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caranfindelTwenty-seven years later, Jesse and Cesar decide someone needs to keep an eye on the old bisaan burrow, just in case. A tag for 11.19, "The Chitters."
also on AO3
As it turns out, "retirement" is kind of a gray area. Cesar and Jesse don't pursue hunts, but when you're a hunter, when you know what's out there, the hunt finds you sometimes. When you're a hunter, you recognize that it isn't a wolf terrorizing the neighbor's cattle, and you feel compelled to do something about it. And Cesar was more dead-set on retirement than Jesse, but he's the one who figures out planting marigold and sage along the fenceline and painting a few sigils on the fenceposts will keep the bastards out. Which just proves that you can take the man out of the hunt, but you can't take the hunt out of the man.
And when the boys come along, even Cesar readily admits that he doesn't want them out there ignorant and unprotected.
So they concentrate on defensive hunting, on teaching Matt and Martin how to recognize the supernatural, how to protect themselves and others. Because Jesse remembers how it felt to lose his brother and find himself alone in a world where no one believed him or even cared, and he'll be damned if he's going to let that happen to his kids. And the closer it gets to the next bisaan mating cycle, the more he thinks about that happening to someone else's kids.
And that's why, in March of 2043, Matt and his little brother find themselves in Gunnison, making sure Dad and Papi's dead monsters are still dead.
The town hasn't changed much. Not that they'd be able to tell, really - they've never been there, what with Dad vowing never to step foot in Gunnison again. But it's pretty much as it was described. Luckily, the town hasn't spread into the area where the old mine was. Well, it's probably not luck, per se. It's probably the work Dad and Papi did - spreading some rumors about the mines being liable to collapse, poisoning some foliage and spreading more rumors about gasses seeping from the old tunnels, that kind of stuff.
And yet. When they get to the old mine itself, someone is there. Or at least, someone's pickup is there. It's old, at least 20 years old, but obviously cared for. Matt stops his Jeep next to the truck, and before he can get out, a couple of young guys emerge from the mine entrance. One of them has a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder, and okay, that's probably fine. Something's probably in season around here. But still. Matt flashes Marty a look that says back off, little brother, let me handle this. And Marty ignores him like he usually does, hopping out of the Jeep with his hackles already raised. He's more like Dad, always ready to start some shit. But Matt's going to handle this the way Papi does. Nice and easy and friendly, with a smile on his face and a gun shoved into the waistband of his jeans.
"Hey, fellas," he says. They're a little younger than him and Marty. Early twenties, if he had to guess. "You guys camping? I've heard a lot of bad things about this place. Wouldn't be hanging out here if I were you."
"And yet here you are," says the guy with the rifle. He's taller than Matt, dressed in jeans, a plaid flannel shirt, and sturdy boots. He matches Matt's friendly smile and keeps his hands in sight, out to his sides, away from his rifle. Like he's working very hard at looking non-threatening. The other guy, who's even taller, is wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt. It's hard to get a read on them - they could be either woodsmen scouting out game, or college boys looking for a place to get scared and get drunk.
The hoodie guy pokes the other one with his elbow and starts motioning with his hands, and maybe Matt doesn't understand sign language, but he recognizes it when he sees it. The guy in the flannel shirt watches his hands intently, then his eyebrows go up slightly and he turns back to Matt. He takes a step forward, putting himself in front of hoodie guy. "So, is that a .45 in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?"
Marty bows up, like he always does when he thinks Matt is being threatened. "What's it to you?"
The taller one narrows his eyes, because you can read Marty's attitude even if you can't hear a single word. He puts his hands in his hoodie pocket in a way that would look completely harmless to a casual observer, but Matt feels his brother tense up even further and he knows they're thinking the same thing - the kid just got a grip on a weapon.
But the first guy just laughs. "No, it's cool; it's actually a good idea to be armed out here. You're right, it's a bad place. Not a safe place for anyone to hang out. Listen. I'm Jack." He nods his head toward the other kid. "This is Robert. We're not gonna hurt you, but you ought to be on your way."
There are probably a few reasons why a couple of armed guys might hang out at a known bisaan burrow and try to keep others away, but one jumps out at Matt. "Shit, Marty. They're here for the same reason we are. They're hunters." Jack and Robert shoot surprised glances at each other and slightly relax. "I'm Matt. This is my brother Martin. So, you guys know about the bisaan?"
Jack nods. "Our dads took them out during the last mating cycle, and they asked us to waste our spring break coming out here to keep a watch in case they missed one."
"Your dads?" Marty says, just as Matt remembers the same stories. "You guys are Winchesters?"
Jack throws his head back and laughs, then punches Robert in the arm. "See, man? I told you. Our reputation precedes us."
"It's not our reputation, dumbass," Robert quietly retorts. "It's theirs."
