the years, Sam’s garden grew bigger. He got Dean’s help to make the initial beds (“Even you can’t mess up digging, Dean. You’ve got years of practise”), but after that? It was all Sam’s.
Except…
“Dean! I need to borrow the car!”
“Sam? What?” Sam’s shouts had woken Dean from a… well, no. Hadn’t woken. He hadn’t been sleeping, just shutting his eyes for a moment.
Sam was too distressed to tease his big brother about afternoon naps. “There are caterpillars, Dean. Caterpillars! They’re eating my cabbages as we speak. Fuck! What can I use? I don’t want to poison them! My garden’s organic! Fuck… what do I buy?”
Dean had no idea, but was grateful for a much reduced cabbage crop.
--
He wasn’t so lucky with the zucchini.
“Sixteen fucking pounds of these… things?”
“Zucchini, Dean. They’re called zucchini. And the purple ones are eggplants. I know you can make something out of them, right? I mean… I grew these, Dean. For us!”
Even without the puppy dog eyes, Dean would have used as much as he was able.
“Thank fuck for the storage freezers,” he sighed somewhat morosely.
Still, even he couldn’t deny how convenient it was to pull out moussaka, or the parmigiana, or the manicotti after a long day of nothing when he didn’t feel like cooking.
--
"You seem to have found some peace here, Sam."
Sam looked up with a smile.
"So they gave you time off for good behaviour."
The angel frowned. "I have atoned, Sam. It was agreed-"
"Ok, Cas! Ok. What I meant was, it's good to see you."
Castiel looked over Sam's garden. It was now more than ten times the size of the original plot Dean had given him. And it was almost too much. Sam's body hurt these days, but he loved it out here.
"I like it here. You are a good caretaker. You remind me of Joseph."
Sam blinked.
"I will visit you again, Sam."
And Castiel left. The angel had never gained the ability to say goodbye. Sam couldn’t help the soft smile that crossed his lips. "I'd like that, Cas. I'd like that very much."
Picking up his basket, and grunting at strain in his back, Sam hurried back to the house. After all, fresh peas were even better when shared with family.
--
