Part 11
John woke alone and in a bed he only remembered from what he thought was a dream. Dawn was peeking in through the window curtains and the sounds of a family drifted to him. It broke his heart. He hadn’t heard those sounds in 20 years. A mother making breakfast and chiding a little boy to get ready and to hurry up and eat. Dean had been to preschool. John remembered those mornings, foggily. It wasn’t the first time he regretted not paying more attention to those mundane days of Mary getting up to get Dean up, to get breakfast ready, to get the baby changed.
Slipping out of bed, he washed up and followed the noise. Jack ate in silence. Liz dumped another spoonful of oatmeal into the bowl and made a noise that sounded like ‘keep eating’ but her mouth was full of toast. She smiled at him and waved to the table and the coffee pot. John took another moment to soak it all in before crossing the room to get at that coffee.
Liz kissed his mouth lightly the second he put the mug down. “Morning.”
“Morning.” He grumbled and found a seat next to his grandson. His grandson. Miniature Dean. Even had the same table manners. “Napkin, Jack.”
“Yessir.” He mumbled around his mouthful but dutifully picked up his napkin to wipe his face.
John sipped his coffee and watched the boy. The nose was softer than a Winchester’s but it suited his face. Watched the boy smile at his mother and finish his breakfast. “What’s next?”
“Teeth.” Jack tossed out immediately.
“I see. When Pop’s here, then you’re a good little soldier.” Liz called after the boy when he ran to get his teeth brushed.
“Don’t call him that.” John blurted out.
“It’s a nickname, John. You and Dean already went to blows over it. I know. It’s a nickname.” She reassured him. “No hunting, no demons, no ghosts, no aliens. I know.”
Aliens. He almost said it out loud. Was it a joke? Was it a code? There were no such thing as aliens. John drained his cup and went to pour himself another but Liz was pouring out the pot. “What?”
“It’s not good for you to have so much.”
“You gonna take away my burgers too?”
“You bet.” Liz turned when Jack slid into the room. She kissed his head. “No fights, no detention and no alien graffiti.”
“I know, I know.”
“Jack.” John cleared his throat.
“Yes ma’am.” Jack sighed and grabbed his book bag to catch the bus that was just pulling up.
They existed in silence while Liz cleaned up breakfast. John didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what he was supposed to know. “Your friends been up?”
“Why do you always call them that? You know their names.” Liz scoffed as she put the last of the dishes in the dishwasher. She took a deep breath. “They were here for about a week after you took off on me that last night. I’m not going to argue with you about it but I just want it noted that I feel you ran off on me.” She turned to face him and he nodded that it was her right to feel that way. “Maria’s girl is so tall. She’s dating already, if you can believe that.”
“She’s… twelve.”
“I know. Michael’s pulled most of his hair out. Max spoils her rotten, of course.”
“Max was here?”
“Don’t start.” Liz groaned and crossed to straddle his lap. “You know how it goes. I tell you. I always have. He shows up with them. We have fun catching up and we stare at each other. We don’t talk. We don’t work out any issues. We just stare at each other. He’s starting to spoil Jack, though.”
“Yeah?”
“Bought him a rifle. Remington. Jack gave it back.”
“Well, the boy knows his last name.” John managed a grin. Liz kissed his lips softly. “He wants you back.”
“No. We burned that bridge already.” She shrugged and sat there, fiddling with his dog tags. “John… That was a long time ago. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t me. It was us and it didn’t work.” They didn’t talk about Dean. Not about the relationship and the before. “I’ve had you for most of Jack’s life.” She met his eyes. “I’m not looking to trade you in. Maybe you’ve got a few miles on you but… you’re not falling apart just yet. If anything…” she kissed him softly. “You’ve managed to stay exactly as you’ve been for the last fifteen years.”
“You’re putting me on.” He tried to hide his unease at her comments. If anyone in this world would know that John wasn’t attuned to what was going on, it would be her. If he managed to fool her this long, he was damn lucky.
“John, you’re the best looking 65 year old that I have ever seen.” She bit her lip and took a deep breath. “I have to tell you something and it’s going to scare the crap out of you but I need you to know.” She laid a hand on his chest. “About five months ago… Jack had a bad dream. He woke up terrified and he thought that you were dead. He had me convinced of it for about a week. I heard that you were prowling around from the new girl at the motel. I got worried when you didn’t come by. I was really relieved a few months later when I saw you up there. I was really afraid his dream had come true.”
“Do his dreams come true?”
“They haven’t before but with his other powers and my visions sometimes…” She sat back to see him better. “John… did you… almost die?”
“It’s easier to ask me when that doesn’t happen.”
“It’s not funny. I’m being serious.” She gripped his shoulders, hard. “What if he saw you almost die? I talked him out of it pretty easily but the next time will be harder and I had my doubts the entire time you were gone.”
“Liz.”
“John, we lost Dean to the hunt. I won’t lose you, too.”
He met her worried eyes and didn’t know what to say to make her feel better. He’d never had to have this conversation with anyone before. “You should get to work.”
“This isn’t over.” Liz shoved him back as she got to her feet.
John sat there and mulled over everything. He was crazy. That had to be it. He’d had a psychotic break and this was the beginning of the end. Gathering his belongings, he headed for the woods. He marked trees with his knife along the way. He had to find out how to stop it. How to take his knowledge and best apply it to the world he knew. Werewolves were easy. Silver bullet. Job was done.
Emerging from the woods, he backtracked to his truck, which was just where he’d left it only now it was wearing a tow sticker and a boot. Cursing, he marched himself back to the damned motel and didn’t bother knocking when he got to the room he always rented. He dumped his shit on the ground and walked right back out. Of all the things he could have walked into, it had to be that. He was tired and hungry and he needed a shower because he smelled like Liz. Even under all the sweat and dirt and woods, he smelled like Liz. Like 36 year old Liz had been all over him and she had been. 21 year old Liz was currently all over Dean. As it should be.
Whipping out his cell phone, he called Jefferson. “Hear of any werewolf activity?”
“Not in years, John. Sent you after the last one I did hear about.”
“Keep an ear out.”
“You on to something? I can always use the clues.”
“Just a rumor. Probably drunks.”
“Aren’t they always? I’ll keep you in mind for hunts. Almost seems like activity is winding down.”
“It usually winds itself back up. Give me a call on anything you need help with.”
“Shut up!” John heard from behind him. “No! I’m mortified!”
John cleared his throat. “I’ll be in touch, Jefferson.”
“Yeah. Tell Dean I got a new glock in. He’ll love it.”
“He’ll never trade off that talisman, Jeff.”
“I can keep trying.”
John laughed as the call disconnected. Dean popped out of the room as if nothing had happened, as if his hair was not standing on end. “So, what? You just got here?”
“Yeah.”
“Talked to Caleb. Said you headed this way a few days ago. Thought you’d beat me here.”
“Caleb smokes too much pot.”
“He still does that? I told him that it would shrink his sink.” Dean shook his head. “So… um… Liz isn’t coming out of the room ever again cause you saw… cause you saw what you saw.”
“It’s called a lock, Dean.” John took a deep breath. “I’m tired and I want a bed… so… something’s gotta give in the next ten minutes.”
“Okay. I’ll pass the message.”
Once more, John was alone on the landing. Every time he shut his eyes, he either saw Liz as she leaned in to kiss his mouth or he saw Liz as she arched her back on top of Dean. Where was his flask when he needed it? In his bag, empty. He needed a clear head anyway. There was a lot of research to do and he had to do the math. If Jack had been 10 years old, when was he born? How far off was that? How long did he have to save his son?
“Fine.” Liz’s voice reached John’s ear. Cleaned up, the two made their way down the walkway past John. “Welcome home, John.”
John nodded to the whisper and retreated to the room which had been opened up to clear the smell. Hitting his bed, he tried to put the pieces together. He could find the werewolf and kill it ahead of schedule and save everyone a whole lot of grief. How did he find a werewolf that wouldn’t attack for three years?
TBC
Time Has Come Today (SPN/ROS,UC,AU,MA)Part 27 10/26 COMPLETE
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Re: Time Has Come Today (SPN/ROS, UC, AU, MA) Part 12 10/14
Part 12
John let himself return. Told Dean he was gonna meet up with a friend for research. Let him stay behind and play house with Liz. He had to deal with a pissed off Future Liz but he managed to make her believe that he was contrite and he was going to stick around. Spent his days in the library looking for anything that would give him a clue to what had happened to his boy. He had a time frame. He had a manner of death. He just needed to know where it had happened.
His eyes burned after hours of searching the engines the libraries had switched to after getting rid of the microfiche. Then he found it. New Mexico. Werewolves seemed to love the west. Odd deaths that week. Four maulings and a gunshot victim, shot with a single silver round. Nice girl, everyone loved her. John memorized every detail but he wrote it down. He just didn’t know if it would make the trip home with him or if it would mystically disappear the second he returned to the lovebirds in the motel.
He had four chances to stop the chain before it got to his boy and he’d be damned if it were going to get him. He could trace the wolf back to Colorado. To a young man. A young man about to be mauled on his 18th birthday if John didn’t hightail it across the country ASAP.
Only he got caught when he was packing his things. Liz stared at him from the doorway. Her eyes were hard and cold. John pretended not to notice. “Werewolf. I have to go.”
“You got the one that got Dean. Leave it to someone else.” Her eyes softened but only a bit.
“If I don’t go…” John cut himself off. He couldn’t know who the victim was.
“I know!” She snapped at him. “People will die. They will always die, John. Always. Werewolf or aliens or ghosts or shootouts or cancer or… just fucking old age. People die and you can’t save them all.”
“If I don’t go, that’s one more person who will die the way Dean did.”
“Just go.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stood aside when he moved to the doorway. “John.” She didn’t meet his eyes. “You’d tell me if this wasn’t working out, right?” When he didn’t answer her, she lifted her face. “Tell me if I’ve got it wrong. Please tell me if I’m being… is there someone else?”
John searched his mind vainly for the slip he’d made. Had he said something? Done something… not… done… something? Shit! He hadn’t made a single move on her. He’d played the role of routine but hadn’t pressed for what he’d wanted, for what he was afraid to want. Maybe he’d done it on purpose because he didn’t want to like it. Didn’t want to miss it when he was back in the world where she was 21 and blushing when sex was mentioned outside the confines of the sheets she shared with Dean. “Liz…”
“Just tell me and I’ll leave it alone. You can’t drag me along this way.”
“Liz!” John raised his voice just enough to get her attention. “Trust me. I’m not sleeping with anyone… and I guess that includes you… I’ve been-”
“Apparently holed up at the library.” She nodded, getting herself under control. She wrapped her hands in the folds of his jacket to pull him closer. She kissed him for all she was worth and had to catch herself before she sank to her knees. “John… you come back to me and I’ll give you one hell of a hero’s welcome.”
“I’ll come back.” John lied. He planned to kill this thing, save his son and never return to the fucking Catskills if he could avoid it. “I will.”
“I’ll see you.” Liz let go of him and didn’t move until he was out the door and down the stairs.
John tried not to run for the woods. He had to keep his pace steady. He didn’t know how he was going to look Liz in the eye after all this. Not when he had let this Liz take his mouth that way. Not when he had given as good as he got. Not when he had consciously pressed his body against hers so she could feel… He couldn’t.
Pushed his way through the woods. Every time he licked his lips, he could taste her. He cursed the rest of the way out of the woods and up the stairs to an empty room. “What in the hell?”
Dropping his bag on the floor, he made his way to the front desk. The girl silently slid him a key that he didn’t need. When he didn’t take it, she looked up. “Can I help you?”
“Looking for my boy.”
“Helping Liz get moved in.” She pointed across the lot to the little store that John knew better than he should. Paling, he moved toward the door and couldn’t remember opening it. He moved across the lot and caught Liz as she was carrying empty boxes down the stairs. She saw him and smiled.
“Liz,” he nodded.
“Hi John! Grab your things. I’ve got an extra room. No more dirty motel.” She jogged up the stairs where Dean was probably doing something hardly helpful but 100 manly.
John tried to control his heart rate as he climbed the stairs and entered the apartment he’d exited about 8 hours before and 15 years into the future. The walls were bare. There were no shelves because Dean was in the middle of building them. John gave an interested nod and Dean took that as all the encouragement he needed. “I spent the last week designing this thing. It’s gonna be awesome.”
“Designed it?” John heard his voice come out naturally but he had no clue how.
“Yeah. I mean…” Dean deflated a little. “Liz wanted this big bad shelf from IKEA but it’s like… a thousand dollars. I cut all the pieces I’m gonna need. I can have it built by sundown.”
John watched his boy’s shoulders hunch just a bit more. “If I help, we can have it done in a few hours and you can come with me to Colorado.”
“What’s in Colorado?” Dean’s confidence came back but the curiosity in his voice wasn’t what John was accustomed to.
“Werewolf.”
“You’re shitting me. A werewolf?” Dean’s face really brightened at that. “Awesome. We haven’t seen one of those since…” Sam was around to play bait. “I was a kid. Hell… what was I? 12?”
“13.” John corrected. That was a memorable birthday for Dean all around.
“Yeah, I guess it was on my birthday.” Dean nodded as he bent to adjust a board. He hammered two nails into place just as Liz returned from a back room.
“Looking good.” She nodded to him. “Two more nails than were in it an hour ago.”
“I’m here to help with that.” John offered and got himself busy studying Dean’s sketches.
“Uh-huh. Go get your bags already.” Liz chided him.
“We’re heading out, tonight.” John avoided her eyes.
“A werewolf. Man, Liz… My 13th birthday was the most awesome ever because of a werewolf.” Dean accepted John’s help to steady boards. He told his story between hammer strikes. “Betsy from Illinois gave me my first kiss with tongue and let me touch her boob. Then I got home and there was pizza and cake from a box, not from the store or Little Debbie. Then the full moon rose and we went out and killed us a werewolf.”
“Sounds like fun.” Liz commented dryly. “I had a sleepover and we listened to Maria tell us about how Doug Sahn had used tongue on her.”
“See! My childhood wasn’t that far outside normal.” He grinned at her.
Liz rolled her eyes and looked to John, who had a sort of sad sheen to his eyes. She bit her tongue and grabbed another bunch of empty boxes. “Do you guys have to leave tonight? I sort of had a breaking in party planned.”
“Full moon’s tomorrow night.” Dean answered automatically. “The beast will be rampaging and some poor sap will either die or become the beast.”
John felt just a touch of the Liz he’d left behind through the woods. She was staring at Dean through much more innocent eyes but it was just the same. John cleared his throat. “Dean. Let’s get this thing done.”
John stared around the apartment and seeing it had shocked him but even more than that. He realized they were building the shelf that would one day house the pictures that had defined that future life for him. A life without Dean. When they were done, he watched Dean use a fine piece of sandpaper to smooth over the nicks they’d made with the hammers. Then they had stood it upright and John didn’t even ask before he moved to put it up against the wall. Dean had blinked at him but stood back when they were done and admired its placement. “Good job, son.”
“Wow.” Liz cooed from the doorway where she was sipping on a bottle of beer. “Color me amazed. I didn’t think it could be done in three days and you proved me wrong.”
Her tone was all wrong for her words. John knew what was coming. Dean didn’t. Poor guy was so proud of himself. His smile bright and wide. Eyes bright and glittering. He backed up to take in the whole room. “I could build another one for that wall and you can put all those girly things you like to make.”
“Yeah, and I can put your ashes there on the top. Bronze or copper? Consecrated iron, right?” She took a long pull, her brown eyes glittering dangerously. John took that moment to make his exit. He gathered his things from the floor of the room and tucked them into the Impala just as Dean was making his way down.
Dean sulked in the passenger seat for an hour before he started in on his woman-hating rant. It didn’t let up until they had crossed four state lines. Then he had stopped to catch his breath with what had sounded like a panic attack. John did his best to pretend that he didn’t hear any of it. When Dean had returned to normal, John cleared his throat. “It’s just a lover’s spat. By the time we get back, she’ll be so grateful that you’re there, she’ll forget about the whole thing.”
“Right.” Dean muttered.
--
The hunt was simple. John had the inside track. Dean’s head was not in it and it was a close call but in the end, the werewolf died without infecting anyone else. Dean knelt next to the body and lifted his eyes to see his father. “If I ever get turned into one of these bad boys, you shoot me.”
John’s heart froze. He fumbled for his words. “Dean…”
“I’m being serious. I’d rather die than be one of those things.”
“I won’t ever let it happen.” John promised. Something must have leaked onto his face because Dean frowned suddenly at whatever he’d seen on his father’s face. “I won’t.”
“Good.” Dean nodded. “Let’s burn this bitch. I got phone calls to make.”
John burst out laughing. In relief, incredulity. It just felt good. His boy was alive and the thing that would have killed him would never be. His boy was henpecked.
Dean watched his father and grinned. It had been a long time since he’d seen his father laugh like that. “C’mon. Let’s burn it.”
--
John was finishing up in the bathroom when he heard the murmur. Stilling his movement, he slowly pulled the towel off his head. Dean on the phone, sure but… Oh God… John took his time getting dressed and made sure to linger a few more minutes before banging the bathroom door open. Dean hopped up and grabbed his things for his turn in the shower. John just hoped that the boy cleaned up after himself.
His phone sat abandoned in the middle of the bed. John flicked it to the floor with a shoe before sitting to take inventory of their laundry. Then Dean’s phone rang. Sighing, John heaved himself to his feet to retrieve the thing. He answered without looking. “Listen, darlin’, he’s gonna have to call you back.” Silence. “Darlin’?” Silence and then a click followed by the beep which signaled disconnect. John frowned and looked at the phone. Sam. “Shit.”
He sat there staring at the phone until Dean emerged from the shower. Dean had taken the phone from his hand and blinked at the display. “What did he say?”
“Not a word.”
“Dad, what’d he say?”
“Nothing. I answered the phone. He didn’t say anything. Just hung up.”
“That fucking pussy.” Dean growled something about a good night and the little punk didn’t need to be present to ruin it.
“Enough. Let’s hit the hay. We’ll be back in time for you to bless the house before she wants to lock you out of it.” John pulled back the sheets and climbed into his bed. He shut his mind off and pretended to sleep. It got harder when Dean took his phone outside and had a roaring fight with his brother. John could only make out some highlights.
“He’s your father, of course he loves you!” Dean’s words were muffled by the glass and curtains but not by much. “Well that’s none of your goddamn business. You gave up your right to know about us when you walked out that door… and I know that!”
John almost sat up to find out which words he was missing out on. “I bought you that ticket because I figured that if I supported you that you would try… well, you’re not. Every single time we talk, we fight. You don’t talk to Dad and I’m telling you that he would talk to you if you called him. I never would have bought you that damned bus ticket if I thought you were going to walk out and leave us behind… What did I expect?! Not silence! … No! I figured you’d go to college and you would check in. Just like when we go on hunts, just like always. I didn’t think you’d drop off the map. Dad says you’re not even talking to Pastor Jim and you know that is killing the old man.”
There was a long silence. “Look. I love you, man. You’re my brother and… I can’t talk to you these days. Even if you did call. There’s no place for you in our world anymore and… It’s killing Dad and I can’t stand to see him the way he gets after he knows that you call me… Maybe he doesn’t need to. Maybe he knew something that I didn’t. He doesn’t have to call you. He brought you into this world, you know… Look. I’m tired. We just got off a hunt with no sleep and… Well, I can guarantee you that I haven’t slept in two days and Dad was on the road for who knows how long before that… Well, anyway. I’m beat. Dad’s beat and we got a long drive tomorrow… I hate fighting with you and… well, truthfully there’s a lot about our lives that I’d like you to know but… Well, I’m not going to tell you if you’re going to pretend we don’t exist. It doesn’t matter for you to know if you aren’t going to be in this life with us. Night, Sammy.”
TBC
John let himself return. Told Dean he was gonna meet up with a friend for research. Let him stay behind and play house with Liz. He had to deal with a pissed off Future Liz but he managed to make her believe that he was contrite and he was going to stick around. Spent his days in the library looking for anything that would give him a clue to what had happened to his boy. He had a time frame. He had a manner of death. He just needed to know where it had happened.
His eyes burned after hours of searching the engines the libraries had switched to after getting rid of the microfiche. Then he found it. New Mexico. Werewolves seemed to love the west. Odd deaths that week. Four maulings and a gunshot victim, shot with a single silver round. Nice girl, everyone loved her. John memorized every detail but he wrote it down. He just didn’t know if it would make the trip home with him or if it would mystically disappear the second he returned to the lovebirds in the motel.
He had four chances to stop the chain before it got to his boy and he’d be damned if it were going to get him. He could trace the wolf back to Colorado. To a young man. A young man about to be mauled on his 18th birthday if John didn’t hightail it across the country ASAP.
Only he got caught when he was packing his things. Liz stared at him from the doorway. Her eyes were hard and cold. John pretended not to notice. “Werewolf. I have to go.”
“You got the one that got Dean. Leave it to someone else.” Her eyes softened but only a bit.
“If I don’t go…” John cut himself off. He couldn’t know who the victim was.
“I know!” She snapped at him. “People will die. They will always die, John. Always. Werewolf or aliens or ghosts or shootouts or cancer or… just fucking old age. People die and you can’t save them all.”
“If I don’t go, that’s one more person who will die the way Dean did.”
“Just go.” She crossed her arms over her chest and stood aside when he moved to the doorway. “John.” She didn’t meet his eyes. “You’d tell me if this wasn’t working out, right?” When he didn’t answer her, she lifted her face. “Tell me if I’ve got it wrong. Please tell me if I’m being… is there someone else?”
John searched his mind vainly for the slip he’d made. Had he said something? Done something… not… done… something? Shit! He hadn’t made a single move on her. He’d played the role of routine but hadn’t pressed for what he’d wanted, for what he was afraid to want. Maybe he’d done it on purpose because he didn’t want to like it. Didn’t want to miss it when he was back in the world where she was 21 and blushing when sex was mentioned outside the confines of the sheets she shared with Dean. “Liz…”
“Just tell me and I’ll leave it alone. You can’t drag me along this way.”
“Liz!” John raised his voice just enough to get her attention. “Trust me. I’m not sleeping with anyone… and I guess that includes you… I’ve been-”
“Apparently holed up at the library.” She nodded, getting herself under control. She wrapped her hands in the folds of his jacket to pull him closer. She kissed him for all she was worth and had to catch herself before she sank to her knees. “John… you come back to me and I’ll give you one hell of a hero’s welcome.”
“I’ll come back.” John lied. He planned to kill this thing, save his son and never return to the fucking Catskills if he could avoid it. “I will.”
“I’ll see you.” Liz let go of him and didn’t move until he was out the door and down the stairs.
John tried not to run for the woods. He had to keep his pace steady. He didn’t know how he was going to look Liz in the eye after all this. Not when he had let this Liz take his mouth that way. Not when he had given as good as he got. Not when he had consciously pressed his body against hers so she could feel… He couldn’t.
Pushed his way through the woods. Every time he licked his lips, he could taste her. He cursed the rest of the way out of the woods and up the stairs to an empty room. “What in the hell?”
Dropping his bag on the floor, he made his way to the front desk. The girl silently slid him a key that he didn’t need. When he didn’t take it, she looked up. “Can I help you?”
“Looking for my boy.”
“Helping Liz get moved in.” She pointed across the lot to the little store that John knew better than he should. Paling, he moved toward the door and couldn’t remember opening it. He moved across the lot and caught Liz as she was carrying empty boxes down the stairs. She saw him and smiled.
“Liz,” he nodded.
“Hi John! Grab your things. I’ve got an extra room. No more dirty motel.” She jogged up the stairs where Dean was probably doing something hardly helpful but 100 manly.
John tried to control his heart rate as he climbed the stairs and entered the apartment he’d exited about 8 hours before and 15 years into the future. The walls were bare. There were no shelves because Dean was in the middle of building them. John gave an interested nod and Dean took that as all the encouragement he needed. “I spent the last week designing this thing. It’s gonna be awesome.”
“Designed it?” John heard his voice come out naturally but he had no clue how.
“Yeah. I mean…” Dean deflated a little. “Liz wanted this big bad shelf from IKEA but it’s like… a thousand dollars. I cut all the pieces I’m gonna need. I can have it built by sundown.”
John watched his boy’s shoulders hunch just a bit more. “If I help, we can have it done in a few hours and you can come with me to Colorado.”
“What’s in Colorado?” Dean’s confidence came back but the curiosity in his voice wasn’t what John was accustomed to.
“Werewolf.”
“You’re shitting me. A werewolf?” Dean’s face really brightened at that. “Awesome. We haven’t seen one of those since…” Sam was around to play bait. “I was a kid. Hell… what was I? 12?”
“13.” John corrected. That was a memorable birthday for Dean all around.
“Yeah, I guess it was on my birthday.” Dean nodded as he bent to adjust a board. He hammered two nails into place just as Liz returned from a back room.
“Looking good.” She nodded to him. “Two more nails than were in it an hour ago.”
“I’m here to help with that.” John offered and got himself busy studying Dean’s sketches.
“Uh-huh. Go get your bags already.” Liz chided him.
“We’re heading out, tonight.” John avoided her eyes.
“A werewolf. Man, Liz… My 13th birthday was the most awesome ever because of a werewolf.” Dean accepted John’s help to steady boards. He told his story between hammer strikes. “Betsy from Illinois gave me my first kiss with tongue and let me touch her boob. Then I got home and there was pizza and cake from a box, not from the store or Little Debbie. Then the full moon rose and we went out and killed us a werewolf.”
“Sounds like fun.” Liz commented dryly. “I had a sleepover and we listened to Maria tell us about how Doug Sahn had used tongue on her.”
“See! My childhood wasn’t that far outside normal.” He grinned at her.
Liz rolled her eyes and looked to John, who had a sort of sad sheen to his eyes. She bit her tongue and grabbed another bunch of empty boxes. “Do you guys have to leave tonight? I sort of had a breaking in party planned.”
“Full moon’s tomorrow night.” Dean answered automatically. “The beast will be rampaging and some poor sap will either die or become the beast.”
John felt just a touch of the Liz he’d left behind through the woods. She was staring at Dean through much more innocent eyes but it was just the same. John cleared his throat. “Dean. Let’s get this thing done.”
John stared around the apartment and seeing it had shocked him but even more than that. He realized they were building the shelf that would one day house the pictures that had defined that future life for him. A life without Dean. When they were done, he watched Dean use a fine piece of sandpaper to smooth over the nicks they’d made with the hammers. Then they had stood it upright and John didn’t even ask before he moved to put it up against the wall. Dean had blinked at him but stood back when they were done and admired its placement. “Good job, son.”
“Wow.” Liz cooed from the doorway where she was sipping on a bottle of beer. “Color me amazed. I didn’t think it could be done in three days and you proved me wrong.”
Her tone was all wrong for her words. John knew what was coming. Dean didn’t. Poor guy was so proud of himself. His smile bright and wide. Eyes bright and glittering. He backed up to take in the whole room. “I could build another one for that wall and you can put all those girly things you like to make.”
“Yeah, and I can put your ashes there on the top. Bronze or copper? Consecrated iron, right?” She took a long pull, her brown eyes glittering dangerously. John took that moment to make his exit. He gathered his things from the floor of the room and tucked them into the Impala just as Dean was making his way down.
Dean sulked in the passenger seat for an hour before he started in on his woman-hating rant. It didn’t let up until they had crossed four state lines. Then he had stopped to catch his breath with what had sounded like a panic attack. John did his best to pretend that he didn’t hear any of it. When Dean had returned to normal, John cleared his throat. “It’s just a lover’s spat. By the time we get back, she’ll be so grateful that you’re there, she’ll forget about the whole thing.”
“Right.” Dean muttered.
--
The hunt was simple. John had the inside track. Dean’s head was not in it and it was a close call but in the end, the werewolf died without infecting anyone else. Dean knelt next to the body and lifted his eyes to see his father. “If I ever get turned into one of these bad boys, you shoot me.”
John’s heart froze. He fumbled for his words. “Dean…”
“I’m being serious. I’d rather die than be one of those things.”
“I won’t ever let it happen.” John promised. Something must have leaked onto his face because Dean frowned suddenly at whatever he’d seen on his father’s face. “I won’t.”
“Good.” Dean nodded. “Let’s burn this bitch. I got phone calls to make.”
John burst out laughing. In relief, incredulity. It just felt good. His boy was alive and the thing that would have killed him would never be. His boy was henpecked.
Dean watched his father and grinned. It had been a long time since he’d seen his father laugh like that. “C’mon. Let’s burn it.”
--
John was finishing up in the bathroom when he heard the murmur. Stilling his movement, he slowly pulled the towel off his head. Dean on the phone, sure but… Oh God… John took his time getting dressed and made sure to linger a few more minutes before banging the bathroom door open. Dean hopped up and grabbed his things for his turn in the shower. John just hoped that the boy cleaned up after himself.
His phone sat abandoned in the middle of the bed. John flicked it to the floor with a shoe before sitting to take inventory of their laundry. Then Dean’s phone rang. Sighing, John heaved himself to his feet to retrieve the thing. He answered without looking. “Listen, darlin’, he’s gonna have to call you back.” Silence. “Darlin’?” Silence and then a click followed by the beep which signaled disconnect. John frowned and looked at the phone. Sam. “Shit.”
He sat there staring at the phone until Dean emerged from the shower. Dean had taken the phone from his hand and blinked at the display. “What did he say?”
“Not a word.”
“Dad, what’d he say?”
“Nothing. I answered the phone. He didn’t say anything. Just hung up.”
“That fucking pussy.” Dean growled something about a good night and the little punk didn’t need to be present to ruin it.
“Enough. Let’s hit the hay. We’ll be back in time for you to bless the house before she wants to lock you out of it.” John pulled back the sheets and climbed into his bed. He shut his mind off and pretended to sleep. It got harder when Dean took his phone outside and had a roaring fight with his brother. John could only make out some highlights.
“He’s your father, of course he loves you!” Dean’s words were muffled by the glass and curtains but not by much. “Well that’s none of your goddamn business. You gave up your right to know about us when you walked out that door… and I know that!”
John almost sat up to find out which words he was missing out on. “I bought you that ticket because I figured that if I supported you that you would try… well, you’re not. Every single time we talk, we fight. You don’t talk to Dad and I’m telling you that he would talk to you if you called him. I never would have bought you that damned bus ticket if I thought you were going to walk out and leave us behind… What did I expect?! Not silence! … No! I figured you’d go to college and you would check in. Just like when we go on hunts, just like always. I didn’t think you’d drop off the map. Dad says you’re not even talking to Pastor Jim and you know that is killing the old man.”
There was a long silence. “Look. I love you, man. You’re my brother and… I can’t talk to you these days. Even if you did call. There’s no place for you in our world anymore and… It’s killing Dad and I can’t stand to see him the way he gets after he knows that you call me… Maybe he doesn’t need to. Maybe he knew something that I didn’t. He doesn’t have to call you. He brought you into this world, you know… Look. I’m tired. We just got off a hunt with no sleep and… Well, I can guarantee you that I haven’t slept in two days and Dad was on the road for who knows how long before that… Well, anyway. I’m beat. Dad’s beat and we got a long drive tomorrow… I hate fighting with you and… well, truthfully there’s a lot about our lives that I’d like you to know but… Well, I’m not going to tell you if you’re going to pretend we don’t exist. It doesn’t matter for you to know if you aren’t going to be in this life with us. Night, Sammy.”
TBC
Re: Time Has Come Today (SPN/ROS, UC, AU, MA) Part 13 10/15
Part 13
John sent Dean in alone to the new place. Didn’t wait to see the reunion. He would go through the woods one last time… just to make sure that all was as it should be. His brain was crammed full of information. Sammy at the forefront. All he had was Dean’s end of the conversation but it painted enough from Dean’s end that John had a clue about what Sam was still on about. It pained him that Sam thought he wasn’t loved anymore. John honestly didn’t know how to talk to the boy after all the hateful things that had come out of both their mouths.
John emerged from the woods then checked into the motel, in his usual room. He waited until sundown to creep across the parking lot. Liz was waiting at the kitchen table with a glass of something that smelled sweet but had a hint of bitter behind it. She tried to hide a smile but she didn’t do so well with that. “The wandering hero returns victorious?”
“Depends.” John watched her carefully. Surely Dean would step out of a room somewhere with Jack in tow.
Her smile saddened a bit. She leaned against the table, regarding him from beneath her eyelashes. “John. I’ve told you this a hundred times and I really wish you’d take it to heart. The Demon is gone. Dean is gone. You kill every werewolf and changeling out there and you still won’t settle down. I never blamed you for Dean… so… I just can’t figure out why you won’t sit still.” She finally looked at him. “I will take care of you and I know that you’re not someone who needs taking care of but… you can stay here. With us.”
The Demon was gone? He blinked at her. If the Demon was gone, why hadn’t John slowed down? What had kept him from settling down? Werewolves? Avenging Dean? He pulled up a chair and took a long swallow of her drink, which turned out to be liberally dosed with rum. Liz’s hand wrapped around his wrist. “John, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Ghosts, everywhere, Liz.” He polished off the glass with another long swallow. “Buried my wife, my boy.”
“Well, you’ve got a grandson, a lover and son who is still out there somewhere…” Her voice trailed off. “Are you looking for Sam?”
John stilled.
“He won’t be found if he doesn’t want to be found.” She whispered to him as she invaded his space and straddled his lap, forcing him to rest his head on her sternum. She raked her fingers through his hair, massaging the base of his cranium. “Just… let it all go for one night, John.”