Matt's surprise at hearing him speak must show on his face, because Robert busts into a grin. "Oh, hey, I'm sorry," Matt stumbles. "I just thought... with the signing..."
"No, it's cool," Robert says. "I hear fine. But we learned sign language because of my mom, and it comes in handy on hunts sometimes."
"No shit," says Marty. "That's pretty slick." And Matt sighs at the sign language lessons that he knows are in his future. "You guys are brothers?"
"Cousins, technically," Robert replies. "But we kinda grew up together in a big family compound, so we might as well be brothers."
"And I'm guessing you are the sons of Jesse and Cesar," Jack says. "Thought they were going to retire after this hunt?"
"Eh, no hunters ever really retire, do they?" Marty shrugs.
"True enough," Jack grins. "Now, this is awesome timing. Cause nothing's gonna happen here. You know it, I know it. They took care of this shit 27 years ago. And we are out of beer. And I didn't want to leave him alone while I ran into town, just in case I'm wrong about nothing happening, but now you're here." He turns to Matt. "How about we let the kids keep watch and you and I go on a beer run? I would have sent Robby already, but the little twerp's only 20 and he can't legally buy beer yet."
Robert rolls his eyes. "Whatever, John-Boy."
"Robby, I swear to God," Jack bristles. "You call me John-Boy one more time and I'm gonna tie you to a tree and use you as wendigo bait."
Matt laughs. "I wouldn't worry about that, Robert. There haven't been any wendigoes in Colorado for almost a hundred years."
"Oh, Matt," says Jack, as he claps him on the shoulder and points him toward the truck. "You and I have a lot to talk about."
///
Do I feel guilty about posting, on Sam Winchester's birthday, a fic that has no Sam at all? Yes. But I'll live.
The title is from the Crosby, Stills and Nash song
"Teach Your Children."
also on AO3
As it turns out, "retirement" is kind of a gray area. Cesar and Jesse don't pursue hunts, but when you're a hunter, when you know what's out there, the hunt finds you sometimes. When you're a hunter, you recognize that it isn't a wolf terrorizing the neighbor's cattle, and you feel compelled to do something about it. And Cesar was more dead-set on retirement than Jesse, but he's the one who figures out planting marigold and sage along the fenceline and painting a few sigils on the fenceposts will keep the bastards out. Which just proves that you can take the man out of the hunt, but you can't take the hunt out of the man.
And when the boys come along, even Cesar readily admits that he doesn't want them out there ignorant and unprotected.
So they concentrate on defensive hunting, on teaching Matt and Martin how to recognize the supernatural, how to protect themselves and others. Because Jesse remembers how it felt to lose his brother and find himself alone in a world where no one believed him or even cared, and he'll be damned if he's going to let that happen to his kids. And the closer it gets to the next bisaan mating cycle, the more he thinks about that happening to someone else's kids.
And that's why, in March of 2043, Matt and his little brother find themselves in Gunnison, making sure Dad and Papi's dead monsters are still dead.
The town hasn't changed much. Not that they'd be able to tell, really - they've never been there, what with Dad vowing never to step foot in Gunnison again. But it's pretty much as it was described. Luckily, the town hasn't spread into the area where the old mine was. Well, it's probably not luck, per se. It's probably the work Dad and Papi did - spreading some rumors about the mines being liable to collapse, poisoning some foliage and spreading more rumors about gasses seeping from the old tunnels, that kind of stuff.
And yet. When they get to the old mine itself, someone is there. Or at least, someone's pickup is there. It's old, at least 20 years old, but obviously cared for. Matt stops his Jeep next to the truck, and before he can get out, a couple of young guys emerge from the mine entrance. One of them has a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder, and okay, that's probably fine. Something's probably in season around here. But still. Matt flashes Marty a look that says back off, little brother, let me handle this. And Marty ignores him like he usually does, hopping out of the Jeep with his hackles already raised. He's more like Dad, always ready to start some shit. But Matt's going to handle this the way Papi does. Nice and easy and friendly, with a smile on his face and a gun shoved into the waistband of his jeans.
"Hey, fellas," he says. They're a little younger than him and Marty. Early twenties, if he had to guess. "You guys camping? I've heard a lot of bad things about this place. Wouldn't be hanging out here if I were you."
"And yet here you are," says the guy with the rifle. He's taller than Matt, dressed in jeans, a plaid flannel shirt, and sturdy boots. He matches Matt's friendly smile and keeps his hands in sight, out to his sides, away from his rifle. Like he's working very hard at looking non-threatening. The other guy, who's even taller, is wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt. It's hard to get a read on them - they could be either woodsmen scouting out game, or college boys looking for a place to get scared and get drunk.
