Time Has Come Today (SPN/ROS,UC,AU,MA)Part 27 10/26 COMPLETE

[DMartinez]

Author: DMartinez
Email: shockerdm@icqmail.com
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed in the following work of fiction belong to the CW/WB/UPN. No infringement was intended.
Rating: Mature
Summary: Crossover: SPN/Ros: John and Dean attempt to live the life after Sam has moved on to Stanford. Missing Sam was inevitable but missing him this much might tear them apart. An injury forces the duo to stand still for the first time in years and a waitress forces them to reanalyze their path. Then John stumbles onto the mystery of a lifetime.
Pairings: Dean/Liz, John/Liz, John/other
Warnings: Dirty Old Man/Dirty Thoughts/Demon Play/Comic Book Inspiration by way of Supernatural: Rising Son/Origins

Time Has Come Today

John drummed his fingers along the top of the steering wheel. He’d been listening to Dean’s chatter for six hours. They had finished the hunt and John had come to expect that Dean would burn off his adrenaline through chatter if there wasn’t time to pick up a woman. The chatter, though. The last time he could recall that Dean had chatted so much was the first time John had let him have coffee. First it had been about how big that explosion had been. How high had that coffin lid flown? Then it had been about how frickin’ cold the air was. The second hour had been all about Creedence Clearwater Revival and their roots in the good old blue grass. Then there had been a discourse on Metallica’s pre-sellout years and the post-sellout years. Around 6 am, the sun began to color the sky and Dean just had to inform him of what caused the oranges and reds and yellows. John had had that conversation with Dean at every sunrise they had seen together since Dean was seven years old and had just discovered that girls could be anything but icky. It had never gotten old over the years until now with Dean at 24 years old and sitting in the passenger seat after this first series of hunts without Sammy.

Sammy. There was a can of worms that John didn’t want to open right now.

The fourth hour was a decent discussion about the druidic methods of measurements in the sky using what Dean constantly referred to as the devil’s-finger-counting-thing. John could never remember what it was really called and that class in high school was an eternity and three lifetimes ago. Come the fifth hour, John was ready to blow his brains out with the glock in the back of his pants because Dean had to talk and talk and talk. Of course it hit him as they were hitting a little town that normally the chatter was banter and normally the banter was split between Dean and Sam. Normally there were arguments from Sam about the night’s hunt and the next hunt and the swift departure from the last town. It was all too much. He had to pull over and find anything that would shut Dean up. That’s when he saw it. Food. Food. Dean loved food and they hadn’t eaten since yesterday anyhow.

Dean just had to keep talking and complaining like he was filling space for his missing little brother. He was doing the talking and the whining for two all the way into the diner, even going so far as to gripe about the type of food served. The world was truly coming to an end if Dean had discovered a food that turned him off.

“It’s just food, Dean.” John swiped a hand over his face. Where in the hell was that waitress who had seated them? He found the blonde, flirting with another table on the other side of the diner.

“I’m just saying that some adventure is okay. With all the risks we take on the job, we could take one or two with a meal. Try something off the norm. Some Lo Mein or a pita.” Dean really missed Sammy. Sammy would have gone with him to grab Chinese or Greek and damn if a lamb gyro didn’t sound good. Surely they could find one open this early in the morning. The town couldn’t be that small.

“We take enough risks on the job.” John sighed heavily. Never in his life did he remember Dean talking so damn much. He almost missed the days when Dean didn’t say a word at all. Staring at the boy and seeing the little boy he once was… Almost. He never wanted a silent Dean again.

“Fine. I’ll eat another hamburger with cheese and extra onions.”

“Go easy on those onions, son. Gas on the jo-” John turned again to find that damned waitress only to find his face pressed firmly into a soft cotton bosom. He jerked back, stammering apologies, “I’m so sorry, miss.”

Dean was pleased to have witnessed the whole thing. His father’s face was bright red around his thick beard. The brunette waitress was young and cute and the shade of a lobster. Dean knew better than to laugh out loud but he couldn’t contain the first snicker.

“I’m so sorry.” John repeated.

“My fault. Sorry.” The girl cleared her throat and held up the coffee pot. “Coffee?” John slid his cup out and Dean held his out for her. “Cream? Sugar?”

“No, thank you.” John shook his head, still red.

“Could you stick your finger in mine?” Dean didn’t even try to hide his smile. “You’ve embarrassed the old man out of his usual lines. Someone had to say it.”

“You… Mr. Charming.” She warned him, the blood settling out of her face. “Can I get anything else for you fellas?”

“Two lunch specials, mine with extra onions.” Dean ordered for them both.

“It’s 9 am…” She glanced between them.

“Been a long night, darlin’,” John rumbled and swiped a hand over his face again. “Make mine on the rare side, please.”

“Bloody or pink?”

“Pink and warm.”

“Feeling okay, Dad?” Dean frowned.

“Sluggish. I’m good.” John waved him off.

“Okay. Two specials, one with extra onions, one warm and pink. Sides? Fries or veggies?” She asked as she picked up the menus.

“Fries.” They chorused. She nodded and offered John a wan smile before scooting off in her little skirt to tack their orders up.

Dean smirked at his father. “So, second base without first base and she didn’t rack you. Maybe I did get this gift from somewhere.”

John cleared his throat and felt his face warm a bit. “Dean, enough.”

“What? She was hot and she even apologized to you.” Dean couldn’t resist teasing. He loved giving his dad hell.

“Dean.”

“Think you could handle a young thing at your old age?”

“Dean.”

“You’ve been out of the game awhile. Do you even remember where the parts go?”

“Dean, don’t be an asshole.”

“What? I’m just saying. Do that thing you do. Flirt with her and let her think she’s got a chance. See how far you can get.”

“What’d I just say?”

“Fine. I’ll fuck her.”

“Don’t be an asshole.” John got up and smacked his son upside the head as he headed for the bathroom. He tried not to think about it. Dean was right, though. It had been a long time since he’d stuck his face in any woman’s parts. Staring at his reflection, he felt really old. That waitress had been 20 if a day and here he was at 49, a graying old man, a widow of 20 years. When he emerged again, their waitress was standing at their table and Dean was flirting more successfully than before. She looked like a nice girl. Too nice a girl. John lingered near the kitchen until the girl made her way back. “Excuse me,” His eyes flicked to her name tag. “Liz?”

“Yes, sir? Can I help you?” She gave him a small smile, less nervous than she had been before.

“I just wanted to apologize again for earlier. You’re a very nice girl and you don’t need old men sticking their heads in your… front parts.” John felt a little better when she laughed at his over-politeness and awkward gestures.

“It’s okay, really. It’s not the first time a man’s almost put his face in my chest but it is the first time I got an actual apology for it.” She rested her hand on his arm and tip-toed to kiss his cheek, which made him blush and made her smile. “You’re very sweet. Thank you.”

“See, now, you went and got on my good side.” John tried to cover how her compliment affected him. “So, I gotta warn you now… My son… he’s a dog and so I have to beg you not to sleep with him… just so I can put him in his place a bit.”

“You got it,” she giggled. “He is a bit of a dog, isn’t he.” She shooed him off. “I’ll have your burgers out in a minute.”

Dean looked up, smug, when his father returned to the table. “So, I’ll get her phone number for you. Don’t worry. You’ll have your first barely legal since you were… barely legal.”

“Dean, shut up.” John rolled his eyes.

“I’m just looking out for you, Dad. You need to get back on the horse. Sow some wild oats or something.”

“Dean.” John sighed heavily. He really wished his kid would shut up.

“Here you go, fellas.” Their waitress reappeared with two plates. “One special with extra onions and fries. And one special, warm and pink, with fries.” She set each down in front of each man, then whipped her order pad out. “Two coffees, black. If you need anything else, give a holler.”

“Thank you, Liz.” Dean grinned at her.

“You’re welcome.” She smiled at him, then smiled broader at John then gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Enjoy, handsome.”

Dean stared dumbfounded at her retreating back. “Hold on. What did I miss?”

“Looks like she chose the better man.” John retorted as he smeared mustard across his burger and took a bite. “Eat your breakfast so we can go get a room.”

“That’s just wrong.” Dean frowned as he shoved a French fry into his mouth. He eyed the little waitress as she made her rounds. “So very wrong.”

John focused on his burger. It was a little bloodier than he’d wanted but there was a reason he’d asked for it that way in the first place. He had lost a lot of blood on the hunt before this last hunt and he was still suffering the after-effects. He really wanted a steak but he’d seen the delivery truck out back. It was bad enough that he’d risked the hamburger. Then the waitress returned. “Can I get you guys anything else? Dessert?”

John saw his son’s mouth opening and had to shut it for him. “How about some of that apple pie I saw on the counter, darlin’?”

“Warmed?”

“Absolutely.”

“For you, too?” Liz turned briefly to Dean who shook his head. “Alright, then, Handsome. Be right back with that.”

