|Sam Winchester (bitch____) wrote,|
@ 2008-06-11 17:31:00
|Entry tags:||dean winchester, john winchester, sam winchester|
And I would have stayed up with you all night ( John, Dean, Sam fanfic )
[ I wanted to write something with John because he's just so gosh darn loveable. Eh ... or something like that. ;x Nothing really in this fic that you'd consider 'stand-out material'. Pretty much same ole', same ole.' John, Dean, and Sam shacked up in a place for the night after a hard day's work. Bickering ensues. Minor chest pounding, some yelling, and yes, ends with sap, because that's just how I do things. I hate leaving things on a sour note. I'd like to give Papa Winchester a tiny, little heart, anyway - although I do have a tendency to make characters too soft. So beware. That probably happened here. 'Cause he's very gruff and tough on the show, and you don't get let in on all the thought-processing going on. So I gave it my best shot! Just so I could quit sitting here thinking 'i really need to write something with john winchester.' I had another idea with just John and Dean, but uh - I wrote this one first because I had more to work with. Who knows, though? I might write the other one eventually, too. Hope it's at least somewhat decent. Oh! And as you read along, imagine them getting all up in each other's faces, all angry and stuff - because it's more fun that way. I didn't go into excessive detail with that. Maybe I should have. - ponders - If it bugs me too much, I'll go back in add some in later. As for now, this is it! -- Almost forgot. Timeline-wise, I honestly don't have much of a clue when this takes place. Let's just say it falls sometime between Dead Man's Blood and Salvation, seeing as how they were all together then and there was YED-hunting mention. Mkay. That's it now. I think. ]
Dean stirred before awakening with a jolt. Eyes rapidly shot open, but narrowed slightly until they could get adjusted to the light. As he groggily pushed himself to his feet, he cast a wary glance around the room. Where he was and how he'd gotten there was a little bit fuzzy, but it was beginning to slowly come back to him. Amidst trying to figure things out, his thoughts instinctively went to Sam. Oh God, Sammy. He didn't see him. But just as he began his frantic search ( momentarily forgetting any pain he was in ), another familiar face fell into sight - one that caused him to come to an abrupt halt. "Dad ..." His father's figure was rigidly seated at the edge of a chair - those rugged features of his twisted into a heavy frown - which wasn't really saying much. He pretty much always looked that way, but the absence of Sam worried Dean. So much so that the words he was trying to get out wound up getting lodged somewhere in the back of his throat, though finally he managed to get them out after a quick clearing of the throat. "Where's Sam?"
John didn't immediately look up. No reason to. He knew who was speaking, and he knew approximately where his eldest son stood in proximity to where he sat. "In the other room, asleep." Both of his boys had been tired out after the close call they'd had earlier, which was a matter that needed to be discussed sooner rather than later, so that nothing like this ever happened again. But now wasn't the time. There were too many consuming thoughts running through his head to get into a yelling match with either of his sons. So for Dean's sake, it was best for him to just go back to his separate corner and get some more rest. Because if he became agitated about anything right now, the dark cloud that had befallen him would turn into anger, and his boys would catch the brunt of it, just for being there.
He could tell there was something troubling his father. After so many years of being around the guy, it wasn't that hard to pick up on. He also knew that if he didn't do exactly as he was told and go back to bed, a fight would more than likely break out. That's just kind of how it all usually happened with them. Until Sam was brought onto the canvas, it was mostly smooth sailing: mainly because he didn't typically ask questions or disobey direct orders like his younger brother did. And even if he did get bold every once in a blue moon and step over the line that wasn't supposed to be crossed, it didn't get him very far. So what was the point? All it did was cause unnecessary friction. But with Sammy around ... it was tough, seeing as how the two most important people in his life spent so much time on opposing sides. He was torn between staying the dutiful son or backing up his brother. Either way, someone got mad. Sam just happened to have a more watered down version of anger than Dad.
A long silence settled between them until Dean broke it a couple minutes later. "Maybe I should go check on him." The poor kid had gotten pretty banged up earlier, so he wouldn't be convinced that things were okay until he saw that Sam was fine with his own two eyes. Not that he didn't trust it was true, but it was a security thing. He needed to check himself.
Papa Winchester finally glanced up as Dean turned, prepared to go check on his brother - who he'd checked on what couldn't have been any more than a half hour ago. "Leave him be," he instructed, his voice firm. As usual, it left no room for argument and clearly declared that he was in no mood for back-talk - even though this son wasn't normally the problem when it came to that sort of thing. Why was he objecting? There was no reason to wake Sam. They'd have to move out as soon as it was daylight. This was the only break they'd be getting for a long time. It was best they take advantage of it and not try his patience. Because after the stunt they'd pulled today, he considered himself being very generous. "I already checked on him." After catching Dean's bewildered look, the short explanation was stated flatly - not that he was one to explain himself often. As for saying anything more, forget it. His stern look of disapproval said it all.
