Ahh! Okay, I know this took forever. I knoooow don't yell at me. Okay, so like, I had this funeral, and then like, being there for family time, and then GISHWHES, and then more coping time, then a wedding, and lots of "wash it away with drinking" time, and then out of town family was sprinkled in there with a big dose of cookouts and going broke and I can't even put gas in my car right now guys, and now there's ANOTHER funeral and more out of town family and like, labor day, and school starts soon and I mean, hello, Harley's 110th is coming up NEXT WEEKEND AND I MEAN, DUH, and like, I'VE BEEN BEYOND SWAMPED DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I AM SAYING TO YOU ALL RIGHT NOW?!

Sorry. I do that sometimes.
Now that I have ranted though. I do apologize for the delay. I have been quite busy and I have really been trying to get this prompt out because it was a request.
Before I dive in, I want to thank all of you who PMed or contacted me about my baby cousin's passing. You guys made me cry with your compassion and generosity - really. I couldn't believe how many of you cared so much. You're the absolute definition of what a human being should be. You warmed every part of my heart and soul, and I cannot express my love or gratitude enough.

Onto the chapter. This lovely piece was requested by sweetkiwi604who is an absolute doll, and HAS CREATED A COMBINATION SIS-FIC OHMYGOD GO CHECK IT OUT RIGHT NOW. It's called Sisterhood of the Traveling Hunters and is has four amazing sisters - including Becca - in it. I swear you're gonna love it. There are quick links to the story and to her page in both my "Favorites" and "Follows" tabs. Okay, I'm getting off track. Onto her chapter request. :)

"I would love to see how you would approach the Winchesters trying to be 'normal' for a day. Fic would include Dean, Sam, Becca, and John doing something/trying something whether it be bowling or mini-golf or maybe going to a baseball game..."
(She has also requested that the story be written in the 3rd person POV. :) And yes, it is in 3rd person, but I don't think I detailed it up to her or your expectations. If you would prefer I revisit and fix it, please, do tell.)

Well, I did my best on here for you, love. It may not be bowling or mini-golf, but I do think it is something that the Winchesters could have participated in once or twice. And although I did try very hard to keep each character true to Supernatural canon and fashion, I had to try to make it something realistic-ly Becca-ish. I hope you get what I mean..

If you ever have a request, please, PM me! :)

Without further ado!

READ. REVIEW. ENJOY. :)

Disclaimer.

But That Bass Though...

Ages:
Dean - 16
Sam/Becca - 12

Year:
1995; Late Summer (before Becca's broken nose)

3rd Person POV

The bright, uncovered sun hung just above eye level as evening approached the normally quiet Utah landscape. Insects sang out their songs in different octaves of buzzing while a few cars in the distance passed by on the interstate that sat off towards the west. For such a lonely, open area, John Winchester felt very weighed down and crowded. He squinted his eyes towards the sun as it loomed over head, and his unshaven chin lowered as his dry lips parted and he was at a loss for words to explain what was going through his mind. The long, persistent cry of a horn shook him from his trance like state, causing him to blink his now watering eyes and close his mouth before lifting his right hand and placing it on the slick surface of the Impala. With one quick flick of his wrist, he slammed the lid of the trunk closed, allowing himself to have a direct view of the smug look that had taken up residency on his eldest child's face.

Dean's clothes clung to him in a mass of wrinkled and distressed lines from the sweat that covered him like a second skin. Streaks of dirt ran haphazardly up his left arm, while his right hand loosely hung onto his now discarded button up flannel. Shallow cuts littered across both cheeks and forehead while a deeper one ran into the bottom of his full lower lip, slowly forming droplets that would drip to the earth below. Not that these cuts and the tears in the shirt and the small areas of now congealing blood weren't important; but, the only thing that ran through John's mind as he took in the sight of his son was that he was alive. That was the most important thing of all.

"We made a hell of a team, huh, Dad?" Dean's smug expression began to creep from his face into his tone of voice.