Arms wrapped around her waist, forehead against her collarbone, John just breathed for a moment. Let the panic go away. Let the weight shift off his shoulders for a moment. Breathed in the scent of woman. Of sweat and rum. Of spaghetti-os and brownies. Her fingers slowed their rake but changed the pattern so that she could kiss the top of his head. The rum had made his brain just fuzzy enough that he didn’t care that the breasts his face was pressed into belonged to a girl young enough to be his daughter. He didn’t care that the ass in his hands was firmer than any his age. Pulling her more firmly against him, he took a deep breath; inhaling all the scents of the day off her body. Smoothed his palms over her shoulder blades, barely any softness there, then down her ribs which had just enough meat to keep him from feeling her bones. His hands dipped at her waist and spread over her ass, hips and thighs. Her hips hitched, rubbing and searching until she rubbed just right over his crotch.
Eyes closed but not squeezed shut, John opened his mouth over one mound and then the other, creating wet spots on her thin shirt. Sucking lightly until he found the hardening nipples through thin fabric. The fingers in his hair tightened. He yanked her hips forward before catching the hem of her shirt and dragging upwards until he was able to get his nose beneath it and pressed his lips to her skin. She made a little noise in her throat, her hands sliding down to his shoulders for a better anchor. Then his name purred off her lips starting somewhere deep in her chest and just barely escaping her throat.
Didn’t remember standing up, much less walking, but John deposited her on the bed before shrugging out of his flannel and pulling his undershirt over his head, staring at her the whole while. Wondering if she’d disappear or if he’d wake up. Watched her arch one way and then another to get her shirt off and then go to work on her jeans. He kicked his boots off and dropped trou just as she was working on getting her feet free of her jeans and her little blue underwear.
Crawling up her body, John stared down at her expectant face knowing that he hadn’t had enough to drink that he couldn’t turn back now; not enough that he could blame this on the half a glass of rum and coke he’d tossed back in the kitchen. Caught her mouth before allowing his body to fall towards hers. Tasted skin and sweat and let his mouth wander when she began sliding upward, grateful when she slid back down beneath him. Her hands worked deftly to rip open a packet and to slide it home over his throbbing erection. Easy and practiced for her but a move that caused the blood to roar in his ears.
Her hands danced their way up his body, her eyebrow arching when her fingers slid back down over his stomach. “Frustration has a way of showing, huh.” Chewed on the inside of her lip when she made a third trip down his belly, then he recognized the shift of her face from contemplation to pensive. All last chance exits were fading from view when John slid his hand between her thighs and let his fingers slip between her damp folds. Pensive flew from her face and her eyes shut in anticipation of next, next, next.
John gently stroked her while taking in the view of soft curves, hitching breaths and clenching hands. Finally she let go of the sheets and gripped his arms. “John,” came the desperate whisper. Settling himself atop her, he moved his hand just enough to slide his erection against her, eliciting a whimper. John slid home with such ease, he had to stop just to get control of himself. It had been so long since he’d been inside a woman. After a few halted strokes, John found a rhythm that made Liz buck against him. John stretched his body to cover hers, to cage her in below him, to make her his. Then she bucked against him again. “No, no, John. On your back, soldier. I’m not falling for this one again.”
Confused, John did as ordered, moving out and away from her to make himself comfortable on the bed. She straddled his lap, guiding him back into her body with a sigh. She reached forward and yanked the pillows from underneath his head. She rocked slightly but watched him carefully. “What?”
“You know what. If I let you come on top of me, I’m stuck ‘til morning.” She sat up and rose up on her knees before sinking back down, ceasing all conversation. His hands stroked her thighs, eyes on her heaving breasts and her head when it tipped back. Met her crashing hips with his and watched the sweat form on her skin, let her hands scramble for purchase when she needed more, harder. When she came, it was gorgeous. He didn’t have time to relish it before his own orgasm ripped through him. When he was able to think again, she was pulling the pillows from the floor and shoving them back into place. Resting by his side, she took his mouth for a long, languorous kiss. “Welcome home, John.”
--
Waking alone, John took care of the three S’s and went about examining the apartment in detail. The photos were more or less the same. There was one more picture than before. Dean welcoming Jack into his arms inside a frame that boasted Baby’s First Steps. It was tough to gauge by the baby pictures but John would say he had given Dean a few more months. John had no clue how long he stood staring at the shelf with all its pictures but it was long enough for the school bus to drive by.
“Papa!” Jack ran into the room and John scooped him into his arms. He was getting big but John relished the fact that Jack was not yet old enough to hate hugs. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d hugged one of his sons without it being to celebrate an escape from death.
As the memories formed, John realized that he’d stopped hugging Sam at a much younger age than he’d stopped hugging Dean. Dean, who had been his greatest ally against the dark before he’d fully understood what it was his daddy did at night. Sammy, who he had protected from the truth for as long as he was able. Here was little Jack who knew next to nothing about what danger lay in the dark. Almost normal.
John listened as the boy regaled him with tales of the day. Started dinner when it looked as though Liz had gotten hung up at work. John spent a sober evening of homework and baths and story time for the first time in 25 years. He had just shut the door on a sleeping Jack when the door opened and Liz stumbled in with bags of takeout. “John?”
“Just put Jack to bed.” He whispered.
“Already?” Liz bent backward to get a look at the clock. “I’m later than I thought.”
He flicked his eyes over her form. Not waitressing today. “Motel busy?”
“I was downstairs building first aid kits all evening.” She sighed with a shake of her head. “Grant and Davis ran out and they ruined a whole set I’d built last winter. I’m gonna start charging them for the refills.”
“I’d lock up the kits. Make ‘em pay full price.” John shrugged.
“You always say that and I always remind you that Grant and Davis live off the land and they don’t have money to refill their kits.” She waved a finger at him to cut off the words that were about to tumble out of his mouth. “Two kits every other year, John. That’s it. I can afford it.” She unloaded her bags. “I guess this is all leftovers for tomorrow, then?”
“I think so.” He smirked down at the already cold burgers and fries. “Healthy.”
“Shut up. I couldn’t get Joe to steam any vegetables this late.”
“Steamed vegetables? You’ve got a growing boy and you’re going to shove steamed vegetables down his throat?” He could barely contain his smile when she turned to glare at him and yank the boxes out of his hands to shove into the refrigerator. “Don’t worry. I stuffed him full of broccoli.”
“Drowned in Cheeze Whiz?”
“Maybe. Roughage needed a little coating of something good to make it go down.”
“You spoil him.” She poured herself a drink, staring at him where he leaned against the sink.
“Kind of my job.”
She frowned into her glass before she took a long swallow of bittersweet rum and coke. “He told his teacher that you were his father, today.”
John tilted his head at her.
“That’s why I ran off so early this morning. I had a conference with his teacher.” She slid up onto the counter and took another long swallow. “She asked the class to draw a family portrait. You know Inga, right? Right. So, Inga is looking at the picture and asking him questions about it and he points to the large bearded dude and says ‘And that’s my dad.’ She attempted to correct him and he refused to listen to her. He kept insisting that you were not his grandfather but in fact his father.” She polished off the glass. “I wondered if what we were doing confused him at all and I guess I have my answer.”
“He knows better, Liz. He does.” John shook his head. “He thinks it will make him less of a freak if…”
“But if he knows better, as you claim…”
“He’s a little boy and he’s growing up faster than he should and he’s trying to slow himself down.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Which boy are you comparing him to, tonight? Your knight and shining Dean or your nerdy and obtuse Sam?” She reached out a leg to hook his arm. “Why do you do that? I hope you didn’t do it to your boys to their faces.”
“Do what?”
“You never praised Dean cause he did everything you wanted him to do. You always criticized Sam because he didn’t. The boys couldn’t have taken well to that.”
“You telling me my business?”
“It’s our business.” She pointed out as she attempted to pour herself another drink. “We’re a family, John.”
“I think I know that.”
“Do you?” John leaned over her to finish the pour and to hand her the glass. She stared at him. “You act like it’s two separate things. Your boys are your family. Jack and I are your family. We are all your family. It’s not separate.” She took another drink. “I need to know that you’re in this. Because Jack wants to pretend you’re his father. Because I need you here with me. Because if you died hunting, it would kill us both and we don’t know how to get in contact with Sam. Sam, who you’ve never called. Sam, who I’m sure doesn’t know we exist.”
“Sam made his bed years ago.”
“So, he never tried. You never tried. Dean never tried.”
“Dean tried.” John snapped his head up, his eyes meeting hers. “Dean tried. He held his hand out to Sam time and again and got it slapped back.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“What are you saying?”
“It’s what you did to Dean. How could you not see it?”
“See what?”
“See how much he loved you.” She gripped his shirt. “Dean’s love was such a gift. I feel blessed to have even a fraction of it. That’s all I had. A fraction because he gave everything else to Jack and to Sam and to you.”
“You’re soused.”
“Maybe.”
“Liz…”
“I don’t want you to treat him the way you treated your boys.”
“Do I?”
“You might.”
“You’re afraid of what I might do.” John stared at her.
“You’re hardly here anymore, John. I don’t know what’s gotten into you.” She growled into her glass. “You’re so absentminded. You ask questions about things you’ve known for years and you’re always staring at those pictures of Dean.” Her eyes lifted to his after a moment. “Is it… Alzheimer’s, John?”
“What? No.” John shook her off and vainly tried to remember if it did run in his family. He turned away. “Fuck you for suggesting it.”
“You’re the right age, John and your behavior isn’t just erratic, it’s familiar.” She dragged him over to her. She framed his face with her hands. “I don’t want to lose you. You’ve walked this edge before, John, and it nearly killed both me and Dean. I don’t want to go through that again… especially not with the way things are between us now.”
“What happened today?” John didn’t make any moves to comfort her. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with her drunken confessions.
“I’m scared. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.” She leaned into him, burying her face in his neck. “I love you and I know that I’m not supposed to. I love my son but I don’t know how to talk to him anymore. I… I miss my family. My friends… It’s never safe. Not for anyone for any reason.”
“I think that was established a long time ago, Liz.”
“I know that. Just don’t leave me.”
“Come on. Bed time.” Pulling her into his arms, he maneuvered his way down the hall to get her to bed. “Lightweight.”
“Shut up.”
John set her down then took her shoes off for her. “Just go to bed.”
“John,” she pleaded. “Please… be here when I wake up.”
“Yeah.”
“Say it.”
“I’ll be here when you wake up.”
TBC
John sent Dean in alone to the new place. Didn’t wait to see the reunion. He would go through the woods one last time… just to make sure that all was as it should be. His brain was crammed full of information. Sammy at the forefront. All he had was Dean’s end of the conversation but it painted enough from Dean’s end that John had a clue about what Sam was still on about. It pained him that Sam thought he wasn’t loved anymore. John honestly didn’t know how to talk to the boy after all the hateful things that had come out of both their mouths.
John emerged from the woods then checked into the motel, in his usual room. He waited until sundown to creep across the parking lot. Liz was waiting at the kitchen table with a glass of something that smelled sweet but had a hint of bitter behind it. She tried to hide a smile but she didn’t do so well with that. “The wandering hero returns victorious?”
“Depends.” John watched her carefully. Surely Dean would step out of a room somewhere with Jack in tow.
Her smile saddened a bit. She leaned against the table, regarding him from beneath her eyelashes. “John. I’ve told you this a hundred times and I really wish you’d take it to heart. The Demon is gone. Dean is gone. You kill every werewolf and changeling out there and you still won’t settle down. I never blamed you for Dean… so… I just can’t figure out why you won’t sit still.” She finally looked at him. “I will take care of you and I know that you’re not someone who needs taking care of but… you can stay here. With us.”
The Demon was gone? He blinked at her. If the Demon was gone, why hadn’t John slowed down? What had kept him from settling down? Werewolves? Avenging Dean? He pulled up a chair and took a long swallow of her drink, which turned out to be liberally dosed with rum. Liz’s hand wrapped around his wrist. “John, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Ghosts, everywhere, Liz.” He polished off the glass with another long swallow. “Buried my wife, my boy.”
“Well, you’ve got a grandson, a lover and son who is still out there somewhere…” Her voice trailed off. “Are you looking for Sam?”
John stilled.
“He won’t be found if he doesn’t want to be found.” She whispered to him as she invaded his space and straddled his lap, forcing him to rest his head on her sternum. She raked her fingers through his hair, massaging the base of his cranium. “Just… let it all go for one night, John.”
Arms wrapped around her waist, forehead against her collarbone, John just breathed for a moment. Let the panic go away. Let the weight shift off his shoulders for a moment. Breathed in the scent of woman. Of sweat and rum. Of spaghetti-os and brownies. Her fingers slowed their rake but changed the pattern so that she could kiss the top of his head. The rum had made his brain just fuzzy enough that he didn’t care that the breasts his face was pressed into belonged to a girl young enough to be his daughter. He didn’t care that the ass in his hands was firmer than any his age. Pulling her more firmly against him, he took a deep breath; inhaling all the scents of the day off her body. Smoothed his palms over her shoulder blades, barely any softness there, then down her ribs which had just enough meat to keep him from feeling her bones. His hands dipped at her waist and spread over her ass, hips and thighs. Her hips hitched, rubbing and searching until she rubbed just right over his crotch.
Eyes closed but not squeezed shut, John opened his mouth over one mound and then the other, creating wet spots on her thin shirt. Sucking lightly until he found the hardening nipples through thin fabric. The fingers in his hair tightened. He yanked her hips forward before catching the hem of her shirt and dragging upwards until he was able to get his nose beneath it and pressed his lips to her skin. She made a little noise in her throat, her hands sliding down to his shoulders for a better anchor. Then his name purred off her lips starting somewhere deep in her chest and just barely escaping her throat.
Didn’t remember standing up, much less walking, but John deposited her on the bed before shrugging out of his flannel and pulling his undershirt over his head, staring at her the whole while. Wondering if she’d disappear or if he’d wake up. Watched her arch one way and then another to get her shirt off and then go to work on her jeans. He kicked his boots off and dropped trou just as she was working on getting her feet free of her jeans and her little blue underwear.
Crawling up her body, John stared down at her expectant face knowing that he hadn’t had enough to drink that he couldn’t turn back now; not enough that he could blame this on the half a glass of rum and coke he’d tossed back in the kitchen. Caught her mouth before allowing his body to fall towards hers. Tasted skin and sweat and let his mouth wander when she began sliding upward, grateful when she slid back down beneath him. Her hands worked deftly to rip open a packet and to slide it home over his throbbing erection. Easy and practiced for her but a move that caused the blood to roar in his ears.
Her hands danced their way up his body, her eyebrow arching when her fingers slid back down over his stomach. “Frustration has a way of showing, huh.” Chewed on the inside of her lip when she made a third trip down his belly, then he recognized the shift of her face from contemplation to pensive. All last chance exits were fading from view when John slid his hand between her thighs and let his fingers slip between her damp folds. Pensive flew from her face and her eyes shut in anticipation of next, next, next.
John gently stroked her while taking in the view of soft curves, hitching breaths and clenching hands. Finally she let go of the sheets and gripped his arms. “John,” came the desperate whisper. Settling himself atop her, he moved his hand just enough to slide his erection against her, eliciting a whimper. John slid home with such ease, he had to stop just to get control of himself. It had been so long since he’d been inside a woman. After a few halted strokes, John found a rhythm that made Liz buck against him. John stretched his body to cover hers, to cage her in below him, to make her his. Then she bucked against him again. “No, no, John. On your back, soldier. I’m not falling for this one again.”
Confused, John did as ordered, moving out and away from her to make himself comfortable on the bed. She straddled his lap, guiding him back into her body with a sigh. She reached forward and yanked the pillows from underneath his head. She rocked slightly but watched him carefully. “What?”
“You know what. If I let you come on top of me, I’m stuck ‘til morning.” She sat up and rose up on her knees before sinking back down, ceasing all conversation. His hands stroked her thighs, eyes on her heaving breasts and her head when it tipped back. Met her crashing hips with his and watched the sweat form on her skin, let her hands scramble for purchase when she needed more, harder. When she came, it was gorgeous. He didn’t have time to relish it before his own orgasm ripped through him. When he was able to think again, she was pulling the pillows from the floor and shoving them back into place. Resting by his side, she took his mouth for a long, languorous kiss. “Welcome home, John.”
--
Waking alone, John took care of the three S’s and went about examining the apartment in detail. The photos were more or less the same. There was one more picture than before. Dean welcoming Jack into his arms inside a frame that boasted Baby’s First Steps. It was tough to gauge by the baby pictures but John would say he had given Dean a few more months. John had no clue how long he stood staring at the shelf with all its pictures but it was long enough for the school bus to drive by.
“Papa!” Jack ran into the room and John scooped him into his arms. He was getting big but John relished the fact that Jack was not yet old enough to hate hugs. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d hugged one of his sons without it being to celebrate an escape from death.
As the memories formed, John realized that he’d stopped hugging Sam at a much younger age than he’d stopped hugging Dean. Dean, who had been his greatest ally against the dark before he’d fully understood what it was his daddy did at night. Sammy, who he had protected from the truth for as long as he was able. Here was little Jack who knew next to nothing about what danger lay in the dark. Almost normal.
John listened as the boy regaled him with tales of the day. Started dinner when it looked as though Liz had gotten hung up at work. John spent a sober evening of homework and baths and story time for the first time in 25 years. He had just shut the door on a sleeping Jack when the door opened and Liz stumbled in with bags of takeout. “John?”
“Just put Jack to bed.” He whispered.
“Already?” Liz bent backward to get a look at the clock. “I’m later than I thought.”
He flicked his eyes over her form. Not waitressing today. “Motel busy?”
“I was downstairs building first aid kits all evening.” She sighed with a shake of her head. “Grant and Davis ran out and they ruined a whole set I’d built last winter. I’m gonna start charging them for the refills.”
“I’d lock up the kits. Make ‘em pay full price.” John shrugged.
“You always say that and I always remind you that Grant and Davis live off the land and they don’t have money to refill their kits.” She waved a finger at him to cut off the words that were about to tumble out of his mouth. “Two kits every other year, John. That’s it. I can afford it.” She unloaded her bags. “I guess this is all leftovers for tomorrow, then?”
“I think so.” He smirked down at the already cold burgers and fries. “Healthy.”
“Shut up. I couldn’t get Joe to steam any vegetables this late.”
“Steamed vegetables? You’ve got a growing boy and you’re going to shove steamed vegetables down his throat?” He could barely contain his smile when she turned to glare at him and yank the boxes out of his hands to shove into the refrigerator. “Don’t worry. I stuffed him full of broccoli.”
“Drowned in Cheeze Whiz?”
“Maybe. Roughage needed a little coating of something good to make it go down.”
“You spoil him.” She poured herself a drink, staring at him where he leaned against the sink.
“Kind of my job.”
She frowned into her glass before she took a long swallow of bittersweet rum and coke. “He told his teacher that you were his father, today.”
John tilted his head at her.
“That’s why I ran off so early this morning. I had a conference with his teacher.” She slid up onto the counter and took another long swallow. “She asked the class to draw a family portrait. You know Inga, right? Right. So, Inga is looking at the picture and asking him questions about it and he points to the large bearded dude and says ‘And that’s my dad.’ She attempted to correct him and he refused to listen to her. He kept insisting that you were not his grandfather but in fact his father.” She polished off the glass. “I wondered if what we were doing confused him at all and I guess I have my answer.”
“He knows better, Liz. He does.” John shook his head. “He thinks it will make him less of a freak if…”
“But if he knows better, as you claim…”
“He’s a little boy and he’s growing up faster than he should and he’s trying to slow himself down.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Which boy are you comparing him to, tonight? Your knight and shining Dean or your nerdy and obtuse Sam?” She reached out a leg to hook his arm. “Why do you do that? I hope you didn’t do it to your boys to their faces.”
“Do what?”
“You never praised Dean cause he did everything you wanted him to do. You always criticized Sam because he didn’t. The boys couldn’t have taken well to that.”
“You telling me my business?”
“It’s our business.” She pointed out as she attempted to pour herself another drink. “We’re a family, John.”
“I think I know that.”
“Do you?” John leaned over her to finish the pour and to hand her the glass. She stared at him. “You act like it’s two separate things. Your boys are your family. Jack and I are your family. We are all your family. It’s not separate.” She took another drink. “I need to know that you’re in this. Because Jack wants to pretend you’re his father. Because I need you here with me. Because if you died hunting, it would kill us both and we don’t know how to get in contact with Sam. Sam, who you’ve never called. Sam, who I’m sure doesn’t know we exist.”
“Sam made his bed years ago.”
“So, he never tried. You never tried. Dean never tried.”
“Dean tried.” John snapped his head up, his eyes meeting hers. “Dean tried. He held his hand out to Sam time and again and got it slapped back.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“What are you saying?”
“It’s what you did to Dean. How could you not see it?”
“See what?”
“See how much he loved you.” She gripped his shirt. “Dean’s love was such a gift. I feel blessed to have even a fraction of it. That’s all I had. A fraction because he gave everything else to Jack and to Sam and to you.”
“You’re soused.”
“Maybe.”
“Liz…”
“I don’t want you to treat him the way you treated your boys.”
“Do I?”
“You might.”
“You’re afraid of what I might do.” John stared at her.
“You’re hardly here anymore, John. I don’t know what’s gotten into you.” She growled into her glass. “You’re so absentminded. You ask questions about things you’ve known for years and you’re always staring at those pictures of Dean.” Her eyes lifted to his after a moment. “Is it… Alzheimer’s, John?”
“What? No.” John shook her off and vainly tried to remember if it did run in his family. He turned away. “Fuck you for suggesting it.”
“You’re the right age, John and your behavior isn’t just erratic, it’s familiar.” She dragged him over to her. She framed his face with her hands. “I don’t want to lose you. You’ve walked this edge before, John, and it nearly killed both me and Dean. I don’t want to go through that again… especially not with the way things are between us now.”
“What happened today?” John didn’t make any moves to comfort her. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with her drunken confessions.
“I’m scared. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.” She leaned into him, burying her face in his neck. “I love you and I know that I’m not supposed to. I love my son but I don’t know how to talk to him anymore. I… I miss my family. My friends… It’s never safe. Not for anyone for any reason.”
“I think that was established a long time ago, Liz.”
“I know that. Just don’t leave me.”
“Come on. Bed time.” Pulling her into his arms, he maneuvered his way down the hall to get her to bed. “Lightweight.”
“Shut up.”
John set her down then took her shoes off for her. “Just go to bed.”
“John,” she pleaded. “Please… be here when I wake up.”
“Yeah.”
“Say it.”
“I’ll be here when you wake up.”
TBC
Re: Time Has Come Today (SPN/ROS, UC, AU, MA) Part 14 10/16
Part 14
John spent two weeks trying to be his future self at night and researching Dean’s death during the day. He’d missed a mauling the first time. He’d get the son of a bitch for sure. Spent his nights learning everything about Liz that she would reveal. Listened to her stories of a normal childhood, to her troubled teenaged years and her ill-fated marriage. John shared a few stories that he knew he hadn’t told her and seemed like he’d never told her in the years between his experience with her and this strange future. He knew he’d learned more about her than she’d ever told Dean.
He was certain about this because Liz had told him about Max. Everything about Max. If he failed again to save Dean… there was only one thing that he could do.
--
John climbed out of the woods and shook the leaves from his hair. He limped up the last few yards to the motel entrance. His leg throbbed. Pins. Damn pins. The bored girl took a breath and mumbled something about finishing her classes to get another damned job. John ran that through his head a moment. She handed him a familiar key. “Thanks, Inga.”
“No problem.” She looked slightly less tired than a moment before but only slightly.
Took the key and his bag and barely made it up the stairs before his leg really started screaming. Found his bottle and chugged. He managed to sleep for a bit but woke when the door opened. “Dad? You okay?”
“Just sleeping it off.” He managed, then fell asleep knowing his boy was right there.
--
Waking to their voices should have been comforting. Dean only had a year to live… and John was the only one who knew it.
“He’s exhausted, obviously.”
“And he’s going to wake up and want to go on another hunt. He’s killing himself, Dean.”
“No, this is just what he does. It’s what he’s always done. He gets upset, then he hunts until he crashes, then he drinks himself to sleep. He rests. Then he starts over.”
“You skipped a step.”
“Yeah?”
“He starts over… does that mean as soon as he’s rested he gets upset again? Or does he just find something else to hunt?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Okay, why does he keep coming to the motel? It’s a whole ten yards to the store. It’s just as easy to come knock on my door as it is to get this same dirty room all the time.”
“Been coming here so long, it’s almost like home.” Dean cracked lamely.
“Would you both shut up? I rent the room so I don’t have to hear you two fucking in the shower or yapping all night long about who loves who more.” John rolled over and shoved a pillow over his head. “I don’t hear anybody leaving.”
“Yeah, okay, Dad. Come up for dinner when you’re done sleeping.” Dean laughed and opened the door. A moment later, they were on the other side of a closed door and John had to make himself not lift his shirt to smell her on it before shoving himself to his feet to get in the shower.
--
Dinner was an interesting affair of green salad something or other, BBQ chicken (the likes of which can mostly be found in the southwest region of the country), corn from a can and some kind of pie for dessert that had mostly ended up in Dean’s stomach. John had spent the meal trying to make sure he didn’t give anything away.
“Jefferson says he’s got a box of empty blacks for us.”
“What’s that?”
“Just to try out the salt thing. He wants a… control group, he says. Wants to meet us at Bobby’s to get the alchemy done or something.”
“Jefferson’s a jackass.” John took a toothpick when Liz offered them. “We’ll head to Bobby’s in a week or so. Then I got us a hunt lined up. Another werewolf.”
“Full moon’s in a week.” Dean glanced at the calendar on the wall. “You wanna cut it that close?”
“Done my homework, son. We got time.”
“Two werewolves in a year. Weird.”
“I know it, dude.” John nodded and pushed his half-eaten pie away. Dean picked up his fork and finished his father’s pie. “You eatin’ for two?”
“He’s got a black hole in his stomach.” Liz rolled her eyes and cleared the rest of the plates away. She poured John another cup of coffee without asking. He nodded his appreciation but didn’t quite meet her eyes, the same way he’d done all night. He flicked his eyes up to watch her perch on Dean’s leg while Dean worked diligently to eat the last of the pie. Dean shoved a forkful of pie into his mouth, then tipped his chin at Liz, flicking his eyebrows up and down. She stared at him dumbly for a second then rolled her eyes. “Grow up.” Her eyes darted across the table. “And shame on you for doing that in front of your dad.”
“Darlin’… I’m pretty sure there’s very little that I don’t know about the two of you.” John sipped his coffee, slowly. “We cohabitated for a good long while.”
“And he did walk in on you riding me like—oof!” Dean rubbed his chest where Liz elbowed him.
“That’s what you get for being crude.” John tipped his cup at them. “I did warn you about that.”
“When?” Dean kept rubbing his sore sternum.
“The day we met her.”
Liz bit her lip then crossed the table to kiss John’s forehead. “You’re such a good father.” She smacked Dean’s head before taking his plate to rinse in the sink. “I mean, who else would put up with all his eccentricities.”
“Hey! You’re not fooling me with your SAT words.” Dean winked at her.
She shook her head at him. “Dean… never mind.”
“What?” He frowned suddenly.
“He got a 1450 on his SATs.” John blurted out.
“You suck!” Liz threw a towel at him.
“Why? What did you get?” He asked from under the towel.
“1430.” She whipped the towel off his head and hit him again with it. “You’re a big fraud. You have that act down.”
“What act?”
“This act where you pretend to be stupid and unlearned.”
“Alright, kids. I’m going to bed.” John tapped the table and rose to pick up his jacket. “Dean, we’ll leave tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? I thought you said a week?” Dean shut his mouth the second he had blurted the question out. “Tomorrow, then. Yessir.”
John wasn’t fast enough out the door to miss the sour look on Liz’s face. Raised voices hit his ears before he’d hit the ground. No more wasting time. John would kill every werewolf breathing to protect his boy. John had just finished counting out the silver when Dean stumbled into the room and collapsed on the second bed. Not a word was spoken but twenty minutes later, the boy was snoring.
--
Dean crept over the log and kept low to the brush. Gun in hand, he followed the signs. If it left the valley, they were screwed. John had the rifle for a long shot but if the werewolf left the valley, Dean was on his own. If his leg weren’t kicking up such a fuss, John could be down in the valley with his boy.
The phone vibrated in his pocket but John ignored it because the hairy beast was coming out to hunt. Tracking her movement through the scope on his rifle, John shifted for a better shot. The crack of a gun startled him but the werewolf roared and reared. He didn’t think. He pulled the trigger, catching it in the neck. The gun cracked again, bright sparks in the darkness. He watched the werewolf twist and fall in the eye of his scope. Then he saw Dean leap into the scope with a silver machete. Watched Dean do so much more than kill the beast. By the time John reached him, Dean was already tossing a match onto the mess he’d made, which no longer looked like a werewolf but a girl.
“Dean? You okay?”
“I’m good.” Dean nodded and wiped blood off his face. “She didn’t even scratch me.”
“I didn’t ask if you were hurt. I asked if you were okay? What in the hell was that?” John stared down at the burning mess. “You know her or something?”
“No…” Dean blinked at his father then looked down at the mess he’d made. Then he turned and vomited into a shrub. “Christ…”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Dean shook his head and pulled out a flask to get rid of the taste in his mouth. “Let’s get going. Jefferson’s not going to stick around.”
“Let’s take it easy. Leg’s putting up a fight, tonight.”
They made the climb back in silence, Dean lending his shoulder as a crutch for his father. John dropped into the passenger seat, Dean dutifully climbed behind the wheel. “We’ll just swing back and pick up our shit and get going.”
“You okay to drive right now?”
“I’m good. We going straight to Bobby’s?”
“Jefferson’s is closer.”
“He’s at Bobby’s.”
“So what?”
“So, we’re going to Bobby’s right?” Dean looked to his father and didn’t say another word. He didn’t have to. That look said everything that Dean needed it to. It said ‘I trust Bobby.’ It said ‘I want to go to Bobby’s.’ It said ‘I want to take her to meet Bobby.’
“Dean, do whatever, just as long as I get something to kill the pain.”
--
Whatever turned out to be a fast drive to New York and into the mountains and then a very quick argument, concession and rapid packing of clothes. That’s how John ended up in the backseat with his bottle of whiskey. It was a goodly pace to Bobby’s. John didn’t talk much but they didn’t notice. Liz asked questions and given what all Dean had already told her, there was an infinite amount that she didn’t know yet. Dean was playing a game of half-truths with her before and now it was all coming out.
It took two days to meet up with Bobby in South Dakota. John was never more happy to see his old friend.
“I see you got the okay to walk.” Bobby called out. “Shame, bet it kept you out of trouble.”
“Be good as new soon enough.” John nodded as he pulled the bags from the trunk. “Anyway. Trouble finds me as often as not.”
“This is the girl, huh.” Bobby glanced at Liz. “She’s gotta be crazier than both of you put together.”
“I have my doubts about her sanity.” John admitted as she walked past. She tilted her head at him. “She keeps sleeping with him and nobody has ever been sure where he’s been.”
“Listen up, Papa.” Liz poked a finger into his chest. “It’s none of your business what we’re doing… we don’t ask you where you disappear to for weeks on end.”
“Got me.”
“She’s smart.” Bobby tipped his hat to Dean. “I like her already… which is more than I can say for the two of you idjits.”
“You love us, Bobby, you know you do. You miss us when we’re not around.” Dean slung an arm over Liz’s shoulders.
“I don’t know nothing about that. But you keep bringing that pretty little thing with you, I’ll be a little more welcoming. She seems like a nice girl… No clue what she sees in you, Dean.”
“Oh, he’s got good qualities.” Liz leaned into him. “Can always make me smile… and sometimes it’s a tough job.”
“Is that what it was? My witty humor?”
“Don’t push it.”
--
Bobby passed John a fresh beer. “Jefferson’s holed up with a woman in town. Don’t expect to see him for another day or so.”
“Of course.”
“Dean sure looks happy.”
“Of course he does. He’s got his girl glued to his side.”
“She know what we do?”
“She does now. He told her all of it on the way over. She took it well.”
“How about that? Brave one.”
“She’s got secrets she hasn’t told him yet.”
“She told you?”
“No but I know what she knows.” John took a long pull on his beer. “She’s harmless as far as I can tell.”
“Surprised you let him get this attached.”
“Nothing I could do about it.”
“Did you try?”
“Talk to Caleb.”
“And what’s Caleb gonna tell me, John?”
“I don’t like the way you’re asking that question.”
“What’s Caleb gonna tell me about Dean, John?” Bobby could have bit his tongue to have kept from blurting out that question right as Dean was loping up the porch.
“What’s Caleb got to do with me?” Dean asked, offhand, not even thinking. Liz nearly crashed into his back when he stopped. Dean’s eyes flicked from man to man; defensiveness settling in when neither one met his gaze. “Caleb better not be talking shit about me.”
“He hasn’t said a word to anyone.” John shook his head. “No one’s even talking about it.”
“Talking about what?” Liz asked softly.
“Nothing.” Dean bit out and yanked open the back door.
Bobby finished his beer before speaking, not even bothering to look at his friend. “What in the hell are you doing to that boy, John?”
--
John pretended to read a book in Bobby’s living room. He was listening to the voices that came down the vent. Dean explaining some things. Liz soothing and smoothing things over. Then he had to take his book outside. He sat out there with the book when Jefferson rolled up. Sat there through the design process with Dean in the living room. Sat there all night until Liz eventually joined him with beer in hand.