“It’s sick is what it is.” Dean muttered when she left. “The poor girl’s had a horrible accident and she’s sick.”

“Dean, shut your mouth.” John just sipped his coffee and hoped the caffeine lasted long enough to find his way to a bed. He was actually enjoying torturing his son for a bit. It made the kid’s chattiness tolerable.

“Here you go.” Liz set the slice down and took a can of whipped cream and left a neat pile of white fluff on top. “If you guys need anything else, let me know.”

“I think we’re good, darling. We could use some directions to a decently priced motel, though.” John picked up a fresh fork.

“There is one right around the corner. Dirty but they’ve got cheap nightly and good weekly rates.” She nodded to herself. “We deal with them. If you pay an extra two bucks a night, we give free breakfast. Hot breakfast, too. Eggs, sausage, pancakes or oatmeal.”

“Then it ain’t exactly free, is it?” John deadpanned as he took a bite of his pie.

“What in this world is?” She shrugged and moved along, pausing only to place a kiss on his cheek. “Enjoy the pie.”

“Apparently Dad’s pie is free.” Dean flicked the bill at her.

“What pie?” Liz blinked at him, shared a grin with John, and shuffled off.

“My pie is never free.” Dean muttered and stole a bite from his father’s plate.

“Because you’re an asshole.” John polished off the pie.

“You raised me.”

“I raised a gentleman. I don’t know where you got this other shit from.” John laid a couple of bills on the table. “Must have been the wolves.”

“And you’re tipping her? Since when do you tip?”

“Since we found a waitress with the good sense to keep you at arm’s length.” He finished his refill of coffee and shoved his body out of the booth. “Come on. I want to get some sleep.”

“Yeah, fine.” Dean picked up the money and the bill. “I’ll meet you over there with the car.” He watched his father trudge out. He approached the register and rang the little bell, then waited for the blonde waitress to notice. She didn’t. The brunette raised an eyebrow at him as she took the money and tried to hand the change back. “No, keep it. The old man is insistent.”

“Well, then thank you.” She smiled and tucked the change into her apron.

“What spell did he put on you? You and I, we were getting along just fine and then a complete 180.”

She grinned and ducked her head. “Ask him.”

“Okay. I will.” Dean took four little mints off her little dish and exited the diner. When he caught up with his dad, he was unlocking the door to their room. After his father’s ritual of shower and brushed teeth, Dean couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Okay. Tell me what you did to her. She was good for a break in the backroom and then all of a sudden she’s all over you. Tell me, please.”

“Dean.” John smiled and shook his head. “You underestimate your old man’s charm and the intelligence of that little waitress. She could put one and one together. She was smart enough to figure you for a wrong number.”

“Free pie. Tipping. And after that whole titty snafu.”

“I’m a nice guy, Dean. It pays off.”

Then it clicked. Dean’s jaw dropped. “You conned me? You did that to your son? You’re an evil man.”

“Good practice for you. Figuring out when you’ve been conned. Get some sleep, son.”

TBC

[DMartinez]

Part 2

John rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and made his way to the ice machine for some ice. His jeans were falling off his hips, no doubt due to his inability to eat more than once a day since Sammy had run off. Due to his liquid diet after noon. Due to his constant hunting. Due to everything that wasn’t right in his life. He gazed out into the parking lot. He knew Dean was out there because he could hear the car’s radio blasting the local classic rock station. He could see his boy’s lower half sticking out from underneath the hood, oil pan full at his feet. All that was missing was Sammy sitting next to the car with a book, his long limbs sprawled out to trip his brother at the nearest opportunity. Shaking his head, he moved along to the ice machine. Just as he was getting to it, a door opened and a familiar brunette tumbled out, yanking on her shoes. John acted swiftly to catch her before she ran into the railing. She counter-acted by gripping his shirt in her fists.

“Thank you and I’m sorry and… hi.” She smiled up at him and winced a little as she smoothed his shirt over his chest. “Long time, no see.”

“Well, least there was no inappropriate touching this go ‘round.” He tried to set her at ease.

She just blushed and tugged her shoe on. “What is your name? We keep feeling each other up. I should at least know your name.”

“John.” He held out his hand.

“Nice to meet you, John.” Her eyes focused on the parking lot after she firmly pumped his hand once.

“If you want to sweet talk him, just admire the car and ask him about the engine. He’ll start talking and he’ll never know you don’t know anything about cars.”

“Am I obvious?” She winced inwardly.

“Only a little… but I’ve got a trained eye.” He winked at her and moved past to the ice machine. He filled it up and turned to face her where she was leaning on the railing, watching Dean work. “What’s the dinner special?”

“Salisbury steak with mashed potatoes and green beans. Gravy over the whole thing.” She made a face. “I’m late for my shift. I’ll save your booth.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m in with Inga at the desk. She said you’ve booked indefinitely. I know that single men don’t cook so… I guess I’ll be seeing you two pretty often.”

“How did you know we were both single?”

“You don’t know how to flirt with women.” She called over her shoulder as she made her way to the stairwell.

John snorted and shook his head. He glanced down at the ring on his left hand and felt more alone than he had in years. It was burnished from his constant absentminded rubbing while he thought about potential hunts and leads on the demon. He looked up to see the girl taking a short side trip through the far end of the parking lot. Something she said made Dean stand up straight and say something with a grin while he spun the ratchet in his hands. Dean let her pass by, waiting a beat before craning his head over his shoulder to watch her walk away. At least she was going to make Dean work for it.

Popping a cube of ice into his mouth, he bit down, savoring the metallic taste. His body ached and groaned. His teeth protested the chomping but when he’d woken up, it was the first thing he’d wanted. Weary bones and coming off two hunts in a row. He needed coffee, or booze. One of the two. Then he’d be awake or drunk and not thinking about twenty year old breasts. Shit, where did that come from? Sleep. What he really needed was sleep. Dragging his bones back down the walkway, he shoved open the door to his room and fell onto his bed with a new piece of ice in his mouth.

Lying still didn’t help him go back to sleep. He tried rolling over but was uncomfortable. The more he tried not to think about what he’d been thinking about on the walkway, the more it popped into his head. Of course, the more it kept popping up, the more his body let him know that it had been a long time since there had been any popping down below.

Rolling onto his back, he resigned himself. There was only one thing left to do. It had the double benefit of releasing his tension and relaxing him enough to go to sleep. It wasn’t like it was the first time he’d done it in 20 years but it was the first time he’d really dreaded doing it. He unbuttoned the jeans he’d worn outside and kicked them off the bed. Careful to slide beneath the sheets should he get interrupted and that was not a first, unfortunately.

Lying there, he let the blood rush south as he thought of the moments of his marriage that he’d cherished. Mary’s long blonde hair draped over her bare back. The curve of her body when she slept on her side, her hip jutting out and then the dip into her waist. Curling around her when they were a couple without children to wake them up, feeling her inside his arms while they whispered about all the plans that were put into motion.

Sliding his hand into his shorts, he gripped his half-hard dick and gave it a squeeze as he thought of all the really good times they’d had in bed. Quick fucks after lights out before Dean or Sam could cry out. Long, slow love making when they were sure they wouldn’t be disturbed. All the curves of her body falling all over him, moving beneath him, crashing into him.

Stroking, he picked up a rhythm and breathed deep as he found an image that had always turned him on. Mary, sitting at the table in her panties and one of his flannels with just one button holding it on, her foot up on her chair while she sipped coffee out of his cup, insisting she didn’t want one of her own. That got him close, so close. Stroking faster, he needed more, just a little bit more.

Soft cotton covered breasts pressed against his face, soft scent of strawberries and cream underneath the thick scent of fried food, small hands against his chest, short skirt and a round ass… red lips, full and…

John breathed heavily while his heart stopped racing. A mess in his shorts and a guilty conscience. The girl was too young for him to be thinking about that way and yet… John opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. “You’re officially a dirty old man, John Winchester.”

Hoisting himself up, he made his way to the shower. A nice long cold shower. While the ice cold water shot pellets against his face, he realized that for the first time in 20 years, he had gotten off to someone besides the memory of his long dead wife… and that scared the hell out of him. He loved his Mary to the ends of the Earth and always would. He was going to kill the demon that murdered her if it was the last thing he did. She was the reason he had lived his life the way he had, the reason he had ruined his children’s lives… but it was a young brunette waitress who had made him shoot his load in a dirty motel where probably countless other dirty old men had shot their load thinking of her mouth.

Feeling infinitely old and worn out, John climbed out of the shower and whipped a towel from the rack. Roughly toweled off and wrapped it around his waist. He found Dean sitting at the little table with the guns out, cleaning and brushing. He watched Dean’s eyes flick to him, then the bathroom, then something by the bed. Dean shut his eyes and gave a shudder. “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Dean shook his head and concentrated on brushing out the barrel of a small caliber gun.