A small curve pulled John's lips upward as he mentally took in the site and words to forever remember. Inhaling and trying to seem more interested than he actually felt himself to be, John shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn leather jacket. "Yeah, son," he grinned, sinking farther into his feet, "we did. You up for some grub?"

Dean's eyes gleamed for a moment before the corners dropped slightly and the brightness faded at the lack of praise from his father. Dean's shoulder slumped and the hem of his shirt pooled onto the ground at his feet. The desire to look up and directly ask if he'd done a good job or for any kind of recognition lasted only an instant before he straightened his posture out once more and shoved the yearning down. Softening his eyes and losing the smug look on his face, Dean hardened a little bit both inside and out, just like he had since the first day he no longer received that admiration. "Yeah. I can always eat. You want me to call Sam and Bec, see if they want anything?" he questioned as his mind immediately shifted to his younger siblings who he knew would be waiting for them, perhaps hungry themselves.

"Nah," John looked over to the sun once more. "We'll grab them on the way. "

As Dean's ears perked up at this, he watched in wonder as his father started walking towards the driver's side door. He couldn't remember the last time his father didn't seem at least a little bit put out to have to remember the younger two that generally got left behind on a hunt. It was almost expected that Dean would have to remind him of their need for nourishment, always to be greeted with that remembrance and sigh of pain over having to make sure they were still okay instead of celebrating another kill, and essentially another day of survival.

Opening the door to the motel room, Dean's eyes widened as he froze in the door way in front of his father. It was as though he had hit and passed through a wall into a second dimension of sorts; or at least the wreckage of a tornado. Every light in the room was on its brightest setting; creating a glow that Dean didn't think the sun outside could even hold a candle to. Beside the TV stand were a stack of cushions, pillows, and even a mattress that looked as though it had toppled down out of its own accord rather than by someone else's force. Lined paper, both straight and balled, littered not only the floor, but the tables, the empty couch, and the one bed. Neither bed was made; instead there was a pile of blankets on the floor at the edge of the bed missing the mattress while other bed sat naked with no sheets or blankets. Loud music was filling the air from the small radio that sat against the edge of the couch, where the missing sheet was tucked under the back rest, and laying on the floor with a tear in it.

When John pushed past his son, his eyes widened and his mouth dropped before he slammed the door shut with a force that rattled the windows. A round, brunette head popped past the frame of the bathroom door, and wide, surprised, green eyes stared ahead towards the tall men that had recently entered.

Knowing she'd been seen, Becca took an inhale before slowly stepping out of the bathroom, her left hand clutching the dingy, rough, white cotton cloth to her upper right arm. "Uh, hey, Dad… Dean…" she shyly welcomed as she came all the way into the main part of the motel room. "Good hunt?" she attempted, hoping that they wouldn't ask what had happened and instead pretend they didn't see the disaster around them.

"Dean, find out where that music's coming from and shut off," John instructed to his son while his eyes never left his daughter. Trying to keep his temper under control, he held out a hand and went to indicate to the room around him – but as Dean clicked off the radio, John's hand dragged down his face. "Rebecca, take off that blanket."

Reaching her right arm up, sure to keep her left over the gash they couldn't see, she felt around her neck for the tied knot that Sam had produced for her when she'd mentioned the wish for a cape. As her long fingers slowly worked at the fabric, each word came out practically as it own, causing Becca to grow anxious at to what exactly would be awaiting her when she finished. "Um, well, see," she began, avoiding her father's eyes and instead staring at his feet. "I mean, we got really bored, and that Funniest Home Videos show was on… and then this one kid caught his dad in like, a parachute thing mad out of what looked like a sheet, okay? So then like, Sam said you would never really be able to make a guy bounce like that kid did, 'cause man, Dad, his dad went like, super high into the air, right? So then like, I was totally telling Sam you could too do that! I mean, the kid did it! Right there on TV! But then, Sam was all, 'the fabric is too thin, it would never work', so I told him you so could, because –"

"Okay, stop," John cut her off with an uplifted hand. He knew that he wanted straight, clear answers then he had to talk to Sam. "Where's your brother?"