“Real page turner, huh. You’ve been reading that same page all day.” Liz commented.
“I’m not big on German.”
“oh.”
John pulled long on the bottle. “You know… we’ve known you for a while now. I think we’ve come to know each other pretty well.”
“Well, I would hope so.”
“As of today, you know just about everything there is to know about Dean… don’t you think turnabout is fair?”
“What?” her voice was small and shaky.
“I mean… he tells you that his mother was killed by a demon but you can’t tell him about your little extraterrestrial experience?”
“You checked up on me?” Her tone changed swiftly.
“I’m not going to tell him but you should. Anyway, he has a thing for the green women from Star Trek.”
“Dean hits on everything with tits.”
“Well, that is true.”
“How did you find out about me, John?” She stood to face him. “There aren’t many who know about me and none of them talk to strangers.” She shrugged and looked away. “It’s not like he doesn’t know something.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really, John. You almost died on us, last year. Me and my secret are the only reason why you’re sitting here right now, being an asshole.”
John stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
“You, the booze and the pills, John.” She reminded him. “You need help in more ways than one… and I wouldn’t have bothered, maybe, if it hadn’t been for Dean.” She met his eyes. “Dean took it in stride but Dean doesn’t like to question things that keep his family together. He let me slide by with it because you woke up the next morning.”
“What did you do to me?”
“I removed the toxins from your blood stream so that you could start healing yourself. It’s a process on the molecular level. Side effect was that you pissed yourself but you were already in the shower so it didn’t matter.” Her brown eyes flashed something that John had never seen in her before. “Dean loves you. I love Dean. Don’t ever threaten me with him again, John. There are sides of me that I don’t like but I will show them to you if you cross me.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m just stating facts. I’m not going to hurt him. I would never do that… will you promise me the same thing?”
TBC
John spent two weeks trying to be his future self at night and researching Dean’s death during the day. He’d missed a mauling the first time. He’d get the son of a bitch for sure. Spent his nights learning everything about Liz that she would reveal. Listened to her stories of a normal childhood, to her troubled teenaged years and her ill-fated marriage. John shared a few stories that he knew he hadn’t told her and seemed like he’d never told her in the years between his experience with her and this strange future. He knew he’d learned more about her than she’d ever told Dean.
He was certain about this because Liz had told him about Max. Everything about Max. If he failed again to save Dean… there was only one thing that he could do.
--
John climbed out of the woods and shook the leaves from his hair. He limped up the last few yards to the motel entrance. His leg throbbed. Pins. Damn pins. The bored girl took a breath and mumbled something about finishing her classes to get another damned job. John ran that through his head a moment. She handed him a familiar key. “Thanks, Inga.”
“No problem.” She looked slightly less tired than a moment before but only slightly.
Took the key and his bag and barely made it up the stairs before his leg really started screaming. Found his bottle and chugged. He managed to sleep for a bit but woke when the door opened. “Dad? You okay?”
“Just sleeping it off.” He managed, then fell asleep knowing his boy was right there.
--
Waking to their voices should have been comforting. Dean only had a year to live… and John was the only one who knew it.
“He’s exhausted, obviously.”
“And he’s going to wake up and want to go on another hunt. He’s killing himself, Dean.”
“No, this is just what he does. It’s what he’s always done. He gets upset, then he hunts until he crashes, then he drinks himself to sleep. He rests. Then he starts over.”
“You skipped a step.”
“Yeah?”
“He starts over… does that mean as soon as he’s rested he gets upset again? Or does he just find something else to hunt?”
“Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“Okay, why does he keep coming to the motel? It’s a whole ten yards to the store. It’s just as easy to come knock on my door as it is to get this same dirty room all the time.”
“Been coming here so long, it’s almost like home.” Dean cracked lamely.
“Would you both shut up? I rent the room so I don’t have to hear you two fucking in the shower or yapping all night long about who loves who more.” John rolled over and shoved a pillow over his head. “I don’t hear anybody leaving.”
“Yeah, okay, Dad. Come up for dinner when you’re done sleeping.” Dean laughed and opened the door. A moment later, they were on the other side of a closed door and John had to make himself not lift his shirt to smell her on it before shoving himself to his feet to get in the shower.
--
Dinner was an interesting affair of green salad something or other, BBQ chicken (the likes of which can mostly be found in the southwest region of the country), corn from a can and some kind of pie for dessert that had mostly ended up in Dean’s stomach. John had spent the meal trying to make sure he didn’t give anything away.
“Jefferson says he’s got a box of empty blacks for us.”
“What’s that?”
“Just to try out the salt thing. He wants a… control group, he says. Wants to meet us at Bobby’s to get the alchemy done or something.”
“Jefferson’s a jackass.” John took a toothpick when Liz offered them. “We’ll head to Bobby’s in a week or so. Then I got us a hunt lined up. Another werewolf.”
“Full moon’s in a week.” Dean glanced at the calendar on the wall. “You wanna cut it that close?”
“Done my homework, son. We got time.”
“Two werewolves in a year. Weird.”
“I know it, dude.” John nodded and pushed his half-eaten pie away. Dean picked up his fork and finished his father’s pie. “You eatin’ for two?”
“He’s got a black hole in his stomach.” Liz rolled her eyes and cleared the rest of the plates away. She poured John another cup of coffee without asking. He nodded his appreciation but didn’t quite meet her eyes, the same way he’d done all night. He flicked his eyes up to watch her perch on Dean’s leg while Dean worked diligently to eat the last of the pie. Dean shoved a forkful of pie into his mouth, then tipped his chin at Liz, flicking his eyebrows up and down. She stared at him dumbly for a second then rolled her eyes. “Grow up.” Her eyes darted across the table. “And shame on you for doing that in front of your dad.”
“Darlin’… I’m pretty sure there’s very little that I don’t know about the two of you.” John sipped his coffee, slowly. “We cohabitated for a good long while.”
“And he did walk in on you riding me like—oof!” Dean rubbed his chest where Liz elbowed him.
“That’s what you get for being crude.” John tipped his cup at them. “I did warn you about that.”
“When?” Dean kept rubbing his sore sternum.
“The day we met her.”
Liz bit her lip then crossed the table to kiss John’s forehead. “You’re such a good father.” She smacked Dean’s head before taking his plate to rinse in the sink. “I mean, who else would put up with all his eccentricities.”
“Hey! You’re not fooling me with your SAT words.” Dean winked at her.
She shook her head at him. “Dean… never mind.”
“What?” He frowned suddenly.
“He got a 1450 on his SATs.” John blurted out.
“You suck!” Liz threw a towel at him.
“Why? What did you get?” He asked from under the towel.
“1430.” She whipped the towel off his head and hit him again with it. “You’re a big fraud. You have that act down.”
“What act?”
“This act where you pretend to be stupid and unlearned.”
“Alright, kids. I’m going to bed.” John tapped the table and rose to pick up his jacket. “Dean, we’ll leave tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? I thought you said a week?” Dean shut his mouth the second he had blurted the question out. “Tomorrow, then. Yessir.”
John wasn’t fast enough out the door to miss the sour look on Liz’s face. Raised voices hit his ears before he’d hit the ground. No more wasting time. John would kill every werewolf breathing to protect his boy. John had just finished counting out the silver when Dean stumbled into the room and collapsed on the second bed. Not a word was spoken but twenty minutes later, the boy was snoring.
--
Dean crept over the log and kept low to the brush. Gun in hand, he followed the signs. If it left the valley, they were screwed. John had the rifle for a long shot but if the werewolf left the valley, Dean was on his own. If his leg weren’t kicking up such a fuss, John could be down in the valley with his boy.
The phone vibrated in his pocket but John ignored it because the hairy beast was coming out to hunt. Tracking her movement through the scope on his rifle, John shifted for a better shot. The crack of a gun startled him but the werewolf roared and reared. He didn’t think. He pulled the trigger, catching it in the neck. The gun cracked again, bright sparks in the darkness. He watched the werewolf twist and fall in the eye of his scope. Then he saw Dean leap into the scope with a silver machete. Watched Dean do so much more than kill the beast. By the time John reached him, Dean was already tossing a match onto the mess he’d made, which no longer looked like a werewolf but a girl.
“Dean? You okay?”
“I’m good.” Dean nodded and wiped blood off his face. “She didn’t even scratch me.”
“I didn’t ask if you were hurt. I asked if you were okay? What in the hell was that?” John stared down at the burning mess. “You know her or something?”
“No…” Dean blinked at his father then looked down at the mess he’d made. Then he turned and vomited into a shrub. “Christ…”
“What?”
“Nothing.” Dean shook his head and pulled out a flask to get rid of the taste in his mouth. “Let’s get going. Jefferson’s not going to stick around.”
“Let’s take it easy. Leg’s putting up a fight, tonight.”
They made the climb back in silence, Dean lending his shoulder as a crutch for his father. John dropped into the passenger seat, Dean dutifully climbed behind the wheel. “We’ll just swing back and pick up our shit and get going.”
“You okay to drive right now?”
“I’m good. We going straight to Bobby’s?”
“Jefferson’s is closer.”
“He’s at Bobby’s.”
“So what?”
“So, we’re going to Bobby’s right?” Dean looked to his father and didn’t say another word. He didn’t have to. That look said everything that Dean needed it to. It said ‘I trust Bobby.’ It said ‘I want to go to Bobby’s.’ It said ‘I want to take her to meet Bobby.’
“Dean, do whatever, just as long as I get something to kill the pain.”
--
Whatever turned out to be a fast drive to New York and into the mountains and then a very quick argument, concession and rapid packing of clothes. That’s how John ended up in the backseat with his bottle of whiskey. It was a goodly pace to Bobby’s. John didn’t talk much but they didn’t notice. Liz asked questions and given what all Dean had already told her, there was an infinite amount that she didn’t know yet. Dean was playing a game of half-truths with her before and now it was all coming out.
It took two days to meet up with Bobby in South Dakota. John was never more happy to see his old friend.
“I see you got the okay to walk.” Bobby called out. “Shame, bet it kept you out of trouble.”
“Be good as new soon enough.” John nodded as he pulled the bags from the trunk. “Anyway. Trouble finds me as often as not.”
“This is the girl, huh.” Bobby glanced at Liz. “She’s gotta be crazier than both of you put together.”
“I have my doubts about her sanity.” John admitted as she walked past. She tilted her head at him. “She keeps sleeping with him and nobody has ever been sure where he’s been.”
“Listen up, Papa.” Liz poked a finger into his chest. “It’s none of your business what we’re doing… we don’t ask you where you disappear to for weeks on end.”
“Got me.”
“She’s smart.” Bobby tipped his hat to Dean. “I like her already… which is more than I can say for the two of you idjits.”
“You love us, Bobby, you know you do. You miss us when we’re not around.” Dean slung an arm over Liz’s shoulders.
“I don’t know nothing about that. But you keep bringing that pretty little thing with you, I’ll be a little more welcoming. She seems like a nice girl… No clue what she sees in you, Dean.”
“Oh, he’s got good qualities.” Liz leaned into him. “Can always make me smile… and sometimes it’s a tough job.”
“Is that what it was? My witty humor?”
“Don’t push it.”
--
Bobby passed John a fresh beer. “Jefferson’s holed up with a woman in town. Don’t expect to see him for another day or so.”
“Of course.”
“Dean sure looks happy.”
“Of course he does. He’s got his girl glued to his side.”
“She know what we do?”
“She does now. He told her all of it on the way over. She took it well.”
“How about that? Brave one.”
“She’s got secrets she hasn’t told him yet.”
“She told you?”
“No but I know what she knows.” John took a long pull on his beer. “She’s harmless as far as I can tell.”
“Surprised you let him get this attached.”
“Nothing I could do about it.”
“Did you try?”
“Talk to Caleb.”
“And what’s Caleb gonna tell me, John?”
“I don’t like the way you’re asking that question.”
“What’s Caleb gonna tell me about Dean, John?” Bobby could have bit his tongue to have kept from blurting out that question right as Dean was loping up the porch.
“What’s Caleb got to do with me?” Dean asked, offhand, not even thinking. Liz nearly crashed into his back when he stopped. Dean’s eyes flicked from man to man; defensiveness settling in when neither one met his gaze. “Caleb better not be talking shit about me.”
“He hasn’t said a word to anyone.” John shook his head. “No one’s even talking about it.”
“Talking about what?” Liz asked softly.
“Nothing.” Dean bit out and yanked open the back door.
Bobby finished his beer before speaking, not even bothering to look at his friend. “What in the hell are you doing to that boy, John?”
--
John pretended to read a book in Bobby’s living room. He was listening to the voices that came down the vent. Dean explaining some things. Liz soothing and smoothing things over. Then he had to take his book outside. He sat out there with the book when Jefferson rolled up. Sat there through the design process with Dean in the living room. Sat there all night until Liz eventually joined him with beer in hand.
“Real page turner, huh. You’ve been reading that same page all day.” Liz commented.
“I’m not big on German.”
“oh.”
John pulled long on the bottle. “You know… we’ve known you for a while now. I think we’ve come to know each other pretty well.”
“Well, I would hope so.”
“As of today, you know just about everything there is to know about Dean… don’t you think turnabout is fair?”
“What?” her voice was small and shaky.
“I mean… he tells you that his mother was killed by a demon but you can’t tell him about your little extraterrestrial experience?”
“You checked up on me?” Her tone changed swiftly.
“I’m not going to tell him but you should. Anyway, he has a thing for the green women from Star Trek.”
“Dean hits on everything with tits.”
“Well, that is true.”
“How did you find out about me, John?” She stood to face him. “There aren’t many who know about me and none of them talk to strangers.” She shrugged and looked away. “It’s not like he doesn’t know something.”
“Really.”
“Yes, really, John. You almost died on us, last year. Me and my secret are the only reason why you’re sitting here right now, being an asshole.”
John stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
“You, the booze and the pills, John.” She reminded him. “You need help in more ways than one… and I wouldn’t have bothered, maybe, if it hadn’t been for Dean.” She met his eyes. “Dean took it in stride but Dean doesn’t like to question things that keep his family together. He let me slide by with it because you woke up the next morning.”
“What did you do to me?”
“I removed the toxins from your blood stream so that you could start healing yourself. It’s a process on the molecular level. Side effect was that you pissed yourself but you were already in the shower so it didn’t matter.” Her brown eyes flashed something that John had never seen in her before. “Dean loves you. I love Dean. Don’t ever threaten me with him again, John. There are sides of me that I don’t like but I will show them to you if you cross me.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“I’m just stating facts. I’m not going to hurt him. I would never do that… will you promise me the same thing?”
TBC
Re: Time Has Come Today (SPN/ROS, UC, AU, MA) Part 15 10/17
Part 15
Parts of the Impala lay on a cloth on the table. John had already drunk himself stupid to kill the pain in his leg. Dean tinkered with something in the next room. Liz and Bobby were discussing some sort of recipe but John couldn’t tell if it was for a spell or if it was for dinner. Dean walked in, screwdriver in hand, and eyeing some piece of the puzzle from the table. “Did you hear Jefferson trying to overdesign my idea?”
“Yeah.” John nodded as he poured himself another glass.
“It’s simple and it works. There’s nothing to it and he just doesn’t listen.”
“He’s worried about jamming.” John rolled his eyes. Jefferson was the go-to guy on munitions but he was sad sack with a gun.
“But if he’d keep his guns up, there wouldn’t be any jamming.”
“You’re right.”
“But you agree with him? That it needs more?”
John looked up at the question. Dean had a strange expression on his face. “What’s that?”
“Are you agreeing with him?”
“Dean… the shells work. You came up with it. It’s more than Jefferson ever came up with and he’s been alive and hunting longer than either of us. He’s jealous. Did you tell him about the shelf you made?”
“No…”
“Go gloat on him some more. Put him in his place. Jefferson thinks his shit don’t stink just cause his Daddy was something of a somebody.” John snorted and had to avert his eyes when Liz wandered in to sit on Dean’s lap. Her shirt gaped at the wrong angle giving John a view of the younger version of what he’d had pressed against him for weeks on end the last time he’d spent time through the woods.
“It’s a beautiful shelf.” Liz murmured into Dean’s ear.
A phantom tremor tickled John’s ear. He stood abruptly and found himself walking the property to blink away the images burned on the inside of his eyelids. It should have never happened. He should have found another way to exist and get his answers in that other life because now it was all he could think about. Getting back to Liz… the future Liz. This time… Dean should be alive and Liz shouldn’t welcome him with fellatio. Turning, he could see them through the window. Rubbing at his lips, he could swear that he could taste her. Her lips, her breasts, her thighs… and everything in between.
Bobby stepped out of a shadow. “They’re kind of sickening. Think we were ever like that with our women?”
“I know I was.” John ran a hand over his face. “At least you get to kick them out of your house. They come tagging along after me.”
“What kind of dirt do you have on her, John?”
“Maybe enough to see her gone for good.”
“You gonna keep your mouth shut?”
John heard the warning in his friend’s voice and didn’t know what he was really going to do. He shrugged. “She doesn’t know what I know. She’s not hurting anyone. It would put Dean in a tailspin for sure.”
“John, no disrespect meant to you… but I have never seen Dean this happy. Never. I always thought he was too fucked in the head to know this kind of happy if it took his pecker off.”
“You talked to Caleb?”
“I did… which only confirms what I always thought. Dean is fucked in the head.”
“You think?” John hadn’t been so out of touch with reality that he didn’t know but he would never be ready to admit it. His boy had been damaged and he’d never been sure of what exactly Dean had seen that night but it had stilled his tongue for months. All of the things about Dean which made John proud, also made him cringe. His ability to emerge unscathed from the most dangerous hunts. His eagerness to rush into the fray. Then he thought of that poor girl. She had been a monster but the way Dean had dispatched her… so coldly and yet so… artistically.
“We’d both be fooling ourselves if we didn’t admit that the boy is screwed together wrong and so is she if she’s willing to love him the way he is.”
“She’s equally fucked in the head, Bobby.” John stared into the night and thought about the nights where she would do things to him that would have made June Weathers blush. “The things she’s seen… would change your world.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am dead serious.”
“May I ask how you came across this knowledge?”
“No.” John shook his head but his eyes landed on Liz again. Watched her attempt to help Dean put the engine back together. He cleared his throat. “Promised her that I’d leave it alone.”
“She put a spell on you?”
“Maybe.” John shrugged and started back for the house.
--
Jefferson frowned at the trunk full of Dean’s inventions. “Well, I guess this stuff works on the fly but for prolonged use, it just makes sense to get a design going to maintain consistent aiming.”
“Shut your fucking mouth.” John muttered from the porch where he’d been watching with his bottle. No one heard him.
“If your aim is dead on, it doesn’t matter if the bolts are aerodynamic or not.” Dean picked up his makeshift cross bow. “And I never miss a bull’s-eye.”
“Whatever, kid.”
“Jefferson,” John cleared his throat from the porch, sitting up sloppily. “My boy was a better shot than you when he was six and time has only improved his game, which is more than I can say for yours.”
“No one’s a bulls-eye shot at six.” Jefferson rolled his eyes.
“My boy was. Lined ‘em up and he shot down every one. Barely even flinched at the recoil.”
“Bullshit.” The man spat on the ground.
“If John says it happened that way, then it did. He doesn’t blow smoke up anyone’s ass.” Liz interrupted from where she leaned in the doorway with a bottle of beer in hand. “Not even his boys’.” She plopped down on a stair below John’s. “Besides, it doesn’t really surprise me. Dean has always been able to figure things out just by studying them.”
Dean’s face was bright red but he didn’t acknowledge any of the praise. “Anyway, this is what works in a pinch. I don’t have time for smelting on the fly.”
“How did you come up with the rock salt in the shells thing, anyway?” Jefferson fiddled with a clear shell, mentally calculating the layers inside it. Measuring salt and wadding.
“Screwing around between hunts.” Dean shrugged. “Always bugged me that iron rounds cost so much when salt can do the same thing. Don’t even need to get that close to send ‘em on their way long enough to get a grave dug and a body burned.”
“Mass grave of a massacre. No time to do anything else but toss salt at the spooks.” John piped up.
“Mass graves… what a couple of idiots. No wonder Sam took off.” Jefferson swore under his breath.
Liz watched the way John lifted his gaze to the younger man. Watched the steel in Dean’s spine. She rose and polished off her bottle. “Jefferson, I don’t know you but if I were you, I’d change the subject, fast.” She grabbed John’s bottle and pulled his knife out of his back pocket without asking. “Play nice.”
When she had gone in the house, John opened his mouth to lay into Jefferson but Dean beat him to it. “You don’t talk about my brother. Ever. You don’t know him. I asked you about design advice, not family advice, which you shouldn’t be giving out anyway the way your family turned out.”
Liz returned with four more bottles and took a seat after she’d passed them out. John flinched a bit when the seat she’d chosen was the one directly behind his. Heard her take a drink from her bottle before her cool hands landed on his back. He chose to ignore it in favor of continuing to glare at Jefferson for daring to speak about Sam. He flicked his wrist to snap the cap off the bottle, tipped it back into his mouth.
Watched Dean breeze past the anger and continue to argue with Jefferson over mechanics. Simmered in his own regret and self-loathing while Liz rubbed the tense muscles in his back. Tipped the bottle back into his mouth. Didn’t have the sting of whiskey but he was too drunk to get up and find out where Liz stashed his bottle. When Jefferson shot his mouth off again, Liz practically climbed on top of John to keep him from beating the ever-lovin’ shit out of the man. Liz wrapped her arms around his shoulders, one foot pinned on his bad leg. “Let it go, John. He’s not worth it.”
John never lost eye contact with Jefferson, the man left scared. Dean shared a look with Bobby before peeling Liz off his father and pulling John to his feet once more. Bobby picked up the empty beer bottles while John weaved his way into the house. Once he’d made it through the door, Liz took one shoulder and Dean took the other. They guided him through the house to the room where he’d been crashing all week. Dean felt for a pulse. “Dean?”
“Sh. John, just be still.” Liz whispered from where she was huddled by his side. “Be still.”
“Fast… strong, though.” Dean motioned for Liz not to move.
“What’s going on?” Bobby’s voice boomed into the room.
John tried to speak but his tongue was too heavy. That’s when he realized that something was really wrong. Liz stroked his face with her hand. “John, calm down. We’re taking care of you. Relax.”
Dean returned with a glass of water and a wet rag. Liz focused on cooling John’s face and Dean tipped a little bit of water into his father’s mouth. “Bobby, got any aspirin?”
“Is he having a heart attack?”
“No, but I think he’s getting closer and closer.” Dean shook his head.
John’s vision swam. His hearing popped and crackled. The only things anchoring him were Liz’s hands on his face and shoulder and Dean’s grip on his arm. Then it all went black. He floated in the darkness until little things began coming back to him. John found himself remembering and that scared him. It had never happened to him. But he did. He thought about her and he could remember exactly how it had happened.
John had pulled in just as the snow had started to fall. Liz was just unlocking the house after work. They had hugged and held back the tears as they exchanged pleasantries. Liz had put a call in to the babysitter; no answer. Put on some soup and coffee. Then they had noticed the snow was falling harder and faster. Called the babysitter again. An answer at last. Snowed in up the mountain; they were safe but it was going to come down the mountain any second.
John had helped to prepare the apartment. The power cut out leaving them in the dark and getting colder by the minute. All the preparations had them heaping blankets on Liz’s bed and had them clinging together for warmth.
John wrapped his arms around Liz and tried not to notice her body against his or how good she smelled. They were alone together for the first time since… ever. No Dean. No baby. Just them and pain and attraction and everything wrong.
It started with him, rubbing her back gently. Liz returned the favor and moved closer. Intentional or not they lay entangled. Her leg over his, her warmth creating a reaction that he couldn’t hide. Instead of moving away, she snuggled closer, burying her face in his neck. John was sure that she was going to get upset until her hips tilted and he could feel wet warmth through his pants. Her hands pressed against his lower back. He dared to slide a hand down to her lower back. Fitting together, they rocked slowly. Her breath panted against his neck. Then he gripped her ass and pressed her firmly against his crotch. Her hips bucked against his. Then it was a race to the finish.
When they were a soaking mess below the waist, Liz clung to him harder. Held on tighter and just breathed into a deep sleep.
When John woke up, she was gone. He was alone in the warm cocoon and bad in need of a shower. Sunlight poured through the tops of the windows and the pipes had not frozen over. The heat was back on. Cleaning up, he found Liz sitting in the kitchen with some coffee. She avoided his eyes at first. Then proceeded to pretend like she hadn’t humped his leg the night before.
John stared at her. Young mother. His daughter-in-law in a common law way. Still he liked the way her breasts hung, the way her bottom curved, the way she bit her lip when she was nervous. Finally she spoke. “He’s still at the sitter’s. Can’t get him home for about a day. Waiting on the snow plows.”
“Oh.” John nodded.
“Hungry?”
“Is that a trick question?” John blurted out. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to actually say that.”
Her face was flushed as she took a sip of coffee. “It’s okay. I… thought… that, too.”
There was no need to ask what had happened because they had both initiated moves that had crossed lines. Still there had to be something to say. “I’m 51 years old, Liz.”
“I know. I still wanted it.”
That stilled his tongue. “I did too but…”
There it was. They had both wanted more. Both had been waiting for the opportunity. When he had moved he didn’t know but she was looking up at him and she was waiting. He had done it. He had to either kiss her or take a step back and never return. He couldn’t do it because he was weak… and so he caved.
John memorized every moment like a snapshot of flesh and sensation. Somehow they ended up back in bed. Both exhausted and sated and waiting for the other to speak first. Liz was the brave one. “I didn’t know you looked at me that way.”
“We don’t want to talk about that now.”
“Okay.” She pressed her lips against his neck, then his cheek, holding his face in her hands. “Go back to sleep, John.”
--
John woke to bright sunlight, the smell of coffee. His eyes found Liz curled up at the foot of the bed and Dean’s head, drooling on his arm on the other side. Inhaling deep, John lifted his hand to lightly rub Dean’s head. The young man snapped his head up and managed a half a smile. Dean wiped the drool off his face, then off his father’s arm. Those green eyes flicked everywhere but at his father, then he rubbed his hands over his face, leaving them there as he addressed his old man. “You gotta stop doing this to me.”
“What happened?”
“You got all riled up at Jefferson. Then you kind of… turned purple for a bit. Liz was afraid that you were having a stroke or a heart attack.” Dean wiped his hands over his face one last time. “Why’d you let Jefferson get you so riled up?”
“Why didn’t you?” John countered. “I was drunk but he was being an asshole to you and you let him.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Dean, school or no school, I’d take one of you over ten of Jefferson, any day. I’m not arrogant enough to think it was all my training that’s made you the hunter you’ve become. All the rest of it comes from you and second-guessing yourself will get you killed.”
“I know it.”
“Good.”
Dean was silent for a good long moment. “When we get back…” He almost called it home. “You need to see a doctor.”
John thought about arguing but this was his son. His loyal and obedient and never asked for anything for himself son. “Okay.”
“No fighting… I guess that’s a good sign.”
“Give me a day to rest then tell Bobby we’ll get out of his hair.”
“Will do.” Dean patted his father’s arm then moved around the bed to scoop Liz into his arms. John watched them go and tried not to let his dreams invade his waking time.
--
Dean handed the wrench to Bobby. “I don’t know what’s with him. He’s got a real hard on for werewolves these days.”
“Well, a man finds his stride with a beast, he likes to go with it.”
“I’m the one killing the things though.”
“You got a problem killing werewolves?”
“Not really but... why do they have to change back to people. Bobby?”
“Nothing can really hide, Dean. The wolf is just a part of it. It’s a person.”
“I know but I’d feel better about killing a hairy mother fucker that stops being hairy… it kills me when they turn into little girls when I shoot ‘em.” Dean grunted as he got to his feet. “I got him to agree to see a doctor.”
“You keep working that magic on your old man, Dean. He may just be human after all.”
TBC
Parts of the Impala lay on a cloth on the table. John had already drunk himself stupid to kill the pain in his leg. Dean tinkered with something in the next room. Liz and Bobby were discussing some sort of recipe but John couldn’t tell if it was for a spell or if it was for dinner. Dean walked in, screwdriver in hand, and eyeing some piece of the puzzle from the table. “Did you hear Jefferson trying to overdesign my idea?”
“Yeah.” John nodded as he poured himself another glass.
“It’s simple and it works. There’s nothing to it and he just doesn’t listen.”
“He’s worried about jamming.” John rolled his eyes. Jefferson was the go-to guy on munitions but he was sad sack with a gun.
“But if he’d keep his guns up, there wouldn’t be any jamming.”
“You’re right.”
“But you agree with him? That it needs more?”
John looked up at the question. Dean had a strange expression on his face. “What’s that?”
“Are you agreeing with him?”
“Dean… the shells work. You came up with it. It’s more than Jefferson ever came up with and he’s been alive and hunting longer than either of us. He’s jealous. Did you tell him about the shelf you made?”
“No…”
“Go gloat on him some more. Put him in his place. Jefferson thinks his shit don’t stink just cause his Daddy was something of a somebody.” John snorted and had to avert his eyes when Liz wandered in to sit on Dean’s lap. Her shirt gaped at the wrong angle giving John a view of the younger version of what he’d had pressed against him for weeks on end the last time he’d spent time through the woods.
“It’s a beautiful shelf.” Liz murmured into Dean’s ear.
A phantom tremor tickled John’s ear. He stood abruptly and found himself walking the property to blink away the images burned on the inside of his eyelids. It should have never happened. He should have found another way to exist and get his answers in that other life because now it was all he could think about. Getting back to Liz… the future Liz. This time… Dean should be alive and Liz shouldn’t welcome him with fellatio. Turning, he could see them through the window. Rubbing at his lips, he could swear that he could taste her. Her lips, her breasts, her thighs… and everything in between.
Bobby stepped out of a shadow. “They’re kind of sickening. Think we were ever like that with our women?”
“I know I was.” John ran a hand over his face. “At least you get to kick them out of your house. They come tagging along after me.”
“What kind of dirt do you have on her, John?”
“Maybe enough to see her gone for good.”
“You gonna keep your mouth shut?”
John heard the warning in his friend’s voice and didn’t know what he was really going to do. He shrugged. “She doesn’t know what I know. She’s not hurting anyone. It would put Dean in a tailspin for sure.”
“John, no disrespect meant to you… but I have never seen Dean this happy. Never. I always thought he was too fucked in the head to know this kind of happy if it took his pecker off.”
“You talked to Caleb?”
“I did… which only confirms what I always thought. Dean is fucked in the head.”
“You think?” John hadn’t been so out of touch with reality that he didn’t know but he would never be ready to admit it. His boy had been damaged and he’d never been sure of what exactly Dean had seen that night but it had stilled his tongue for months. All of the things about Dean which made John proud, also made him cringe. His ability to emerge unscathed from the most dangerous hunts. His eagerness to rush into the fray. Then he thought of that poor girl. She had been a monster but the way Dean had dispatched her… so coldly and yet so… artistically.
“We’d both be fooling ourselves if we didn’t admit that the boy is screwed together wrong and so is she if she’s willing to love him the way he is.”
“She’s equally fucked in the head, Bobby.” John stared into the night and thought about the nights where she would do things to him that would have made June Weathers blush. “The things she’s seen… would change your world.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I am dead serious.”
“May I ask how you came across this knowledge?”
“No.” John shook his head but his eyes landed on Liz again. Watched her attempt to help Dean put the engine back together. He cleared his throat. “Promised her that I’d leave it alone.”
“She put a spell on you?”
“Maybe.” John shrugged and started back for the house.
--
Jefferson frowned at the trunk full of Dean’s inventions. “Well, I guess this stuff works on the fly but for prolonged use, it just makes sense to get a design going to maintain consistent aiming.”
“Shut your fucking mouth.” John muttered from the porch where he’d been watching with his bottle. No one heard him.
“If your aim is dead on, it doesn’t matter if the bolts are aerodynamic or not.” Dean picked up his makeshift cross bow. “And I never miss a bull’s-eye.”
“Whatever, kid.”
“Jefferson,” John cleared his throat from the porch, sitting up sloppily. “My boy was a better shot than you when he was six and time has only improved his game, which is more than I can say for yours.”
“No one’s a bulls-eye shot at six.” Jefferson rolled his eyes.
“My boy was. Lined ‘em up and he shot down every one. Barely even flinched at the recoil.”
“Bullshit.” The man spat on the ground.
“If John says it happened that way, then it did. He doesn’t blow smoke up anyone’s ass.” Liz interrupted from where she leaned in the doorway with a bottle of beer in hand. “Not even his boys’.” She plopped down on a stair below John’s. “Besides, it doesn’t really surprise me. Dean has always been able to figure things out just by studying them.”
Dean’s face was bright red but he didn’t acknowledge any of the praise. “Anyway, this is what works in a pinch. I don’t have time for smelting on the fly.”
“How did you come up with the rock salt in the shells thing, anyway?” Jefferson fiddled with a clear shell, mentally calculating the layers inside it. Measuring salt and wadding.
“Screwing around between hunts.” Dean shrugged. “Always bugged me that iron rounds cost so much when salt can do the same thing. Don’t even need to get that close to send ‘em on their way long enough to get a grave dug and a body burned.”
“Mass grave of a massacre. No time to do anything else but toss salt at the spooks.” John piped up.
“Mass graves… what a couple of idiots. No wonder Sam took off.” Jefferson swore under his breath.
Liz watched the way John lifted his gaze to the younger man. Watched the steel in Dean’s spine. She rose and polished off her bottle. “Jefferson, I don’t know you but if I were you, I’d change the subject, fast.” She grabbed John’s bottle and pulled his knife out of his back pocket without asking. “Play nice.”