John rolled his eyes and set out getting some fresh clothes on. “How’s the car running?”

Dean stopped what he was doing and looked up at his father. “Pretty good, actually… and you’re the second one to ask that question in about as many hours.” He leaned an elbow on the table. “That little waitress from this morning… she stopped by just to ask me that. Did someone have a little chat with her? Retract some unfavorable comment?”

“I don’t make retractions.” John zipped up his jeans and pulled on a shirt. “She’s gonna make you work for it though.”

Dean dropped his gaze to stare at nothing for a few seconds, then shrugged and grinned. “Hey, I’m always up for a challenge.” There was nothing but the sound of the brush and John’s crunching on ice for the longest time. Then Dean cleared his throat, catching John’s attention. “Hey Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“I haven’t been feeling so hot the last couple of days. Mind if we hang out a while? Just need to let this bug work itself out.” The boy’s green eyes met his, concern bleeding out.

John knew the boy wasn’t stupid. He’d raised him better but Dean knew his father. Hell, they’d been best friends until Sammy had gotten old enough to be preferred company. John would insist on moving on tomorrow, even if he was bleeding out his eyes and Dean knew that. Dean had a cast-iron stomach and never got the stomach flu, John knew that. John had seen his jaundiced reflection. He needed to get his head together before he lost himself to the next hunt or got Dean killed or called Sammy to come join them, not that he would… John met his son’s eyes. “Okay. Okay. I’ll give you a week to nail the waitress and then we’re out of here.”

“Like I need a whole week.” Dean snorted.

TBC

[DMartinez]

Part 3

John stared out over the parking lot for a long time. His strength was still there or gone but maybe by the end of the week, he would feel more like himself. Dragging his bottle from the bottom of his bag, he found himself a little walkway with nowhere to go where he could see a bit of the town and the woods behind it. There was a little bench already there and so he had himself a seat and a drink.

He’d had about a fourth of the bottle when a shadow fell over him; the waitress in plain clothes. She crossed her arms and clucked her tongue at him. “You’re in my spot.”

“Didn’t know your name was on it.”

“Well, it is. I’m charging a tax.” She took his bottle and took a swig. Then coughed. “What is this? Liquid fire?”

“Just some whiskey.” He took the bottle back. “Dean’s down at the car wash.”

“Oh?” She turned to peer out on the town. There he was, six blocks over, shirt on the ground and running a chamois over the sleek lines. She took the bottle to take another drink. “I see. You’re in my spot, by the way.”

“You mentioned that.”

“You didn’t move. I thought it bore repeating.”

John laughed to himself and yanked the bottle back. “Keep stringing him along. It’s cheering me up.”

It was her turn to laugh. “You are in my spot though. I’ve been sitting in that bench watching over this town for over six months now and no one has ever stolen my spot before.”

“It’s a good spot. Clear sights on the town, you only know it’s here if you know it’s here and it’s got a bench.”

“Uh-huh. Also, there’s this tree down there that keeps anyone from seeing up here from the street.”

“Nice bonus.” He nodded and enjoyed the sun on his face.

“John? What brought you to this little cubbyhole in the Catskills?” She stole his bottle again and stepped over his legs to find herself a seat on the corner ledge.

“Just driving through.”

“Okay. Why’d you stop here?”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m annoying that way.”

“Really.” He looked up at her to find her grinning.

“There’s not a lot to do in these mountains. I work a lot. At the diner, here at the motel and sometimes down at the curio shop down the road.” She pointed with the bottle.

“Busy girl.” He reached over and playfully yanked the bottle out of her hand. He took a long pull and wished that whiskey had the effect that it had on him when he was younger and not so used to the buzz.

“I try.”

“Nice view.” Dean’s voice drifted over from where he stood leaning on the corner. John noted that his son’s eyes were not on the view over the balcony but rather on the pair of legs draped across the railing. Dean reached over and took the bottle of whiskey for a deep slug. “Am I crashing the party?”

“I was just heading inside.” John managed to get to his feet steady enough. Unfortunately, he seemed to have gotten his wish and he felt drunk for the first time in years. He didn’t give either youngster a passing look as he rounded the corner. He found his way to his bed and lay down, letting the room spin around him. Unfortunately, he got what he paid for where the room was concerned. He could hear every word from the balcony outside the side window.

“I tried to ask him but he wouldn’t answer me either. What do you do?”

“Jack of all trades, really.”

“Passing through?”

“Sure.”

“He drinks a lot.” There was a long telling silence. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Everybody drinks. Who doesn’t?”

“I’m sorry.”

John tilted his head and glanced at the window, the shadowed outlines of their forms were plain against the thin curtains. When they had gotten so cozy, John didn’t know. He could see the amber swirl of the bottle when one of them tilted their head back to drink.

“My mom was… murdered when I was little. We… saw it happen. We’ve been moving around ever since.” One shadow shrugged. “I don’t really know anything else. Dad sure as hell doesn’t anymore.”

“He must have really loved your mom.”

“Yeah. Still wears the ring. Doesn’t date. No clue if he’s gotten laid since then. Just the bottle and the move.”

“You sound like it makes you angry.”

“Naw, it’s nothing. Just… he’s sick right now. I don’t really know from what. He won’t say. Just sleeps a lot, doesn’t talk and drinks more heavily than usual.” The shadow’s head turned and John could see his son’s profile. “I had to… well, let’s just say that we had to make it my idea to stay put for a while.”

“And what was your idea?”

“Stomach bug.”

“Uh-huh. Is that why you had me rubbing your belly last night?”

“Oh, no. That just felt good.”

“You’re such a pig.” There was a hard smack. “If you make the sausage joke again, I’ll leave you here, alone, with your sausage.”

“Come on, everyone likes eating sausage… Ow.”

“I warned you.”

The shadow outlines blurred into one and John was supremely happy that the sucking smacking noises didn’t make it through the glass. Blissfully, the room stopped spinning and the air was quiet… for all of a minute.

He ignored the first grunt. And the first curse but when they came in a long unbroken strain, John couldn’t take it anymore. His mind was already spinning with those mental images. Dragging himself upright, John muttered to himself while he grabbed his jacket and the room key. “Dirty, dirty old man.”

John shook his head all the way to the staircase and all but stumbled down the two flights. He just needed a nice long walk to wear off the alcohol and the images of twenty year old brunette waitresses who seemed to know what to do on their knees. Turning at the corner, he found that Liz was absolutely right. No one could see the balcony from the street. Staggering away, John gripped his knife and headed for the woods. Nothing like tracking rabbits and deer to get his head straight. Meat sounded good. Been spoiled for a good many years on beef and chicken, anyway.

John had been walking for a good half hour when he realized that he hadn’t brought a flashlight. The woods were dense and the hills and valleys were unforgiving. Crashing to a knee against a tree, John had to admit that he was lost. The world spun around him and he had to admit that this was not the wisest decision he had ever made. That included Tampa. Jesus, Tampa. Shutting his eyes, he let the world right itself. Let the night cool his flushed face and then opened his eyes to the blackest, quietest wood that he had ever been in. Using the tree to steady himself, he got to his feet and tried to remember the shape of the wood from that damned balcony. If he started walking, he should hit a road going any one of three directions. Heading that fourth direction though… that might set him up for getting lost for days.

Why in the hell had he decided to take a walk when he was weak and drunk? Right. The girl. Nicer and prettier than she ought to be. Dirtier and naughtier than she ought to be. Her skirts were entirely too short. Her manner was entirely too inviting and… Dammit. John Winchester was a dirty old man. After forty minutes, he found himself on the tree line around the block from where the motel lay. Thank goodness for small favors.

Dragging his weary bones up the staircase, he let himself into the room and found it void of any sign of life. No bags, no whiskey, no weapons. What in the hell? He was only gone a couple of hours. Dean was never one to panic. Slamming the door shut, he spun around to examine the parking lot but there was no Impala. Dammit! He rounded the corner onto the little balcony. The bench sat empty and when he looked out onto the town… there was something… off about the view. He couldn’t put his finger on it but it was different… significant. Walking back the way he came, he found the ice machine and pounded on the door next to it. No answer. Dammit!

John sat his ass on the top step of the stairwell. His phone had been in his bag. His wallet, too. Maybe they went cruising around for him. Lord knows that if that boy was already spilling family secrets, he was probably recruiting help as well. He could sit in the room and wait until they got back, which probably wouldn’t be until dawn. He had some change in his pocket. He could have a cup of coffee keep him company until they wandered back. At least the diner was still open. According to his watch, it was well after midnight.

By the time John dragged his weary ass through those doors, they were getting ready to close up. He begged off a cup to go from a waitress he had never seen before, then grabbed an abandoned newspaper to take back to the balcony with him. He folded it open when he was settled and snorted over a typo on the second page. President J.W. Bush. Didn’t anyone spell check anymore?

