or: my rewrite of season twelve where there’s no bmol cause i hate them <3 will be posting all twenty-three “episodes” on a weekly basis. happy 20th birthday supernatural!
In light of the update, I’m going to share a WIP that I started probably last summer while I was playing Harvest Moon like it was going out of style.
Title: A Bountiful Harvest
Pairing: Jack Zimmermann/Eric Bittle
Rating: T (for language, sorry folks!)
Word count: 1485
Status: Unfinished
Excerpt: "What the hell did I just witness, Lards?" Shitty hisses to her across Jack, as if Jack can't hear him.
"I think we just witnessed the most epic flirting since Rans and Holtzy had it out last spring" Lardo replies, leaning over in front of him.
Shitty nods. "I thought that's what I was seeing, I just thought I'd make sure."
"Oh, stop," Jack chuckles. "We were just introducing ourselves."
"Maybe you were," Lardo says, sitting back up and crossing her arms, "but Bits over there was flirting."
It's been two years since Jack first moved to the island. He started off with next to nothing: A plot of land riddled with rocks and weeds, poor soil, a ramshackle chicken coop, a barn with no roof, a hammer, a watering can, a hoe, and a dream. Thinking back on it, Jack realized that he had exactly what he needed, even if he thought he had nothing at the time. It was hard work, but it all paid off. He's got sixteen chickens, three cows, two sheep, a beautiful and fertile field, and a great fishing spot downstream from a waterfall.
He sells yarn, eggs, milk, and produce from his garden at the local flea market every weekend. The local tailor, Adam, buys yarn from Jack exclusively. The proprietor of the hotel, a man whom the entire town knows only as "Shitty", uses Jack's fruits to make liquor that he sells at the hotel bar for top dollar, of course giving Jack his fair share of the profit. His head chef Larissa swears by Jack's produce, having won the cooking contest three seasons in a row by making dishes made only from fruits and veggies grown in Jack's field.
Jack had to admit that moving to the island after his overdose was the best idea his father has had in a very long time. Jack wasn't meant to take over the family business, Bob reasoned.
"You're meant for great things, Jack," he said to his son after he made his recovery. "Why don't you go out to your mother's hometown for a while? Take it easy. Find out what it is you need to do to be happy. We'll support you no matter what you decide."
His mother's hometown, he recalled from the few times during his early childhood years, required a long ferry ride. What he didn't recall was that it was a small island with an even smaller town in the middle of a warm sea. That it was covered in grassy knolls and lined with white sand beaches. That the townspeople were jovial, animated, friendly, and more than happy to help.
He never imagined that he could be where he is today.
Bob and Alicia send him letters and sometimes packages. He writes them every week to tell them about the newcomers, the fishing, his friends, and his ranch. He receives nothing but loving encouragement in response.
--
It's a warm fall day - sunny with a light, fragrant breeze. Jack has finished his morning check-in with the animals, paying special attention to the newest members of his flock: a goat, a foal, and an ostrich chick that he's named after his uncle Wayne. He divides up the eggs he's collected over the week into three baskets: one to keep, one to sell at the weekend market, and one for Lardo (Larissa continues to insist he call her by her nickname, rather than "ma'am" and "Miss Duan"). He's sure to remove any feathers and stick-on bedding with a light rinse, then loads the baskets into his cart. The milk goes in next, the large metal containers perspiring in the morning sun. Then go crates of lettuce, spinach, cabbage, carrots, onions, beets, and leeks. Lardo will have her pick of them before he takes the rest to market.
There aren't many wild predators on the island, so he lets the chickens and sheep out to graze before checking that Belle, his most trusted cart cow, is securely harnessed. Then, taking one last look at the farm, he leads Belle and the cart toward town. Taking care to ensure that Belle isn't over-exerted, it's a good forty minute walk into town, one that would take him about thirty minutes on his own if he were just going to have dinner with Lardo and Shitty or visit with Adam and Justin
When he and Belle finally arrive at the Samwell Inn, he unharnesses her and leads her to the small pavilion in back usually reserved for horses.
"Thank you for your hard work today," he whispers to her, patting her shoulder.
He then grabs a basket of eggs from the cart and heads into the inn through the front door. While Shitty would normally be behind the bar counter and Lardo would be in the kitchen preparing for lunch service, they appear to be having some kind of party. Jack stops just inside the door, wondering if the postmaster, Johnson, forgot to bring by a notice from them about the celebration.
"Jack, my boy! Come in! Sit the fuck down and have a drink!" Shitty calls from one of the tables in the dining area of the lobby.
"What's the occasion, Shitty?" Jack asks, walking to the bar to set the crate down for Lardo.