When she had gone in the house, John opened his mouth to lay into Jefferson but Dean beat him to it. “You don’t talk about my brother. Ever. You don’t know him. I asked you about design advice, not family advice, which you shouldn’t be giving out anyway the way your family turned out.”
Liz returned with four more bottles and took a seat after she’d passed them out. John flinched a bit when the seat she’d chosen was the one directly behind his. Heard her take a drink from her bottle before her cool hands landed on his back. He chose to ignore it in favor of continuing to glare at Jefferson for daring to speak about Sam. He flicked his wrist to snap the cap off the bottle, tipped it back into his mouth.
Watched Dean breeze past the anger and continue to argue with Jefferson over mechanics. Simmered in his own regret and self-loathing while Liz rubbed the tense muscles in his back. Tipped the bottle back into his mouth. Didn’t have the sting of whiskey but he was too drunk to get up and find out where Liz stashed his bottle. When Jefferson shot his mouth off again, Liz practically climbed on top of John to keep him from beating the ever-lovin’ shit out of the man. Liz wrapped her arms around his shoulders, one foot pinned on his bad leg. “Let it go, John. He’s not worth it.”
John never lost eye contact with Jefferson, the man left scared. Dean shared a look with Bobby before peeling Liz off his father and pulling John to his feet once more. Bobby picked up the empty beer bottles while John weaved his way into the house. Once he’d made it through the door, Liz took one shoulder and Dean took the other. They guided him through the house to the room where he’d been crashing all week. Dean felt for a pulse. “Dean?”
“Sh. John, just be still.” Liz whispered from where she was huddled by his side. “Be still.”
“Fast… strong, though.” Dean motioned for Liz not to move.
“What’s going on?” Bobby’s voice boomed into the room.
John tried to speak but his tongue was too heavy. That’s when he realized that something was really wrong. Liz stroked his face with her hand. “John, calm down. We’re taking care of you. Relax.”
Dean returned with a glass of water and a wet rag. Liz focused on cooling John’s face and Dean tipped a little bit of water into his father’s mouth. “Bobby, got any aspirin?”
“Is he having a heart attack?”
“No, but I think he’s getting closer and closer.” Dean shook his head.
John’s vision swam. His hearing popped and crackled. The only things anchoring him were Liz’s hands on his face and shoulder and Dean’s grip on his arm. Then it all went black. He floated in the darkness until little things began coming back to him. John found himself remembering and that scared him. It had never happened to him. But he did. He thought about her and he could remember exactly how it had happened.
John had pulled in just as the snow had started to fall. Liz was just unlocking the house after work. They had hugged and held back the tears as they exchanged pleasantries. Liz had put a call in to the babysitter; no answer. Put on some soup and coffee. Then they had noticed the snow was falling harder and faster. Called the babysitter again. An answer at last. Snowed in up the mountain; they were safe but it was going to come down the mountain any second.
John had helped to prepare the apartment. The power cut out leaving them in the dark and getting colder by the minute. All the preparations had them heaping blankets on Liz’s bed and had them clinging together for warmth.
John wrapped his arms around Liz and tried not to notice her body against his or how good she smelled. They were alone together for the first time since… ever. No Dean. No baby. Just them and pain and attraction and everything wrong.
It started with him, rubbing her back gently. Liz returned the favor and moved closer. Intentional or not they lay entangled. Her leg over his, her warmth creating a reaction that he couldn’t hide. Instead of moving away, she snuggled closer, burying her face in his neck. John was sure that she was going to get upset until her hips tilted and he could feel wet warmth through his pants. Her hands pressed against his lower back. He dared to slide a hand down to her lower back. Fitting together, they rocked slowly. Her breath panted against his neck. Then he gripped her ass and pressed her firmly against his crotch. Her hips bucked against his. Then it was a race to the finish.
When they were a soaking mess below the waist, Liz clung to him harder. Held on tighter and just breathed into a deep sleep.
When John woke up, she was gone. He was alone in the warm cocoon and bad in need of a shower. Sunlight poured through the tops of the windows and the pipes had not frozen over. The heat was back on. Cleaning up, he found Liz sitting in the kitchen with some coffee. She avoided his eyes at first. Then proceeded to pretend like she hadn’t humped his leg the night before.
John stared at her. Young mother. His daughter-in-law in a common law way. Still he liked the way her breasts hung, the way her bottom curved, the way she bit her lip when she was nervous. Finally she spoke. “He’s still at the sitter’s. Can’t get him home for about a day. Waiting on the snow plows.”
“Oh.” John nodded.
“Hungry?”
“Is that a trick question?” John blurted out. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to actually say that.”
Her face was flushed as she took a sip of coffee. “It’s okay. I… thought… that, too.”
There was no need to ask what had happened because they had both initiated moves that had crossed lines. Still there had to be something to say. “I’m 51 years old, Liz.”
“I know. I still wanted it.”
That stilled his tongue. “I did too but…”
There it was. They had both wanted more. Both had been waiting for the opportunity. When he had moved he didn’t know but she was looking up at him and she was waiting. He had done it. He had to either kiss her or take a step back and never return. He couldn’t do it because he was weak… and so he caved.
John memorized every moment like a snapshot of flesh and sensation. Somehow they ended up back in bed. Both exhausted and sated and waiting for the other to speak first. Liz was the brave one. “I didn’t know you looked at me that way.”
“We don’t want to talk about that now.”
“Okay.” She pressed her lips against his neck, then his cheek, holding his face in her hands. “Go back to sleep, John.”
--
John woke to bright sunlight, the smell of coffee. His eyes found Liz curled up at the foot of the bed and Dean’s head, drooling on his arm on the other side. Inhaling deep, John lifted his hand to lightly rub Dean’s head. The young man snapped his head up and managed a half a smile. Dean wiped the drool off his face, then off his father’s arm. Those green eyes flicked everywhere but at his father, then he rubbed his hands over his face, leaving them there as he addressed his old man. “You gotta stop doing this to me.”
“What happened?”
“You got all riled up at Jefferson. Then you kind of… turned purple for a bit. Liz was afraid that you were having a stroke or a heart attack.” Dean wiped his hands over his face one last time. “Why’d you let Jefferson get you so riled up?”
“Why didn’t you?” John countered. “I was drunk but he was being an asshole to you and you let him.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Dean, school or no school, I’d take one of you over ten of Jefferson, any day. I’m not arrogant enough to think it was all my training that’s made you the hunter you’ve become. All the rest of it comes from you and second-guessing yourself will get you killed.”
“I know it.”
“Good.”
Dean was silent for a good long moment. “When we get back…” He almost called it home. “You need to see a doctor.”
John thought about arguing but this was his son. His loyal and obedient and never asked for anything for himself son. “Okay.”
“No fighting… I guess that’s a good sign.”
“Give me a day to rest then tell Bobby we’ll get out of his hair.”
“Will do.” Dean patted his father’s arm then moved around the bed to scoop Liz into his arms. John watched them go and tried not to let his dreams invade his waking time.
--
Dean handed the wrench to Bobby. “I don’t know what’s with him. He’s got a real hard on for werewolves these days.”
“Well, a man finds his stride with a beast, he likes to go with it.”
“I’m the one killing the things though.”
“You got a problem killing werewolves?”
“Not really but... why do they have to change back to people. Bobby?”
“Nothing can really hide, Dean. The wolf is just a part of it. It’s a person.”
“I know but I’d feel better about killing a hairy mother fucker that stops being hairy… it kills me when they turn into little girls when I shoot ‘em.” Dean grunted as he got to his feet. “I got him to agree to see a doctor.”
“You keep working that magic on your old man, Dean. He may just be human after all.”
TBC
Re: Time Has Come Today (SPN/ROS, UC, AU, MA) Part 16 10/18
Part 16
John scooped his winnings from the table. At least they weren’t sore losers. Liz had cheered him on, which had only made the stakes go higher. Young men were always eager to impress a pretty girl watching from the sidelines. The leader shook his head. “Yeah, go buy your daughter a Barbie or something.”
“Oh, she’s not my daughter.” John taunted as he tucked the roll of money into his jacket. He made his escape to the barstool next to Liz, who was still waiting on Dean to return from the bar next door with his winnings. Liz was snickering into her beer bottle. “What’s so funny?”
“You didn’t see the look on that guy’s face when you told him I wasn’t your daughter.” She cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Good. He was an arrogant prick.”
“How much you win?”
“Enough to cover anesthesia.”
“Really?”
“For an hour.”
“Ah. So… we’re gonna hit some more bars tomorrow night?”
“Looks like.”
“How’s your leg?”
“Stiff.”
“Well, this fundraiser should pay for most of the removal procedure. You’ll be as good as new in no time.” Liz stared to say more but Dean walked through the door, grinning from ear to ear. “Well, I’m assuming you won.”
“Of course I did.” He stole her beer for a drink, which allowed her to see a lipstick smear on his jaw.
“Dean.” John flinched at the way she said the name.
“Yeah?” Dean passed the beer back, then saw the look on her face. “What?” She slid a finger through the smudge and held it up for him to see. Dean’s hand shot to his face to wipe off the remainder. “Look, I won. This chick tried to come on to me and I didn’t bite. So, she tried harder.”
“Uh-huh.” Liz tilted her head at him.
“Nothing happened.”
“Okay.” She turned back to the bar to finish her beer.
“Go wash your face, son.” John cleared his throat. Dean cursed under his breath and wandered away. Liz fiddled with a coaster for moment and when John cleared his throat again to speak, she cut him a look that stopped his speech dead in his throat.
“Don’t say anything, John. Just don’t.”
--
John held the baby against his chest. Let him sleep while Dean and Liz were catching up on chores. Smelled clean for the moment; baby powder and shampoo. Baby Jack. No one had argued when Dean had named the boy Jack Winchester. But a few weeks later, the jokes had started. Baby Jack sounded like something someone could order at a drive-thru. Ran his fingers lightly up and down the warm back. Remembered doing the same with both his boys at the same age. When life was safe and uncomplicated and Mary was there to snap pictures and make jokes about her couch potato boys. John laid a secure hand on the baby’s back and shut his eyes, just for a minute.
--
John opened his eyes when he felt the fingers around his wrist. “No, he’s got a strong heart beat. It’s not as fast as it was two days ago.”
“He’s also awake.” John grumbled as he struggled to sit up.
“Sorry, John.” Liz winched and brushed his hair out of his face. “You were having a nightmare or something.”
“Nightmare?”
“Yeah…” Dean flicked a glance over his shoulder but didn’t even ease up on the gas a bit. “No more Stephen King movies at bedtime, kay champ?”
--
John hated hospitals and doctors but the plates in his leg had to go. He listened to Dean and the doctor. He couldn’t see them where they were outside the room but he could hear almost everything. Dean was rattling off a list of concerns. Hearing things from someone outside his head, John began to worry about himself. Only he knew what they did not. He had been traveling a great distance to a life that was nothing like the one he had now.
The doctor’s comments were optimistic that some of the behavior was mental health and not related to the leg but that some of it could be attributed to the pain and once the plates were out and he was healed, some of it should alleviate the other behavior. Mental Health… that was one way of putting it. John sometimes doubted his ‘mental health’ and the choices he’d been making in the last couple of years.
Dean ambled in, hands shoved into his jean pockets. “So, they’re gonna come prep you. I’m short some cash but I can make up the difference in a couple of nights.”
“I thought we were more than short.” John scratched at his beard.
“Payment plan. Half now. Quarter in a couple of months. Remainder a couple of months later. It’s doable.”
“Liz’s pacing somewhere?”
Dean smiled to himself. “She’s at home. Sleeping. She… kind of hasn’t been doing that.”
“Did you drug her?”
“Almost had to.”
There was a long moment where John could tell Dean was going over something in his head. He was going to do something desperate if John didn’t do something. “If I die, you tell Sammy that I’m sorry.”
Dean’s head snapped up, eyes blazing. “Fuck you.”
“I’m serious. I heard everything the doctor said about blood clots and my blood pressure and the risk. So, if I die… you go find him. You tell him that I don’t hate him. You tell him that I respect his decision.”
“Shut the fuck up, right now. You’re not going to die.”
“You split the weapons and if you can’t use ‘em, talk to Bobby.”
“God damn it!” Dean gripped his father’s shoulders and stopped short of shaking him. “Shut up. Stop it.”
“Dean. Just… be prepared for anything.”
“Then say that!” Dean whirled away. “Don’t go all… maudlin and ‘here’s my living will’ shit.”
--
Jello. Sucks. Ass. John shoved the lunch tray away. He was alone for the first time in a week. It was the first time he’d had since leaving Bobby’s that he’d had where he could think about what had happened to him in Bobby’s spare room. He’d had memories that it wasn’t possible to have. Memories of a future he was fighting against. Maybe he didn’t have to go back. Maybe he’d done what he was supposed to and it was done. Dean and Liz would settle down and have probably more than just the one kid and it would be the closest thing to normal that Dean would ever have in his life… aside from all the alien stuff that was bound to invade once Liz’s secrets came to light.
--
John found himself sitting at the kitchen table, leg propped up on an extra chair. Liz kept checking on him while she cooked. “Dean said that he’d be back soon. Just running out to get a jump start on those hospital bills.”
“I know.” John nodded to himself.
“John… about what I said back at your friend’s house.” She turned slightly, bracing herself on the counter. “I didn’t mean to threaten you like that. I’m not a violent person. I’m… I’ve always been very protective of people I love. It’s very hard for me to say that I love Dean but I do… I’ve told Dean enough that he’s not curious and I don’t want to tell him more because he will become curious and that’s not safe for a man like him.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Dean solves his problems by killing things. There’s nothing he can kill for me.” She looked up at last. “I don’t like asking him to choose. I won’t ask him to. I will take what I can get from him. I know that I can’t make him stay with me. I don’t ask him to stay with me. I think it makes it easier for him to stay when I don’t ask him to…”
“What’s your point? You’re meandering all over the place there, darlin’.”
“I need him. I like to think he needs me. You’re gonna be in my life as long as he is. I don’t want to say that I tolerate you or I put up with you because that sounds harsh. I honestly do enjoy our conversations when you don’t treat me like a threat to your family.” Liz crossed her arms and cast her gaze down to her bare feet. “My point is that I’m not going to make it difficult for us to get along. If it’s hard, it’s your doing. I don’t think that you try to make anything work for longer than is necessary. I think you are run by necessity and nothing more.”
“Think what you want.” John tapped the table. “Ask Dean. I don’t let anyone talk to me this way. You think I’m not trying. I am. This is me trying. Maybe it’s not enough for you. It’s enough for Dean. He’s the only one that I owe anything to.”
“So, we’re in agreement. For Dean.”
“For Dean.”
TBC
John scooped his winnings from the table. At least they weren’t sore losers. Liz had cheered him on, which had only made the stakes go higher. Young men were always eager to impress a pretty girl watching from the sidelines. The leader shook his head. “Yeah, go buy your daughter a Barbie or something.”
“Oh, she’s not my daughter.” John taunted as he tucked the roll of money into his jacket. He made his escape to the barstool next to Liz, who was still waiting on Dean to return from the bar next door with his winnings. Liz was snickering into her beer bottle. “What’s so funny?”
“You didn’t see the look on that guy’s face when you told him I wasn’t your daughter.” She cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Good. He was an arrogant prick.”
“How much you win?”
“Enough to cover anesthesia.”
“Really?”
“For an hour.”
“Ah. So… we’re gonna hit some more bars tomorrow night?”
“Looks like.”
“How’s your leg?”
“Stiff.”
“Well, this fundraiser should pay for most of the removal procedure. You’ll be as good as new in no time.” Liz stared to say more but Dean walked through the door, grinning from ear to ear. “Well, I’m assuming you won.”
“Of course I did.” He stole her beer for a drink, which allowed her to see a lipstick smear on his jaw.
“Dean.” John flinched at the way she said the name.
“Yeah?” Dean passed the beer back, then saw the look on her face. “What?” She slid a finger through the smudge and held it up for him to see. Dean’s hand shot to his face to wipe off the remainder. “Look, I won. This chick tried to come on to me and I didn’t bite. So, she tried harder.”
“Uh-huh.” Liz tilted her head at him.
“Nothing happened.”
“Okay.” She turned back to the bar to finish her beer.
“Go wash your face, son.” John cleared his throat. Dean cursed under his breath and wandered away. Liz fiddled with a coaster for moment and when John cleared his throat again to speak, she cut him a look that stopped his speech dead in his throat.
“Don’t say anything, John. Just don’t.”
--
John held the baby against his chest. Let him sleep while Dean and Liz were catching up on chores. Smelled clean for the moment; baby powder and shampoo. Baby Jack. No one had argued when Dean had named the boy Jack Winchester. But a few weeks later, the jokes had started. Baby Jack sounded like something someone could order at a drive-thru. Ran his fingers lightly up and down the warm back. Remembered doing the same with both his boys at the same age. When life was safe and uncomplicated and Mary was there to snap pictures and make jokes about her couch potato boys. John laid a secure hand on the baby’s back and shut his eyes, just for a minute.
--
John opened his eyes when he felt the fingers around his wrist. “No, he’s got a strong heart beat. It’s not as fast as it was two days ago.”
“He’s also awake.” John grumbled as he struggled to sit up.
“Sorry, John.” Liz winched and brushed his hair out of his face. “You were having a nightmare or something.”
“Nightmare?”
“Yeah…” Dean flicked a glance over his shoulder but didn’t even ease up on the gas a bit. “No more Stephen King movies at bedtime, kay champ?”
--
John hated hospitals and doctors but the plates in his leg had to go. He listened to Dean and the doctor. He couldn’t see them where they were outside the room but he could hear almost everything. Dean was rattling off a list of concerns. Hearing things from someone outside his head, John began to worry about himself. Only he knew what they did not. He had been traveling a great distance to a life that was nothing like the one he had now.
The doctor’s comments were optimistic that some of the behavior was mental health and not related to the leg but that some of it could be attributed to the pain and once the plates were out and he was healed, some of it should alleviate the other behavior. Mental Health… that was one way of putting it. John sometimes doubted his ‘mental health’ and the choices he’d been making in the last couple of years.
Dean ambled in, hands shoved into his jean pockets. “So, they’re gonna come prep you. I’m short some cash but I can make up the difference in a couple of nights.”
“I thought we were more than short.” John scratched at his beard.
“Payment plan. Half now. Quarter in a couple of months. Remainder a couple of months later. It’s doable.”
“Liz’s pacing somewhere?”
Dean smiled to himself. “She’s at home. Sleeping. She… kind of hasn’t been doing that.”
“Did you drug her?”
“Almost had to.”
There was a long moment where John could tell Dean was going over something in his head. He was going to do something desperate if John didn’t do something. “If I die, you tell Sammy that I’m sorry.”
Dean’s head snapped up, eyes blazing. “Fuck you.”
“I’m serious. I heard everything the doctor said about blood clots and my blood pressure and the risk. So, if I die… you go find him. You tell him that I don’t hate him. You tell him that I respect his decision.”
“Shut the fuck up, right now. You’re not going to die.”
“You split the weapons and if you can’t use ‘em, talk to Bobby.”
“God damn it!” Dean gripped his father’s shoulders and stopped short of shaking him. “Shut up. Stop it.”
“Dean. Just… be prepared for anything.”
“Then say that!” Dean whirled away. “Don’t go all… maudlin and ‘here’s my living will’ shit.”
--
Jello. Sucks. Ass. John shoved the lunch tray away. He was alone for the first time in a week. It was the first time he’d had since leaving Bobby’s that he’d had where he could think about what had happened to him in Bobby’s spare room. He’d had memories that it wasn’t possible to have. Memories of a future he was fighting against. Maybe he didn’t have to go back. Maybe he’d done what he was supposed to and it was done. Dean and Liz would settle down and have probably more than just the one kid and it would be the closest thing to normal that Dean would ever have in his life… aside from all the alien stuff that was bound to invade once Liz’s secrets came to light.
--
John found himself sitting at the kitchen table, leg propped up on an extra chair. Liz kept checking on him while she cooked. “Dean said that he’d be back soon. Just running out to get a jump start on those hospital bills.”
“I know.” John nodded to himself.
“John… about what I said back at your friend’s house.” She turned slightly, bracing herself on the counter. “I didn’t mean to threaten you like that. I’m not a violent person. I’m… I’ve always been very protective of people I love. It’s very hard for me to say that I love Dean but I do… I’ve told Dean enough that he’s not curious and I don’t want to tell him more because he will become curious and that’s not safe for a man like him.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Dean solves his problems by killing things. There’s nothing he can kill for me.” She looked up at last. “I don’t like asking him to choose. I won’t ask him to. I will take what I can get from him. I know that I can’t make him stay with me. I don’t ask him to stay with me. I think it makes it easier for him to stay when I don’t ask him to…”
“What’s your point? You’re meandering all over the place there, darlin’.”
“I need him. I like to think he needs me. You’re gonna be in my life as long as he is. I don’t want to say that I tolerate you or I put up with you because that sounds harsh. I honestly do enjoy our conversations when you don’t treat me like a threat to your family.” Liz crossed her arms and cast her gaze down to her bare feet. “My point is that I’m not going to make it difficult for us to get along. If it’s hard, it’s your doing. I don’t think that you try to make anything work for longer than is necessary. I think you are run by necessity and nothing more.”
“Think what you want.” John tapped the table. “Ask Dean. I don’t let anyone talk to me this way. You think I’m not trying. I am. This is me trying. Maybe it’s not enough for you. It’s enough for Dean. He’s the only one that I owe anything to.”
“So, we’re in agreement. For Dean.”
“For Dean.”
TBC
Re: Time Has Come Today (SPN/ROS, UC, AU, MA) Part 16 10/18
Part 17
Doubled over, heart racing, John waited for the memories to come. He knew they were coming now. He was ready. Ready being a relative term.
A birthday cake. 3 candles on it. Dean slyly helping to blow them out with little Jack. Liz hugging John and giggling into his side, disrupting John’s aim with the camera. Liz hopped up to kiss his cheek before rushing over to help Dean cut the cake and plaster her men with kisses. John grinned and snapped off pictures before Jack’s fist smashed into the cake. “Hey buddy, save some of that cake for Papa.” Dean pulled the little hand out, wiping it clean before kissing Liz, who had waited patiently. John tilted his head at those two and set the camera down. Liz quickly cut the cake, avoiding his eyes. Dean cleared his throat and got the boy settled once more. “Hey, Dad?”
“What’s going on, son?” John took his piece of cake but watched the two lovebirds.
“Ready to expand your family?” Dean’s grin was broad and genuine as he tugged Liz into his side. No nervousness this time. Not like the last time when Dean was certain that a pronouncement like this was the end of the world.
“Daddy!” Jack squealed as his piece of cake smashed between his fingers.
Pain bursting in John’s skull, he stumbled and gripped the kitchen table. Struggled to stay on his feet as more memories surfaced.
Liz clinging to him beside a pyre. Jack sleeping in the car a few yards away. “What am I going to do, John?”
“You’ll keep going.”
“And in five months?” She turned her face up to him. “I had him to help me the last time. How am I supposed to do this alone, now?”
“You can do this.” John stroked her hair down and out of her face. “I’m leaving. I’m gonna kill the monster that did this to Dean… and then I’ll be back.”
“John, no.” She shoved him away. “Look!” She pointed to the burning pyre. “Dean is dead. Jack is three years old. I’m going to give birth to another one of your grandchildren in five months. If you’re dead when that happens… What am I supposed to do if you die too?”
John gasped for breath as he let Liz guide him back to bed. She whispered meaningless reassurances to him until he was staring at the ceiling once more. Taking a deep breath, he cast a glance at her. 22 years old and scared shitless. “Liz?”
“Yeah, John?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening.”
“Okay.”
--
Dean wiped sweat from his father’s forehead. He glanced back at Liz. “He’s been babbling nonsense all week?”
“At first, it was just… you know… like he was talking to himself. Remembering something or trying not to remember something. Just… you know… what people do sometimes. Then he started getting headaches and he’d start babbling and it would last a long time and then he started getting weak. So, I took him off the pain pills but he hasn’t tried to drink anything alcoholic. Then yesterday, it was really bad. He started talking like…”
“Like what?”
“Like you were gone.” Liz wrapped her arms around herself. “You should have seen his face. He said that a monster had gotten you and that he was going to kill it and he wasn’t going to stop until it was dead. When he said it, I almost believed it. That’s when I called you. He was stumbling all over the place and then he’d stand up straight and look me in the eyes and tell me that he was going to kill it and then…”
Dean looked back at her. “What?”
“When I got him settled in here… he apologized for his behavior. He knows… that he’s coming in and out of whatever it is. He’s fighting it and I don’t think he’s winning.”
--
John found his way. He didn’t know how. Maybe sense memory. He stumbled into the apartment and fell face first into the bed he usually shared with Liz. Then he slept. When he woke, Liz sat on the edge of the bed with two frightened children. Jack, seemed even taller than the last time John was there but he was a growing boy. Then… the other child. A girl. Her name was Deanna. Eight years old and the picture of her mother with startling green eyes staring out of her round face.
“Papa?” Deanna cried and fell onto the bed, scrambling her way up to hug him, all knees and elbows. That’s when John noticed that he’d been changed, cleaned and his leg was bound with fresh dressings.
“Hey, Papa.” Jack wrapped his hand around John’s ankle. “You get nailed by a werewolf?”
“Nothing could keep me away. Not even a werewolf.” John rasped out around his granddaughter’s cloud of chocolate hair. Liz moved more slowly around the bed, sitting closer so that she could see his face. “Got something to say to me?”
“You gotta stop, John.” She wrapped both her hands around his and kissed his palm. “I can’t take much more of this.” She tucked his hand into the crook of her neck and stared at him. “I can’t keep coming home to find you bleeding out in our bed. Scaring the crap out of the kids.”
“Com’ere, Jack.” John jerked his head to the side. Jack ambled over to hug his papa around his little sister. John pulled Liz down to hug her. “I’m trying, Liz. I am. I’m trying to get it together.”
--
John propped his leg up on the couch and then balanced Deanna on the good leg. Green eyes. “You look like your grandma and your mama, all at the same time.”
“Papa.” She blushed and launched herself into his arms.
“What? You’re my pretty little girl, aren’t you.” John held her close and let his eyes drift to the shelf, crammed with photos. There it was. The picture that reflected the painful visions that he’d had just before coming through the wood. Liz and her sad eyes, holding this little angel in her arms and no one by her side but Jack. An awkward photo with the four of them, not nearly healed from losing Dean. A photo of Deanna in John’s arms and Jack clinging to his leg. Still, a picture of Liz, Dean and little Jack all smeared with frosting from Jack’s 3rd Birthday. John had managed to save Dean for another three years.
“De-an-na.” Jack sang out. “Mom says to come pick up your toys or you can’t have dessert.”
“Oh man.” Deanna huffed and let her full weight settle against her papa.
“Go on, now. I’ll still be here when you’re done.” John nudged her little ribs.
“Okay.” She huffed again, then stomped to her room.
“Watch the attitude, Deanna Winchester.” Liz called after her. “I swear I don’t know where she gets that from.” Her gaze settled on John. “Don’t go crying over those pictures again. I’ve hidden the booze.” She tilted her head at him. “When the kids go to bed… I expect to hear about what you were hunting.”
John nodded, silently. They got through dinner with the kids yapping about playground drama and Liz’s reminders to do chores and brush teeth and do homework. Liz chased them out with kisses when she started clean up. “Jack’s nearly as tall as you now.”
“I know. He’ll pass me by in five years and then I’ll have no control over him.” She shook her head at herself while she ran hot water over the dishes. “So, how’d you tear your leg open?”
“Um…” John thought about what he could have let get that close because he could only have the plates removed once.
“Tell me you did not go after another Rawhead.”
“They like eating kids. I don’t like that they do that.” John stated simply. It was the honest truth. He hated Rawheads. They were nasty pedophiles of the monster kind. He watched her carefully. He knew the slant of her shoulders and the shake of her head. She’d done the same before, when it was a werewolf who had killed Dean. So, it was Rawhead, this time. Which meant that it was… chance. Random. Just a hunt that should have been a no-brainer.
He was pulled out of his thoughts when Liz straddled his good leg. She brushed her lips softly against his. “Think you’ve killed them all yet?”
“Got a good head start on it.” John shrugged.
“Werewolves and Rawheads, beware of John Winchester.” She brushed his graying hair out of his face. “The kids get out okay?”
“Yeah. I got there in time.”
“Yeah. You did.”
“Would I lie?”
“You have before.” She sighed. “But… you don’t interact this much when you do lie.”
--
John stared down at the Rawhead. Dean leaned against the far wall, gasping for breath. John yanked the wires out and began hacking. Together, they dragged the pieces out and lit them on fire. John watched Dean as he reassured the three little girls who had been chained between the water pipes. Triplets, in matching styles but differing colors. Dean rose slowly and somehow managed to carry all three down the street. John followed slowly on his still-healing leg.
John stepped ahead of them and knocked on the door that they had recognized off the police scanner. A harried young man answered the door with a tear-streaked woman behind him. “Can I help you?”
“Name’s John. My boy and I heard screaming. Found three little girls. All aged six.”
“Oh my God.” The woman gasped.
“They’re all alive. All more or less unhurt.” John turned when Dean made his slow way up the walk with his heavy load.
“Daddy! Mommy!” The girls chorused when they got close enough to leap into one set of arms or the other.
“They were… chained.” Dean spoke softly, his face in an expression that John had never seen on his boy before. “I tried to take care of their wrists and their ankles but there will be bruising.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God.” The wife said over and over, holding one of her daughters, reaching for her husband with her free hand. The other two girls clinging to their father.
“I would take them to the hospital to get checked out. Just in case.” John advised. “I didn’t see anyone. I’m sorry.”
The two men started to back away down the sidewalk when the girls cried out. “Dean! Wait.”
Dean turned, halfway down the yard. The girls scrambled down and launched themselves at his knees. Dean knelt and looked each girl in the eye. “It’s okay now. You’re home with your mom and your dad. You’re… safe.”
John watched as each girl hugged him and kissed his cheek. As one, the girls turned and ran back to their parents. Their silent and shocked parents. John waited for Dean to catch up, then hooked an arm over his shoulder. Together, they limped back to the car. Packed and ready to go, John climbed behind the wheel and steered them back to New York.
“Hey, Dad?” Dean cleared his throat after an hour on the road. “Think those little girls will ever feel safe again?”
“Maybe. If nothing else happens to them, they may eventually forget.”
“I hope so.”
--
The kids were asleep when John snuck in. Liz was asleep. He sat and cried his eyes out in frustration. Werewolves and Rawheads and who knew what else and his boy kept dying young. He was buying a year and a month and a week and sometimes maybe days but Dean kept dying and… John would have to raise his boy’s children. He didn’t know how to stop it. How to keep from feeling like there was some giant hand of fate that dictated Dean should die.
Grabbing his bag, he trudged down to the Impala and climbed inside. He was driving before he knew where he was going. Two days later, he was in Kansas, standing over his wife’s grave and a bit startled to find that there was a matching headstone with his son’s name on it. He crashed to his knees and brushed his fingers over the date. Dean’s headstone. Dead at age 31. He almost expected to see Sam in the line up. Sam. Sammy.
He knew what he had to do. He had to find Sam. Had to find out what was happening. Getting to his feet, he winced at the soreness in his leg but marched ahead. He found a payphone at the edge of town and had to plug nearly two dollars in quarters to get the thing to work. “Operator, I need the phone number for a Sam Winchester in California... Stanford.”
--
Two weeks on the road found John in Oregon. The last known whereabouts of Sam Winchester. He had practiced law briefly before falling off the map. Friends had pointed him toward a farm. After the death of his girlfriend, Sam had been a little odd, they said. Then Sam had disappeared one day. He returned to hand in his resignation and then began taking odd jobs that didn’t require contracts or set days off. According to Becky Warren of St. Louis, Sam had blurted out in a drunken rant that he loses everyone he loves. John had pressed for more. Becky had stated that after losing his girlfriend, Sam had changed and after losing his brother… she no longer recognized the person that Sam had become. He was always drunk and could be cruel. She was just glad her own brother wasn’t around to see Sam the way he was. When she had asked for John’s identity one more time, he had hung up on her.
The hike out to the farm was a long one. Sam wasn’t there. The owner had pictures. She had a soft spot for the ‘old guy’. He’d been hired on when her father had run the place. She didn’t have the heart to run him off when the old man had passed. She stared at John. “Why are you looking for Sam?”
“Old friend of the family. I just… found out about his dad and his brother… I just wanted to make sure Sam was alive. He’s not married?”
“Sam? No. He… uh… He’s a heartbreaker but uh….” She shrugged too casually for someone who sounded like she wasn’t too knowledgeable about the ranch hand in question. “He doesn’t like to get involved.”
“I guess… with the family going the way they all did.” John nodded to himself.
“How… did they go?” There, that look in her eyes. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Tragedies. I don’t know how… how old John went but um… his mother and brother… horrific… accidents.” That killed John, to call them accidents.
“When… did his mother… pass?”
John looked her over. She was the kind of girl that Sam fell for over and over again. 5’10”, blond hair, green eyes, active and kind. All through high school, those were the hearts that broke his baby boy’s. John almost felt sorry for her. If Sam was as fucked up as Dean was, then it was doomed before it began. “When he was… a baby. House fire. Wiring. Devastated the whole family.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I know that Sam had been out of contact with them since… ’04 or so… when he went to school. Do you know… how it was that he found out about… what happened?”