He checked the obituaries and the police log but didn’t do more than glance over them until he looked up again and realized that he couldn’t see the car wash from the bench. The tree branches got in his line of sight. Trees didn’t grow that fast. Then the date on the newspaper caught his eye. April 20, 2018.

Coffee tipped over and spilled over the side of the building but his eyes fixed on the date. Fifteen years. Flipping back to the second page, he scanned the article on President Jenna W. Bush, who was apparently a woman of intrigue as she never took her husband’s name and was the third generation of Bush in the White house. Flipping through with wiser eyes, he picked out more changes. Price of gas had risen to 7 for the poor schmucks who were still allowed to use unleaded. Everyone else was paying 10 and change for whatever they put in their hybrids. Hybrids. How could there be anything more fucking wrong than a hybrid?

Folding up the paper, he eyed his surroundings for the nearest thing approaching a pay phone. There wasn’t one. He shoved the paper in his back pocket and carefully retraced his steps back to where he’d emerged from the wood. Watched his pace, kept his eyes on the trees. Found where he’d stumbled. Found his own trail. In two hours, going the wrong way, he emerged from the wood a few feet from where he’d originally entered into the dawn of a new day.

Blinking into the rising sun, he saw the Impala pulling into the lot. He never saw such a beautiful thing in all his life than his boy behind the wheel of that car with his girl in the passenger seat. They looked just the way they had the night before. Same clothes, even. Dean spotted him and started running. “Dad!”

The boy was on him before John could find his voice. Arms embracing and breath hitching. Then both hands were griping his shoulders. “Don’t you do that to me. Not after Sam… Just… don’t do that me.” Dean made a face and turned his face away. “Dude, the whiskey breath needs attention.”

And that was his oldest son. Concerned, angry and comical, all in one breath. “Need me some sleep.”

“What happened, Dad?”

“Went for a walk. Got lost.” John’s hand fidgeted with the paper in his back pocket but he wasn’t going to ruin Dean’s good time if there was nothing to be done about whatever had happened in the woods.

“Me and Liz been driving around all night and you were in there?” Dean turned to look at the woods. “You got lost?”

“Been drinking a good while before you showed up and even before she did… Son… I gotta get some sleep.” John patted his son’s shoulder and made his aching feet move.

“You okay?” Dean stepped up and hovered without being asked.

“Just tired.”

“Dean, what happened?” Liz’s voice reached John’s ears as they formed a little procession up the staircase. “Dean? John?”

John kept moving forward and when he opened the door, he braced himself. The door swung open and all this things were just where he’d left them. He tugged off his boots and fell into bed. The door was open and Dean wasn’t done with him. “He’s fine. It happens sometimes. He gets drunk and wanders off. Usually finds his compass sooner than this though.”

“So, he’s really okay?”

“Yeah. No big. He’ll sleep it off and get drunk again tonight.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Nah. You should sleep, too. Been a long night.”

“Yeah.”

There was a long pause, punctuated by a soft smacking of lips. “You work tonight?”

“After last night? I’m taking the night off.”

“Sweet. I’ll stop by after I get him squared away.”

“Don’t count on it. I’m tired… but tonight, I expect some time, mister. You owe me.”

“Well, then, I better rest up.”

“Call me before you come barging over.” More smacking before the door shut and the springs on the other mattress protested Dean’s weight. “So, what really happened? And I know you’re not asleep already.” John didn’t respond. “Come on, Dad. You don’t just get lost.”

“This time, I did. Get some sleep, Dean.”

“Fine, but I’m revoking your whiskey rights.” A joke and a threat. John wondered what the hell had actually happened out there in those woods.

--

John read the newspaper over a late lunch. Ol’ W was doing the same old, same old. Gas was nearly two bucks and hybrids were pretty scarce. Hell, maybe he’d fallen, hit his head and dreamed the whole thing… except for the paper in his back pocket; the one with W’s partier daughter as the President of the United freakin’ States. How in the hell that happened when just last month Dean was joking about nailing her during Mardi Gras? There was a tall tale if John had ever heard one but he’d seen enough gossip rags at checkout counters to know the girl’s reputation.

Setting everything aside, John tried not to think about it too much. Obviously no one knew about the woods or else there would be talk. Though, it was strange the way the town was built around that stretch of wood. It stuck out into town but no one had tried to develop it. It made him wonder why.

Turning his head, John eyed his son having his breakfast with his girl. Twin cups of coffee. One black, one with sugar. One bowl of oatmeal with raisins and one plate of hotcakes slathered in syrup, side of bacon extra crispy and a pair of runny eggs. Hers hardly eaten and huge chunks missing from his. Dean was doing all the talking but continuing to eat, while Liz nodded and nibbled at her bowl so she could focus on what Dean was saying. John had to admit that she was the nicest girl that he had ever seen tolerate Dean for such an extended period of time. It wasn’t like Dean had snowed the girl. She’d made him sooner than John had suspected but she genuinely liked him. It showed in the way she watched his face when he talked, touched his hand to gently get a word in edgewise, the way she focused on him and no one else… not that that particular trait was something she limited to Dean.

John had felt it used on himself when she would corner him to ask questions. She was just naturally curious, that much he was sure of. She wasn’t building a case on them, just mentally stockpiling the information the way a good girl does for… well, for the family she’s thinking about joining. Maybe he was gonna have to cut this little vacation short, after all. Then Dean laughed at something that Liz said. Maybe it was just everything plus missing his baby boy but he’d do anything to see Dean laugh like that all the time. Since Sammy left, all Dean’s jokes had been tasteless and his laughter had been hollow. This was nice to see again.

Shoving himself away from the counter, John tossed down money for his meal and stalked his way back to the room. Found his bottle and started drinking. A drink for every moment his Mary had let him talk long and fast about cars and maneuvers and never complained. A drink for every breakfast out with his arm on the back of her chair and her hand on his thigh. A drink for every Sunday morning sprawled on the carpet with the baby, playing games and teaching each other patience. A drink for spaghetti night and little faces smeared with sauce. A drink for every slow dance to music that no one could hear.

Then John ran out of ice. It was a crooked line to walk to get to the ice machine but he could do it. He only stumbled once. Caught himself on the railing. He filled up his little ice bucket and lingered to suck on an ice cube. That’s when he heard the voices.

A moan. “Oh my g--… Please… like that…”

Lifted bleary eyes to the window beside the ice machine. Like all the rooms, the curtains were thin and threadbare. Did nothing to block out light and certainly could be seen through. Noted because the first things his eyes focused on were a pair of small curling feet, attached to legs hooked over a pair of shoulders which were attached to the back of a familiar head. A hand in the head of hair, which led to the bare torso which was attached to the moaning, gasping head with a very familiar face.

John forced himself to breathe and to find his way back to the room. He was tempted to dump the little bucket of ice down his pants. He was too far beyond his little infatuation. There was nothing he was going to do about it. He just had to admit that the little woman turned him on. Clearly, he had no shot as his son was eating her out at the moment.

“Fuck it.” John set the bucket aside and glared down at his lap. “Everybody does it,” he repeated to himself what he’d sat down and told his boys years ago.

He lay back and stroked himself to the images that were now burned on his eyelids. Her mouth, hung open and gasping. Breasts jutting up into the air. Hands clenching. Fingers squeezing momentarily on a hard nipple before reaching back to clench in the bedspread.

Catching his breath, John swallowed down a huge lump in his throat. “Come on, John, get it together.”

After getting himself cleaned up, John drained the bottle in one long gulp. Of course, there was another bottle in the trunk, next to the axe, if he recalled. He was just passing the ice machine when Liz’s door opened. “Hey John? You want to go eat out?”

“What’s that?” He turned to face her, hoping his face wasn’t turning red. Her hair was wet and hung around her face. He averted his eyes.

“Dean’s in the shower now but we were about to go grab something over in the next town. Actual steak that doesn’t taste like shoe leather.” She smiled at him. “I promise.”

“Maybe some other time. Just heading out for a refill.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer. Meet us down at the car.” She swung the door closed.

That girl. John shook his head, which spun a bit, and turned to make the descent to the parking lot. Only he tripped over his own shoes and tumbled down the stairs. Pain shot up his leg and then a fire ignited in his head. His vision swam in red and black.

“John! John!” Little hands patting his face, checking his extremities. “John, are you okay?”

Then the little hand found his thigh and he let loose a shout that he didn’t recognize. The pain. His vision flashed red and black and white.

“Dean! Dean, come quick!”

“Dad? Dad!” Rough hands on his face.

“I think he broke his leg.”

“Dad, come on. Wake up. Look at me. Dad. Come on, pal. Dad. Dad. Dammit, Dad!”

TBC

[DMartinez]

Part 4

When John came to, he could make out Dean sitting next to the bed, elbows resting next to John’s unbroken leg. Liz’s hands on Dean’s shoulders. She was massaging lightly and pressing kisses into Dean’s hair. She was a good girl. “He’ll be okay, Dean. You’ll see. Just a tumble and a bump. Six weeks, the cast will come off.”

