Started: 18.10.13
Finished: 18.11.30
Words: 2,111
Wee!Chesters (2018’s Christmas Fic)
Bobby awoke startled, hearing a loud crash from the kitchen, what in the hell…? He was out of his chair in an instant, stalking his way over to the kitchen doors, hand on his gun, mentally running through the salt-line check he’d done before falling asleep.
He opened the door and sighed in relief as he saw the five-year old jump up from the floor.
“Jesus, Boy, you almost gave me a heart attack,” he leaned himself against the door, eyes roaming over the flour-covered counter, “Whatcha doing, Sammy?”
The brunette swallowed thickly and ‘hid’ a cookie sheet behind his back, eyes threatening to spill over with tears, “… Nothing,” at the mans’ eyebrow raise he sighed in defeat, bottom lip poking out, “I-I’ll clean it up…”
“Clean up?” Bobby craned his neck a bit so he could see over the counter and noted the un-cooked cookies that littered the floor, “Now why would you do that?”
Sammy blinked in surprise as Bobby got an apron out of the closet, “… What?”
Bobby’s heart broke, John what the hell have you done to this boy? He took the cookie sheet from the child and placed it on the counter, before winking, grabbing the mixing bowl, “We can’t let you destroy the kitchen for nothing.”
—
“Wow,” Sammy was practically laying on the counter, watching the cookies cool on a wire rack.
Bobby chuckled as he washed the last of the dishes, “You’d think you’d never seen a cookie before.”
“I’ve seen cookies,” he rolled his eyes, “I just can’t believe I made these!”
“Hey, what am I? Chopped liver?”
“I know you helped but still…” he reached out to touch one, recoiling as it burnt his finger, “These look like real cookies. Like the ones you get at a store!” He turned to the older man, “I can’t believe we turned eggs and milk and all that stuff into these! It’s like magic!”
Bobby did his best to hold in his laughter, “Yeah, cooking is pretty cool.”
“Definitely,” he tilted his head a bit to the side, “… can making cookies be a job?”
“Yep,” Bobby leaned against the counter, taking a swig from his beer, “They’re called bakers.”
“Really?” his eyes went wide and he gave a thousand-watt smile, “That’s so cool! Do you think…” he bit his lip and averted his eyes, smile fading, “Do you think I could do that?”
“’Course.”
“But won’t Dad-”
“It doesn’t matter what John says,” he narrowly stopped himself from hitting the counter, “I mean,” he took a deep breath, “you should do whatever you want to do. Don’t worry if John doesn’t understand. Do what makes you happy.”
Sammy nodded before turning back to the cookies, “I want to make these every day!”
Bobby smiled, going over to ruffle his hair, “Then you do that.”
Just then, the boys heard a rumble from outside, the Impala.
Sammys’ face lit up again and he practically jumped off the counter, running to the front door, “They’re back!”
The brunette sped to the front hall before – much to Bobbys’ surprise – bee lining for the stairs, bedroom door slamming shut.
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