Becca's eyes shot towards the door behind her father and then to his face, where he stood waiting for an answer. Licking her lips, the wheels in her head spun crazily as she tried to come up with a good enough excuse for Sam to not get punished when he came back. They knew better than to leave the room, and Sam had definitely left. Granted, a run for supplies to fix her arm didn't seem like such a bad reason, Becca and Sam both knew better. They hadn't contacted their father or Dean for permission, or to let either of them know about Sam's necessity – never the less, she knew they would both be in trouble. "Uh, well, um," she stuttered as her father stuck out a finger and bent it repeatedly as an indication for her to close the distance between them. Slowly stepping away from the blanket that now laid on the floor, Becca took a few steps closer to her father.

"Rebecca… where is your brother?" John demanded in a smooth, low voice, making her swallow.

"He went out," she practically whispered as she did her best to look more towards the ground than towards his eyes.

"Where did he go, Becs?" Dean's voice asked from behind her as he recognized the anger flashing in his father's eyes. He knew an explosion would happen. It was only time.

A light catch in her throat made it sound as though Becca were fighting back tears – a task she'd been struggling with for years now. She didn't like to show tears anymore. They only seemed to make her father angrier, and they only made situations with Dean more awkward. Therefore she did her best to keep them at bay completely, or at least suppressed until she could sit in the shower alone with the running water to intermix with them. Trying to control her emotions, she did her best to mimic the hardness that she had seen Dean carry and perfect for years. "We needed supplies. You guys had the first aid kit, and even though I'd told him I was fine, Sam thought it be best to take care of it before you got back," she broke down and told her brother without any hesitation.

Over the years, even if Dean hadn't gotten along as well with his sister as he did with his brother, he'd always managed to get the truth out of her. It had begun with a look that did it, but as the years progressed, he could speak in a specific tone which eventually led all the way to just asking the simple question. Even with their fights getting worse with each passing day and each growing teenage hormone, Becca was always honest with him. Dean knew she didn't necessarily respect him or agree with him on much, and he didn't have pride or patience in everything she did, but they had that. She was honest with him, and he always believed her. They had an underlying bond of loyalty and trust – and that was one of the highest things on Dean's list of positives for his relationship with his sister. No matter how short the list was.

There was a sigh from both sides of Becca, one more annoyed than the other which was reaching a breaking point. "What happened?" John dragged out, drawing his daughter's focus to the front of her once more.

"I tried jumping from the tower we'd made, into the sheet. I ended up falling on the edge of the table, and the glass dish that was on it fell onto the floor and broke, cutting my arm and the sheet." Before John could react further than his widening eyes and looking to where her right hand still clutched at the left arm with the cotton cloth that was now continuing to grow a bright shade of red, Dean was at their side, lifting her hand away from the gash. "Ow," Becca whined, as Dean forced the move. "No, Dean, that hurts. It's really not that bad. Just wait, Sam will be back soon!"

Dean shot his sister a look, only to cause her to look at her father for some sort of back up, and receive none. Groaning, Becca allowed her hand to move and showed a deep, dark red gash in her upper arm, where blood was continuing to flow out of it.

"Jesus Christ, Rebecca," John immediately spit, dragging her to the bed and forcing her to sit down as he snapped his fingers in an indication for Dean to bring him the first aid kit. He inspected the cut, and caught her pleading eyes with his own angry ones. "How many times have I told you guys to just stay in the room, lock the door, and not draw any attention to yourself? Do you know how much trouble you two could have brought on us if someone had reported all the noise you guys made?"