“He told me once… a bit… about his brother. He’d been drinking…” She shrugged. “I was just out of high school. I didn’t realize at the time that he couldn’t hold his liquor and he was just talking. He never said how he died… just that… He loved his brother. Used to idolize him… you know… family stuff. Um… said that the first phone call he’d gotten from his father, the second time he’d spoken to him since going away to college and it was to come meet him because something fatal had happened with his brother. He… dwelled on that… for a long time. I think he still does. His… tolerance is higher now. He… drinks a fair bit and I can’t turn him out cause he still works.”
“That in ’10?”
“Maybe ’09.” She cleared her throat. “He just… I don’t know… Took off about a year and a half ago. He didn’t talk for a long time and when he did… he said that… he was the last Winchester alive. I took that to mean his father had passed. I guess he was about 70 or something.”
“64.” John corrected.
“Oh… I guess I just figured… older. I’m not too good at math. Sam is like… 40.”
“37.”
“Oh. Like I said. Math.”
“Sam said he was the last Winchester?” John led her on, not sure where he was going with it. “The last one, huh.”
The girl tilted her head. “Yeah… Does… he have family… somewhere… that he doesn’t know of?”
John debated a bit but it would probably be the only way to make sure that Liz and the kids were taken care of if John got himself killed… or did the right thing and never came back through those woods. “He does. I’m… really saddened to find out that he never knew.”
“Well, I mean. He only ever talked about his father and brother. Did he have an uncle or an aunt?”
“His brother was married.” John led her on a bit more. “Well, kind of married. I mean, they were together a long time. They had a couple of kids together. The kids are Winchester at any rate.”
“Kids?” She shook her head as if she didn’t understand. “Sam didn’t say anything about nieces or nephews.”
“I don’t think he knows. He’s got one of each. Jack and uh… Deanna.” John pulled a picture out of his pocket. One he’d chosen for this purpose before he had known what exactly he was going to do. The two kids, horsing around the parking lot, the sign for the store in the background. “Those kids are… Sam and Dean all over again.”
She laughed when she saw the picture. Yeah, the kids were that goofy. “Wow, look at those eyes. Their mother’s?”
“Dean’s, actually. Their mom’s got brown eyes and dark hair. Dean… took after his mother. Blond, green eyes.”
“What are their names?” She looked up. John could tell she was smitten with Sam and his family.
“John Samuel but he’s called Jack… and that’s Deanna Leigh.”
“They’re so big. Dean was his big brother, then?”
“Yeah. Four years older. Jack’s 11 and Deanna’s 8.”
“Sam… just stopped talking to his family? I mean. He clearly thought the world of them and… I… I don’t understand this at all.” She tried to hand the picture back.
“No, keep it. Give it to him. He needs to know about them.” John felt horrible for using the grandkids and this girl that way but… he couldn’t stop himself now that he’d started. “John always felt bad about what happened.”
“What did happen?”
“I told you that their mom dying just… devastated the family and… the boys were young. They probably would have gotten over it and had normal lives but… ol’ John just… about lost it when Mary passed. He drank too much and he became obsessed with the fire that took her. They moved around too much. Boys never had a home to speak of. Dean… was a good boy and he never crossed his father. Sam… well, John and Sam were more alike than either liked to admit. Not to say that Sam wasn’t a good boy but he was… more apt to speak up about his feelings than Dean was.”
“What’s that got to do with what happened?”
“A lot, in fact.” John set his jaw for a minute. “John loved his boys. He knew what he was doing wasn’t good for them. He just… didn’t know how to stop. He would have done anything for those boys and sometimes he did… questionable things to keep them together.” She nodded for him to go on. “Sam tried for awhile… after high school. To stick with them but he’d always had his own mind about the way his life should be. He was smart enough to know he’d been cheated out of a home. He was smart enough to know that he was in charge of his own… destiny, for lack of a better word. He applied to Stanford, got in. Got a scholarship and then told his dad that he was leaving. Ol’ John got scared. He’d been complacent. He’d had his boys right beside him the whole time. Always knew where they were, knew they were safe…”
She reached out to touch his arm when he trailed off. “You were close with John?”
“You could say that. John and Sam were a lot alike… you back them into a corner and they come out swinging for the jugular… and they always hit, every time.” John took a deep breath to calm himself and the emotions that had run high that night. “John tried to scare Sam into staying but he said the wrong thing. Sam picked up his things and walked out the door and he took his father at his word. Granted, John was a man of his word. If he said it, he meant it, even if he knew he couldn’t deliver, he’d try his damnedest to live up to it.” He sniffed. “He told that boy that if he left, he wasn’t welcome back. He just never thought that Sam would leave or that he would believe him that he couldn’t come home.”
“Oh my God. Sam.” She breathed, her hand at her throat. “All those years, wasted?”
“Pride. For them both.” John took a breath. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this. I was just looking to touch base with Sam. It’s been a long time. You just pass that on. He knows how to find me.”
“Look, Mr. Rockford… I… adore Sam. I wish that he could have been here to talk to you. I think you would have done him a world of good.” She hugged him and walked him to the door. “I’ll pass this on. I hope it turns him around. I hate to see him the way he’s become.”
“I just wish his daddy had done something sooner than calling him when his brother passed.”
--
John winced when Liz peeled the bandage from his thigh. It had been a long week. The kids had worn him out. All he wanted was a hot shower and a bed. Listened to her chastisements all the way to the bathroom. He snapped on the water and eyed her through the mirror while he trimmed his beard and waited for the hot water to kick on. “What?”
“You look good, John.” She bit her lip as she stepped into the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind her. She watched over his shoulder as he evened out the growth, her hands settling on his belly and between his shoulder blades. He rinsed the blades and set the clippers down. She was pushing his shirt up before he’d begun to turn.
Once they were both beneath the spray, John turned off his brain. Lost himself in lips and arms and legs and cold wall tiles. Tasted each soft gasp, savored each slick slide of skin. Almost enjoyed himself too much. Almost forced a scream out of her knowing the kids were still up. The water was cold when they finally snapped it off. Robes wrapped warmly, they escaped to bid children good night and to lock the bedroom door.
Lights out, Liz slid into bed, hooking a leg over his thigh. Danced her fingers down his belly and back up. “Think you can stay for more than a week this time? You come, you go and the kids are starting to think you’re a ghost.”
“I try. I can’t. I just… can’t.”
“Okay. I’m not going to pick a fight. I just… want it to be clear that… you’re wanted here.”
“I just… have things that I need to do.”
“Well, you’re probably leaving but the gang is coming in this week.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“I knew it; you’ll be gone in the morning.” She snickered.
John ran a hand up and down her back. He missed the small moments of intimacy. The things he couldn’t do with anyone where he always ended up. No shared spaces, small touches, or words whispered so softly they weren’t even sounds. Fingers hooked into waistlines, skimming necks, hips touching. Breath in neck hollows, arms thrown over chests and waists, legs hooked over and under.
Then, there were the kids. Sticky hands and sloppy kisses and hugs way too tight. The occasional alien art on tables and walls. Snap fights between the kids. Breaking up fights and encouraging the good moments. Long winded stories and breathless I-love-you-Papas. John was determined that no matter what, both those kids would know their father.
--
Dean watched his father watch Sammy. It was pretty hard to miss. Sam was head and shoulders above everyone in his study group. He wanted to walk over and smack the kid upside his head but the way his father was woolgathering… he kept his mouth shut.
John watched his every move. Easy. Graceful. Carefree. Heard Dean’s harsh intake of breath when their eyes landed on the blonde at the same time. Tall, blonde, and obviously in love with their Sammy. John remembered what that Becky woman had said… even saw the younger version of Becky sitting in the group. Sam’s girlfriend would die right before Sam took up law school. John wished he had asked how the girl died. He would do anything to save Sam the pain of losing love that way.
“Maybe you’ll get grandkids out of him, yet.” Dean commented at last. “You ready to go?”
“Just a few minutes more.” John shook his head. “He look like he’s eating?”
“Yeah.” Dean chuckled. “That blonde might have something to do with that. He looks a little heavier than he did when he…”
“Yeah, he does. Muscle tone looks good. He’s keeping himself up.”
“Yeah. I think he is.”
“He hasn’t called again?”
“No.” Dean cleared his throat. John remembered the words tossed around that night but Dean didn’t know he knew. “You know Sam. He can take care of himself.”
“Yeah. I know.”
TBC
Doubled over, heart racing, John waited for the memories to come. He knew they were coming now. He was ready. Ready being a relative term.
A birthday cake. 3 candles on it. Dean slyly helping to blow them out with little Jack. Liz hugging John and giggling into his side, disrupting John’s aim with the camera. Liz hopped up to kiss his cheek before rushing over to help Dean cut the cake and plaster her men with kisses. John grinned and snapped off pictures before Jack’s fist smashed into the cake. “Hey buddy, save some of that cake for Papa.” Dean pulled the little hand out, wiping it clean before kissing Liz, who had waited patiently. John tilted his head at those two and set the camera down. Liz quickly cut the cake, avoiding his eyes. Dean cleared his throat and got the boy settled once more. “Hey, Dad?”
“What’s going on, son?” John took his piece of cake but watched the two lovebirds.
“Ready to expand your family?” Dean’s grin was broad and genuine as he tugged Liz into his side. No nervousness this time. Not like the last time when Dean was certain that a pronouncement like this was the end of the world.
“Daddy!” Jack squealed as his piece of cake smashed between his fingers.
Pain bursting in John’s skull, he stumbled and gripped the kitchen table. Struggled to stay on his feet as more memories surfaced.
Liz clinging to him beside a pyre. Jack sleeping in the car a few yards away. “What am I going to do, John?”
“You’ll keep going.”
“And in five months?” She turned her face up to him. “I had him to help me the last time. How am I supposed to do this alone, now?”
“You can do this.” John stroked her hair down and out of her face. “I’m leaving. I’m gonna kill the monster that did this to Dean… and then I’ll be back.”
“John, no.” She shoved him away. “Look!” She pointed to the burning pyre. “Dean is dead. Jack is three years old. I’m going to give birth to another one of your grandchildren in five months. If you’re dead when that happens… What am I supposed to do if you die too?”
John gasped for breath as he let Liz guide him back to bed. She whispered meaningless reassurances to him until he was staring at the ceiling once more. Taking a deep breath, he cast a glance at her. 22 years old and scared shitless. “Liz?”
“Yeah, John?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening.”
“Okay.”
--
Dean wiped sweat from his father’s forehead. He glanced back at Liz. “He’s been babbling nonsense all week?”
“At first, it was just… you know… like he was talking to himself. Remembering something or trying not to remember something. Just… you know… what people do sometimes. Then he started getting headaches and he’d start babbling and it would last a long time and then he started getting weak. So, I took him off the pain pills but he hasn’t tried to drink anything alcoholic. Then yesterday, it was really bad. He started talking like…”
“Like what?”
“Like you were gone.” Liz wrapped her arms around herself. “You should have seen his face. He said that a monster had gotten you and that he was going to kill it and he wasn’t going to stop until it was dead. When he said it, I almost believed it. That’s when I called you. He was stumbling all over the place and then he’d stand up straight and look me in the eyes and tell me that he was going to kill it and then…”
Dean looked back at her. “What?”
“When I got him settled in here… he apologized for his behavior. He knows… that he’s coming in and out of whatever it is. He’s fighting it and I don’t think he’s winning.”
--
John found his way. He didn’t know how. Maybe sense memory. He stumbled into the apartment and fell face first into the bed he usually shared with Liz. Then he slept. When he woke, Liz sat on the edge of the bed with two frightened children. Jack, seemed even taller than the last time John was there but he was a growing boy. Then… the other child. A girl. Her name was Deanna. Eight years old and the picture of her mother with startling green eyes staring out of her round face.
“Papa?” Deanna cried and fell onto the bed, scrambling her way up to hug him, all knees and elbows. That’s when John noticed that he’d been changed, cleaned and his leg was bound with fresh dressings.
“Hey, Papa.” Jack wrapped his hand around John’s ankle. “You get nailed by a werewolf?”
“Nothing could keep me away. Not even a werewolf.” John rasped out around his granddaughter’s cloud of chocolate hair. Liz moved more slowly around the bed, sitting closer so that she could see his face. “Got something to say to me?”
“You gotta stop, John.” She wrapped both her hands around his and kissed his palm. “I can’t take much more of this.” She tucked his hand into the crook of her neck and stared at him. “I can’t keep coming home to find you bleeding out in our bed. Scaring the crap out of the kids.”
“Com’ere, Jack.” John jerked his head to the side. Jack ambled over to hug his papa around his little sister. John pulled Liz down to hug her. “I’m trying, Liz. I am. I’m trying to get it together.”
--
John propped his leg up on the couch and then balanced Deanna on the good leg. Green eyes. “You look like your grandma and your mama, all at the same time.”
“Papa.” She blushed and launched herself into his arms.
“What? You’re my pretty little girl, aren’t you.” John held her close and let his eyes drift to the shelf, crammed with photos. There it was. The picture that reflected the painful visions that he’d had just before coming through the wood. Liz and her sad eyes, holding this little angel in her arms and no one by her side but Jack. An awkward photo with the four of them, not nearly healed from losing Dean. A photo of Deanna in John’s arms and Jack clinging to his leg. Still, a picture of Liz, Dean and little Jack all smeared with frosting from Jack’s 3rd Birthday. John had managed to save Dean for another three years.
“De-an-na.” Jack sang out. “Mom says to come pick up your toys or you can’t have dessert.”
“Oh man.” Deanna huffed and let her full weight settle against her papa.
“Go on, now. I’ll still be here when you’re done.” John nudged her little ribs.
“Okay.” She huffed again, then stomped to her room.
“Watch the attitude, Deanna Winchester.” Liz called after her. “I swear I don’t know where she gets that from.” Her gaze settled on John. “Don’t go crying over those pictures again. I’ve hidden the booze.” She tilted her head at him. “When the kids go to bed… I expect to hear about what you were hunting.”
John nodded, silently. They got through dinner with the kids yapping about playground drama and Liz’s reminders to do chores and brush teeth and do homework. Liz chased them out with kisses when she started clean up. “Jack’s nearly as tall as you now.”
“I know. He’ll pass me by in five years and then I’ll have no control over him.” She shook her head at herself while she ran hot water over the dishes. “So, how’d you tear your leg open?”
“Um…” John thought about what he could have let get that close because he could only have the plates removed once.
“Tell me you did not go after another Rawhead.”
“They like eating kids. I don’t like that they do that.” John stated simply. It was the honest truth. He hated Rawheads. They were nasty pedophiles of the monster kind. He watched her carefully. He knew the slant of her shoulders and the shake of her head. She’d done the same before, when it was a werewolf who had killed Dean. So, it was Rawhead, this time. Which meant that it was… chance. Random. Just a hunt that should have been a no-brainer.
He was pulled out of his thoughts when Liz straddled his good leg. She brushed her lips softly against his. “Think you’ve killed them all yet?”
“Got a good head start on it.” John shrugged.
“Werewolves and Rawheads, beware of John Winchester.” She brushed his graying hair out of his face. “The kids get out okay?”
“Yeah. I got there in time.”
“Yeah. You did.”
“Would I lie?”
“You have before.” She sighed. “But… you don’t interact this much when you do lie.”
--
John stared down at the Rawhead. Dean leaned against the far wall, gasping for breath. John yanked the wires out and began hacking. Together, they dragged the pieces out and lit them on fire. John watched Dean as he reassured the three little girls who had been chained between the water pipes. Triplets, in matching styles but differing colors. Dean rose slowly and somehow managed to carry all three down the street. John followed slowly on his still-healing leg.
John stepped ahead of them and knocked on the door that they had recognized off the police scanner. A harried young man answered the door with a tear-streaked woman behind him. “Can I help you?”
“Name’s John. My boy and I heard screaming. Found three little girls. All aged six.”
“Oh my God.” The woman gasped.
“They’re all alive. All more or less unhurt.” John turned when Dean made his slow way up the walk with his heavy load.
“Daddy! Mommy!” The girls chorused when they got close enough to leap into one set of arms or the other.
“They were… chained.” Dean spoke softly, his face in an expression that John had never seen on his boy before. “I tried to take care of their wrists and their ankles but there will be bruising.”
“Oh my God. Oh my God.” The wife said over and over, holding one of her daughters, reaching for her husband with her free hand. The other two girls clinging to their father.
“I would take them to the hospital to get checked out. Just in case.” John advised. “I didn’t see anyone. I’m sorry.”
The two men started to back away down the sidewalk when the girls cried out. “Dean! Wait.”
Dean turned, halfway down the yard. The girls scrambled down and launched themselves at his knees. Dean knelt and looked each girl in the eye. “It’s okay now. You’re home with your mom and your dad. You’re… safe.”
John watched as each girl hugged him and kissed his cheek. As one, the girls turned and ran back to their parents. Their silent and shocked parents. John waited for Dean to catch up, then hooked an arm over his shoulder. Together, they limped back to the car. Packed and ready to go, John climbed behind the wheel and steered them back to New York.
“Hey, Dad?” Dean cleared his throat after an hour on the road. “Think those little girls will ever feel safe again?”
“Maybe. If nothing else happens to them, they may eventually forget.”
“I hope so.”
--
The kids were asleep when John snuck in. Liz was asleep. He sat and cried his eyes out in frustration. Werewolves and Rawheads and who knew what else and his boy kept dying young. He was buying a year and a month and a week and sometimes maybe days but Dean kept dying and… John would have to raise his boy’s children. He didn’t know how to stop it. How to keep from feeling like there was some giant hand of fate that dictated Dean should die.
Grabbing his bag, he trudged down to the Impala and climbed inside. He was driving before he knew where he was going. Two days later, he was in Kansas, standing over his wife’s grave and a bit startled to find that there was a matching headstone with his son’s name on it. He crashed to his knees and brushed his fingers over the date. Dean’s headstone. Dead at age 31. He almost expected to see Sam in the line up. Sam. Sammy.
He knew what he had to do. He had to find Sam. Had to find out what was happening. Getting to his feet, he winced at the soreness in his leg but marched ahead. He found a payphone at the edge of town and had to plug nearly two dollars in quarters to get the thing to work. “Operator, I need the phone number for a Sam Winchester in California... Stanford.”
--
Two weeks on the road found John in Oregon. The last known whereabouts of Sam Winchester. He had practiced law briefly before falling off the map. Friends had pointed him toward a farm. After the death of his girlfriend, Sam had been a little odd, they said. Then Sam had disappeared one day. He returned to hand in his resignation and then began taking odd jobs that didn’t require contracts or set days off. According to Becky Warren of St. Louis, Sam had blurted out in a drunken rant that he loses everyone he loves. John had pressed for more. Becky had stated that after losing his girlfriend, Sam had changed and after losing his brother… she no longer recognized the person that Sam had become. He was always drunk and could be cruel. She was just glad her own brother wasn’t around to see Sam the way he was. When she had asked for John’s identity one more time, he had hung up on her.
The hike out to the farm was a long one. Sam wasn’t there. The owner had pictures. She had a soft spot for the ‘old guy’. He’d been hired on when her father had run the place. She didn’t have the heart to run him off when the old man had passed. She stared at John. “Why are you looking for Sam?”
“Old friend of the family. I just… found out about his dad and his brother… I just wanted to make sure Sam was alive. He’s not married?”
“Sam? No. He… uh… He’s a heartbreaker but uh….” She shrugged too casually for someone who sounded like she wasn’t too knowledgeable about the ranch hand in question. “He doesn’t like to get involved.”
“I guess… with the family going the way they all did.” John nodded to himself.
“How… did they go?” There, that look in her eyes. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Tragedies. I don’t know how… how old John went but um… his mother and brother… horrific… accidents.” That killed John, to call them accidents.
“When… did his mother… pass?”
John looked her over. She was the kind of girl that Sam fell for over and over again. 5’10”, blond hair, green eyes, active and kind. All through high school, those were the hearts that broke his baby boy’s. John almost felt sorry for her. If Sam was as fucked up as Dean was, then it was doomed before it began. “When he was… a baby. House fire. Wiring. Devastated the whole family.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“I know that Sam had been out of contact with them since… ’04 or so… when he went to school. Do you know… how it was that he found out about… what happened?”
“He told me once… a bit… about his brother. He’d been drinking…” She shrugged. “I was just out of high school. I didn’t realize at the time that he couldn’t hold his liquor and he was just talking. He never said how he died… just that… He loved his brother. Used to idolize him… you know… family stuff. Um… said that the first phone call he’d gotten from his father, the second time he’d spoken to him since going away to college and it was to come meet him because something fatal had happened with his brother. He… dwelled on that… for a long time. I think he still does. His… tolerance is higher now. He… drinks a fair bit and I can’t turn him out cause he still works.”
“That in ’10?”
“Maybe ’09.” She cleared her throat. “He just… I don’t know… Took off about a year and a half ago. He didn’t talk for a long time and when he did… he said that… he was the last Winchester alive. I took that to mean his father had passed. I guess he was about 70 or something.”
“64.” John corrected.
“Oh… I guess I just figured… older. I’m not too good at math. Sam is like… 40.”
“37.”
“Oh. Like I said. Math.”
“Sam said he was the last Winchester?” John led her on, not sure where he was going with it. “The last one, huh.”
The girl tilted her head. “Yeah… Does… he have family… somewhere… that he doesn’t know of?”
John debated a bit but it would probably be the only way to make sure that Liz and the kids were taken care of if John got himself killed… or did the right thing and never came back through those woods. “He does. I’m… really saddened to find out that he never knew.”
“Well, I mean. He only ever talked about his father and brother. Did he have an uncle or an aunt?”
“His brother was married.” John led her on a bit more. “Well, kind of married. I mean, they were together a long time. They had a couple of kids together. The kids are Winchester at any rate.”
“Kids?” She shook her head as if she didn’t understand. “Sam didn’t say anything about nieces or nephews.”
“I don’t think he knows. He’s got one of each. Jack and uh… Deanna.” John pulled a picture out of his pocket. One he’d chosen for this purpose before he had known what exactly he was going to do. The two kids, horsing around the parking lot, the sign for the store in the background. “Those kids are… Sam and Dean all over again.”
She laughed when she saw the picture. Yeah, the kids were that goofy. “Wow, look at those eyes. Their mother’s?”
“Dean’s, actually. Their mom’s got brown eyes and dark hair. Dean… took after his mother. Blond, green eyes.”
“What are their names?” She looked up. John could tell she was smitten with Sam and his family.
“John Samuel but he’s called Jack… and that’s Deanna Leigh.”
“They’re so big. Dean was his big brother, then?”
“Yeah. Four years older. Jack’s 11 and Deanna’s 8.”
“Sam… just stopped talking to his family? I mean. He clearly thought the world of them and… I… I don’t understand this at all.” She tried to hand the picture back.
“No, keep it. Give it to him. He needs to know about them.” John felt horrible for using the grandkids and this girl that way but… he couldn’t stop himself now that he’d started. “John always felt bad about what happened.”
“What did happen?”
“I told you that their mom dying just… devastated the family and… the boys were young. They probably would have gotten over it and had normal lives but… ol’ John just… about lost it when Mary passed. He drank too much and he became obsessed with the fire that took her. They moved around too much. Boys never had a home to speak of. Dean… was a good boy and he never crossed his father. Sam… well, John and Sam were more alike than either liked to admit. Not to say that Sam wasn’t a good boy but he was… more apt to speak up about his feelings than Dean was.”
“What’s that got to do with what happened?”
“A lot, in fact.” John set his jaw for a minute. “John loved his boys. He knew what he was doing wasn’t good for them. He just… didn’t know how to stop. He would have done anything for those boys and sometimes he did… questionable things to keep them together.” She nodded for him to go on. “Sam tried for awhile… after high school. To stick with them but he’d always had his own mind about the way his life should be. He was smart enough to know he’d been cheated out of a home. He was smart enough to know that he was in charge of his own… destiny, for lack of a better word. He applied to Stanford, got in. Got a scholarship and then told his dad that he was leaving. Ol’ John got scared. He’d been complacent. He’d had his boys right beside him the whole time. Always knew where they were, knew they were safe…”
She reached out to touch his arm when he trailed off. “You were close with John?”
“You could say that. John and Sam were a lot alike… you back them into a corner and they come out swinging for the jugular… and they always hit, every time.” John took a deep breath to calm himself and the emotions that had run high that night. “John tried to scare Sam into staying but he said the wrong thing. Sam picked up his things and walked out the door and he took his father at his word. Granted, John was a man of his word. If he said it, he meant it, even if he knew he couldn’t deliver, he’d try his damnedest to live up to it.” He sniffed. “He told that boy that if he left, he wasn’t welcome back. He just never thought that Sam would leave or that he would believe him that he couldn’t come home.”
“Oh my God. Sam.” She breathed, her hand at her throat. “All those years, wasted?”
“Pride. For them both.” John took a breath. “I shouldn’t be telling you all this. I was just looking to touch base with Sam. It’s been a long time. You just pass that on. He knows how to find me.”
“Look, Mr. Rockford… I… adore Sam. I wish that he could have been here to talk to you. I think you would have done him a world of good.” She hugged him and walked him to the door. “I’ll pass this on. I hope it turns him around. I hate to see him the way he’s become.”
“I just wish his daddy had done something sooner than calling him when his brother passed.”
--
John winced when Liz peeled the bandage from his thigh. It had been a long week. The kids had worn him out. All he wanted was a hot shower and a bed. Listened to her chastisements all the way to the bathroom. He snapped on the water and eyed her through the mirror while he trimmed his beard and waited for the hot water to kick on. “What?”
“You look good, John.” She bit her lip as she stepped into the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind her. She watched over his shoulder as he evened out the growth, her hands settling on his belly and between his shoulder blades. He rinsed the blades and set the clippers down. She was pushing his shirt up before he’d begun to turn.
Once they were both beneath the spray, John turned off his brain. Lost himself in lips and arms and legs and cold wall tiles. Tasted each soft gasp, savored each slick slide of skin. Almost enjoyed himself too much. Almost forced a scream out of her knowing the kids were still up. The water was cold when they finally snapped it off. Robes wrapped warmly, they escaped to bid children good night and to lock the bedroom door.
Lights out, Liz slid into bed, hooking a leg over his thigh. Danced her fingers down his belly and back up. “Think you can stay for more than a week this time? You come, you go and the kids are starting to think you’re a ghost.”
“I try. I can’t. I just… can’t.”
“Okay. I’m not going to pick a fight. I just… want it to be clear that… you’re wanted here.”
“I just… have things that I need to do.”
“Well, you’re probably leaving but the gang is coming in this week.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“I knew it; you’ll be gone in the morning.” She snickered.
John ran a hand up and down her back. He missed the small moments of intimacy. The things he couldn’t do with anyone where he always ended up. No shared spaces, small touches, or words whispered so softly they weren’t even sounds. Fingers hooked into waistlines, skimming necks, hips touching. Breath in neck hollows, arms thrown over chests and waists, legs hooked over and under.
Then, there were the kids. Sticky hands and sloppy kisses and hugs way too tight. The occasional alien art on tables and walls. Snap fights between the kids. Breaking up fights and encouraging the good moments. Long winded stories and breathless I-love-you-Papas. John was determined that no matter what, both those kids would know their father.
--
Dean watched his father watch Sammy. It was pretty hard to miss. Sam was head and shoulders above everyone in his study group. He wanted to walk over and smack the kid upside his head but the way his father was woolgathering… he kept his mouth shut.
John watched his every move. Easy. Graceful. Carefree. Heard Dean’s harsh intake of breath when their eyes landed on the blonde at the same time. Tall, blonde, and obviously in love with their Sammy. John remembered what that Becky woman had said… even saw the younger version of Becky sitting in the group. Sam’s girlfriend would die right before Sam took up law school. John wished he had asked how the girl died. He would do anything to save Sam the pain of losing love that way.
“Maybe you’ll get grandkids out of him, yet.” Dean commented at last. “You ready to go?”
“Just a few minutes more.” John shook his head. “He look like he’s eating?”
“Yeah.” Dean chuckled. “That blonde might have something to do with that. He looks a little heavier than he did when he…”
“Yeah, he does. Muscle tone looks good. He’s keeping himself up.”
“Yeah. I think he is.”
“He hasn’t called again?”
“No.” Dean cleared his throat. John remembered the words tossed around that night but Dean didn’t know he knew. “You know Sam. He can take care of himself.”
“Yeah. I know.”
TBC
Re: Time Has Come Today (SPN/ROS, UC, AU, MA) Part 19 10/19
Part 18
Dean’s voice carried through the small apartment though it was obvious that he was trying to keep his voice down. “Yeah, yeah, man. We were there… Yeah, man, both of us.”
Liz stood still in the hallway, listening, too. John motioned her to sit with him and have a listen. She glanced at him, funny, but sat in the chair next to the door.
“Why do you think we went, Sam?” Dean expelled a harsh breath. “It’d been a while since we heard from you and… Well, believe it or not, we worry about you.” A sniff, muffled. “I am glad you called, though… He’s asleep, still… Yeah, I know. Late in the day and everything… He’s been… Time before last, when we talked, he’d had a spill… No, man. A spill. Literally. He fell down…” Dean snickered at whatever Sam was saying. “No, well. No. He was drinking and he fell down a split landing, busted up his leg… Well, it bothers him, still. Had to put plates in to make sure it healed right and we just got ‘em taken out a while ago… We weren’t going to but, um, he hasn’t been doing too good… No! Just, not good.”
John never even realized when Liz had crossed the room to fit into his side. He was used to the older version of her doing that but not really this version. Her face against his shoulder, their ribs touching, her hand on his thigh. Comforting without being intrusive.
“We miss you. I miss you… He does, too… Well, he’s not gonna say it outright. Jesus, Sam. You have met your father, right?” Dean laughed. “It’s good to talk to you, man… but I still mean what I said before.” He cleared his throat. “No, I’m glad you called. I’m happy to talk to you but beyond that… we need more effort before I start filling you in on my day to day… Because… Because, Sam, our family is torn in half… You’re not the only one who’s busted up about that night. The old man is barely holding it together and I think it is about that night. I think he misses you so much and he feels so much about everything that’s happened that he’s starting to crack… Well, whatever… I’m the one trying to put him back together… Well, it’s only fair… You know what, once it was…. Never mind. No… Forget it… Forget I said a word… Every time we talk, we fight and it’s the same shit… Over and over and over… Even Dad changes his tune every now and again, Sammy… Yeah. He’s capable of growth. How about that… No, why would I patronize you… Look. I just mean what I said I mean. I’m not playing games with you. I’m not looking to stir shit up. I was just real happy to hear from you… Yeah, well, your fingers are obviously not broken and no cat’s got your tongue… If you want… Shut up. I’m not going to pass him the phone just cause I guilted you into talking to him… I’m serious, if you want to talk to Dad, you call his fucking cell phone.”
The following silence was deafening. The chair screeched when Dean shoved himself away from the table. His boots fell heavy on the floor but the steps never took him anywhere. John absently stroked Liz’s back when he felt the wet warmth on his shoulder. His shoulder was nearly dry when Dean loomed in the doorway. “I need a hunt.”
“No.” John shook his head. “I’m not taking you out to hunt when you’re like this. It always makes you sloppy.”
“Then let’s take a drive.”
“Bobby can always use us.” John needed back up with Dean this time. More than Liz could provide.
--
John couldn’t tear his eyes away from where she bent over the car to soap it up. From where her shorts rode up along her thighs. From the sheer, wet shirt. Could not look away to save his life. Not with the memory of those solid thighs wrapped around him. Her voice keening through his ears. He knew what it felt like to take her on the trunk. To slide into the backseat with her on top.
Bobby cleared his throat and John stiffened barely. “The kids taking care of that car?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s a fine girl. She’ll treat him right.”
“Probably.” John cleared his throat and tried to dispel memories of events not yet occurred. “Hell, she’s the only one who can get a smile out of him these days.”
“Caleb’s coming.”
“Why?”
“Cause he promised Dean some trinket and he’s a man of his word.” Bobby shrugged.
John sighed heavily because Bobby had developed that shifty way of staring he usually got when there was a hunt. “Kids! Try to get some of that soap and water on the car!”
Dean’s smile was bright. As if he hadn’t looked like he was going to kill someone just two days ago. It pained John at how young Dean looked when he smiled that way. Like he was four years old again.
“What crawled up his ass and how did she pull it out without anyone seeing?” Bobby interrupted John’s musings.
“Sam.” That was all John was going to say on the subject.
“You still ain’t talk to that boy? It’s been over a year.”
“My phone ain’t broke. Neither are my fingers.” John shrugged. “But neither are his.”
“He’s young and stupid and he doesn’t know what he’s throwing away.”
“I’m going into town.” John announced and shoved himself upright once more, his leg was healing up but he limped at the slightest chill. Dean threatened to spray his father when he passed but Liz tackled him, both landing in the dirt. “You’re supposed to be cleaning, not getting dirty.”
“Bring back beer-“ Dean shouted out before the hose was turned into his face.
--
Dean leaned back and picked up the quarter. With a flick of his hand, the quarter bounced on the table and landed in the shot glass. Pissed, Liz picked up the shot in front of her and tossed it back. John did the same and Liz got one more shot drunker. Liz picked up the quarter and poised on the edge of the chair. She stared at the shot glass and cleared her throat before bouncing the quarter on the table, it hit the edge of the glass and flipped inside.
Both men grinned before taking their shots. Dean spun the shot glass on the table. “It’s about time you got one in.”