It took a moment for John to get his tongue. “Deano, get me some water, huh? Mouth’s drier than a witch’s cootch.”

Dean’s head popped up, mouth quirking up in one corner. “You kiss your mother with that mouth, soldier?”

“Here you go, John.” Liz had been quick to snatch up the pitcher and try to feed John the water like a baby.

“Did I break my hands, too?” He asked her.

“No…” She winced and handed him the cup to drain. She refilled it when he’d gulped that down. “Sorry.”

“Go get that doc, will you? Want out of here sooner than later, darlin’.”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.” Liz refilled the cup once more, squeezed Dean’s shoulder and bolted from the room.

“Man, you should have heard the gibberish coming out of your mouth when they were setting your leg.” Dean tried to put on a brave face but it faltered. “Doctor said that in addition to having a blood alcohol level that would kill a prairie dog, you were so severely anemic that he’s gonna have to prescribe iron pills for a full six months to make sure you don’t keel over again.” Dean sat up, fingers fidgeting in the blanket. “I keep thinking… what could make you that way? It’s not cancer, according to the doc. Then the doc says something about blood loss and a bruised spleen or something… and it’s been at least two weeks since we got banged up badly enough for something like that…”

John drained his cup again and waited for the explosion.

“The last time, it was me that pulled this shit and you grounded me for two weeks.”

“You gonna ground me, son?”

“Dad.” Dean growled through clenched teeth. “I got down the stairs and you were bleeding from your head, your leg was laying wrong and you kept babbling about the woods and President Bush and… and Sammy… It was all I could do to keep it together.” He sniffed and wiped at his nose. “If it weren’t for Liz, we’d probably still be there. I panicked. I can take it when a werewolf takes a swipe at you… or a ghoul knocks you out for the count… but uh… a set of stairs and a fifth of Jack… that ain’t happened in years.”

“What can I say? Not as young as I used to be.”

Dean raked his eyes over his father’s face, as if taking in the lines and gray for the first time. “You sure don’t act your age.”

“Can’t afford to, kiddo. I’m 49 years old. I should be… bouncing grandkids on my knee, not… hunting down spirits and demons.”

“Bouncing grandkids. Right. Where are you gonna get some of those?” Dean snickered. “Guess Sammy could be out there… impregnating those smart chicks at Stanford.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, let’s explore this some more. You want some brats calling you Papa Winchester and asking questions about why Dad and Pop-pop don’t ever stay at home or why they carry a gun or… why there’s always salt on the floor?” Dean stilled his tongue at the weariness in his father’s face. “Dad… I’m not trying to be mean… just…”

“You think I want this for you boys?” John started to say more but Liz entered with the doctor and once they got to talking… Well, John just sort of tuned them out. Dean was merciless in outlining all the behavior that he’d seen as odd in the last couple of months. The doctor agreed that most of it had been symptoms of the blood loss.

John just couldn’t take his eyes off of Dean, talking to the doctor, with Liz perched on one leg, his arm around her waist. Sitting there as if he hadn’t just proclaimed that it was impossible for him or Sam to develop relationships and have kids or anything else that John truly wanted for his boys.

Liz’s hand on his leg drew him out of his thoughts. “Did you hear that, John? Folic acid and no coffee for a while.”

“Oh, you gotta be…” John cut himself off.

“Listen up, old man. These are doctor’s orders and you’re gonna follow them to the letter or else I’ll dump you in some old folks home and forget about you.” Dean growled.

“This is very important to hear.” The doctor cut in. “At your age, you should be more careful. Take better care of yourself.”

“I’m not an invalid.” John bit out.

“Really, he’s not older than forty… two?” Liz shook her head at the doctor.

“Off by about ten years, sweetie, but thanks for trying.” John let loose a long breath. “Okay, so folic acid, orange juice and no caffeine. I suppose there will be dietary changes like more milk and cheese or spinach and liver… am I right?”

“Well, sounds like it’s not your first go with iron deficiency. I’ll give you some recommendations. Follow or not, you’ll do as you want.” The doctor wrote out his scripts and set them down for their perusal. “As for the leg. It was just a minor fracture. No traction needed but expect to be off of it for at least three months.”

“Three months?”

“Femurs take longer to heal because the bone is thicker. There were no fragments to complicate the matter. All in all, you were damn lucky.” He gestured to the brace on John’s leg. “That stays on and you are wheelchair bound for the duration of its stay on your body.”

--

John threw most of his weight onto Dean, who bore it like a man. The three of them managed to get up to the room. Liz raced ahead to get the door open and to arrange pillows on the bed for John’s comfort. Dean grumbled something that John couldn’t make out. Liz just gave him a look that John recognized as annoyed. John made himself comfortable. “Take back whatever you said, son…” Dean swung his gaze to his father. “Or else you’re sleeping alone tonight.”

“He’s not wrong.” She stared at him.

“Fine.” Dean straightened then reached over to pull the pillows off his bed to prop his father’s foot up.

“Well it’s not like you spend your nights in here anyway.” She pinned him with a look. “I’m gonna go grab us some food.”

When she’d left them alone, John whistled low. “She’s mad.”

“Yeah. I got that, thanks.”

John glanced around and noticed that the room had been cleaned. “What happened to the newspapers on the table?”

“Housekeeping, probably.”

John cursed under his breath.

“Well, it’s not like you can go hunting right now, anyway.” Dean sank down on the edge of the bed, his back to his father. “I meant what I said the other day. I… you can’t do shit like this to me, right now. Sammy’s… God knows where and you’re acting erratic.”

“Erratic, son?”

“Drinking more than usual, talking to yourself, getting hurt and not getting help. Going off for walks and getting lost and what is up with all the man-handling?” Dean turned abruptly to face his father. “For years, you give the lectures and… you just… never do anything for yourself and all of a sudden… you’re choking the chicken like… like a teenager.”

“Dean…”

“You having some kind of mid-life crisis?”

“This is not a conversation that I want to have, ever.” John ran a hand over his face. “Been dog tired for months now… Since… since Sammy left. Not been recovering so well. Been weaker than usual, feeling the hunts harder.” Shrugged. “Thought I could just shake it off… til now.”

“And your relapse into a 13-year-old?”

“I’ll tell you… ain’t happen in a long, long time… and it ain’t like I never done it since your mom passed. I don’t know… I don’t. First time I did it for more than maintenance for a good long while.”

“Congratulations, Dad. Sounds like you’ll be a decent human being sooner rather than later.” Dean tried to joke but it fell flat. “Just all of a sudden? Just all of a sudden sex is interesting again?”

“Surprised the hell out of me.”

“How does sex stop being interesting?” The question was out of Dean’s mouth before he could stop it.

“Dean… you’ve been around the block a time or two but… until you love someone, really love someone… sex is just part of it, Dean. I cannot describe to you how much your mother meant to me. Thinking of being with anyone besides her was just… out of the question. When she passed on, that didn’t change.” That’s when John realized that he’d never had this particular talk with his sons. “All the things that we joke about, complain about women… when you meet the right one, the one you fall in love with… you gladly do everything you hate just to make her happy.”

“Okay, this is where I ask ‘like what?’ right?”

“Let’s just say that if you break it off with a great girl because she wants to talk about her feelings or wants to watch a Robert Redford movie or because she wants you to hold her purse at the mall… then those reasons aren’t really why you’re breaking up with her. It’s because you don’t really love her and there’s no reason except that you don’t.” John relaxed a little. “You find the right girl and you’ll watch Audrey Hepburn movies and An Affair to Remember and Romeo and Juliet… just because she’ll sit next to you the whole time. You endure the tortures of shopping because she thanks you for it with back rubs and your favorite foods. You try not to get grease on the table because it makes her voice high and whiny and it’s much more fun to put the grease on her nose or her cheek.”

“Do you have any idea how cliché you sound right now?”

“Yeah. I do. I don’t know how. Don’t know why now. You’d think at my age that it would have been diminished anyway… Can’t say I feel healed, just that… maybe I’m living in the world more than I was before.” John met his son’s eyes. “I want you to have what I had. I do.”

“Yeah. Okay. I hear you.”

Liz burst through the door with a heavy takeout bag in one arm and a TV tray in the other. Dean jumped up to take the heavier load. John watched them work as a team, without words, to get lunch on the tray across his lap and lunch for themselves spread on the table. There was the standard talk of time off, of arranging med schedules, of arranging down time. Dean glanced at his father. “I’m gonna have to take off… make back some cash.”

“What is it that you do, again?” Liz glanced between them but neither man answered.

“Odds and ends.” Dean finally answered, then cleared his throat. “Won’t be gone long.”

“You’re gonna leave him here? Alone?” Liz sat up straight in her seat. “Dean.”