He didn't mean to, but his grip tightened on her arm, causing her to wince and quietly whimper in agony. Catching himself, he threw her arm down, almost too forcefully and allowed her brother to take over as he shoved himself from the bed and began to pace the room. He felt as though the walls were closing in on him. The summer months always seemed to do that to him. If it had just been the two boys, he figured it might be easier to handle, but Becca was a different case. She was clumsy, beyond clumsy, and she drew attention. She held an innocence about her that slowed them down, even with her training. She didn't handle the guns as well as Sam and Dean, and she was never out of questions. Even if she took in the instruction, you could see the wheels turning and the expressions on her face fight against being shown. She was different from Sam in that respect. Sam voiced his disdain and fought against what it was he was told – Becca didn't like to stir up any problems within her family. She felt as though there were enough. She'd learned at a young age, there were certain things in the world you could count on. There would always be monsters, that her father would try and protect her from. Family looked out for family. And her father could only protect her if she did what she was told – no matter how she felt about it.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, John stopped and inhaled deeply. The air seemed thick and full, and he felt as though he couldn't catch a proper breath. Dragging his fingers along his face, he peered over the tops of them and saw the chaos that filled the room and he felt an anger boil inside of him. Looking to the left as a hiss sounded from Becca when Dean began to clean the wound with what little peroxide and alcohol he had, he took in the site. She was cut, and depending on how poorly Dean stitched her, she could scar. Dean himself had blood on his face, and was covered in dirt and sweat from their hunt where John himself had almost gotten distracted by his sons own safety. Sam wasn't back, and even though Sam was about as smart and trustworthy as they come, John couldn't take the chance. He couldn't protect Sam if Sam wasn't there.

A mix of emotions suddenly swirled around John and he fought against the pull of filling himself with alcohol until everything inside and out went completely numb. It was as though it was his only escape. If he drank enough he could sleep, a deep sleep, a sleep that wasn't revolving around fires or fear of losing what little family he had left – the family that kept him connected with Mary, the family she'd fought to save. The motel door opened, drawing John from his start of a downward spiral, and he instantly moved, snapping out of the swarm of craziness that consumed him. He needed out. He needed peace. He needed a moment of true freedom.

"Let's go, all of you. Now. Sam, you can patch your sister up in the car. Come on, move!" he bellowed as his children stared at him as though he were speaking in tongues. As though some sort of spark ignited, all three jumped up and started to collect things from around the room, as though they had two minutes to escape. "No," he abruptly halted all movement. "Becca, grab the first aid kit, Sam, grab cooler and fill it with beers, and Dean, start the car. We're not leaving town just yet."

"Ew, I'm not touching that," Becca decided when Dean held out the leach for her to take.

"Take. The leach. Becca," he enunciated, his eyes narrowing and his hand further extending towards her.

Bending forward, so her face was a few small inches away from her brother's, Becca dragged out a deepened, "Nooooo," as a sort of mock to his demand.

"Damn it, Becca!" Dean leapt up from the bench, ready for the attack and prepared himself to get in her face. His sister jumped back, terrified of the sudden action. A yelp escaped from her mouth and just as Dean was towering over her curled up form, with his free arm searching for hers so as to put the leach in her hand, their father came down the pier towards them.

"Dean, leave your sister alone," John spoke monotonously as he lifted his tackle box over his children and stopped at the end of the pier.

As Dean stood up straight, he spiked the leach into the water and gave a killer glare towards his sister. Becca stood up sheepishly, a little thankful that her father had stopped Dean. "Way to be a girl, Bec," Sam seemed to scold as he walked past her with a cooler and a few poles. Seeing her face fall slightly at the comment, he smiled and nudged her playfully, causing a wide grin to form on her face and her eyes to sparkle with their normal brightness.

Smirking, Becca flipped her hair towards her twin. "I am a girl, Sam," she jested before attempting to strut down towards the end of the pier where the boat sat rocking in the water. She managed a few confident steps before slipping on a small puddle on one of the boards and stumbling into Dean who then had to fight toppling over into the boat itself.