“Shut up and drink cause I’m gonna do it again.” Liz flicked the glass over to free the quarter. “When’s your friend gonna show up?”
“He’ll be here. He kind of runs on his own time table.” Dean downed his shot, only his fourth of the night… as opposed to the eight that Liz had already taken.
“Bobby? Are you going to join us?” Liz turned as she missed the shot glass.
“Not tonight.” He shook his head and sipped his beer.
“Enough quarters. Liz’s liver will explode.” John cleared the shot glasses out of the way. He’d only had a handful of shots himself. He dug the cards out of his shirt pocket and began shuffling. “Call the game, Bobby. Hold ‘Em or Stud?”
“Stud, of course.” Bobby dragged himself to the table.
They drank more and played a few hands for fun. Bobby pulled out the cigars and even taught Liz how to puff on one. She declared it disgusting but puffed right along with the rest of them until Caleb showed up. He slipped something to Dean, who didn’t offer any explanation, then joined the game. That’s when the wallets and the attitudes came out.
John tossed a chip into the middle of the table, toppling the stack that Liz had placed with her remainders. John had been counting cards and whatever Liz had, couldn’t beat Dean’s hand. Caleb tossed his cards down. Bobby tossed in his chip then laid out his cards. Two pair. Jacks over fives. John laid down Jacks over fours and cursed to himself. Liz grinned broadly at her Queens over nines. Dean folded his cards down. John frowned at him. Dean blinked at his father. “What?”
“You’re folding now.”
“Just deal.” Dean gathered the cards up and shuffled quickly before handing them over to Caleb for the next hand.
Liz’s bank replenished, she got cocky with her next hand. John looked to Dean who folded early, cursing under his breath. John was about to rib him about it but Caleb beat him to it. “You intentionally letting her win? My understanding was that you already got the girl.”
“Shut up.” Dean bit out and knocked back half his beer before switching to whiskey.
Liz frowned at him and shuffled the cards next. She dealt them out and frowned harder at Dean when he folded again. “Don’t let me win. I learned to play with the town sheriff, the mayor and my dad.”
Dean just shook his head and knocked back his glass of whiskey. John picked up the cards after Bobby won the hand. He shuffled and counted and dealt and his blood froze when he realized why Dean kept folding. He rounded all the cards up without explaining to anyone. He shuffled too many times to count. Bobby’s eyes narrowed. Caleb just shook his head. John dealt and cursed when Dean folded again, tossing back another whiskey. Liz reached across the table, confused. “What’s wrong with the hand? It’s a good one, right?” She flicked her wrist at John, then at Bobby.
“It’s fine.” Dean ripped the cards out of her hand and shuffled while standing. He did a few tricks, then dealt out new hands. Everyone silent until Dean tossed his hand down again and left the table.
John stared after him. Caleb cleared his throat. “Aces over Eights. It’s… It can be a winning hand but… it’s an old superstition. That’s called a Dead Man’s Hand.”
“You hunting something, John?” Bobby asked his friend for probably the tenth time on this trip.
“No. We… just came off a hunt.” That’s when John realized he’d never looked into Dean’s death the last time he’d been through the woods. The blood fell out of his face. He started to go after Dean but Liz beat him to it.
“What were you gonna do when you left here?” Caleb shuffled the cards one more time, dealing to empty seats, then examining the hands. The Dead Man’s Hand kept popping up. He looked over the deck and then proceeded to light it on fire with a matchbook from his pocket.
“Going to drop Liz off and then to look for a hunt. I had told Dean we weren’t hunting anything until he calmed down.”
“What’s he riled up about?”
“His brother.” Bobby supplied.
“How’s that kid doing?”
“He’s alive at any rate.” John cut them off. “Dean’s not usually superstitious.”
“John...” Bobby started.
“What’d he tell you, Bobby?”
“Nothing much… Just like he feels that something is gunning for him.”
“Did he say what?”
“No but he says there’s been more than a few close calls of late.” Bobby eyed his friend carefully.
--
Liz read aloud from her book. Some tale of romance and high adventure only vaguely familiar to John and a genuine mystery to Dean. Dean listened intently even as his eyes ran over the road. Dean’s arm lay along the seat, his hand wrapped around her ankle where it sat propped on the seat top. John leaned against the door and dozed as he listened as well. John and Liz had the same goal in mind. Make Dean sit still. Make Dean take his mind off his cards.
--
John surfed the net to find Dean’s death posted somewhere. He searched the annals. Made phone calls to ferret out the buyer of Dean’s headstone and when that was purchased and by what means. His frustration often sent him to bed early in need of release. Liz did her best to tend to him, without asking what he was after, and to intercede with the children. She stopped asking him what he was hunting.
John managed some good moments while he researched. He taught Jack how to change the oil in the Impala. He lowered himself to tea with Deanna and Mrs. Buttercup the bear. He even attended a school play for the first time in 20 years.
That’s when it happened. The night of the school play. John had just found the reason Dean had died. Had a clear pattern on the Shtriga that would best his boy. John lifted Deanna up onto his shoulders. She giggled and held on. Jack blushed when Liz fawned over his performance. The quartet marched into the apartment, then Liz disappeared. John got them both tucked into bed. They looked so much younger than his boys had at the same ages.
“Liz?” John called out as he turned the corner and spotted her sitting on the toilet tank holding something in her hand. “Liz?”
Her head snapped up, eyes wide. She wiped the moisture off her face, opened her mouth to speak when the sound of the door creaking open caught John’s attention. Whipping his gun out of his jacket, he turned to the kitchen. Liz’s hand caught his arm but he kept moving forward. He took a step too far.
He felt rather than heard the click of the gun as it was cocked against his temple. The command was deadly. “Put the gun down and face me you evil son of a bitch.”
John put the gun down and felt Liz shrink away down the hall to stay out of sight. He stepped slowly into the living room with his hands out. “Good job.”
“Good job?” Sam repeated, his gaze and his aim never wavering. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”
“’Good to see you, son’ seems a little bit inappropriate at this point.” John gestured to the gun. “With that pistol aiming for my brain and all.”
“Don’t call me ‘son’. My father is dead. He’s been dead for two years. I watched him die myself.” Sam’s face entered the light and John could see all the pain and whiskey and years.
“Who do you think I am, Sammy?”
“Don’t call me Sammy.” Sam glanced around the room. Saw the pictures of his brother and his family. “What is all this?”
“You really think your brother’s family would let an impostor stick around, Sammy? You knew your brother. You think they wouldn’t know the family secret?”
“I saw you die!”
“Quiet. Jack and Deanna are sleeping.”
Sam’s grip on the gun loosened. He looked nothing but tired. John stepped forward, casually knocking the gun out of his hand. Sam stared at him. “Is it really you?”
“Yeah, Sammy, it’s really me.” John pulled his son to him. A grown man with a long weary life behind him.
“John?” Liz stepped out into the room, her eyes on the gun. Her hand was splayed at her side and only John knew what that meant. She hadn’t done it in years but she’d try if it meant his life.
“It’s okay, Liz. This is Sammy. Dean’s little brother.” John turned slowly, just to make sure Sam was relaxed. “Sammy, this is Liz.”
“She’s not Dean’s type.” Sam blurted out.
“Which is probably how she got him to settle down.” John wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “We just had a misunderstanding.”
“Mom?” Jack’s voice interrupted them.
“Jack, time for bed.” Liz cleared the shake out of her voice.
“Wait.” Sam held out his hand, stepping toward the boy. “Just wait.”
Sam towered over the boy. He looked him over as he got closer. Then he knelt before he whispered. “Don’t look at them. Tell me. Who is your father?”
“Dean Winchester.” Came the automatic response. “That’s my papa. John Winchester. Who are you?”
“Sam Winchester. I’m your uncle.” Sam tried to smile but he’d been out of practice. “I’m your dad’s baby brother.”
“Papa?” Jack looked to his grandfather.
“It’s okay. We’re just going to be up talking. Go on back to bed.” John nodded to the boy.
Liz edged past Sam and guided her son back to his room. Sam stared after them for a long while before moving to the shelf and its many snapshots of his brother’s life. “Jack looks like Dean.”
“Yeah.” John nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me about them when he died?” Sam turned to face him.
“As I recall…” John realized that he didn’t recall but he couldn’t let Sam know that. “I didn’t get many words in edgewise.”
“If the little one is eight… then…” Sam trailed off.
“Dean had just told me about the baby before we went on that hunt.” John nodded to Sam’s tortured face. “Deanna never met him. I tell them stories about him. They know who he was.” He watched Sam run his hand over the top of the shelf as he studied each picture. “Your brother built that shelf.”
Sam blinked at his father. “You mean he put it together.”
“He did that, too. He designed it. Cut the pieces. I helped him bang it together. I think he said it was four days worth of work.”
“He never understood why I left.” Sam sniffed suddenly.
“Give your brother credit, Sammy. He understood. I think he even came to agree with it but he…”
“He never forgave me for going to school.”
“You never listened to him, did you.” John shook his head sadly. “It wasn’t about you going to school. I should have said myself but I never did. It was about your safety. It was about the way you left and slammed the door after you.”
John left him to have a drink in the kitchen. He was onto his second when he heard them talking. Sam’s voice in awe. “So, you tamed my brother.”
“It wasn’t hard. Little love, little lovin’ and a lot of food.” She whispered.
“Did he talk about me?”
“In very vague terms.” She cleared her throat. “You’re a painful subject for both of them.”
“Painful?”
“When I met them, it was pretty obvious that they were in pain. It’s probably why we all hit it off the way we did. Pain.” There lay a silence for a bit. “They would get into these funks and it was about you. I could tell. We’ve had a rough time of it. Your dad was coming in and out of it and Dean didn’t know what to do and I think he wanted to call you.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“You offended him by leaving, I think. Dean didn’t really talk about his feelings that way but I’ve put the pieces together more or less. One of the things that I really responded to about him was his sense of family. I know half a dozen people who would have dumped their fathers in a home rather than pull them through the rough patches. Not Dean.”
“I think he mentioned that Dad wasn’t doing well… I just figured he meant drinking.”
“I think he might have tried to commit suicide a time or two. Scared Dean very badly. Me too.”
“My dad. Suicidal?”
“I think there’s a lot that you don’t know about those two men. The first real fight that Dean and I had… it was about you. I didn’t understand at the time why you going to college was such a make or break thing. Then I found out about your mom and your life and all of Dean’s sacrifices. Then I understood why they held on so hard. When… Dean died… I really thought that John was gonna go off the deep end.” She took a shaking breath. “I think that if I hadn’t been pregnant… Anyway, we make sure the kids know what kind of person Dean was. Jack has vague memories and Deanna only has her name, pictures and our stories.”
“I wish I could have seen him being a dad.”
“You did.” There was a pause. “Your dad told me a lot more than Dean ever did about the sacrifices that Dean made growing up.”
“Wow. You got my dad to talk.”
“Mostly pillow talk but he… Sam, he really wasn’t oblivious to the needs and wants of his children. He mostly focused on what he could fix and tried not to think about what he couldn’t.”
“Pillow talk?” John knew that tone in his son’s voice.
“This is my house. You don’t get to judge me. This is my family. You don’t get to judge them.”
“It’s my family.”
“Then where have you been for 15 years? I’ve been here. I’ve picked up the pieces of Dean and John in all that time and all I ever saw of you were the expressions on their faces after one of your phone calls to Dean. You had a father all that time, too.” Liz’s feet fell hard on the floor. “John, I’m going to bed. Escort your son out.”
John passed Sam the bottle when the younger man stepped into the kitchen to make for the door. Sam sat at the table, placing his gun within reach. “So, was it you? You came to my home and stirred this shit up?”
“Yeah.”
“I figured the second Emily told me that Mr. Rockford came to visit. The only one I know uses that alias is Dean and he’s…”
“Say what you’re gonna say, Sam.” John poured himself a drink and waited for the hate-filled barrage of SAT words about what he was doing with Liz was wrong.
“She’s half your age.”
“Basic math begs to differ.”
“She’s Dean’s wife.”
John took a long swallow on his whiskey. “Emily’s a good fifteen years your junior. She legal when you started fucking her?”
“Shut your mouth about Emily.”
“Then shut yours about Liz. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“It’s highly convenient that Dean dies the way he does and then you’re fucking his wife.”
“Bite your tongue, boy, or I’ll cut it off.” John tossed back his whiskey. “I’ve spent years of my life saving your brother. Making sure he’d come home to his girl and their kids and you think it doesn’t kill me that I failed?” He rose unsteadily to his feet. “I came and got you cause I’m still hunting. I’m an old man and the kids are young. Jack’s gonna need a man around to tell him about the world. Deanna’s gonna need a good man to show her what gentlemen are supposed to be like.”
“You sick or something?”
“I’m old. I’m not explaining my relationship with Liz to you. Just know that I came and got you because your family will need you when I’m gone and it’ll fall to you to hold them together. I got a Shtriga to kill.” John didn’t even bother to go back for his bag. He walked out the door and kept walking.
TBC
Dean’s voice carried through the small apartment though it was obvious that he was trying to keep his voice down. “Yeah, yeah, man. We were there… Yeah, man, both of us.”
Liz stood still in the hallway, listening, too. John motioned her to sit with him and have a listen. She glanced at him, funny, but sat in the chair next to the door.
“Why do you think we went, Sam?” Dean expelled a harsh breath. “It’d been a while since we heard from you and… Well, believe it or not, we worry about you.” A sniff, muffled. “I am glad you called, though… He’s asleep, still… Yeah, I know. Late in the day and everything… He’s been… Time before last, when we talked, he’d had a spill… No, man. A spill. Literally. He fell down…” Dean snickered at whatever Sam was saying. “No, well. No. He was drinking and he fell down a split landing, busted up his leg… Well, it bothers him, still. Had to put plates in to make sure it healed right and we just got ‘em taken out a while ago… We weren’t going to but, um, he hasn’t been doing too good… No! Just, not good.”
John never even realized when Liz had crossed the room to fit into his side. He was used to the older version of her doing that but not really this version. Her face against his shoulder, their ribs touching, her hand on his thigh. Comforting without being intrusive.
“We miss you. I miss you… He does, too… Well, he’s not gonna say it outright. Jesus, Sam. You have met your father, right?” Dean laughed. “It’s good to talk to you, man… but I still mean what I said before.” He cleared his throat. “No, I’m glad you called. I’m happy to talk to you but beyond that… we need more effort before I start filling you in on my day to day… Because… Because, Sam, our family is torn in half… You’re not the only one who’s busted up about that night. The old man is barely holding it together and I think it is about that night. I think he misses you so much and he feels so much about everything that’s happened that he’s starting to crack… Well, whatever… I’m the one trying to put him back together… Well, it’s only fair… You know what, once it was…. Never mind. No… Forget it… Forget I said a word… Every time we talk, we fight and it’s the same shit… Over and over and over… Even Dad changes his tune every now and again, Sammy… Yeah. He’s capable of growth. How about that… No, why would I patronize you… Look. I just mean what I said I mean. I’m not playing games with you. I’m not looking to stir shit up. I was just real happy to hear from you… Yeah, well, your fingers are obviously not broken and no cat’s got your tongue… If you want… Shut up. I’m not going to pass him the phone just cause I guilted you into talking to him… I’m serious, if you want to talk to Dad, you call his fucking cell phone.”
The following silence was deafening. The chair screeched when Dean shoved himself away from the table. His boots fell heavy on the floor but the steps never took him anywhere. John absently stroked Liz’s back when he felt the wet warmth on his shoulder. His shoulder was nearly dry when Dean loomed in the doorway. “I need a hunt.”
“No.” John shook his head. “I’m not taking you out to hunt when you’re like this. It always makes you sloppy.”
“Then let’s take a drive.”
“Bobby can always use us.” John needed back up with Dean this time. More than Liz could provide.
--
John couldn’t tear his eyes away from where she bent over the car to soap it up. From where her shorts rode up along her thighs. From the sheer, wet shirt. Could not look away to save his life. Not with the memory of those solid thighs wrapped around him. Her voice keening through his ears. He knew what it felt like to take her on the trunk. To slide into the backseat with her on top.
Bobby cleared his throat and John stiffened barely. “The kids taking care of that car?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s a fine girl. She’ll treat him right.”
“Probably.” John cleared his throat and tried to dispel memories of events not yet occurred. “Hell, she’s the only one who can get a smile out of him these days.”
“Caleb’s coming.”
“Why?”
“Cause he promised Dean some trinket and he’s a man of his word.” Bobby shrugged.
John sighed heavily because Bobby had developed that shifty way of staring he usually got when there was a hunt. “Kids! Try to get some of that soap and water on the car!”
Dean’s smile was bright. As if he hadn’t looked like he was going to kill someone just two days ago. It pained John at how young Dean looked when he smiled that way. Like he was four years old again.
“What crawled up his ass and how did she pull it out without anyone seeing?” Bobby interrupted John’s musings.
“Sam.” That was all John was going to say on the subject.
“You still ain’t talk to that boy? It’s been over a year.”
“My phone ain’t broke. Neither are my fingers.” John shrugged. “But neither are his.”
“He’s young and stupid and he doesn’t know what he’s throwing away.”
“I’m going into town.” John announced and shoved himself upright once more, his leg was healing up but he limped at the slightest chill. Dean threatened to spray his father when he passed but Liz tackled him, both landing in the dirt. “You’re supposed to be cleaning, not getting dirty.”
“Bring back beer-“ Dean shouted out before the hose was turned into his face.
--
Dean leaned back and picked up the quarter. With a flick of his hand, the quarter bounced on the table and landed in the shot glass. Pissed, Liz picked up the shot in front of her and tossed it back. John did the same and Liz got one more shot drunker. Liz picked up the quarter and poised on the edge of the chair. She stared at the shot glass and cleared her throat before bouncing the quarter on the table, it hit the edge of the glass and flipped inside.
Both men grinned before taking their shots. Dean spun the shot glass on the table. “It’s about time you got one in.”
“Shut up and drink cause I’m gonna do it again.” Liz flicked the glass over to free the quarter. “When’s your friend gonna show up?”
“He’ll be here. He kind of runs on his own time table.” Dean downed his shot, only his fourth of the night… as opposed to the eight that Liz had already taken.
“Bobby? Are you going to join us?” Liz turned as she missed the shot glass.
“Not tonight.” He shook his head and sipped his beer.
“Enough quarters. Liz’s liver will explode.” John cleared the shot glasses out of the way. He’d only had a handful of shots himself. He dug the cards out of his shirt pocket and began shuffling. “Call the game, Bobby. Hold ‘Em or Stud?”
“Stud, of course.” Bobby dragged himself to the table.
They drank more and played a few hands for fun. Bobby pulled out the cigars and even taught Liz how to puff on one. She declared it disgusting but puffed right along with the rest of them until Caleb showed up. He slipped something to Dean, who didn’t offer any explanation, then joined the game. That’s when the wallets and the attitudes came out.
John tossed a chip into the middle of the table, toppling the stack that Liz had placed with her remainders. John had been counting cards and whatever Liz had, couldn’t beat Dean’s hand. Caleb tossed his cards down. Bobby tossed in his chip then laid out his cards. Two pair. Jacks over fives. John laid down Jacks over fours and cursed to himself. Liz grinned broadly at her Queens over nines. Dean folded his cards down. John frowned at him. Dean blinked at his father. “What?”
“You’re folding now.”
“Just deal.” Dean gathered the cards up and shuffled quickly before handing them over to Caleb for the next hand.
Liz’s bank replenished, she got cocky with her next hand. John looked to Dean who folded early, cursing under his breath. John was about to rib him about it but Caleb beat him to it. “You intentionally letting her win? My understanding was that you already got the girl.”
“Shut up.” Dean bit out and knocked back half his beer before switching to whiskey.
Liz frowned at him and shuffled the cards next. She dealt them out and frowned harder at Dean when he folded again. “Don’t let me win. I learned to play with the town sheriff, the mayor and my dad.”
Dean just shook his head and knocked back his glass of whiskey. John picked up the cards after Bobby won the hand. He shuffled and counted and dealt and his blood froze when he realized why Dean kept folding. He rounded all the cards up without explaining to anyone. He shuffled too many times to count. Bobby’s eyes narrowed. Caleb just shook his head. John dealt and cursed when Dean folded again, tossing back another whiskey. Liz reached across the table, confused. “What’s wrong with the hand? It’s a good one, right?” She flicked her wrist at John, then at Bobby.
“It’s fine.” Dean ripped the cards out of her hand and shuffled while standing. He did a few tricks, then dealt out new hands. Everyone silent until Dean tossed his hand down again and left the table.
John stared after him. Caleb cleared his throat. “Aces over Eights. It’s… It can be a winning hand but… it’s an old superstition. That’s called a Dead Man’s Hand.”
“You hunting something, John?” Bobby asked his friend for probably the tenth time on this trip.
“No. We… just came off a hunt.” That’s when John realized he’d never looked into Dean’s death the last time he’d been through the woods. The blood fell out of his face. He started to go after Dean but Liz beat him to it.
“What were you gonna do when you left here?” Caleb shuffled the cards one more time, dealing to empty seats, then examining the hands. The Dead Man’s Hand kept popping up. He looked over the deck and then proceeded to light it on fire with a matchbook from his pocket.
“Going to drop Liz off and then to look for a hunt. I had told Dean we weren’t hunting anything until he calmed down.”
“What’s he riled up about?”
“His brother.” Bobby supplied.
“How’s that kid doing?”
“He’s alive at any rate.” John cut them off. “Dean’s not usually superstitious.”
“John...” Bobby started.
“What’d he tell you, Bobby?”
“Nothing much… Just like he feels that something is gunning for him.”
“Did he say what?”
“No but he says there’s been more than a few close calls of late.” Bobby eyed his friend carefully.
--
Liz read aloud from her book. Some tale of romance and high adventure only vaguely familiar to John and a genuine mystery to Dean. Dean listened intently even as his eyes ran over the road. Dean’s arm lay along the seat, his hand wrapped around her ankle where it sat propped on the seat top. John leaned against the door and dozed as he listened as well. John and Liz had the same goal in mind. Make Dean sit still. Make Dean take his mind off his cards.
--
John surfed the net to find Dean’s death posted somewhere. He searched the annals. Made phone calls to ferret out the buyer of Dean’s headstone and when that was purchased and by what means. His frustration often sent him to bed early in need of release. Liz did her best to tend to him, without asking what he was after, and to intercede with the children. She stopped asking him what he was hunting.
John managed some good moments while he researched. He taught Jack how to change the oil in the Impala. He lowered himself to tea with Deanna and Mrs. Buttercup the bear. He even attended a school play for the first time in 20 years.
That’s when it happened. The night of the school play. John had just found the reason Dean had died. Had a clear pattern on the Shtriga that would best his boy. John lifted Deanna up onto his shoulders. She giggled and held on. Jack blushed when Liz fawned over his performance. The quartet marched into the apartment, then Liz disappeared. John got them both tucked into bed. They looked so much younger than his boys had at the same ages.
“Liz?” John called out as he turned the corner and spotted her sitting on the toilet tank holding something in her hand. “Liz?”
Her head snapped up, eyes wide. She wiped the moisture off her face, opened her mouth to speak when the sound of the door creaking open caught John’s attention. Whipping his gun out of his jacket, he turned to the kitchen. Liz’s hand caught his arm but he kept moving forward. He took a step too far.
He felt rather than heard the click of the gun as it was cocked against his temple. The command was deadly. “Put the gun down and face me you evil son of a bitch.”
John put the gun down and felt Liz shrink away down the hall to stay out of sight. He stepped slowly into the living room with his hands out. “Good job.”
“Good job?” Sam repeated, his gaze and his aim never wavering. “That’s all you’ve got to say?”
“’Good to see you, son’ seems a little bit inappropriate at this point.” John gestured to the gun. “With that pistol aiming for my brain and all.”
“Don’t call me ‘son’. My father is dead. He’s been dead for two years. I watched him die myself.” Sam’s face entered the light and John could see all the pain and whiskey and years.
“Who do you think I am, Sammy?”
“Don’t call me Sammy.” Sam glanced around the room. Saw the pictures of his brother and his family. “What is all this?”
“You really think your brother’s family would let an impostor stick around, Sammy? You knew your brother. You think they wouldn’t know the family secret?”
“I saw you die!”
“Quiet. Jack and Deanna are sleeping.”
Sam’s grip on the gun loosened. He looked nothing but tired. John stepped forward, casually knocking the gun out of his hand. Sam stared at him. “Is it really you?”
“Yeah, Sammy, it’s really me.” John pulled his son to him. A grown man with a long weary life behind him.
“John?” Liz stepped out into the room, her eyes on the gun. Her hand was splayed at her side and only John knew what that meant. She hadn’t done it in years but she’d try if it meant his life.
“It’s okay, Liz. This is Sammy. Dean’s little brother.” John turned slowly, just to make sure Sam was relaxed. “Sammy, this is Liz.”
“She’s not Dean’s type.” Sam blurted out.
“Which is probably how she got him to settle down.” John wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “We just had a misunderstanding.”
“Mom?” Jack’s voice interrupted them.
“Jack, time for bed.” Liz cleared the shake out of her voice.
“Wait.” Sam held out his hand, stepping toward the boy. “Just wait.”
Sam towered over the boy. He looked him over as he got closer. Then he knelt before he whispered. “Don’t look at them. Tell me. Who is your father?”
“Dean Winchester.” Came the automatic response. “That’s my papa. John Winchester. Who are you?”
“Sam Winchester. I’m your uncle.” Sam tried to smile but he’d been out of practice. “I’m your dad’s baby brother.”
“Papa?” Jack looked to his grandfather.
“It’s okay. We’re just going to be up talking. Go on back to bed.” John nodded to the boy.
Liz edged past Sam and guided her son back to his room. Sam stared after them for a long while before moving to the shelf and its many snapshots of his brother’s life. “Jack looks like Dean.”
“Yeah.” John nodded.
“Why didn’t you tell me about them when he died?” Sam turned to face him.
“As I recall…” John realized that he didn’t recall but he couldn’t let Sam know that. “I didn’t get many words in edgewise.”
“If the little one is eight… then…” Sam trailed off.
“Dean had just told me about the baby before we went on that hunt.” John nodded to Sam’s tortured face. “Deanna never met him. I tell them stories about him. They know who he was.” He watched Sam run his hand over the top of the shelf as he studied each picture. “Your brother built that shelf.”
Sam blinked at his father. “You mean he put it together.”
“He did that, too. He designed it. Cut the pieces. I helped him bang it together. I think he said it was four days worth of work.”
“He never understood why I left.” Sam sniffed suddenly.
“Give your brother credit, Sammy. He understood. I think he even came to agree with it but he…”
“He never forgave me for going to school.”
“You never listened to him, did you.” John shook his head sadly. “It wasn’t about you going to school. I should have said myself but I never did. It was about your safety. It was about the way you left and slammed the door after you.”
John left him to have a drink in the kitchen. He was onto his second when he heard them talking. Sam’s voice in awe. “So, you tamed my brother.”
“It wasn’t hard. Little love, little lovin’ and a lot of food.” She whispered.
“Did he talk about me?”
“In very vague terms.” She cleared her throat. “You’re a painful subject for both of them.”
“Painful?”
“When I met them, it was pretty obvious that they were in pain. It’s probably why we all hit it off the way we did. Pain.” There lay a silence for a bit. “They would get into these funks and it was about you. I could tell. We’ve had a rough time of it. Your dad was coming in and out of it and Dean didn’t know what to do and I think he wanted to call you.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“You offended him by leaving, I think. Dean didn’t really talk about his feelings that way but I’ve put the pieces together more or less. One of the things that I really responded to about him was his sense of family. I know half a dozen people who would have dumped their fathers in a home rather than pull them through the rough patches. Not Dean.”
“I think he mentioned that Dad wasn’t doing well… I just figured he meant drinking.”
“I think he might have tried to commit suicide a time or two. Scared Dean very badly. Me too.”
“My dad. Suicidal?”
“I think there’s a lot that you don’t know about those two men. The first real fight that Dean and I had… it was about you. I didn’t understand at the time why you going to college was such a make or break thing. Then I found out about your mom and your life and all of Dean’s sacrifices. Then I understood why they held on so hard. When… Dean died… I really thought that John was gonna go off the deep end.” She took a shaking breath. “I think that if I hadn’t been pregnant… Anyway, we make sure the kids know what kind of person Dean was. Jack has vague memories and Deanna only has her name, pictures and our stories.”
“I wish I could have seen him being a dad.”
“You did.” There was a pause. “Your dad told me a lot more than Dean ever did about the sacrifices that Dean made growing up.”
“Wow. You got my dad to talk.”
“Mostly pillow talk but he… Sam, he really wasn’t oblivious to the needs and wants of his children. He mostly focused on what he could fix and tried not to think about what he couldn’t.”
“Pillow talk?” John knew that tone in his son’s voice.
“This is my house. You don’t get to judge me. This is my family. You don’t get to judge them.”
“It’s my family.”
“Then where have you been for 15 years? I’ve been here. I’ve picked up the pieces of Dean and John in all that time and all I ever saw of you were the expressions on their faces after one of your phone calls to Dean. You had a father all that time, too.” Liz’s feet fell hard on the floor. “John, I’m going to bed. Escort your son out.”
John passed Sam the bottle when the younger man stepped into the kitchen to make for the door. Sam sat at the table, placing his gun within reach. “So, was it you? You came to my home and stirred this shit up?”
“Yeah.”
“I figured the second Emily told me that Mr. Rockford came to visit. The only one I know uses that alias is Dean and he’s…”
“Say what you’re gonna say, Sam.” John poured himself a drink and waited for the hate-filled barrage of SAT words about what he was doing with Liz was wrong.
“She’s half your age.”
“Basic math begs to differ.”
“She’s Dean’s wife.”
John took a long swallow on his whiskey. “Emily’s a good fifteen years your junior. She legal when you started fucking her?”
“Shut your mouth about Emily.”
“Then shut yours about Liz. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“It’s highly convenient that Dean dies the way he does and then you’re fucking his wife.”
“Bite your tongue, boy, or I’ll cut it off.” John tossed back his whiskey. “I’ve spent years of my life saving your brother. Making sure he’d come home to his girl and their kids and you think it doesn’t kill me that I failed?” He rose unsteadily to his feet. “I came and got you cause I’m still hunting. I’m an old man and the kids are young. Jack’s gonna need a man around to tell him about the world. Deanna’s gonna need a good man to show her what gentlemen are supposed to be like.”
“You sick or something?”
“I’m old. I’m not explaining my relationship with Liz to you. Just know that I came and got you because your family will need you when I’m gone and it’ll fall to you to hold them together. I got a Shtriga to kill.” John didn’t even bother to go back for his bag. He walked out the door and kept walking.
TBC
Re: Time Has Come Today (SPN/ROS, UC, AU, MA) Part 19 10/19
Part 19
Liz sat on the edge of the bed while Dean packed his things. “Just tell him.”
“I can’t.” Dean shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Tell him.” She insisted.
“Liz, I just can’t. He needs me to have his back.”
“Does he have yours?” She winced even as the words were out of her mouth. John would never let anything happen to Dean if he could stop it. It didn’t mean that John did all he could to secure Dean’s happiness… if John even knew how to do that.
“Shut up.” Dean sniffed and zipped the bag up. He stared at her for a long moment. “It’s the same one, though, I can feel it.”
“Why?”
“It was the cards last month.”
“Dean. It’s a superstition and Bobby says that you’ve never been superstitious.”
“It’s the cards.” Dean sat down near her but not next to her on the bed. “When I was a kid, I screwed up. Sammy almost died.” He took a deep breath. “Dad… told me to… stay in the room, watch after Sammy and I… started climbing the walls after a couple of days. I snuck out after he fell asleep. I… I left him alone and when I came back, the Shtriga was in there with him. It was… feeding on him and I hesitated to take the shot. It got away.”
“Dean…” She breathed out. The guilt that her boyfriend carried around with him.
“Dad blamed me. I know he did. He… looked at me different after that.”
John was cold, hard but not cruel. Surely… “Dean, I’m sure…”
“He did. Maybe… it doesn’t make sense to you but I’ve learned that if I want to stay alive, I have to listen to him. He knows what he’s talking about.” Dean cleared his throat and focused on the floor. “My dad hasn’t always been the best that he could be. He did try though and given what we’ve all been through… He does what he thinks is best and it usually turns out well.”
“Dean.”
“Liz, I saw my mother burning on the ceiling of my baby brother’s nursery. Don’t tell me that you understand what happened to me. I was four. She was my mother. He was… about my age now, maybe a little older and she was the love of his life.” He turned to face her. “You told me what losing Max did to you. Imagine feeling that for the rest of your life and not getting to see him again.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “I don’t think he blamed you. People… can do awful things in the face of grief.”
“Yeah, I know you know that.” He nodded to himself. “I gotta do this.”
“You’re scared… and that’s going to make you sloppy.”
“Maybe.” He hitched the bag onto his shoulder and opened the door. “I’m… gonna take a walk. I’ll… I’ll be right back.”
--
John’s hands shook as he splashed his face with water. He turned and stared at the empty double bed beside his. It had been that way awhile but he knew where he could find Dean. Had taken a small measure of comfort in knowing that Dean could be found with a quick trip across the parking lot. Had been able to let go that much but not enough to let the fates play as they would with his life. Not enough that John wouldn’t come back if Dean didn’t call. Not enough to keep from calling once a week when he didn’t hear from him. Not enough to let go of him.