Yeah, Dad wasn't happy. He'd figured that part out. That's partially why he'd been in such a hurry to check on Sammy ( aside from just really wanting to ). He was hoping to spare himself this moment. Yep, this one right here. He knew he wasn't going to be able to forget that look in his father's eyes or maneuver his way out of the inevitable scolding that was coming his way. Then again, who knew? Maybe he could suck it up, pretend he noticed nothing, and sneak into his brother's room a little later. Only it'd be a little hard to slip past the old man. From the looks of it, he wasn't turning in anytime soon. Although even if Dean did have an excuse to book it in the other direction, he wouldn't. It was like there was some invisible anchor weighing him down, rendering him unable to move. He knew what it was, too. "I'm sorry. We should have waited." There. He'd said it. Now maybe they could cut out the silent treatment and all the glaring ( which was only going one way right now, but it was still as obvious as the nose on your face ) and just get right down to it - sort it out, that kind of thing. Because leaving Dad to simmer was most definitely not a good idea. He'd probably just get more furious the longer he thought about it.
"Are you?" His gaze narrowed as hostile hues shifted over to Dean, acknowledging him directly for the first time since they'd gotten settled someplace safe. Shortly after, he stood - a sign that this wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation. "You could've gotten you and your brother killed. What were you thinking? I gave you an order." He didn't appreciate defiance from either son, but he'd come to expect it from Sam. Still didn't mean he liked it, but coming from Dean ... he expected more from him. He always had. Maybe too much, when you got right down to it. But John was a stubborn man. He wasn't about to admit that - especially when he'd been right all along. It'd been too risky to go in so soon.
Here we go. Just as he'd feared: the big 'I told you so.' And he had, so in Dean's book, Dad had every right to be angry. It still stung, though - to look into his father's eyes and see nothing but blatant disregard. He made mistakes. Everyone did. But as far as who could make him feel like total scum for being human and slipping up every once in awhile? You guessed it: the guy staring him down at this very moment. Whether he did it intentionally or not, the man had high expectations: too high. Nothing he did ever seemed to be good enough. And it wasn't like he didn't try. He did. He tried really, really hard, although sometimes he wondered if that got noticed at all. "I-"
John cut him off before he could carry that sentence any further. He didn't want to hear it. There was only one thing he wanted to know. "Was it your idea or Sam's?" When he didn't get an instant answer, he'd ask again, his voice raised slightly from before, and the distance between them vaporized. "Was it your idea or Sam's? Answer me, Dean!"
"Stop yelling at him! It was my idea." The sound of raised voices had broken Sam out of his slumber, and he'd sluggishly ( and painfully ) dragged himself out of bed to go and check out what all the fuss was about - just in time to catch the tail-end of what was being said. That in itself was enough for him to figure out what was going on. "It was my idea, okay? So back off of Dean." He remained firmly planted in his position, even when Dad turned to glare up at him with all his unrelenting fury. "He said we should wait to hear back from you. I told him I was tired of waiting, and I was going in with or without him. That's what happened." Just so they were clear. His brother didn't deserve to get his head bitten off over this when he'd basically been left with no other choice. "I thought it was stupid to just stand around and do nothing!" Time wasn't something they could take for granted, so Sam wanted to seize the moment before it got away. Maybe it had been the wrong call, but they'd both gotten out alive. So what was the big deal? Sure, they'd gotten roughed up a little bit, but they'd heal, and in a few days, they'd be perfectly fine. It's not like this was the first time they'd gotten hurt while working a case.
It's not that John didn't care about his sons. In fact, the opposite was true. Sometimes he wondered if he cared too much, although he doubted they saw it that way. But no matter what he did - no matter how much distance he put between himself and them ... nothing seemed to fill the void or quell his fears except for having them at arm's length, even though that also made them vulnerable. However, what did he do instead of share this with them? He continued to speak in a raised voice and tried to make himself appear as intimidating and infuriated as possible. "What was stupid was going in there before you were ready. What if something had happened to you? Either of you? Did you even stop to think about the consequences of your actions - of what your stupidity could've cost everyone?"
Sam shook his head in frustration, but it was Dean that jumped back into the heated argument first. "Stop it! He gets it. You don't have to keep telling him, over and over again." His brother already took too much to heart - blamed himself for far more than he should have. The last thing he needed was more crap dumped in his lap. And the last thing any of them needed was a fight as big as the one the two had before Sam left for Stanford. That one had been a monster. "Besides, we got the thing, didn't we?" He boldly pointed out. No harm, no foul. Right? They'd gotten the son-of-a-bitch. So why stand around fighting amongst themselves when they should be celebrating a victory?