Turning off the boat's engine, John turned to face the three expectant children in front of him. Becca was casually leaning against Sam's legs while he gripped the three poles tightly on top his lap, being extra careful not allow the hooks to catch in his sister's hair. Dean was seated on the seat just in front of John, working on one pole as he had been instructed, preparing it for the evening's activity.

"Hand those poles over, Sammy," John directed with an outstretched hand and small smile. Sam did as he was told while Becca ducked her head out of the way.

After a few moments of quick coaching as to how to properly work the fishing pole and proper procedures to take when removing the fish, each young Winchester had a pole in hand, ready to cast their line. John watched as Sam stood, completely focused, fingers wrapped tightly around the pole, eyes staring forward to the place he was determined to sink his lure, dedicated to the task at hand just like he was with everything else he did in life. Sam was committed, and that was something John took pride in knowing. Casting his eyes to Becca, John saw the lowered brow line and pursed lips as she eyed her hands on the pole repeatedly. He was sure that if he put enough effort into listening, he would be able to hear the wheels turning in her head and hear her own voice telling her each step over and over again. He watched as the hook swung off in the distance, separating his daughter from the leach Dean had reluctantly shoved onto the metal piece. Her stance was stiff, her legs more than shoulder width apart, as though she were ready for an attack. He chuckled quietly to himself at her dramatics that always seemed to accompany her. Turning to look at Dean, John watched Dean's eyes flutter back and forth between Sam and the pole in his own hands. Dean knew that Sam would know exactly what he was doing. There were many things that John was aware of Dean to be confident in, and it still took him by surprise that when his eldest seemed uncertain, he would rely on his brother for clarification. Taking in the site of his children, John almost felt himself slip into a long lost calmness and happiness that he used to reside in. Forcing himself to take on an alerted persona, he cleared his throat and drew six eyes up towards his face.

"All right. Go ahead and cast your lines. We came here to fish, not stand around like a bunch of fools with poles," he told them. Each child watched as John clicked his own reel and swiftly took his arm back behind his head and then threw the line forward, causing each of their eyes to watch as the leach plunged into the water with a soft plop. Sighing, John set his pole into the holder that was attached to the side of the boat, and sat himself on the bench. "All right," he told them as the continued to watch as he set the line and then opened a beer. "Cast!"

Sam was the first to send out the line, smiling in a satisfied manner when he managed to land the bobber directly where he'd planned. Setting his own line, he sat down in his seat and propped his feet on the edge of the boat before pulling a book out of the inside of his jacket and opening it. In perfect Sam fashion, he became engrossed, checking his line between each page. John rolled his eyes in a disbelieving way as Dean's arm went above his father's head as he drew his pole back. With a sharp cut in the air, Dean's line flew out with a long noise of the line unraveling from within the reel. Setting his line, Dean threw himself onto the seat in front of his father, his smug smirk on his face as he noticed his bobber bouncing past where his younger brother had landed his own. Reaching into the cooler, John pulled out a beer and handed it to his eldest before turning to see his daughter standing in the same position as before.

"What's wrong, Becca?" he questioned as he failed to see her point in not casting out the line.

"What do we do when we put the line out there?" she posed not looking at him, but instead to his bobber in the distance.

"We wait," Dean spit to her as if she were dumb.

Shooting her brother a look, she then faced her father. "We just wait. That's it? There's nothing else? Like, we don't keep casting or anything? And what if the string thing breaks? Or like, I hook Sam in the eyeball or something? I mean, I don't know how to fish! Why are we even out here! This boat is so tiny and why can't Dean sit on the floor!?"

Standing up and setting his beer down, John stood behind his daughter. "Stop," he told her calmly. "Just relax. Here, press down on the button, pull back, and then throw it forward."