The hoodie guy pokes the other one with his elbow and starts motioning with his hands, and maybe Matt doesn't understand sign language, but he recognizes it when he sees it. The guy in the flannel shirt watches his hands intently, then his eyebrows go up slightly and he turns back to Matt. He takes a step forward, putting himself in front of hoodie guy. "So, is that a .45 in your pants, or are you just happy to see me?"
Marty bows up, like he always does when he thinks Matt is being threatened. "What's it to you?"
The taller one narrows his eyes, because you can read Marty's attitude even if you can't hear a single word. He puts his hands in his hoodie pocket in a way that would look completely harmless to a casual observer, but Matt feels his brother tense up even further and he knows they're thinking the same thing - the kid just got a grip on a weapon.
But the first guy just laughs. "No, it's cool; it's actually a good idea to be armed out here. You're right, it's a bad place. Not a safe place for anyone to hang out. Listen. I'm Jack." He nods his head toward the other kid. "This is Robert. We're not gonna hurt you, but you ought to be on your way."
There are probably a few reasons why a couple of armed guys might hang out at a known bisaan burrow and try to keep others away, but one jumps out at Matt. "Shit, Marty. They're here for the same reason we are. They're hunters." Jack and Robert shoot surprised glances at each other and slightly relax. "I'm Matt. This is my brother Martin. So, you guys know about the bisaan?"
Jack nods. "Our dads took them out during the last mating cycle, and they asked us to waste our spring break coming out here to keep a watch in case they missed one."
"Your dads?" Marty says, just as Matt remembers the same stories. "You guys are Winchesters?"
Jack throws his head back and laughs, then punches Robert in the arm. "See, man? I told you. Our reputation precedes us."
"It's not our reputation, dumbass," Robert quietly retorts. "It's theirs."
Matt's surprise at hearing him speak must show on his face, because Robert busts into a grin. "Oh, hey, I'm sorry," Matt stumbles. "I just thought... with the signing..."
"No, it's cool," Robert says. "I hear fine. But we learned sign language because of my mom, and it comes in handy on hunts sometimes."
"No shit," says Marty. "That's pretty slick." And Matt sighs at the sign language lessons that he knows are in his future. "You guys are brothers?"
"Cousins, technically," Robert replies. "But we kinda grew up together in a big family compound, so we might as well be brothers."
"And I'm guessing you are the sons of Jesse and Cesar," Jack says. "Thought they were going to retire after this hunt?"
"Eh, no hunters ever really retire, do they?" Marty shrugs.
"True enough," Jack grins. "Now, this is awesome timing. Cause nothing's gonna happen here. You know it, I know it. They took care of this shit 27 years ago. And we are out of beer. And I didn't want to leave him alone while I ran into town, just in case I'm wrong about nothing happening, but now you're here." He turns to Matt. "How about we let the kids keep watch and you and I go on a beer run? I would have sent Robby already, but the little twerp's only 20 and he can't legally buy beer yet."
Robert rolls his eyes. "Whatever, John-Boy."
"Robby, I swear to God," Jack bristles. "You call me John-Boy one more time and I'm gonna tie you to a tree and use you as wendigo bait."
Matt laughs. "I wouldn't worry about that, Robert. There haven't been any wendigoes in Colorado for almost a hundred years."
"Oh, Matt," says Jack, as he claps him on the shoulder and points him toward the truck. "You and I have a lot to talk about."
///
Do I feel guilty about posting, on Sam Winchester's birthday, a fic that has no Sam at all? Yes. But I'll live.
The title is from the Crosby, Stills and Nash song
"Teach Your Children."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-05-02 07:07 pm (UTC)I do hope Sam and Eileen have a happy ever after. And Dean with some one VERY patient too.
no subject
Date: 2016-05-03 10:37 pm (UTC)Oh, wait.
no subject
Date: 2016-05-02 10:10 pm (UTC)And you gave him a nice, somewhat-functional family, so I'm sure he'll forgive you. Loved this. :D
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Date: 2016-05-03 10:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-03 12:31 am (UTC)Really lovely work.
no subject
Date: 2016-05-03 10:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-05-03 12:43 pm (UTC)I loved this; seeing the extended generations, and how they bond too, just like their fathers did years before.
Thank you for sharing :)
no subject
Date: 2016-05-03 08:33 pm (UTC)I like how snarky all the boys are, and can't wait for them to get a bit buzzed and start sharing their dad's (dads' ?) tales.
no subject
Date: 2016-05-03 10:33 pm (UTC)Don't worry. The Cuestas boys don't go looking for trouble, and the Winchester boys are in college (note that this is their spring break) so their parents don't intend for them to be full-time hunters.
(Why yes, I do have a ridiculous amount of headcanon about the family, why do you ask?)
no subject
Date: 2016-05-03 10:35 pm (UTC)Oh, ha ha, I see what you did there. Of course Dean's the father. You think I'm gonna let those genes go to waste?
no subject
Date: 2016-05-06 01:58 am (UTC)