John's jaw stiffened when he ran into interference from the other son. You know, Dean had been a fairly well-behaved child. He got a little restless sometimes, but that was about it. He did what he was told ( the majority of the time ). But when you added Sam's influence, it was a recipe for disaster. Even now, it was clear how quick the two were to jump to the other's defense. Back in the ole' days, Dean never would've opened his mouth. So whether they had taken a step forward or back, John wasn't sure. What he was sure of was that he didn't appreciate the lack of respect or the tones being used to address a situation that could've ended in their deaths. "Now you listen to me, both of you ..." Eyes cut back and forth between the two as he gruffly spat out his instructions. "You are not to do anything like that ever again, are we clear?" He was looking for the customary 'yes sir' right around now, and it almost looked like he was going to get it from Dean - until Sam butted in.
"That's not what this is really about." Maybe he was a little slow on the intake because of getting pummeled earlier ( still hoping he didn't have a mild concussion or anything serious like that ), but he'd figured it out. "You're mad that we pulled this today, of all days." The 'today' part of that sentence was where he placed the most emphasis. Because that was ultimately what it all came down to. So what was today? The anniversary of their mom's death. Dad always got unbearable on this day every year, even if they said and did all the right things. And I mean, who could blame him? Still, it was no excuse to tear into them over something that was over and done with - and that really didn't matter, all that much. Not in comparison to what lie ahead.
His expression softened a bit before he delivered his next line, eyes momentarily shifting over to Dean as he spoke. "We miss her too." A knowing glance was exchanged between the two before he re-focused on Dad. He'd been hit the hardest by Mom's death, although Sam knew his brother missed her a lot too. It'd been a sensitive subject all through his youth. If he even brought up their mother, he'd gotten yelled at and abandoned until whoever he'd slipped the name to had cooled off.
How his youngest could disappear for years, then walk back into their lives as if he'd never left and still be able to figure him out ( especially when he considered himself a very complicated person ) ... it a was a talent and a gift John would never fully understand. But Sam had nailed it, right on the head. Every day was hard without Mary, but today in particular was increasingly difficult. He couldn't bare the thought of having lost one or both of his sons on that same tragic day, even if it was years later. It would completely destroy him. Whether he expressed it often or openly enough or not, his children were all he had left. And he would fight tooth and nail to make sure they survived life's greatest trials and tribulations, if it was the last thing he did. Though how to say it ... how to get that across. That's where he always ran into a brick wall. It simply wasn't his way. It didn't make what he felt for his boys any less real - just intense, although it might've been unfair to them for him never to confide in them, even when they desperately tried to please him or get him to talk to them like adults instead of children.
Just look at them now, if you wanted a good example of how negatively his tough demeanor and iron fist had affected his sons. Dean's shoulders drooped, and his chin was lowered slightly: a clear indication that his verbal scolding had taken its toll by mentally tearing down his eldest's confidence; he'd successfully made him feel guilty. As far Sam, he was tense from head to toe. He had his guard up, even though he was trying to lower it somewhat and sway the conversation. It was like walking on egg-shells for the both of them, and it shouldn't have to be that way all the time. Finally, after wearily studying them both and finding his temper suddenly fading fast, he gave a stiff nod. "Okay. You're right." That was as much of a confession as they were going to get. His issues over Mary's death were his and his alone. That was not a burden he would share with anyone.
John's gaze, which was now more sorrowful than bitter, settled on Dean. What was he looking at? A boy who'd never gotten the chance to be a kid. A man who was beaten and bruised -covered with scars and fresh wounds because that was the harsh life-style he was accustomed to, so he lived it every day. Yet despite it all, at the end of the day all he wanted was his brother's affection and his daddy's approval. What kind of father would he be not to give it? Better yet, what kind of father was he for his own children to fear him so? Bottom line was he wasn't sure how long he had left. Once they found the Yellow-Eyed Demon, there were bound to be casualties. But he didn't want to leave this world without his sons knowing how much he loved them.
Eyes then strayed to Sam, who'd silently slipped away to grab some beer from the refrigerator, passing the bottles around once he returned. His appearance mirrored his older brother's. That child-like face was tainted with dried blood and lined with bruises that in time would fade, but the scars on the inside wouldn't. Some wounds never healed. It was a sense of understanding he'd hoped to spare Sammy, but he'd been unable to in the end. Now all they could do was stick it out, together: as a family.
A newfound sense of calm swept across the room, leaving all three of its occupants to silently sit and mourn their losses. Though it also left them with a sense of solidarity. Each of them knew that despite their many differences and frequent quarrels, they were there for each other when it mattered the most. Tonight was a night of remembrance and companionship.