“I’ll be fine.” John waved her off. “Not the first time I been laid up without my boy. I’ll manage.”

“No, I’ll help. You just dial my room number and I’ll come over.”

“I’ll get you a room key.” Dean cleared his throat and met his father’s eyes. “I meant what I said at the hospital. You’re grounded. And I don’t care if you’re 49. You’re grounded.”

“What a hard ass.” John muttered as he sipped his lukewarm soda.

“I got ten laps for calling you that.” Dean mused but eyed his father’s thigh propped up on a stack of pillows and gulped. “I’ll go easy on you. I want eight Latin verbs conjugated by sundown.”

John shook his head at his son. “Softy.”

“I know. I should give you twenty but I figured you could do eight while drunk easily.”

“Hey, no drinking. The doctor said you can’t mix alcohol with your pain pills.” Liz cut in to the banter with a tinge of regret. They acted like brothers sometimes the way they talked to each other. She almost called them on it but held on to it for when she knew them better.

Dean snickered and tipped back his cup to drain it.

--

The first two days without Dean, John tried to make it in silence. Feigned sleep and too many painkillers. Dean checked in the way he was taught to. Then Liz gave John an idea. She nudged the door open and set down her load. Breakfast, a small bag and two heavy books. She set up the tray over his lap. “I tried to balance the doctor’s orders with what men like to eat. Soft scrambled eggs, turkey bacon, buttermilk biscuit and a nice tall glass of orange juice to take your meds with.”

“The warden is away.” John muttered, but it smelled good.

“I got you two books from the library. Non-fiction historical. Dean mentioned that you had a hobby of research.” Liz began emptying the plastic bag. “I noticed that you were out some toiletries so I went and picked some up… but of course I didn’t know what you liked so… I just went with efficiency and good taste.” She pulled out shampoo. “It’s your standard strawberry scent.” Then a jar with brush and soap. “I noticed you preferred the straight razor but your jar was out.” She waved a bar of deodorant at him. “Figured you were a stick man.” Then pulled a long tube out of the bag and a box with a pulsating showerhead. “This is for the manly shower you’re going to have later… after I figure out how to attach this thing.”

“There’s one hitch with your plan to get me clean.” John mumbled around a mouthful of bacon and eggs.

“What’s that?”

“I can’t stand in the shower and sitting is not ideal.”

“This motel has a crappy shower chair that I’m having wrapped in saran wrap as we speak.” She winked at him. “Trust me, I thought of everything.”

John set the tray aside and picked up the books. They were vaguely interesting and he wasn’t about to make her take them away. “Research is a hobby of mine. Next time you swing by… maybe see if there’s some books on the local lore.”

“Local lore?” She straightened from where she was peeling the plastic off the new acquisitions. “Like the boogeyman?”

“Kind of. Just… stuff that’s from around here. Not looking for the Jersey Devil but if the Catskills got something similar.”

“Okay. I’ll see what I can find.” She nodded to herself as she continued to unwrap and prepare her gifts. “Where I grew up, we had this thing called La Llorona.”

“Woman in White. I’m familiar.”

“Woman in White? I thought it translated as Crying Woman.” She frowned at him.

“It does but the lore is pretty universal. Woman in White is the general term. Taken because the woman is nearly always a bride who is betrayed by her husband. She cries because she murdered her own children in her grief. Her evil deed overwhelms her and she commits suicide.”

“I guess it happens a lot, huh.” She averted her eyes and sat on the edge of the bed. “I guess I never thought of it as more than a story. I guess there is a lesson in all of it.”

“Well, it’s not a parable or anything like that. Just something that happens sometimes.” He watched her profile as she retreated inside herself. “The phenomenon comes from the inability of the spirit to forgive the sins. It lingers, forever searching for love. In some areas, she takes other children to replace her own. In others… she punishes men for what her husband did to her.”

“I guess I could see how being treated that way could make a spirit angry.” She whispered, her eyes far away.

“How’d you come to these parts, Liz?” John found himself asking and actually caring about the answer.

“Some stories are better left untold.” She cleared her throat and wiped at her eyes. Then the door swung open and her face changed. “Dean.”

“Hmm. I come back from working hard and what do I find? My girl in bed with my dad…” Dean narrowed his eyes at them. “It’s a good thing you’re ancient.” Dean winked at his dad and swung Liz up and off the bed. “It’s bath time, I see.” He stared at her face for a long moment. “Out. Bath time is not co-ed.”

“I’ll keep for a bit. Take a walk, stretch your legs.” John nodded to the door. They didn’t hesitate in leaving him alone so that they could greet each other properly away from his watchful eye. And John always felt like he was watching and seeing much more than he was supposed to.

TBC

[DMartinez]

Part 5

Dean talked while he sharpened his knife. John could hear the snick-snick of the blade on the stone even though his eyes were closed. When he’d last had his eyes open, Liz had propped open the door to let in the fresh air and had sprawled in the walk-way with some kind of girly project that neither he nor Dean was clear of at the stage she was in. Dean had dragged a chair near to the door with his whetting stone. John had pretended to sleep in the cool air. The pain meds kept him in a drowsy state as it was.

“I’ve… got a little brother.” Dean had just blurted it out. Just like that, bringing a stranger closer to his heart. That had been one of the first things he’d told the last girl he’d slept with more than once.

“Oh? Where is he?”

“College.”

“Wow. College, huh. You ever go?”

“Me? No, I’m not the college type. Sammy, though. He’s exactly that type.”

“How come you never mentioned him before?”

Dean was silent for a long moment. John could almost feel those green eyes checking to see if the old man was still asleep. “They had a huge fight the night Sam left. Both too proud to admit the other one matters to them any.”

“What was the fight about?”

“Whether or not Sam should go.”

“oh.”

“Sam’s really smart though. He’s… well, he’s the college type. He’s my geek brother.”

“Why didn’t your dad want him to go?”

The silence was heavy that time, John almost opened his eyes. “Because now Sam’s alone and we’re not there to protect him.”

“How old is he?”

“I dunno, your age.”

“I think he’s more than old enough to make that decision for himself.” There was lightness to her voice. “It’s not like the three of you were gonna be together forever. One day one of you was gonna meet someone and settle down.” The heavy silence again. “Right?”

“Hadn’t planned on it.”

“Dean, really.”

“I… told you about my mom. Well, the thing is… she… her killer was never caught and… Dad’s been tracking him all over the country.”

“Vengeance is an evil thing, Dean. Sure, eventually you’ll catch up to the guy and dispatch some sort of justice but the thing about vengeance is that there’s one victim that no one ever bothers to rescue.”

“Oh yeah? What victim is that?”

“The victim in the crossfire.”

“Which is who?”

“In this case… it’s you and your father. Sam’s rescued himself. The two of you… are losing your lives to vengeance.” There was a shuffling and then a screech of a chair. The door shut harder than necessary. There was a ‘Go to hell’ if ever John had heard one. Of course, all John needed was to be left alone with a Winchester male stewing in his own juices. So he kept pretending to be asleep. Of course Dean would default to drinking.

And drunk dialing.

“Sammy!” Dean slurred when he was thoroughly sloshed. “Shut up… Studying, I guess, then… Fuck you, then.”

--

Eventually, John actually fell asleep. Thoughts of the fight with Sam spinning around in his mind. Feeling bad that fight had caused a rift between Dean and his girl. He knew the rift was temporary but to hear Dean’s voice so desperate with his intolerant little brother had about killed John.

He’d heard the banter, Dean teasing Sam about being a girl for having, or wanting to express, his feelings. Maybe it was just because John had a hand in creating Dean but he’d always felt Dean was the more emotional of the two boys. Sam got the corner on dramatics and passionate displays but Dean was infinitely more vulnerable. The bright smile and low-brow jokes hiding the weak spots.

When he woke, it was Liz who was nudging him awake. “I know you’re pretty groggy already but it’s time for more meds.”

John sat up and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. Liz’s eyes were red and her voice raw. He took his meds and glanced at the little table where Dean was cleaning his gun. He knew by the set of Dean’s lips that his green eyes would be tinged with red and his voice would be hoarse. There had been some words between them that John had slept through.

Apparently they weren’t done because Liz lingered on her perch by John’s hip. She fluffed his pillows which she should have left alone if she was gonna lean that close to his face with her tits. Then she propped him up so she could set the tray and a meal in front of him. She kissed his forehead before moving away to let him eat.

He watched them stumble outside, Dean’s hand at Liz’s lower back. They kept the door open but their voices low. Then Dean retuned alone. John wanted to say something but didn’t know what.

Dean cleared his throat a few times. “Think you’ll be comfortable in the backseat for a couple of hundred miles?”

Then John knew exactly what to say. “I didn’t raise my boys to run away from a fight.”