Becca sighed and nodded her head, watching her father nod his own head in an indication to continue. Pressing the button like instructed, she pulled her arm back and checked over her shoulder to double and triple check that she hadn't caught her hook on her twin, and then exhaled before sending her entire arm forward, releasing on the button, sending her line forward. A smile overtook her face and she restrained herself from jumping and throwing herself on her father in happiness. Listening to her father's next words of setting the line, she set it down and then looked around her to see everyone else completely at ease and doing their own thing. Dean's eyes were closed as he lounged on the seat with a smile, a beer clutched in his hand while his pole sat in the other. Sam's feet were still perched on the rim of the boat while he was hunched over, completely consumed by the story in his hands. John was sitting in the chair staring ahead, seeming pained, and as though he were holding back from something.

Becca didn't know what to do. She hadn't brought anything, and if she were honest with herself, she was already bored. Huffing, she dropped to the floor next to her pole and leaned back, her legs stretched out all the way in front of her, almost reaching the other side. Closing her eyes, she tried to fall into relaxation and ignore the light sting that continued to linger in her now stitched arm. Her bliss was short lived as a pain in the back of her shoulders emerged from the boat digging into her. Snapping her eyes open, she brought her legs up and leaned forward, staring ahead of her.

"Hey, Sam," she spoke, narrowing her eyes as she scanned the water. "Where's your floating ball thing?"

Sam's eyes looked from his sister into the water ahead of him, where the bobber was no longer visible. "Reel it in, Sammy!" Dean quickly pushed as Sam dropped his book and feet to the floor of the boat and grabbed his pole.

Dragging the fish towards the boat seemed to be a struggle for Sam as he ended up standing and watched as his pole took a curved shape, the tip of it getting closer and closer to the water's edge. No one in the boat moved to help Sam, all of them staring in wonder as his lips thinned and pushed together into one tight line, and his feet took on a stance of preparation. The knuckles on his hands were white and the muscles in his young arms were straining. All it took was one hard tug and the large fish emerged in the water and wriggled in the air against Sam's hold on the pole. Turning his body and bringing the fish towards the boat, Becca saw the fish coming toward her head. Jumping up, she hopped to the side of the boat furthest from her twin, causing it to sway and bounce in response. Grabbing onto the back of his chair, Sam swung the pole further into the boat and directly into his sister before dropping it.

"EW! IT TOUCHED ME! Get it, get it, get it!" Becca yelled as the fish fell from where it'd slapped against her arm and then flopped around on boat. Becca continued to hop around, trying her best to avoid having the fish touch her again, only to cause the boat to sway back and forth violently.

"SIT DOWN!" all other occupants in the boat shouted as water splashed over the sides and now flooded the plastic carpeting at the feet.

Throwing herself down, she squirmed and then broke out in a distressed cry-complaint. Sam could hardly contain himself as he leaned back in his chair and began to laugh. "Ew…" Becca whined, already starting to stand up to assess the situation.

"What now?" John sighed as he finished catching the large fish and dropping it into the bucket they'd brought along. He found himself starting to think that fishing might not have been the best idea after all.

Sam continued to gasp for breath as Becca's cheeks grew red from embarrassment. "She-she," Sam struggled to get out as he pointed. "She sat," he began to laugh harder at having to say what happened.

"It's. Not. Funny," she fumed as she rolled to her knees and turned to face her twin.

A sputtering came from behind her as Dean looked up to see numerous leaches suck to the seat of his sister's pants. As Dean did his best to not fall into laughter like his brother, he nudged his father and motioned for him to look. John's eyes shot from his son's struggling face to where his daughter was kneeling and trying to wipe up her mess. Internally groaning, he himself already was regretting to have to talk to her.

"Bec," he cleared his throat, "Rebecca." Her head spun around to look at her father questioningly. Motioning for her to come to him, he pulled her down and whispered the problem in her ear.

Larger laughs rang from Sam as he finally saw the attached leaches, and Becca froze out of mortification. Slowly her hands made it to the seat of her pants and she began to cry. John shot an angry look to his youngest son who silenced immediately at both the look and the sound of his sister's true unhappiness while Dean kept his head bent so he could clear the smile off of his face and re-emerge completely calm and collected. Becca did her best to pull off each leach, wordlessly hating every moment she had left on the boat. She was convinced that there was no possible way for anything to possibly get worse.