Dean had answered on the first ring. Had been asleep but woke enough to get the details of the job down. Had asked unspoken questions with his tone that John had ignored. Dean would help him get the job done. He would because he knew it had to be done. John had raised him right enough that Dean would do this for him. Would face down the thing that John had failed to kill for Sammy. John wanted a drink but made himself stay away from the stuff. His leg was healing okay but chilly weather would make the bone scream and probably always would. Dean was young and strong and skilled. John had raised himself an evil-killing machine. It pained him just as much as it made him proud.
Gathering the last of his things, he tossed the key on the bed and made for the Impala. It was sitting in the front lot but Dean was missing. Bag in the trunk, keys nowhere in sight. Taking a breath, John turned to the staircase on the side of the building. Liz was sitting on the railing with a glass in her hand, the dregs of an iced tea on the bottom. “Where is he?”
“He went for a walk.” She replied, ice and stone in her voice. John knew better than to press but he couldn’t let it go at that. Dean knew they had a hunt. He pulled out his phone. Liz kicked it out of his hand. It went clattering to the boards next to the front door. “Ooops.”
“You have something to say to me?” John bent to pick it up, his leg protesting, knee creaking.
“Maybe.” She tipped the glass into her mouth, taking in a mouthful of ice and bitter water. She didn’t continue, so John attempted to enter the apartment. “He’s not in there. He went for a walk.”
“We don’t have time for this, Liz.” He sighed but turned to face her. She was pissed. “What?”
“You have surgery to remove the pins from your leg, then you disappear for a whole fucking month. You pop up out of the blue and say ‘Dean, there’s this Shtriga.’ And you just expect him to go.”
“Yeah, I do.” He turned to walk away but she jumped off the rail and onto the top stair, almost toppling onto him.
“John. He’s tired. He’s had a crappy week and you’re gonna make him drive to Wisconsin?”
“Dean will do what needs to be done.” He managed to get all the way down the stairs and into the lot before she responded.
“John! You can’t keep riding him like this!” Liz threw the glass at her boyfriend’s father’s head. It shattered on the edge of the overhang on the porch.
“Watch it.” He turned. He didn’t yell but his tone was unmistakable. His boots crunched on the broken glass. “Until you, my son was just fine doing his job.”
“Until me, he didn’t know the difference between living his life and working the job.”
“You’re just a girl. You don’t think he’s got them all over?” He smirked at the look on her face and crossed the lot to where his son had parked the car.
She stilled. She knew all about Dean’s sordid past with women. “This is different.”
“Tell yourself that.”
“I’m pregnant, John. You gonna take my baby’s father away? For what? A demon that you can’t beat?” She crossed the lot to stand up next to him. “I know what Dean is. I’ve never had any illusions about us but you’re going to take him away from what he could have… because why? Because you can’t let him go? You can’t let him make his own decisions?”
“Dean doesn’t do anything that he doesn’t want to do.”
“Unless you order it done.” She countered. “You know it’s true. If you ordered him to never see me again, he’d walk. He loves you more than anything in this world and… it shouldn’t be a bad thing except that he puts your love above everything else in this world. Above his own needs… Let him go.”
“Hey… what’s going on?” Dean strolled into the lot, slowly. He had clearly just missed something.
“Mount up. We’ve got a job to do.” John ordered his son without taking his eyes off the slight girl in front of him.
“Dad?” He blinked at his father then looked to his girlfriend. “Liz?”
“You don’t bring him back so I can tell him myself… and I will light you up.” Liz turned to face Dean. “You call me when the job is done.”
“What the hell?” Dean’s eyes whipped from her to his father. Then she had stormed back to her apartment over the store where she worked. Arms raised, he shook his head at the sky. He finally gave up and started for the Impala’s driver’s side. His father rested his hands, clasped, on the roof of the car. “Sir?”
“Hey, Deano… um…” This was gonna be hard. The future that he was trying to prevent was falling into place and there was nothing he could do but try something else.
“Deano? You haven’t called me that since…” He trailed off, laughter dying as soon as it had started.
“You would tell me if you couldn’t do the job anymore, right?”
“Why couldn’t I do the job?” His back stiffened as he searched his memory for any reason his father might think he couldn’t do the job.
“If you didn’t want this life…”
“Dad? What’s going on?”
“Maybe you sit this one out, huh? I’ll call Jefferson to meet me.” John pushed away from the car.
“Dad! Come on. Let’s go. You’ve been hounding me since this morning about this job.” Dean rounded the car to catch up with his father. “And anyway, Jefferson’s scared shitless.”
“Maybe Sam had the right idea.” John admitted to his eldest son. “Maybe expecting the two of you to just… fall in was too much. I… I got to live my life. School, jobs, wife and kids… you two…”
“Dad…” Dean’s voice cracked. He’d never seen his father like this.
“You stay. I’ll call Jefferson or Caleb. I’ll talk to you when I get the job done. You give me your answer then.”
“What answer?” Dean watched helplessly as his father walked away. “What the fuck is going on?”
--
Jefferson wouldn’t have anything to do with him. Caleb was more lenient but he wouldn’t do it either. Time was running short. John showed up and did his thing. He knew which kids would get sick and in which order. It was the motel boy next and getting them to trust him was going to be a challenge. Single mother of two boys. John paid for his room with cash and watched the older boy cater to his little brother, just the way Dean had often done with Sammy.
The woman cleared her throat loudly, and pointedly. “Upstairs or down?”
“Down, please.” He cleared his throat but didn’t avert his eyes. “Sorry, just… missing my boys.”
“You have young children?”
“No.” He took a breath. “Full grown men, now. Feels like it was yesterday they were that age.” He nodded to her boys. “They grow up fast.”
She laughed. “That they do.”
“Hey Mom! No cruising for sugar daddies on the job.” The oldest called out.
“Michael.” She chided. She turned back to John. “I’m so sorry. He’s inherited his father’s mouth and there’s no controlling it.”
“Well, that’s what the closet monster is for.” John tilted his head to the boy. “Not trying to be your daddy but-“
“Treat your mother with some respect. Pays off later when you’re trying to get a date.” A familiar voice spoke from the doorway.
John turned to find his oldest leaning there. “Thought you weren’t coming.”
“I never said that.” Dean shook his head. “Sweetheart, mind making that room a double?”
“Queers.” Came the mouth off that boy.
“Hey, kid.” Dean caught his eye. “Lay off, will you? You’ve only got one mom and you’re driving her nuts.”
She tried to contain her laughter but turned to her boys. “Eat your dinner or there’s no dessert tonight or ever again.”
John clapped his hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezed. There was something undeniably light about Dean’s demeanor. Something very… carefree. When he heard the throat clearing again, he realized that he was staring at Dean, which was making the younger man uncomfortable. “Double bed, downstairs. Anything else I can do for you gentlemen?”
“Get him a tissue. I think my dad is having one of those mushy moments that belong inside a Hallmark card.” Dean blurted out. John couldn’t resist pinching the muscle between his fingers, which made Dean yelp.
She bit her lip and handed over the keys and the change. “Have a good night.”
Dean led the way to the room where he’d already parked the Impala and waited while his dad drove the truck over. “Okay, so explain to me why this two-man job is okay for you to do alone.”
“You didn’t come.”
“You didn’t give me the option of coming. I talked to Bobby, Caleb and Jefferson and was informed by each that you felt it was a two-man job.” Dean cleared his throat. The lightness wore off for a moment, which made John frown.
“I just think so.” John nodded.
“Then let’s kill it.” Dean pulled his bag from the trunk and handed his father his. “You left that behind. Figured you’d need your journal.”
--
Dean spent the afternoon cleaning his guns. He asked a few questions but didn’t push when John didn’t give up the details. He kept glancing around though. John guessed that Dean wanted to say something but wasn’t ready to. He wondered if Liz had given Dean his news yet but wouldn’t pry. That was a man’s news to give to his father.
“So, uh, Dad, how exactly are we tracking this thing?”
John looked up. “I know where to look.”
“Where is that?”
“The front desk.”
“The front… how do you know those boys are next?” Dean blinked at him. John only shrugged. “Well, how do we kill this thing? I mean, you can’t exactly sneak up behind it with consecrated iron rounds.”
John frowned at his son. “How did you know about the iron rounds?”
“Dad… I…” Dean’s good mood slipped entirely. “I know that it’s my fault that this thing is still walking around-“
“Son. What in the hell are you talking about?” John stared at his boy for the longest time and then he remembered. Fort Douglas. “Jesus, Dean.” Head in his hands, John sank onto his bed. He had really fucked up his kids. He had failed them in ways they didn’t even know about. Tears pricking at his eyes, he summoned the courage to stand up. “Jesus.” He turned to look at his son. “Your mother owes me the biggest ass kicking in the universe, Dean. Every time you say something like that, I remember and it’s only going to get worse. At this point, I’m going to be sleeping on the celestial couch for all time after I die.”
Dean tried not to show his confusion. He had no idea what his dad was talking about. He was very close to believing that his father had finally lost it when he saw the tears in his father’s eyes. “Dad?”
“Fort Douglas was a mistake, Dean. That’s all it ever was.” A lifetime of guilt slammed down on John right in that moment. “I didn’t handle myself too well in those days… maybe I still don’t. I was tracking it on foot. Son of a bitch moves quick. By the time I caught up to it, it was already inside the motel and I froze in the parking lot because I knew that you and your brother were the only two kids in the motel that week.”
Dean blinked at his father. Tilted his head and studied the man. “You froze?”
“It happens sometimes. Kids I save remind me too much of you or your brother at any particular age. Think I see your mom out of the corner of my eye.” John wiped the moisture from his eyes and looked his son in the eye. “I need you to understand what I’ve always tried to tell you. I’m just a man. I’m not a superhero. I had to learn everything that I know when I was nearly too old to learn it.”
The younger Winchester tilted his head further. “Yeah well, I always thought Batman was a pussy. There were no repercussions from any of his injuries.”
That made John laugh.
“I have an idea to get us in that room but uh… you can’t tell Liz about it.”
--
John sat the younger one, Asher, on his knee and showed him how the camera worked. Their very nervous mother sat beside them and watched on the monitor as her oldest son pretended to sleep with an armed man under his bed. “Joanna, I’d tell you to relax but I know you won’t.”
“He’s my baby.” She whispered, a finger sliding along Michael’s still form on the monitor. “This is crazy.”
“Your baby is in there… but so is mine.” John laid a hand on her arm. “I can still remember the way I felt the first time I held him in my arms.”
“Your baby has a gun.” She bit out at him.
John cleared his throat and covered Asher’s ears. “I had a vision that Dean would be killed by this thing. The last thing I want is for him to be in the room with that monster.”
“Why is he in there and you’re in here?”
“People keep telling me to let him go.” John pondered that statement for a long moment. “I keep trying to save him and I never once thought of letting him save himself.”
“He’s a handsome, charming young man.”
“He likes to think so.” John chuckled. “His brother and I always tease him about that.”
“You have another son?”
“He’s… gone to college. He didn’t much like the family trade.” He cleared his throat. “To his credit, it doesn’t make any money and it doesn’t make for much of a life.”
“Then why do you do it?” She bit her lip the second the words were out.
“The things I know now… I didn’t know when my wife was killed.” He explained briefly. “I raised my boys alone. I’ve seen things that give my nightmares nightmares. The only comfort is that other families are not as torn up as mine is.”
“How old were they?” Joanna laid her hand over his. “When the monster killed your wife?”
“Four years and six months. They’ve never known another life.”
Asher leaned against John, comfortable as anything. Trusting. When had his boys last been able to do that? “There’s a ghost in the window.”
Joanna and John’s eyes snapped to the monitor. There was a black shadow climbing in the window. John passed Asher to his mother and picked up his gun from the floor. He watched the shadow cross the room. “Okay, Dean. Look alive.”
It happened so fast that by the time the Shtriga started feeding, John ran for the door. The gun blasts reached his ears. He threw open the door and Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed, rocking Michael in his arms. “Sh. It’s okay. It’s dead. It’s dead.”
“John?” Joanna clutched Asher tight against her body.
“He’s okay. They’re both okay.”
--
Dean chatted amiably all the way to Bobby’s. John tried to brush away the nervousness in his belly from that damned Shtriga. There was something different in Dean since he arrived for the hunt. It was so much more pronounced now. Dean kept looking at him like he wanted to tell him something but he kept his mouth shut. Just cranked up the radio and started singing along… like he didn’t have a care in the world. “All of my love, all of my love. All of my love for you.”
--
Bobby welcomed both men into his home with a beer each. John rolled his tongue over the oiliness of the first sip. He didn’t call Bobby on it. Things were starting to heat up in the spirit world. Every man took his own precautions. John fell right into bed after a brief and calm recap of the hunt were Dean was the star.
When he woke there was easy conversation over bacon and eggs… and Bobby eying him strangely all morning. As the day wore on, the tension built until Dean declared that he needed to get back to his lady and wanted some conversation on the way.
John waited until Dean was doing his tune ups on the engine before he addressed Bobby. “You got something to say, say it.”
“There’s something wrong with you.” Bobby came out with it.
“What?”
“It’s not demonic. You’ve walked over and under every trap I know. You drink holy water the whole time you’re here without flinching but I know there’s something wrong about you, John.” Bobby’s hat hid his eyes in shadow so that John couldn’t see what was in them. “It kills me to say that but I know it. There’s something wrong about you and… I don’t want to be the one that kills you before you do something about it.”
“What do you think is wrong about me?”
Bobby stared at his friend. “Something got into you, John?”
“What are you talking about Bobby?” The more Bobby talked, the more uneasy John felt. He wished there was something wrong with him.
“I’m talking about I known you for almost 20 years and you never gave a woman a passing glance… and then I seen you that day… watching your boy’s girl like you know her.”
“What are you on about?”
“I’m talking about you staring at that girl like... If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were possessed.”
“Okay… I’ll tell you what I’ve been hunting.”
--
Dean glanced up at the house when the voices rose but didn’t make a move for the door. He went about his duties, straining to make something out but the walls contained the words. He’d tasted the holy water in his beer. He’d fallen for all the useless errands into rooms that smelled like fresh paint. He wasn’t stupid and there was something that both older hunters were not telling him.
--
“John! She’s a girl! There’s no such thing as aliens. She didn’t put a spell on you!”
“How do you know that?”
“Cause, she doesn’t have an ounce of magic in her body.”
“Then she’s got you snowed. She’s used her… powers on me before. She straight out admitted it and threatened me if I took Dean away from her.”
“She threatened you? She’s a hundred pounds soaking wet.”
“Bobby. She’s not human.”
“You’re crazy. You’re gonna get all three of you killed with your crazy talk, John.”
“Bobby, dammit!”
“Get out, John.”
“Look, I can explain. There’s this wood.”
Bobby grabbed his shot gun and used it to back John out of the house and off of his front porch. “Git.”
“Bobby.” John’s posture stiffened when he hit the driveway. Dean was done loading up. “Come on, it’s me.”
“I don’t know who you are. Git off my property.” He cocked the shot gun.
John turned and climbed in behind the wheel. Dean shut the trunk then went around to the passenger side door.
“Dean.” Bobby called out. “Take care of your daddy.”
Dean didn’t ask. He just tilted his head at Bobby for a moment before climbing in and his door was barely shut before they were on the freeway headed East.
TBC
Liz sat on the edge of the bed while Dean packed his things. “Just tell him.”
“I can’t.” Dean shook his head. “I can’t.”
“Tell him.” She insisted.
“Liz, I just can’t. He needs me to have his back.”
“Does he have yours?” She winced even as the words were out of her mouth. John would never let anything happen to Dean if he could stop it. It didn’t mean that John did all he could to secure Dean’s happiness… if John even knew how to do that.
“Shut up.” Dean sniffed and zipped the bag up. He stared at her for a long moment. “It’s the same one, though, I can feel it.”
“Why?”
“It was the cards last month.”
“Dean. It’s a superstition and Bobby says that you’ve never been superstitious.”
“It’s the cards.” Dean sat down near her but not next to her on the bed. “When I was a kid, I screwed up. Sammy almost died.” He took a deep breath. “Dad… told me to… stay in the room, watch after Sammy and I… started climbing the walls after a couple of days. I snuck out after he fell asleep. I… I left him alone and when I came back, the Shtriga was in there with him. It was… feeding on him and I hesitated to take the shot. It got away.”
“Dean…” She breathed out. The guilt that her boyfriend carried around with him.
“Dad blamed me. I know he did. He… looked at me different after that.”
John was cold, hard but not cruel. Surely… “Dean, I’m sure…”
“He did. Maybe… it doesn’t make sense to you but I’ve learned that if I want to stay alive, I have to listen to him. He knows what he’s talking about.” Dean cleared his throat and focused on the floor. “My dad hasn’t always been the best that he could be. He did try though and given what we’ve all been through… He does what he thinks is best and it usually turns out well.”
“Dean.”
“Liz, I saw my mother burning on the ceiling of my baby brother’s nursery. Don’t tell me that you understand what happened to me. I was four. She was my mother. He was… about my age now, maybe a little older and she was the love of his life.” He turned to face her. “You told me what losing Max did to you. Imagine feeling that for the rest of your life and not getting to see him again.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “I don’t think he blamed you. People… can do awful things in the face of grief.”
“Yeah, I know you know that.” He nodded to himself. “I gotta do this.”
“You’re scared… and that’s going to make you sloppy.”
“Maybe.” He hitched the bag onto his shoulder and opened the door. “I’m… gonna take a walk. I’ll… I’ll be right back.”
--
John’s hands shook as he splashed his face with water. He turned and stared at the empty double bed beside his. It had been that way awhile but he knew where he could find Dean. Had taken a small measure of comfort in knowing that Dean could be found with a quick trip across the parking lot. Had been able to let go that much but not enough to let the fates play as they would with his life. Not enough that John wouldn’t come back if Dean didn’t call. Not enough to keep from calling once a week when he didn’t hear from him. Not enough to let go of him.
Dean had answered on the first ring. Had been asleep but woke enough to get the details of the job down. Had asked unspoken questions with his tone that John had ignored. Dean would help him get the job done. He would because he knew it had to be done. John had raised him right enough that Dean would do this for him. Would face down the thing that John had failed to kill for Sammy. John wanted a drink but made himself stay away from the stuff. His leg was healing okay but chilly weather would make the bone scream and probably always would. Dean was young and strong and skilled. John had raised himself an evil-killing machine. It pained him just as much as it made him proud.
Gathering the last of his things, he tossed the key on the bed and made for the Impala. It was sitting in the front lot but Dean was missing. Bag in the trunk, keys nowhere in sight. Taking a breath, John turned to the staircase on the side of the building. Liz was sitting on the railing with a glass in her hand, the dregs of an iced tea on the bottom. “Where is he?”
“He went for a walk.” She replied, ice and stone in her voice. John knew better than to press but he couldn’t let it go at that. Dean knew they had a hunt. He pulled out his phone. Liz kicked it out of his hand. It went clattering to the boards next to the front door. “Ooops.”
“You have something to say to me?” John bent to pick it up, his leg protesting, knee creaking.
“Maybe.” She tipped the glass into her mouth, taking in a mouthful of ice and bitter water. She didn’t continue, so John attempted to enter the apartment. “He’s not in there. He went for a walk.”
“We don’t have time for this, Liz.” He sighed but turned to face her. She was pissed. “What?”
“You have surgery to remove the pins from your leg, then you disappear for a whole fucking month. You pop up out of the blue and say ‘Dean, there’s this Shtriga.’ And you just expect him to go.”
“Yeah, I do.” He turned to walk away but she jumped off the rail and onto the top stair, almost toppling onto him.
“John. He’s tired. He’s had a crappy week and you’re gonna make him drive to Wisconsin?”
“Dean will do what needs to be done.” He managed to get all the way down the stairs and into the lot before she responded.
“John! You can’t keep riding him like this!” Liz threw the glass at her boyfriend’s father’s head. It shattered on the edge of the overhang on the porch.
“Watch it.” He turned. He didn’t yell but his tone was unmistakable. His boots crunched on the broken glass. “Until you, my son was just fine doing his job.”
“Until me, he didn’t know the difference between living his life and working the job.”
“You’re just a girl. You don’t think he’s got them all over?” He smirked at the look on her face and crossed the lot to where his son had parked the car.
She stilled. She knew all about Dean’s sordid past with women. “This is different.”
“Tell yourself that.”
“I’m pregnant, John. You gonna take my baby’s father away? For what? A demon that you can’t beat?” She crossed the lot to stand up next to him. “I know what Dean is. I’ve never had any illusions about us but you’re going to take him away from what he could have… because why? Because you can’t let him go? You can’t let him make his own decisions?”
“Dean doesn’t do anything that he doesn’t want to do.”
“Unless you order it done.” She countered. “You know it’s true. If you ordered him to never see me again, he’d walk. He loves you more than anything in this world and… it shouldn’t be a bad thing except that he puts your love above everything else in this world. Above his own needs… Let him go.”
“Hey… what’s going on?” Dean strolled into the lot, slowly. He had clearly just missed something.
“Mount up. We’ve got a job to do.” John ordered his son without taking his eyes off the slight girl in front of him.
“Dad?” He blinked at his father then looked to his girlfriend. “Liz?”
“You don’t bring him back so I can tell him myself… and I will light you up.” Liz turned to face Dean. “You call me when the job is done.”
“What the hell?” Dean’s eyes whipped from her to his father. Then she had stormed back to her apartment over the store where she worked. Arms raised, he shook his head at the sky. He finally gave up and started for the Impala’s driver’s side. His father rested his hands, clasped, on the roof of the car. “Sir?”
“Hey, Deano… um…” This was gonna be hard. The future that he was trying to prevent was falling into place and there was nothing he could do but try something else.
“Deano? You haven’t called me that since…” He trailed off, laughter dying as soon as it had started.
“You would tell me if you couldn’t do the job anymore, right?”
“Why couldn’t I do the job?” His back stiffened as he searched his memory for any reason his father might think he couldn’t do the job.
“If you didn’t want this life…”
“Dad? What’s going on?”
“Maybe you sit this one out, huh? I’ll call Jefferson to meet me.” John pushed away from the car.
“Dad! Come on. Let’s go. You’ve been hounding me since this morning about this job.” Dean rounded the car to catch up with his father. “And anyway, Jefferson’s scared shitless.”
“Maybe Sam had the right idea.” John admitted to his eldest son. “Maybe expecting the two of you to just… fall in was too much. I… I got to live my life. School, jobs, wife and kids… you two…”
“Dad…” Dean’s voice cracked. He’d never seen his father like this.
“You stay. I’ll call Jefferson or Caleb. I’ll talk to you when I get the job done. You give me your answer then.”
“What answer?” Dean watched helplessly as his father walked away. “What the fuck is going on?”
--
Jefferson wouldn’t have anything to do with him. Caleb was more lenient but he wouldn’t do it either. Time was running short. John showed up and did his thing. He knew which kids would get sick and in which order. It was the motel boy next and getting them to trust him was going to be a challenge. Single mother of two boys. John paid for his room with cash and watched the older boy cater to his little brother, just the way Dean had often done with Sammy.
The woman cleared her throat loudly, and pointedly. “Upstairs or down?”
“Down, please.” He cleared his throat but didn’t avert his eyes. “Sorry, just… missing my boys.”
“You have young children?”
“No.” He took a breath. “Full grown men, now. Feels like it was yesterday they were that age.” He nodded to her boys. “They grow up fast.”
She laughed. “That they do.”
“Hey Mom! No cruising for sugar daddies on the job.” The oldest called out.
“Michael.” She chided. She turned back to John. “I’m so sorry. He’s inherited his father’s mouth and there’s no controlling it.”
“Well, that’s what the closet monster is for.” John tilted his head to the boy. “Not trying to be your daddy but-“
“Treat your mother with some respect. Pays off later when you’re trying to get a date.” A familiar voice spoke from the doorway.
John turned to find his oldest leaning there. “Thought you weren’t coming.”
“I never said that.” Dean shook his head. “Sweetheart, mind making that room a double?”
“Queers.” Came the mouth off that boy.
“Hey, kid.” Dean caught his eye. “Lay off, will you? You’ve only got one mom and you’re driving her nuts.”
She tried to contain her laughter but turned to her boys. “Eat your dinner or there’s no dessert tonight or ever again.”
John clapped his hand on Dean’s shoulder and squeezed. There was something undeniably light about Dean’s demeanor. Something very… carefree. When he heard the throat clearing again, he realized that he was staring at Dean, which was making the younger man uncomfortable. “Double bed, downstairs. Anything else I can do for you gentlemen?”
“Get him a tissue. I think my dad is having one of those mushy moments that belong inside a Hallmark card.” Dean blurted out. John couldn’t resist pinching the muscle between his fingers, which made Dean yelp.
She bit her lip and handed over the keys and the change. “Have a good night.”
Dean led the way to the room where he’d already parked the Impala and waited while his dad drove the truck over. “Okay, so explain to me why this two-man job is okay for you to do alone.”
“You didn’t come.”
“You didn’t give me the option of coming. I talked to Bobby, Caleb and Jefferson and was informed by each that you felt it was a two-man job.” Dean cleared his throat. The lightness wore off for a moment, which made John frown.
“I just think so.” John nodded.
“Then let’s kill it.” Dean pulled his bag from the trunk and handed his father his. “You left that behind. Figured you’d need your journal.”
--
Dean spent the afternoon cleaning his guns. He asked a few questions but didn’t push when John didn’t give up the details. He kept glancing around though. John guessed that Dean wanted to say something but wasn’t ready to. He wondered if Liz had given Dean his news yet but wouldn’t pry. That was a man’s news to give to his father.
“So, uh, Dad, how exactly are we tracking this thing?”
John looked up. “I know where to look.”
“Where is that?”
“The front desk.”
“The front… how do you know those boys are next?” Dean blinked at him. John only shrugged. “Well, how do we kill this thing? I mean, you can’t exactly sneak up behind it with consecrated iron rounds.”
John frowned at his son. “How did you know about the iron rounds?”
“Dad… I…” Dean’s good mood slipped entirely. “I know that it’s my fault that this thing is still walking around-“
“Son. What in the hell are you talking about?” John stared at his boy for the longest time and then he remembered. Fort Douglas. “Jesus, Dean.” Head in his hands, John sank onto his bed. He had really fucked up his kids. He had failed them in ways they didn’t even know about. Tears pricking at his eyes, he summoned the courage to stand up. “Jesus.” He turned to look at his son. “Your mother owes me the biggest ass kicking in the universe, Dean. Every time you say something like that, I remember and it’s only going to get worse. At this point, I’m going to be sleeping on the celestial couch for all time after I die.”
Dean tried not to show his confusion. He had no idea what his dad was talking about. He was very close to believing that his father had finally lost it when he saw the tears in his father’s eyes. “Dad?”
“Fort Douglas was a mistake, Dean. That’s all it ever was.” A lifetime of guilt slammed down on John right in that moment. “I didn’t handle myself too well in those days… maybe I still don’t. I was tracking it on foot. Son of a bitch moves quick. By the time I caught up to it, it was already inside the motel and I froze in the parking lot because I knew that you and your brother were the only two kids in the motel that week.”
Dean blinked at his father. Tilted his head and studied the man. “You froze?”
“It happens sometimes. Kids I save remind me too much of you or your brother at any particular age. Think I see your mom out of the corner of my eye.” John wiped the moisture from his eyes and looked his son in the eye. “I need you to understand what I’ve always tried to tell you. I’m just a man. I’m not a superhero. I had to learn everything that I know when I was nearly too old to learn it.”
The younger Winchester tilted his head further. “Yeah well, I always thought Batman was a pussy. There were no repercussions from any of his injuries.”
That made John laugh.
“I have an idea to get us in that room but uh… you can’t tell Liz about it.”
--
John sat the younger one, Asher, on his knee and showed him how the camera worked. Their very nervous mother sat beside them and watched on the monitor as her oldest son pretended to sleep with an armed man under his bed. “Joanna, I’d tell you to relax but I know you won’t.”
“He’s my baby.” She whispered, a finger sliding along Michael’s still form on the monitor. “This is crazy.”
“Your baby is in there… but so is mine.” John laid a hand on her arm. “I can still remember the way I felt the first time I held him in my arms.”
“Your baby has a gun.” She bit out at him.
John cleared his throat and covered Asher’s ears. “I had a vision that Dean would be killed by this thing. The last thing I want is for him to be in the room with that monster.”
“Why is he in there and you’re in here?”
“People keep telling me to let him go.” John pondered that statement for a long moment. “I keep trying to save him and I never once thought of letting him save himself.”
“He’s a handsome, charming young man.”
“He likes to think so.” John chuckled. “His brother and I always tease him about that.”
“You have another son?”
“He’s… gone to college. He didn’t much like the family trade.” He cleared his throat. “To his credit, it doesn’t make any money and it doesn’t make for much of a life.”
“Then why do you do it?” She bit her lip the second the words were out.
“The things I know now… I didn’t know when my wife was killed.” He explained briefly. “I raised my boys alone. I’ve seen things that give my nightmares nightmares. The only comfort is that other families are not as torn up as mine is.”
“How old were they?” Joanna laid her hand over his. “When the monster killed your wife?”
“Four years and six months. They’ve never known another life.”
Asher leaned against John, comfortable as anything. Trusting. When had his boys last been able to do that? “There’s a ghost in the window.”
Joanna and John’s eyes snapped to the monitor. There was a black shadow climbing in the window. John passed Asher to his mother and picked up his gun from the floor. He watched the shadow cross the room. “Okay, Dean. Look alive.”
It happened so fast that by the time the Shtriga started feeding, John ran for the door. The gun blasts reached his ears. He threw open the door and Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed, rocking Michael in his arms. “Sh. It’s okay. It’s dead. It’s dead.”
“John?” Joanna clutched Asher tight against her body.
“He’s okay. They’re both okay.”
--
Dean chatted amiably all the way to Bobby’s. John tried to brush away the nervousness in his belly from that damned Shtriga. There was something different in Dean since he arrived for the hunt. It was so much more pronounced now. Dean kept looking at him like he wanted to tell him something but he kept his mouth shut. Just cranked up the radio and started singing along… like he didn’t have a care in the world. “All of my love, all of my love. All of my love for you.”
--
Bobby welcomed both men into his home with a beer each. John rolled his tongue over the oiliness of the first sip. He didn’t call Bobby on it. Things were starting to heat up in the spirit world. Every man took his own precautions. John fell right into bed after a brief and calm recap of the hunt were Dean was the star.
When he woke there was easy conversation over bacon and eggs… and Bobby eying him strangely all morning. As the day wore on, the tension built until Dean declared that he needed to get back to his lady and wanted some conversation on the way.
John waited until Dean was doing his tune ups on the engine before he addressed Bobby. “You got something to say, say it.”
“There’s something wrong with you.” Bobby came out with it.
“What?”
“It’s not demonic. You’ve walked over and under every trap I know. You drink holy water the whole time you’re here without flinching but I know there’s something wrong about you, John.” Bobby’s hat hid his eyes in shadow so that John couldn’t see what was in them. “It kills me to say that but I know it. There’s something wrong about you and… I don’t want to be the one that kills you before you do something about it.”
“What do you think is wrong about me?”
Bobby stared at his friend. “Something got into you, John?”
“What are you talking about Bobby?” The more Bobby talked, the more uneasy John felt. He wished there was something wrong with him.
“I’m talking about I known you for almost 20 years and you never gave a woman a passing glance… and then I seen you that day… watching your boy’s girl like you know her.”
“What are you on about?”
“I’m talking about you staring at that girl like... If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were possessed.”
“Okay… I’ll tell you what I’ve been hunting.”
--
Dean glanced up at the house when the voices rose but didn’t make a move for the door. He went about his duties, straining to make something out but the walls contained the words. He’d tasted the holy water in his beer. He’d fallen for all the useless errands into rooms that smelled like fresh paint. He wasn’t stupid and there was something that both older hunters were not telling him.
--
“John! She’s a girl! There’s no such thing as aliens. She didn’t put a spell on you!”
“How do you know that?”
“Cause, she doesn’t have an ounce of magic in her body.”
“Then she’s got you snowed. She’s used her… powers on me before. She straight out admitted it and threatened me if I took Dean away from her.”
“She threatened you? She’s a hundred pounds soaking wet.”
“Bobby. She’s not human.”
“You’re crazy. You’re gonna get all three of you killed with your crazy talk, John.”
“Bobby, dammit!”
“Get out, John.”
“Look, I can explain. There’s this wood.”
Bobby grabbed his shot gun and used it to back John out of the house and off of his front porch. “Git.”
“Bobby.” John’s posture stiffened when he hit the driveway. Dean was done loading up. “Come on, it’s me.”
“I don’t know who you are. Git off my property.” He cocked the shot gun.
John turned and climbed in behind the wheel. Dean shut the trunk then went around to the passenger side door.
“Dean.” Bobby called out. “Take care of your daddy.”
Dean didn’t ask. He just tilted his head at Bobby for a moment before climbing in and his door was barely shut before they were on the freeway headed East.
TBC
Re: Time Has Come Today (SPN/ROS, UC, AU, MA) Part 20 10/20
Part 20
Vermont was chilly. It had its surprises too. Like good coffee houses with patios and great views. John sipped his coffee black, zipped up his jacket and thanked whoever was listening that Dean hadn’t asked about what had happened in South Dakota with Bobby. John was a little ashamed at his desperate bids to justify any of his actions. If they didn’t work on Bobby, then John had no other excuse for the things he’d done and the lies he’d perpetuated to keep going back to that future world.
Speak of the Devil; Dean sat down with some calorie-laden, cavity-inducing treat from the café and a mug of black coffee. He pinched a chunk off and popped it into his mouth. “Now, is that a sunrise or what?”