“What?” Disbelief crossed Dean’s face. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re gonna drag me over the state line with my leg like this because you can’t win a fight with a girl?” John snorted. “Welcome to the human race, Dean Winchester. There’s not a man who hasn’t been in your shoes and I’m telling you now that it’s a lesser man who runs away from it.”

“Dad, it’s not worth it. She’s just a girl.”

“Dean.” John took a deep breath. “I can heal anywhere. Usually I’d insist on it.” Dean’s eyes lifted to his father’s. “If I honestly thought Liz was just a girl, I’d let you run away. But she was never just one of your girls that you see if you just run through town.”

“How do you know that?”

“Cause the two of you are in the middle of this huge fight and she dropped by to feed your aging broken father his pills and a dinner that she did not buy or heat up in a microwave.”

Dean sat silent for the longest time, hurt and longing on his face. Then he grabbed his jacket. “Don’t wait up.”

“If she’s got an older sister or a single aunt…” John started but Dean was already gone. Good for him.

--

When John woke the next morning, his pills were in a paper cup next to the bed, breakfast was a doughnut affair set within reach on the other side of the bed and his boring history books were replaced by Legend and Lore of the Catskills.

He’d eaten his fourth frosted doughnut and made his way through a quarter of the book by the time Dean stumbled in like he’d been on a horse all night… and Liz followed immediately after. The two of them waved sheepishly and crashed on Dean’s bed. There was no awkward arrangement of limbs. A simple laying down next to each other that spoke volumes of their relationship. Then the pair fell asleep.

John just wished they’d had the decency to put Dean’s backside to the room instead of Liz’s. That’s all he’d needed, to get a hard on when he couldn’t do anything about it. Well, reading up on the local woods should cure that before the two woke up.

--

Over the next two days, things kept popping up in their room. Girly things and then John figured it out the morning he woke up as Liz was getting out of the bathroom, toweling off her hair. “When did you move in?”

She blushed and cleared her throat. “Last night.”

“Coming on the road too or is this just for the remainder of our stay?”

“Um…” Clearly the kids hadn’t discussed that. “Just trying to save everyone a bit of money.”

“I see.”

“Dean said you wouldn’t mind.”

“It’s not that I mind but I wasn’t exactly involved in this process.”

“Dean.” Liz huffed and turned back to the bathroom.

Oh, John, you’re in trouble now, he thought to himself. There was no way he could go in that bathroom and not picture her naked body pressed up against the shower wall. “Dean!”

“What?” He leaned out the door.

“You didn’t okay my moving in with your dad.” She crossed her arms and cocked her hip; a new pose for John to witness.

“He’s grounded. He’s got no say.” Dean ducked away to rinse off.

“You fall down one flight of stairs and the kid never lets you forget it.” John grumbled under his breath.

“Maybe a month was too soon?” Liz pondered aloud.

“Maybe but confidentially speaking… this is the longest he’s ever had a girlfriend outside of high school without running her off.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep.”

“So this… Cassie person…”

“Cassie?” John frowned. “That journalism major?”

“I think so.”

That gave John some pause. “Two weeks. Soured quick.”

“In what way?”

“I’m not his keeper.”

“Avoider.” She harrumphed and knocked politely on the bathroom door. “Dean, I forgot my brush.”

The door swung open and John wanted to hide.

“Cassie… love of your life, Cassie, was a two week fling?”

--

John gingerly lifted his leg to rest along the bench and tried not to listen to the fight going on inside the room. He missed wearing jeans. Shorts were not an outdoor sort of dress for any Winchester. The shorts were too short and snapped up the side and thusly were entirely too drafty. It did give him an opportunity to study the tree line. The more time that passed, the more he was able to attribute his little trip to his condition. There had been a long list of side effects of the anemia and blood loss and he hadn’t really paid attention.

He was still staring off when Liz appeared with a blanket and a stool. She moved quietly as she set the stool against the railing and helped him swing his leg around to rest on the stool. Then she spread the blanket over his lap. She gave him a small smile when she plopped down next to him. “It’s cool out tonight.”

“Yeah.”

“Better than sitting in the room all the time.”

“Yeah. Thanks, darlin’.” He picked up the edge of the blanket, then he cleared his throat. “I’m sure you’ve got better things to do than babysit an old man.”

“Um… currently, you’re my favorite Winchester.” She laid a hand on his forearm. “And besides. You’re not old.” She rolled her eyes at the expression on his face. “Some of my best friends were my parents’ age. I don’t consider that old.” Her lips turned up at the corners and her hands dropped to her lap. “You’re not really 49, are you?”

“I am.” He sighed heavily. 50 wasn’t that far off, either.

Her cheeks colored and her big brown eyes looked up at him from underneath curled lashes. “It’s just… when you guys first came into town… until Dean called you ‘dad’, I had the two of you pegged as brothers. Him at around 22 and you at… 30… 35 at a push.”

“Well,” John chuckled at that. “I’m deeply flattered.”

“Guess that means that Dean will age well, too.”

“Don’t know about that. He takes after his mother. First thing in the morning was pretty scary sometimes.”

“John.” Liz scolded him lightly. Her hand returned to his arm. “So, he looks like his mom?”

John nodded, welcomed the memories of his beautiful wife as she was before the horror of Sam’s six-month birthday. “Green eyed, blonde, legs that went on for miles. Gorgeous smile. And the poor taste to love me back.”

“What did you do before she passed? I mean, Dean told me that you’re… kind of doing a vigilante thing now but before that.” She squeezed gently. “Were you a cop?”

“God, no.” John shook his head. “I was a mechanic. A buddy of mine that I served with in the Marines, he came into some money. I taught him what I knew about cars, he handled the business end. It was a good partnership.”

“Sounds like it.” She frowned and her eyes became distant. John let her go silent. The memories stung as much as they were cherished. Eyes ahead, John felt her head rest against his bicep and a moment later, wet warmth bled through his shirt. John licked his lips but his mouth had suddenly gone dry. It had been far too long since he’d dealt with a crying woman who hadn’t just come face to face with a beast or ghost or monster. Slipping his arm out from under her grip, he slid it around her, drawing her closer to his side. “I’m sorry. Sometimes the best memories make me the saddest.”

“For me, that’s nearly always true.”

“Are there any memories you enjoy from after she…?” Liz wiped at her eyes. “I was beginning to think that I could never really enjoy life again and… lately…”

“When Dean was six, I took him shooting for the first time. He took a shine to it. Just…” John took a deep breath that shook his bones. “I never thought he’d be so good at it. It hurts me to think that I was proud of him but I was. He was an easy going kid. Always. Cheering up Sammy when we moved, kept the kid’s mind off the world and on little kid things.” He laughed suddenly. “Sammy was five or six. Dean was nine. We went camping. Not to target shoot. Not to give me some time to hone my skills. Honest to goodness camping. Sammy hated every minute of the first night. Dean… oh… Dean ran all over the place. They were playing cowboys and Indians… Indians kept winning because the Indian was four years older.”

“A lot of your happiness revolves around Dean’s happiness. Have you noticed that?”

“Dean’s the oldest and… I’m not that great a father. If he can manage to be himself, I don’t feel half bad.”

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed.” He pointed to his leg. “But I do have some problems with liquor.” She giggled into his side. “Afraid that… I’m much calmer than I used to be.”

Her laughter faded away. “You drank the worst right afterward… God, and the boys so young.”

“I wasn’t a good father but… Dean… Dean already knows his way around diapers and cribs and feeding times.” John felt his mouth curl downward. “He’s gonna make a great father someday… if he can figure out what makes a good husband.”

“Were you a good husband?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“I’ll bet you were. You’re a good listener.” She sighed heavily. “I’d like to think that I was a good wife.” John blinked but didn’t ask. “It was a very short marriage.”

“Parker’s not your name?”

“It is… I never had my name changed.” She sat up straight, letting his arm fall off her shoulder. “There was no time.”

“He pass away?”

“No but… we couldn’t even stand to look at each other anymore.” She shrugged. “We were too young. Grew up too fast. Then… when things fell apart, it was just better to go our separate ways.” She nudged him gently. “I told Dean, already.”

“So, you think he trumped up his relationship with Cassie?” John whistled low. “It looks cut and dried but… I know my son and I know what he was like coming out of that… I… Didn’t give him much credit on that score. My son doesn’t follow the rules because he never knew them. He didn’t know that you can’t fall in love for two weeks. I’m not saying it wasn’t love. I’m just saying, he didn’t know how to do that. He still might not. He’s not much used to dating.”

“That might be why I like him so much. I dated my husband through much of high school. It was complicated but it was my version of normal. Dean… just… doesn’t sugarcoat anything.” She laughed low in her throat. “He charms and lies but when he’s doing neither, he just… does what he feels. He’s simple that way. Uncomplicated.”

“Don’t let him fool you. He’s plenty complicated. Just hides it better than most.”