"Damn it, Becca! Look what you did!" Dean growled as he indicated to the paddle that was floating a good five feet from the side of the boat, not far from his can of beer.

"I didn't do it, you did!" she argued, stomping her foot.

"Your gonna get that net, and you're gonna bring that oar and beer back into this boat," he demanded.

Sam was giggling at the site in front of him, while John did his best to keep a straight face at his children's interactions. Here, his sixteen year old son was towering over his twelve year old daughter. Both had clenched fists at their sides, and the same "try me, I dare you" looks on their faces. For how much Becca was like her twin, she was just as much like her eldest brother; but possibly in the worst ways. Both were stubborn and a little close-minded, Dean much more so than Becca. She had learned a finer art of accepting people from Sam – and it played nicely with her faith in humanity. However, neither Dean nor Becca liked to back down – and struggled at times to even do it with their father – least of all with each other. John had come to notice that since his daughter had "grown up" last year, she'd become much more opinionated and there was an ever growing rift between her and Dean. And here, they stood – a mirrored image, both not willing to give in.

Dean growled and stepped closer to his sister, who almost failed to notice. "I said grab the net," he seethed.

Standing up taller, Becca stepped toe-to-toe with him. "And I'm saying no."

"Grab the net."

"No."

"Grab it."

"Nooooooo."

"Why not!?"

"You didn't say please!"

"Please grab the net."

"Not with that attitude."

"Damn it," Dean lurched forward to tackle his sister and the small boat swayed heavily under the movement. As Dean dove ahead towards his sibling, she stumbled back on top of Sam, falling onto his lap and causing him to drop his pole into the water on the other side of the boat.

Angry at the antics of his children, and worried that one of them, if not all of them would end up in the deep water he stood up and grabbed the collar of his son's shirt, and forced him into a seat. "That's enough!" he hollered, causing everything minus the movements of the boat to stop. "You two have sent a pole, and an oar into the water, and one of you is going to give me an answer as to how to get them out. Which one of you is it gonna be?" he questioned, indicating to Dean and Becca.

Dean smirked. "I say we throw Becca in after them."

"Shut up, Dean," she yelled back, earning a look from her father.

John's eyes could have killed them all. "If you two ever plan on hunting together, you're gonna need to learn to work together. Becca, you're never goin' to be able to come on a hunt with me if you can't control your anger –"

"But –" Becca stopped talking when John's eyes narrowed in her direction.

After grumblings and further disagreements, it was finally decided that both of them would do their best to collect the things floating away from the boat. As Dean's arms were longer, he was to hold the net while Becca tried to maneuver the floating device closer to the lost items. While reaching out as far as she could for the oar that Dean had scooped close to her fingertips, Becca accidentally kicked over the bucket that had been holding the numerous fish they'd caught throughout their time on the water. As the fish jumped around the floor, and one right into her, she jumped and lurched forward, attempting to stand up. As she fumbled with her balance, her calves smacked against the side of the boat, and even with Sam and Dean's attempts to catch her hands, she toppled over into the water, pulling her eldest brother with her.

Popping her head above the surface, she looked around her to see both of the oars, the net, multiple cans, and a pole floating around her. Reaching out she grasped a cold can and held it out towards Dean. "Thirsty?" she sheepishly tried as some sort of an apology, only to throw her arm over her face as he swept his hand over the water and splashed her. Growling, she immediately retaliated.

Watching as water flew back and forth between the two of them, John sighed and leaned back as far as his chair allowed, exhausted more after being with them than he had been from the hunt. Turning his head to the right, he smiled as Sam just leaned forward and shook his own head at his siblings' antics. "Well, Sammy," John spoke, causing his son's head to look at him with wonder. "I think next time we just get fish from some diner and call it a day."