“It is a good one.” John agreed.
Dean rolled his words around in his mouth for a long moment. “Hey Dad?”
“What’s up?” John didn’t take his eyes off the view.
“I need to tell you something.”
John tore his eyes off the view to take in his son. Carefree and confident and owning himself like John had never seen. “What about?”
“About the question you didn’t ask me before you left the Catskills.” Dean cleared his throat and took a sip of his coffee. “It’s about me and the hunt and Liz.”
“Well, tell me, son.”
“I love the hunt. It’s what I know. I’m good at it… like you were saying in Fitchburg. I have that advantage over you. I’ve done this my whole life.” He took a breath. “I’m good at other things too. I’m good with my hands; with engines; building furniture and shit…” He looked to his father who nodded at him to continue. “I love Liz. She’s… everything to me and… well, I’m thinking that I’m going to live there with her.”
“Sounds like you got it all planned out, son.”
“Kind of.”
“What’s left?”
“Liz is pregnant. You’re… gonna be a grandpa.” Dean flashed a wary smile at his father.
John nodded to himself. There it was. “Congratulations, Dean.”
“I know my life isn’t normal and that it won’t even be safe but-“
“I know it, Dean.”
“But I can still hunt sometimes.”
“Maybe.”
“Dad?” Dean cleared his throat.
“Yeah, Dean?”
“I expected more yelling.”
“I know it.” John nodded and lifted his coffee to his lips. “Liz is a great girl. Treat her right.”
“You aren’t going to disown me?”
“No.” John shook his head and turned to face his son. “Never.”
“I just…”
“I know.” John nodded to himself again and met his son’s eyes. “I made a mistake with Sammy and I lost him. I’m not going to make the same mistake with you. I won’t lose you, too.”
Dean’s eyes welled with tears but they didn’t fall. He took the moment for what it was. “Alright, then.”
John took a long swallow on coffee that hadn’t cooled enough. He cleared the sting out of his throat. “And you said I’d only get grandkids through Sammy. Dean, you dog.”
Then Dean couldn’t stop laughing.
--
Liz served them dinner and smiled wanly. Dean tugged her over when she passed next and whispered something that John couldn’t hear. She shook her head but leaned into him for a moment. Then she was moving. The back door was closer than the bathroom and then she was puking into the back lot. Dean took another bite of his burger. “She gets morning sickness at night.”
“It happens.” John stared at Dean for the longest time. “Have you told your brother?”
“No.” Dean started to say something else but clenched his jaw then took a huge bite out of his burger. So John left it alone.
--
Liz gave them the tour of the guestroom turned nursery. “I know it’s early and everything but I get a little crazy when I’m alone and bored.”
John saw what they didn’t. Where she’d put a rocking chair, ready to be stripped and painted, he saw the finished product in a rich cherry finish and cushions worn flat through two babies. He saw the bunk beds in blue and pink where Liz had tacked a picture of a cradle. John already knew that Dean was going to design and build it with his own bare hands.
“What’s that, John?” Liz turned.
“Just wondering if the crib is gonna match the shelf out there for a theme.” John cleared his throat.
“What? You think that shelf was a one hit wonder?” Dean puffed out his chest. “I will build the hell out of the damn crib.” He glanced around. “Where did you put my notebook?”
When he was gone to look for it, Liz stood there picking paint off the rocking chair. She looked up at him from under the fall of her hair. “Thank you, John… for letting me tell him myself and for… not making him go.”
“He still went.”
“But it was very much his decision and that’s really important to me. I’ve dealt with one husband with family obligations. I can’t deal with another one.”
“You’re getting married?”
“Not in the strictest sense but… yeah.” She averted her eyes. “He owns me.”
“Look.” Dean walked in scribbling and talking. “This is going to be the baddest crib ever…”
John sat in the rocker and watched them squabble over the design of the thing. His eyes strayed to the window once or twice. To the woods.
--
Aching and tired and nauseous, John trudged up the stairs with the key to his usual room. The corner one with double beds. He yanked the bottle of whiskey out of his bag for a chug before he pulled out the pre-paid phone he’d just bought at the corner store. He slid his fingers over the keys before punching out 10 digits. The call went to voice mail and so he hung up and took another slug from the bottle.
He contemplated the bottle long and hard before making the decision to finish it. He was torn. He could cross the lot and be welcomed the traveling hero from his grandkids and Liz or he would cross the lot and find that his son was alive and well and raising a family. He would never speak out loud how torn he was between the two. It had been so long since he had the kind of life that he looked forward to in the morning. A woman who drove him to distraction and kids that looked at him like he was the best thing ever invented.
Fallen asleep on top of the covers in boxers and a T-shirt, he was roused by the sound of the key in the lock. He almost called out ‘occupied’ but he knew the form that had slipped inside. Knew the soft slide of hands under his shirt and pulling his boxers down. The fall of hair over his bare belly before the slick glide of tongue and lips engulfed him. Moaning her name, he gave up and pulled his shirt over his head before dragging her mouth up to his. Stripped the tank and jeans off to feel the warm skin. Listened to hisses as he claimed breasts, belly button and velvet folds.
Everything was the same but different. Everything was more… John just couldn’t put his finger on it. Something about everything was off. It wasn’t until he was on his back, arching up into her shifting hips that he began to zero in on the difference. Her hair was different. Still long but the cut framed her face differently. Her breasts felt… fuller in his hands. The ease of the strokes that caused her gasps was noticeable. Gripping her hips, he bucked and tilted her just right and that’s when it hit him.
Jerking her down and beneath him, he finished because he was too far gone to do anything else despite what he thought he knew. Riding out the ripples, he framed her face with his hands and tried to make sense of the last time he’d been there and what had happened that time. Sam had come. There had been words and revelations but before that. There had been a moment where she’d looked like the world was coming to an end. He knew but he didn’t know and he couldn’t make himself ask the right question. “Liz… we didn’t use anything.”
Her eyebrows arched over closed lids. “There’s kind of no point, now.” Her eyes were moist when she opened them, waiting for his reaction. “I was going to tell you before you left but… you left so suddenly. I wanted to ask you what you wanted to do but you left and you didn’t say when you were coming back.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat. “There’s a lot of risk because of my age but… I couldn’t bring myself to consider alternatives.”
“Liz…”
“And I know we said we would never let it happen because… because of everything but it did happen and I don’t know what you’re thinking and I need you to say something.”
“You’re running out of room in the apartment. You’ll have to stick this kid in a closet or something.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Three in that little room is going to be a tight fit.” John pointed out while he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that he was 51 years old and he was being told he was going to be a father again… Holy shit and this Liz thought he was 67 years old.
“John, stop.” Liz shoved at him to make him roll off her. She sat up and hugged her knees.
“I… won’t see this one graduate high school.”
“I thought about that.”
“You’ll have to tell her about me. She’ll learn about me the way Jack and Deanna learn about Dean.”
“I know.” She turned to look at him over her shoulder. “She?”
“I dunno. I had my two boys…”
“Why’d you leave, John?” She stretched out beside him once more. “I thought we were having a good time. Jack’s play and everything. I went to the bathroom and when I came out, you were gone and the kids were asleep.”
“Had something to take care of.”
“Demons are going to be the death of you.” She chided half-heartedly. “You never did talk to Sam again after what happened. You think if he had called you when it happened that maybe you could have gotten to it before… what happened to Dean?”
“It’s all maybes by this point.” John shrugged, filing the information away. “He… come by again?”
“You’re implying that he’s ever been here. Changing the subject.” She pulled a chest hair just hard enough to hurt. “You’ve got to forgive him for Dean.” At his silence, she sighed heavily. “He couldn’t have known that the thing that killed Jess was the same thing that killed his mother. Dean always said that the two of you didn’t talk to him about it.”
“I don’t think it would have mattered.”
--
John’s search was quick. He had a location on Dean’s death. Cold Oak, South Dakota. He had a location on Sam. Same farm, different story. Somehow, when John had let Dean save himself, the future had changed significantly enough that a whole series of conversations and encounters had never happened.
John scoped out the land on his walk to Emily Hardin’s ranch. The woman who answered had a different look to her than the last time he’d been out. She didn’t remember him. Her blond hair fell over one eye and when she brushed it away, John could see the bruising. Fading but there… just like the finger marks on her throat. When she poured him tea, he saw fresher bruising where her bracelets couldn’t hide them.
“You say you’re looking for a Sam Winchester?” She winced as she said the name.
“I heard there was one out this way.”
“Can’t say that I’ve heard of him.”
“I was told that he worked your ranch in the heavier seasons.”
Her eyes shifted to a darkened hallway but she shook her head. “No, I know all my ranch hands and their histories. Never had a Winchester. Dad might’ve hired one way back but um… he’s gone now. So is most of his crew. Just have Mute Larry and he’s… well, mute and a bit slow to boot.”
John studied her closely. She wasn’t the smitten girl she’d been when he’d last spoken to her. He stared at her. Even her beauty was a bit faded. He knew what she was hiding and who she was hiding along with it. “Sammy’s daddy would be ashamed to see what he’s done to you.”
Her eyes went wide but she didn’t move an inch. Her eyes slid toward the hallway once more. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her eyes squeezed shut when the tea cups rose into the air. John drew his gun and aimed it down the hallway. “Please. Stop.”
John rose and stared into the inky darkness. “Samuel Winchester, I ought to take you over my knee for what you’ve done to this girl.”
He could feel the glare of the gun on him but he underestimated the resourcefulness of his youngest son. The click of the hammer being pulled was in his ear even though the shape in the hallway didn’t move. Steel kissed his temple and John shut his eyes. He’d been on the killing end of the gun too many times to really care but he had to know what had happened with the demon and Sam’s girl. The voice was deeper than he remembered. “What are you?”
“I’m a who, not a what.” John answered without opening his eyes, the gun jerked against his temple. John set his gun down to the unspoken request.
“Shapeshifter?”
The voice made John’s blood run cold. “Name’s John. It’s on your birth certificate.”
“You might look like him but you’re not. My father died a year and a half ago. Saw it happen with my own two eyes.” The barrel of the gun jabbed into his head again.
“I’m standing right here.” John opened his eyes slowly. “You leave your family and then you don’t even welcome them when they come looking for you.” He eyed his grown son, the form emerging in the shadows as John’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. “Did I raise you like that?”
“You think you’re cute?”
“Sam, please.” Emily spoke up from where she cowered in her chair.
“Shut up.” Sam ordered her and she curled up into a ball, exposing the bruises on her legs when her skirt fell away. Sam emerged from the hallway to look John over. “It’s clever. Looking like him but too bad, so sad. Not going to work. I killed Azazel, I will kill you.”
“Fine. I’m not John Winchester. I’m some other creature that looks like him.” John nodded and took a seat, the gun followed him. “I was just checking up on you Winchesters and figured my second stop would be tense but didn’t quite expect this.”
“Second stop?” Sam snickered. “You’ve been fed wrong information. I’m the only Winchester these days.”
“Looked pretty alive to me.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“A boy and a girl back east. Cute.” John studied Sam as much as he could. Sam had acquired bulk and kept it into middle age, which said a lot about the life he led.
“Right… I’m just supposed to believe I’ve got what… cousins?” Sam laughed and collapsed into the chair next to Emily’s, who had yet to uncurl herself. “I’m the only one of my bloodline left. The Winchester line and the Azazel line. I’m it, pal.”
John raised his hand to gesture that he had something in his jacket. He used the same hand to pull a picture out of his pocket. Jack and Deanna. “You’re a biological dead end but your brother wasn’t.”
Sam ripped the picture from John’s fingers without moving an inch. He absentmindedly patted Emily’s knee and plucked the picture from the air when it floated over to him. The blood drained from his face. “This could be any two kids.”
John pulled out his wallet and rifled through it to find the one he’d stolen. Dean and Jack at Jack’s third birthday party. That one went the same way as the first. “Took that picture myself.”
Sam’s face changed when he saw the smile on his brother’s face. “Dean would have told me if he’d had kids.”
“Would he? As I recall, he was pretty hot under the collar about you for a good number of years after you took off.”
Sam studied the pictures and his face became unreadable. “Well, the pictures are real enough, I guess but you’re still about ten years too young to be my father.”
“What can I say, I aged well.”
“Not that well.”
“Well, I live hard.”
“I live hard. I’m not even certain that you’re alive.”
Sam wore the mantle of ranch hand the way he’d worn so many other guises as a kid. Just well enough that anyone off the street wouldn’t know the difference. He stood, walking around as he studied the pictures, the gun floating off and away from John’s head. Emily seemed to relax as Sam traveled away from her in his pacing. Sam turned at the doorway. “Don’t think about moving. I’ll be right back.”
John thought about comforting the girl but she seemed to be waiting for something, relaxing in the moment. Then Sam returned with a phone in hand. “Who are you calling?”
“Someone sane.” Sam muttered then cleared his throat. “Hey Bobby? … No, I know but I got something here claiming to be John Winchester…”
John cleared his throat and settled into his chair. He remembered how he’d parted with Bobby and it was sure to make an impression. Of course, he didn’t know what kind of relationship Bobby had with Sam in these days.
“Well, he’s trying to tell me that Dean had kids but that’s just not…” Sam paled a bit but didn’t let another expression cross his face. “You knew and never told me? … Fuck, Dean. He’s dead… I know… So, if we salted and burned Dad’s body, what’s sitting in my living room?”
“Who, not what.” John corrected.
“Shut up.” Sam bit out. He cleared his throat. “Bobby wants to know about the last conversation you and he ever had?”
“The one that ended with his shotgun pointed at me?”
“You hear that?” Sam’s floating menagerie settled down and the tea cups clinked back onto their plates. Emily sat up and wiped her hands over her face. She sipped at her cup, her hands only shaking a little. “What was it about?”
“Well, that’s between me and Bobby about the specifics but the topic was involving a hunt, a woman and my sanity.”
“Bobby says it’s close enough.” Sam stared. “But if you’re really him. What the hell did we salt and burn?”
--
Emily poured a couple of glasses of bourbon while Sam made a round of phone calls that he didn’t want John to know about. “It’s not what you think, you know.”
“What’s that?” John took the glass when she handed it out.
“He just doesn’t know his own strength sometimes.”
“Yes, he does. I raised him. Taught him to know exactly how strong he is.”
She took a long sip of her bourbon and set the glass down carefully. “He’s a good man.”
“Some tips, give as good as you get. Cold the first night on a bruise, heat until the color fades.” He tossed back his bourbon and made for the door.
He could hear them talking and yelling as he kept walking. He didn’t have to wait long. Sammy’s invisible force fields kept John from hitting the road. He was not in the mood for this. Not fully wrapping his mind around what had happened to his baby boy. Something had happened to him. Something not right. Floating tea cups. Telekinesis. All his research on the thing that killed Mary. All the pieces falling into place. When the younger man towered over him, John didn’t know what to say except, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For whatever’s happened to you.”
“This?” Sam gestured to himself. “There was never any escaping this. From day one, was there? Mom and her unholy pacts. Dean and his inability to accept that people die.”
“What does your brother have to do with you and your very demonlike abilities?”
“Well nothing except that I was born second. I was the one with demon blood inside me the whole time and you never said a word. You knew when Jess died what I was going to become and you couldn’t even warn me.”
“You could have fought it.”
“Fight my blood?”
“How long did it take you to give in?”
“I held out.”
“How long?”
“Why are you even here?”
“To see if I could trust you to look after your brother’s kids but obviously you’re not the one for the job.” John walked right up to him, nose to nose. “I don’t want you anywhere near those kids. They don’t belong to the world the way we did. I won’t have you bringing it into their lives.”
“Oh, I see. It was good enough for your sons but not for your grandkids.”
“Hell no. We could fight it. They can’t. They won’t. They don’t have to.”
“Dean was always your favorite. Figures you’d let him out of the baggage that comes with being your blood.”
“It’s not about favorites, son. It’s about doing what’s right. There’s only one thing left to do. You killed your mother’s murderer. Good. Now live your life and do something about the evil running in your veins.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not. I expected you to try harder to keep that shit under control. Terrorizing a farm girl to make yourself feel good? Making her think she deserves it or you don’t mean it when I taught you to spar with your brother without leaving a bruise?” Sam’s head bowed. John gripped him behind his neck. “I taught you to kill with a touch and I’m supposed to believe those bruises were accidents?”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“If Bobby never told you about the kids, it was for a reason. You wait for him to tell you it’s okay to see ‘em. Clean yourself up. You tell Bobby that I’m fixing this. I’ll fix it all.” John turned and walked away, invisible barriers falling away.
TBC
Vermont was chilly. It had its surprises too. Like good coffee houses with patios and great views. John sipped his coffee black, zipped up his jacket and thanked whoever was listening that Dean hadn’t asked about what had happened in South Dakota with Bobby. John was a little ashamed at his desperate bids to justify any of his actions. If they didn’t work on Bobby, then John had no other excuse for the things he’d done and the lies he’d perpetuated to keep going back to that future world.
Speak of the Devil; Dean sat down with some calorie-laden, cavity-inducing treat from the café and a mug of black coffee. He pinched a chunk off and popped it into his mouth. “Now, is that a sunrise or what?”
“It is a good one.” John agreed.
Dean rolled his words around in his mouth for a long moment. “Hey Dad?”
“What’s up?” John didn’t take his eyes off the view.
“I need to tell you something.”
John tore his eyes off the view to take in his son. Carefree and confident and owning himself like John had never seen. “What about?”
“About the question you didn’t ask me before you left the Catskills.” Dean cleared his throat and took a sip of his coffee. “It’s about me and the hunt and Liz.”
“Well, tell me, son.”
“I love the hunt. It’s what I know. I’m good at it… like you were saying in Fitchburg. I have that advantage over you. I’ve done this my whole life.” He took a breath. “I’m good at other things too. I’m good with my hands; with engines; building furniture and shit…” He looked to his father who nodded at him to continue. “I love Liz. She’s… everything to me and… well, I’m thinking that I’m going to live there with her.”
“Sounds like you got it all planned out, son.”
“Kind of.”
“What’s left?”
“Liz is pregnant. You’re… gonna be a grandpa.” Dean flashed a wary smile at his father.
John nodded to himself. There it was. “Congratulations, Dean.”
“I know my life isn’t normal and that it won’t even be safe but-“
“I know it, Dean.”
“But I can still hunt sometimes.”
“Maybe.”
“Dad?” Dean cleared his throat.
“Yeah, Dean?”
“I expected more yelling.”
“I know it.” John nodded and lifted his coffee to his lips. “Liz is a great girl. Treat her right.”
“You aren’t going to disown me?”
“No.” John shook his head and turned to face his son. “Never.”
“I just…”
“I know.” John nodded to himself again and met his son’s eyes. “I made a mistake with Sammy and I lost him. I’m not going to make the same mistake with you. I won’t lose you, too.”
Dean’s eyes welled with tears but they didn’t fall. He took the moment for what it was. “Alright, then.”
John took a long swallow on coffee that hadn’t cooled enough. He cleared the sting out of his throat. “And you said I’d only get grandkids through Sammy. Dean, you dog.”
Then Dean couldn’t stop laughing.
--
Liz served them dinner and smiled wanly. Dean tugged her over when she passed next and whispered something that John couldn’t hear. She shook her head but leaned into him for a moment. Then she was moving. The back door was closer than the bathroom and then she was puking into the back lot. Dean took another bite of his burger. “She gets morning sickness at night.”
“It happens.” John stared at Dean for the longest time. “Have you told your brother?”
“No.” Dean started to say something else but clenched his jaw then took a huge bite out of his burger. So John left it alone.
--
Liz gave them the tour of the guestroom turned nursery. “I know it’s early and everything but I get a little crazy when I’m alone and bored.”
John saw what they didn’t. Where she’d put a rocking chair, ready to be stripped and painted, he saw the finished product in a rich cherry finish and cushions worn flat through two babies. He saw the bunk beds in blue and pink where Liz had tacked a picture of a cradle. John already knew that Dean was going to design and build it with his own bare hands.
“What’s that, John?” Liz turned.
“Just wondering if the crib is gonna match the shelf out there for a theme.” John cleared his throat.
“What? You think that shelf was a one hit wonder?” Dean puffed out his chest. “I will build the hell out of the damn crib.” He glanced around. “Where did you put my notebook?”
When he was gone to look for it, Liz stood there picking paint off the rocking chair. She looked up at him from under the fall of her hair. “Thank you, John… for letting me tell him myself and for… not making him go.”
“He still went.”
“But it was very much his decision and that’s really important to me. I’ve dealt with one husband with family obligations. I can’t deal with another one.”
“You’re getting married?”
“Not in the strictest sense but… yeah.” She averted her eyes. “He owns me.”
“Look.” Dean walked in scribbling and talking. “This is going to be the baddest crib ever…”
John sat in the rocker and watched them squabble over the design of the thing. His eyes strayed to the window once or twice. To the woods.
--
Aching and tired and nauseous, John trudged up the stairs with the key to his usual room. The corner one with double beds. He yanked the bottle of whiskey out of his bag for a chug before he pulled out the pre-paid phone he’d just bought at the corner store. He slid his fingers over the keys before punching out 10 digits. The call went to voice mail and so he hung up and took another slug from the bottle.
He contemplated the bottle long and hard before making the decision to finish it. He was torn. He could cross the lot and be welcomed the traveling hero from his grandkids and Liz or he would cross the lot and find that his son was alive and well and raising a family. He would never speak out loud how torn he was between the two. It had been so long since he had the kind of life that he looked forward to in the morning. A woman who drove him to distraction and kids that looked at him like he was the best thing ever invented.
Fallen asleep on top of the covers in boxers and a T-shirt, he was roused by the sound of the key in the lock. He almost called out ‘occupied’ but he knew the form that had slipped inside. Knew the soft slide of hands under his shirt and pulling his boxers down. The fall of hair over his bare belly before the slick glide of tongue and lips engulfed him. Moaning her name, he gave up and pulled his shirt over his head before dragging her mouth up to his. Stripped the tank and jeans off to feel the warm skin. Listened to hisses as he claimed breasts, belly button and velvet folds.
Everything was the same but different. Everything was more… John just couldn’t put his finger on it. Something about everything was off. It wasn’t until he was on his back, arching up into her shifting hips that he began to zero in on the difference. Her hair was different. Still long but the cut framed her face differently. Her breasts felt… fuller in his hands. The ease of the strokes that caused her gasps was noticeable. Gripping her hips, he bucked and tilted her just right and that’s when it hit him.
Jerking her down and beneath him, he finished because he was too far gone to do anything else despite what he thought he knew. Riding out the ripples, he framed her face with his hands and tried to make sense of the last time he’d been there and what had happened that time. Sam had come. There had been words and revelations but before that. There had been a moment where she’d looked like the world was coming to an end. He knew but he didn’t know and he couldn’t make himself ask the right question. “Liz… we didn’t use anything.”
Her eyebrows arched over closed lids. “There’s kind of no point, now.” Her eyes were moist when she opened them, waiting for his reaction. “I was going to tell you before you left but… you left so suddenly. I wanted to ask you what you wanted to do but you left and you didn’t say when you were coming back.” She swallowed down the lump in her throat. “There’s a lot of risk because of my age but… I couldn’t bring myself to consider alternatives.”
“Liz…”
“And I know we said we would never let it happen because… because of everything but it did happen and I don’t know what you’re thinking and I need you to say something.”
“You’re running out of room in the apartment. You’ll have to stick this kid in a closet or something.”
“That’s not funny.”
“Three in that little room is going to be a tight fit.” John pointed out while he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that he was 51 years old and he was being told he was going to be a father again… Holy shit and this Liz thought he was 67 years old.
“John, stop.” Liz shoved at him to make him roll off her. She sat up and hugged her knees.
“I… won’t see this one graduate high school.”
“I thought about that.”
“You’ll have to tell her about me. She’ll learn about me the way Jack and Deanna learn about Dean.”
“I know.” She turned to look at him over her shoulder. “She?”
“I dunno. I had my two boys…”
“Why’d you leave, John?” She stretched out beside him once more. “I thought we were having a good time. Jack’s play and everything. I went to the bathroom and when I came out, you were gone and the kids were asleep.”
“Had something to take care of.”
“Demons are going to be the death of you.” She chided half-heartedly. “You never did talk to Sam again after what happened. You think if he had called you when it happened that maybe you could have gotten to it before… what happened to Dean?”
“It’s all maybes by this point.” John shrugged, filing the information away. “He… come by again?”
“You’re implying that he’s ever been here. Changing the subject.” She pulled a chest hair just hard enough to hurt. “You’ve got to forgive him for Dean.” At his silence, she sighed heavily. “He couldn’t have known that the thing that killed Jess was the same thing that killed his mother. Dean always said that the two of you didn’t talk to him about it.”
“I don’t think it would have mattered.”
--
John’s search was quick. He had a location on Dean’s death. Cold Oak, South Dakota. He had a location on Sam. Same farm, different story. Somehow, when John had let Dean save himself, the future had changed significantly enough that a whole series of conversations and encounters had never happened.
John scoped out the land on his walk to Emily Hardin’s ranch. The woman who answered had a different look to her than the last time he’d been out. She didn’t remember him. Her blond hair fell over one eye and when she brushed it away, John could see the bruising. Fading but there… just like the finger marks on her throat. When she poured him tea, he saw fresher bruising where her bracelets couldn’t hide them.
“You say you’re looking for a Sam Winchester?” She winced as she said the name.
“I heard there was one out this way.”
“Can’t say that I’ve heard of him.”
“I was told that he worked your ranch in the heavier seasons.”
Her eyes shifted to a darkened hallway but she shook her head. “No, I know all my ranch hands and their histories. Never had a Winchester. Dad might’ve hired one way back but um… he’s gone now. So is most of his crew. Just have Mute Larry and he’s… well, mute and a bit slow to boot.”
John studied her closely. She wasn’t the smitten girl she’d been when he’d last spoken to her. He stared at her. Even her beauty was a bit faded. He knew what she was hiding and who she was hiding along with it. “Sammy’s daddy would be ashamed to see what he’s done to you.”
Her eyes went wide but she didn’t move an inch. Her eyes slid toward the hallway once more. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her eyes squeezed shut when the tea cups rose into the air. John drew his gun and aimed it down the hallway. “Please. Stop.”
John rose and stared into the inky darkness. “Samuel Winchester, I ought to take you over my knee for what you’ve done to this girl.”
He could feel the glare of the gun on him but he underestimated the resourcefulness of his youngest son. The click of the hammer being pulled was in his ear even though the shape in the hallway didn’t move. Steel kissed his temple and John shut his eyes. He’d been on the killing end of the gun too many times to really care but he had to know what had happened with the demon and Sam’s girl. The voice was deeper than he remembered. “What are you?”
“I’m a who, not a what.” John answered without opening his eyes, the gun jerked against his temple. John set his gun down to the unspoken request.
“Shapeshifter?”
The voice made John’s blood run cold. “Name’s John. It’s on your birth certificate.”
“You might look like him but you’re not. My father died a year and a half ago. Saw it happen with my own two eyes.” The barrel of the gun jabbed into his head again.
“I’m standing right here.” John opened his eyes slowly. “You leave your family and then you don’t even welcome them when they come looking for you.” He eyed his grown son, the form emerging in the shadows as John’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. “Did I raise you like that?”
“You think you’re cute?”
“Sam, please.” Emily spoke up from where she cowered in her chair.
“Shut up.” Sam ordered her and she curled up into a ball, exposing the bruises on her legs when her skirt fell away. Sam emerged from the hallway to look John over. “It’s clever. Looking like him but too bad, so sad. Not going to work. I killed Azazel, I will kill you.”
“Fine. I’m not John Winchester. I’m some other creature that looks like him.” John nodded and took a seat, the gun followed him. “I was just checking up on you Winchesters and figured my second stop would be tense but didn’t quite expect this.”
“Second stop?” Sam snickered. “You’ve been fed wrong information. I’m the only Winchester these days.”
“Looked pretty alive to me.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“A boy and a girl back east. Cute.” John studied Sam as much as he could. Sam had acquired bulk and kept it into middle age, which said a lot about the life he led.
“Right… I’m just supposed to believe I’ve got what… cousins?” Sam laughed and collapsed into the chair next to Emily’s, who had yet to uncurl herself. “I’m the only one of my bloodline left. The Winchester line and the Azazel line. I’m it, pal.”
John raised his hand to gesture that he had something in his jacket. He used the same hand to pull a picture out of his pocket. Jack and Deanna. “You’re a biological dead end but your brother wasn’t.”
Sam ripped the picture from John’s fingers without moving an inch. He absentmindedly patted Emily’s knee and plucked the picture from the air when it floated over to him. The blood drained from his face. “This could be any two kids.”
John pulled out his wallet and rifled through it to find the one he’d stolen. Dean and Jack at Jack’s third birthday party. That one went the same way as the first. “Took that picture myself.”
Sam’s face changed when he saw the smile on his brother’s face. “Dean would have told me if he’d had kids.”
“Would he? As I recall, he was pretty hot under the collar about you for a good number of years after you took off.”
Sam studied the pictures and his face became unreadable. “Well, the pictures are real enough, I guess but you’re still about ten years too young to be my father.”
“What can I say, I aged well.”
“Not that well.”
“Well, I live hard.”
“I live hard. I’m not even certain that you’re alive.”
Sam wore the mantle of ranch hand the way he’d worn so many other guises as a kid. Just well enough that anyone off the street wouldn’t know the difference. He stood, walking around as he studied the pictures, the gun floating off and away from John’s head. Emily seemed to relax as Sam traveled away from her in his pacing. Sam turned at the doorway. “Don’t think about moving. I’ll be right back.”
John thought about comforting the girl but she seemed to be waiting for something, relaxing in the moment. Then Sam returned with a phone in hand. “Who are you calling?”
“Someone sane.” Sam muttered then cleared his throat. “Hey Bobby? … No, I know but I got something here claiming to be John Winchester…”
John cleared his throat and settled into his chair. He remembered how he’d parted with Bobby and it was sure to make an impression. Of course, he didn’t know what kind of relationship Bobby had with Sam in these days.
“Well, he’s trying to tell me that Dean had kids but that’s just not…” Sam paled a bit but didn’t let another expression cross his face. “You knew and never told me? … Fuck, Dean. He’s dead… I know… So, if we salted and burned Dad’s body, what’s sitting in my living room?”
“Who, not what.” John corrected.
“Shut up.” Sam bit out. He cleared his throat. “Bobby wants to know about the last conversation you and he ever had?”
“The one that ended with his shotgun pointed at me?”
“You hear that?” Sam’s floating menagerie settled down and the tea cups clinked back onto their plates. Emily sat up and wiped her hands over her face. She sipped at her cup, her hands only shaking a little. “What was it about?”
“Well, that’s between me and Bobby about the specifics but the topic was involving a hunt, a woman and my sanity.”
“Bobby says it’s close enough.” Sam stared. “But if you’re really him. What the hell did we salt and burn?”
--
Emily poured a couple of glasses of bourbon while Sam made a round of phone calls that he didn’t want John to know about. “It’s not what you think, you know.”
“What’s that?” John took the glass when she handed it out.
“He just doesn’t know his own strength sometimes.”
“Yes, he does. I raised him. Taught him to know exactly how strong he is.”
She took a long sip of her bourbon and set the glass down carefully. “He’s a good man.”
“Some tips, give as good as you get. Cold the first night on a bruise, heat until the color fades.” He tossed back his bourbon and made for the door.
He could hear them talking and yelling as he kept walking. He didn’t have to wait long. Sammy’s invisible force fields kept John from hitting the road. He was not in the mood for this. Not fully wrapping his mind around what had happened to his baby boy. Something had happened to him. Something not right. Floating tea cups. Telekinesis. All his research on the thing that killed Mary. All the pieces falling into place. When the younger man towered over him, John didn’t know what to say except, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For whatever’s happened to you.”
“This?” Sam gestured to himself. “There was never any escaping this. From day one, was there? Mom and her unholy pacts. Dean and his inability to accept that people die.”
“What does your brother have to do with you and your very demonlike abilities?”
“Well nothing except that I was born second. I was the one with demon blood inside me the whole time and you never said a word. You knew when Jess died what I was going to become and you couldn’t even warn me.”
“You could have fought it.”
“Fight my blood?”
“How long did it take you to give in?”
“I held out.”
“How long?”
“Why are you even here?”
“To see if I could trust you to look after your brother’s kids but obviously you’re not the one for the job.” John walked right up to him, nose to nose. “I don’t want you anywhere near those kids. They don’t belong to the world the way we did. I won’t have you bringing it into their lives.”
“Oh, I see. It was good enough for your sons but not for your grandkids.”
“Hell no. We could fight it. They can’t. They won’t. They don’t have to.”
“Dean was always your favorite. Figures you’d let him out of the baggage that comes with being your blood.”
“It’s not about favorites, son. It’s about doing what’s right. There’s only one thing left to do. You killed your mother’s murderer. Good. Now live your life and do something about the evil running in your veins.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It’s not. I expected you to try harder to keep that shit under control. Terrorizing a farm girl to make yourself feel good? Making her think she deserves it or you don’t mean it when I taught you to spar with your brother without leaving a bruise?” Sam’s head bowed. John gripped him behind his neck. “I taught you to kill with a touch and I’m supposed to believe those bruises were accidents?”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“If Bobby never told you about the kids, it was for a reason. You wait for him to tell you it’s okay to see ‘em. Clean yourself up. You tell Bobby that I’m fixing this. I’ll fix it all.” John turned and walked away, invisible barriers falling away.
TBC