"Today's new arrival is a old friend," she explains, handing Jack a glass of orange juice. "Last of the summer batch. Your fruits are miracles."
He raises his glass to her, smiling easily, "Not miracles, just quality."
"And he's modest too," Lardo laughs.
Jack takes a seat next to Shitty and sighs, "So where's the newcomer-slash-old friend?
Shitty grins. "Bits is upstairs putting away bags and things."
"Bits is…?"
"My apprentice," Lardo supplies, sitting down beside Jack and leaning against him. "Bits went to the mainland to train to be a pastry chef a few years ago."
"My ears were burnin', someone must be talkin' about me," a voice drawls from the stairs.
Jack looks up and feels like he's been kicked in the chest. Standing on the bottom step, wearing a pink apron over a powder blue button down and khakis, is the most beautiful boy he thinks he's ever seen. His smile is as bright as the sun, his big brown doe eyes warm as a summer day, and his hair the color of the honey that drips from the comb when he collects from his bees.
"Oh!" he exclaims, putting a hand on his chest. "You must be Jack!"
"You must be the infamous Bits," Jack responds, standing.
"Eric," the boy - young man, really; he can't be much younger than Jack - introduces himself, offering a hand. "Bits and Bitty come from my last name, Bittle. I answer to all of the above."
Jack shakes his hand, unable to hold back a smile. "You're from the South."
"Georgia," Eric confirms, smiling himself. "Though I think that we're a bit further south than that here. Where are you from? You have an interesting accent, Mr. Jack."
"Zimmermann," Jack supplies. "And I'm from Quebec."
"What brings you to our island, Mr. Jack Zimmermann from Quebec?" Eric asks Jack, like he isn't only just arriving on the island himself.
"Needed to start over," Jack says. That's way oversimplified, but essentially true
"You aren't a murderer, are you?" Eric asks, his eyes narrowing in mock suspicion.
Jack laughs, "No, not a murderer. Just retiring from the family business."
"I see," Eric muses. "Well, seeing as how you aren't givin' me any specific answers, I'm gonna assume that you don't wanna talk about it."
He looks to the kitchen, then back at Jack. "Do you like apple pie, Mr. Zimmermann? Made it myself.
"I love apple pie," Jack replies, grinning. "And, please, call me Jack."
Jack turns to sit back down while Eric makes his way to the kitchen. Shitty and Lardo sit, dumbfounded, on either side of him. Shitty's mouth hangs open, and Jack can imagine that his eyes are wide underneath his aviators. Lardo's got a knowing grin spreading across her face.
"What the hell did I just witness, Lards?" Shitty hisses to her across Jack, as if Jack can't hear him.
"I think we just witnessed the most epic flirting since Rans and Holtzy had it out last spring" Lardo replies, leaning over in front of him.
Shitty nods. "I thought that's what I was seeing, I just thought I'd make sure."
"Oh, stop," Jack chuckles. "We were just introducing ourselves."
"Maybe you were," Lardo says, sitting back up and crossing her arms, "but Bits over there was flirting."
"No way," Jack scoffs. But he isn't sure. Shitty and Lardo have known Eric - Bitty - for years. They would know better than he would if Bitty was flirting. And even if he was flirting, what would that mean? Does he like Jack? Does Bitty find him attractive? From their reactions, Jack figures Bitty isn't someone who flirts much.
He's still pondering possible meanings behind their first conversation when Bitty comes out of the kitchen with a tray loaded with plates of apple pie. They're heaped high with what looks like vanilla bean ice cream and each is topped with a sprig of mint. Bitty smiles warmly when he places a plate in front of Jack.
"Bits, this is a work of art," Shitty gets out around a mouthful of apple pie. And Jack has to agree.
i’m so sorry this took my so long my ask box is fucked and not showing me my stuff!!!
3. What was your first fandom?
i don’t know that I would have thought about it in these terms at that age, but as far as like engaging with a group of others about the same piece of media we all loved, it would have to be the warrior cats books
4. What fandoms have you written for?
just supernatural!
11. What's an idea for a fic you've had that you'll probably never write?
i did have an idea for like an arthurian quest adventure style fic about cas rescuing dean from hell and the two of them having to navigate their way out of an inferno style nine rings of hell but i don’t know that i’ll ever get to it
26. What fic are you proudest of?
who ya gonna call is the longest thing i’ve ever written which i am very proud of, but i think on killing the wizard is the one that means the most to me
sorry for the delay, life has been kicking my ass this week. i am going to try to get the new chapter up tonight in time for john’s death day anniversary!!!
