A/N: Just an idea I had.
Darkness was nearing, and great sighs of wind blew through the trees, rippling the little brook that sliced through the grass. George shuffled items around in his bag, looking for food. He swore angrily to himself when he saw that there was only one can of beans left. He'd have to get more before long. Suddenly, there was a yelp behind him. George jumped up and whipped around. His eyes widened in horror as he saw Lennie clutching a very-red hand, and the sleeve was on fire.
"Lennie!" shouted George. He jumped over the twigs and grabbed Lennie's hand, shoving it down into the thick grass. Swirls of black smoke twisted into the air in George's face as the fire was extinguished. Lennie's eyes were huge, and he looked horribly frightened.
"Lennie, you crazy son of a bitch!" yelled George angrily, brandishing Lennie's hand in front of his face. "What the hell you stickin' your hand in the fire for?"
"George . . . it stung me. Was there a bee?"
"No you crazy jackass, it was the fire!" shouted George, waving his hands at the orange flames. He smacked Lennie's face firmly. "Now you listen to me, goddamit. You don'tever touch that again, you understand me? Lennie!" he said loudly when Lennie did nothing more than stare off into the distance. "Did you hear me?"
Then, it seemed as though the shock had seemed to wear off, and Lennie's face contorted and tears sprung to his eyes. His shoulders heaved with great sobs as he clutched his swollen hand. George closed his eyes in agitation, but when he opened them he had calmed.
"Lennie, listen to me," he said gently, but firmly. "I's sorry if I scared ya . . . but ya gotta know, Lennie! Fire ain't meant for touchin'! It's meant for cookin' an warmin' ya up in the winter!"
"George, it hurt!" moaned Lennie. "I din' mean to, honest! George!"
George patted him on the shoulder.
"Com'on now, Lennie. I knew guys what got their hands chopped off in machines! And a big guy like you cryin' over a few burnt fingers?"
This did nothing to improve Lennie's terror.
"I din' get my hand caught in no machine, George!" he sobbed. "I's just wanted to touch it like I touch the mice!"
"O'course ya did, ya big dummy. You wanna touch ever'thin' ya see." He smacked Lennie on the back firmly.
"Com'on," he said. "Don't 'chu go cryin' on me now.
Giving Lennie time to regain control, George walked over to his pack and pulled out the can of beans. He jammed his knife in it and sawed the lid off. He tossed the tin lid into the grass and pulled two spoons from his pack. As he came back, Lennie seemed to have calmed slightly.
"You want some supper?" asked George, tossing him a spoon. The spoon flew into the air and landed in the grass right to Lennie's left. Lennie seemed to come to and searched frantically for the spoon till he found it. George had to refrain from rolling his eyes.
"I din' mean to, George," Lennie repeated quietly.
"I know that," replied George. "Just don't touch fire again, okay?"
"Okay."
George took another bite of the beans before taking off his cap and ruffling his hair. He flipped over so he was lying face-up on the grassy ground and staring up into the tops of the trees, the stars twinkling down upon the both of them. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. But he had a feeling someone was watching him. He cracked one single eye open and saw that Lennie was staring at him intently, as though George must of had a bug on his face.
"What?" growled George.
"What's fire made of?" asked Lennie, completely unperturbed that he had disturbed George. George rolled his eyes.
"I dunno, orange air, for chrissakes. Why do you care?"
"I's just thought it was purty."
"Not ever'thing tha's good-lookin' is good forya, Lennie."
"Why not?"
"That's just the way it is."
"But why is it that way?"
"Christ, Lennie, just go to sleep!"
There was a moment of silence before Lennie spoke again. "I been bad?" he whispered.
"No, you ain't been bad. Just stupid," said George, glaring morosely at the inside of his eyelids.
"You mad at me, George?"
"I just said I ain't, Lennie."
"You sound mad."
"Well, I ain't. I just don' want you stickin' yer head in no lion's mouth is all."
"Lion's mouth?"
"Means I don' want you gettin' in no trouble."
"I din' mean to."
"I know ya din'."
"I'm gonna try harder nex' time," said Lennie quietly. "I'm gonna try not to touch it."
"No," said George firmly, sitting up, and propping himself up on one elbow. "You definitelynot gonna touch it, ya hear?"
"Yeah, George. I hear."
George looked searchingly at him for a few moments. "What did I just say, Lennie?"
Lennie looked at George with a far-off look in his eyes. "You said I's not gonna touch."
"Touch what?" asked George quickly.
Lennie's face was scrunched up in thought.
"You ain't gonna touch the fire!" snapped George. "The fire, Lennie!"
"Oh," said Lennie. "Oh okay George. I's not gonna touch the fire."
"And you's gonna remember ever'thin' I told ya?"
"I swear, George."
"Good, now turn over and get some sleep."
"Okay, George."
But as Lennie turned over and began to snore quietly, George somehow knew that Lennie would notremember. He might touch the fire again, and get hurt worse. Hell, the big idiot might stupidly blunder into the fire and get completely torched. But he, George, would not let that happen. He stared at Lennie's back, which rose and fell with each shuddering breath he took. He'd have to protect Lennie with every inch of power that he held. He would make sure that Lennie wouldn't get hurt. He would be sure of it. George turned over onto his side, and closed his eyes. His mind began to wander, dreaming up countless horrible things that could happen to Lennie. He imagined the poor fellow walking straight over a cliff, over into more fire. He saw his friend's skin burn black, the senseless eyes glowing with fear and misunderstanding. Screams of pain riddled George's mind, until the horrible thoughts were too much to bear.
George opened his eyes, and stared at the dirt in front of him. His arm was laid out next to him, his fists were clenched and white. He released the tension and felt the cool, powdery dirt under his fingers. He looked back over at Lennie again, and fully realized for the first time how far he'd have to go to keep Lennie out of trouble.
"C'est la vie," muttered George, his voice twinged with a bitter melancholy. Sleep soon overtook him, and he had no more dreams.