The smile on her face spoke volumes of her knowledge to that effect. No, Liz was not a naïve girl. Willfully blind sometimes? Sure. “Is it really okay for me to cohabitate with you two?”

“Darlin’, you’re spoiling me rotten. I’m gonna get this thing off and I’m not going to remember how to feed myself. If it makes it easier for you to do that, fine. If it means we split the room rent to make it cheaper all around, even better.”

“You’re so sweet.” She rolled her eyes and kissed his temple. “I’m gonna go find him. He’s probably under the hood of the car.”

John nodded to himself. He managed a whole conversation without feeling like a horny teenager. Felt nice. Maybe because he’d been forced to think of Mary. They’d had so many plans. They had wanted one more child. A daughter. A sister for their boys to look after. Sammy would have liked having a sister to pick on.

TBC

[DMartinez]

Part 6

Four weeks. Four weeks of sharing quarters with Dean and Liz. Or DeanandLiz as John thought of them in his head. When Dean wasn’t gone out on little hunts or out scamming some cash, the two of them were inseparable. Liz was smart. John never thought she was dumb but they had several long debates on theology and spiritualism that he wouldn’t soon forget.

The downside was that John was starting to feel normal. Meals at regular intervals, routines that can only be established while sitting still. Thoughts about staying still crept into his head. Doubts about the life he was leading. Thoughts that maybe Sammy had been right to leave.

A person could live out of a motel and still live like a person. Proven by Liz’s spaghetti on Wednesday nights. Noodles boiled on a hot plate, sauce warmed in the microwave with breadsticks made in a toaster oven. Dinner eaten around the small table in the corner of the room. Friday night monster movies, courtesy of the local TV station, and microwave popcorn. Sunday nights were for studying. Dean and John read newspapers and read books on lore. Liz read books on physics and biology.

Dean woke at five, had his shower, then got John up to take his turn in the bathroom. Around eight, Liz was up and getting dressed for work. She took her showers at night, sometimes with or without Dean. Sometimes they were kind enough to take their sexual escapades outside the room where John couldn’t hear them over the roar of the shower.

Boredom and drugs only lasted so long. John focused on building his strength where he could. Booze was out so long as the drugs were on. The clarity was rare. Sit-ups, arm curls, cross-legged push-ups and one-sided abductors. Four times a day because he was often that bored.

Then came the phone call. John picked it up because he had nothing better to do. “Yeah.”

“John, good to hear you’re alive.”

“Bobby.” John nodded though the man couldn’t see it.

“Seeing the regular bunch of activity, which is a rarity with you and Dean on the warpath. What’s going on?”

John could laugh at that. He and Dean had cleared a good many towns of ghosts and monsters since Sam had run off. It had shown how much they had been affected by his absence. “I had myself a spill. I’m laid up.”

“Was it a werewolf?”

“No, the beast came in a bottle.”

“John.” John could practically see the older man roll his eyes. “That boy looking after you?”

“Yeah. Been about six weeks sitting still. Dean and his girl are doing a good job of making me lazy.”

“Six weeks and Dean’s got a regular girl?”

“Been here for seven, Bobby. Dean had that girl inside the first day.”

“Well, hate to bust up the party but I could use your eyes and your boy’s younger body to help me through this case. You up for traveling?”

“I could use the hunt. Don’t know if I can drag Dean away, though.”

“Short thing but… I ain’t as young as I used to be and I need the help.”

“Sure thing, Bobby. Be a day or two til we get there.”

John set the phone down and reached for his crutches. He was just pulling himself to his feet when the door opened to admit the two in question. Dean stopped talking and stared at his father before setting down a bag of groceries. “Dad?”

“Bobby called. Needs our help.” John grabbed his duffel and started shoving his clothes into it.

“Yeah, sure.” Dean nodded and shot a look at Liz. “How long?”

“Don’t know yet. Bobby’s thinking it’s a short thing but he needs your help.”

“Mine?” Dean tilted his head at his father.

“You’re a hell of a lot younger than either of us and you’re the one of us without a busted leg.”

“What kind of thing is this?” Liz interrupted, her face wary.

“Just a job.” Dean shrugged at her. “Be back soon. Inside of a week.”

“Oh. Okay.” She relaxed and began unpacking the groceries. “Like last week, then… just farther out.”

“Right.” Dean nodded to her.

“You guys pack. I’ll… get dinner and some stuff for the road.” Liz nodded to herself.

--

John didn’t much like riding in the back seat. He hadn’t much of a choice with his leg in the brace. Dean got to drive, which always pleased Dean, and pick the music, which was blaring into John’s left ear at the moment. He was beginning to have a whole new appreciation for Sam’s tolerance of the backseat. Not that the boy was tolerating anything much these days.

Dean drummed on the steering wheel, speeding along the highway. From what John could tell, it was a good twenty miles over the speed limit. “Eager to get to the job?”

Dean stuttered over the words. “Um… sure.”

“Okay, just keep an eye out for the cops. I’m taking a nap.”

--

Bobby opened the door as they pulled in. John waved from his seat. Bobby waved a cup of coffee back at them and nodded to the door. It took a few minutes for John to get his crutches situated but somehow managed to get inside the house for a late breakfast. John hobbled in just ahead of Dean, who bore both their bags.

“Dean, boy, you sprout another inch?”

“I wish.” Dean rolled his eyes and set the bags down by the stove so that he could steal a slice of bacon before getting his father situated at the table. Bobby asked the same question every time he saw the older Winchester boy.

“John, just what in the hell did the beast do to you?” Bobby laughed at his friend.

“Well, see, Dad started drinking and didn’t stop for a really long time. Forgot to mention he’d bruised some internal organs which didn’t play well with the booze. Then he tried to walk down a set of stairs under the influence.” Dean glared at his father, who just shrugged in response. “So, he’s got three months of the brace and four pins in his leg… two plates?”

“Sounds about right.” John nodded. “So, I got stupid. Been known to happen from time to time.”

“Stupid is right. Liz thought you were dead.” Dean cut himself off and stood to get himself a cup of coffee.

“Liz is the girl?” Bobby asked John as he slid a plate under John’s nose.

“Yep.” John nodded.

“She legal?”

“Yeah.” John nodded with a laugh. No one wanted to relive Tampa, ever. “She’s the same age as…. She’s 21.”

Bobby’s eyes flicked from John to Dean and then landed on John. “So you’re not even saying his name anymore?”

“He still talks about him.” Dean all but whispered from the other side of the kitchen. “Sam’s not answering his phone anymore though.”

“Dean would know more about that than me.” John wished he didn’t have his leg in a brace. He wanted to walk.

“Three months, huh.” Bobby grunted.

“Halfway there. Then they gotta take the plates out. That’s some pain I’m not looking forward to.” John started eating, more to fill his mouth than because he was hungry. “So, we’re here. What’s this hunt about?”

--

Bobby sat in the truck with John. They monitored Dean’s progress through the valley on foot. He was going to get the jump on the thing. John could feel Bobby’s eyes on him. “What?”

“Dean’s really sweet on this girl?”

“It was bound to happen.”

“Does she know what he does with his time?” Bobby took a swig from his flask and passed it on to John, who tipped it back without a thought to his meds.

“Some of it. She knows he hustles, she knows he travels. Hell, he’s been on three hunts in the last month. She don’t know why he really ran off. He just told her he was hustling a little further out. Came back with enough green to prove the worth of it.” John tipped the flask back again before passing it back.

“You think he’s gonna keep her?”

“Keep her.” John snorted. He thought of her smile and the way her eyes lit up when someone else was talking about something she was interested in but knew nothing about. “He moved her into the room with us.”

“Balls of steel, that one.”

“She’s cooking and cleaning and I’ll be damned if I can get a burger anymore cause she’s watching my diet for me.” John cleared his throat. “Dean near killed us on the way over here. He hasn’t said but he figures that if he drives fast enough, gets the job done fast enough, we’ll be back sooner than he promised.”

“So, he’s hooked on her, huh?”

“She can cook. She cleans. She can keep a budget and save some cash. Looks like an angel, curses like a sailor when provoked. They keep each other on their toes.”

“Sounds like it.” Bobby took another pull on his flask. “You think he’ll let her in on all this?”

“I hope not.” John thought about all the conversations on the bench outside. The way her eyes would focus on something that wasn’t there. “I don’t know what that girl’s seen but she can’t unsee it. She might already know but if she doesn’t, I hope he never has to tell her.”

“You sweet on her, too?”

It was just a joke but it hit too close to home for John to let it slide by. “Girl does everything but give me a sponge bath.” Then he let himself relax. “She’s good for him… so far.”

“When are you gonna let that boy go, John?”

“You think I haven’t tried?” John met Bobby’s eyes for the first time since they’d met up. “I need him, Bobby, and he’s holding on just as tight.”

“This thing with the girl works out, then you let him go. You hear me? Dean’s been a good boy all his life. He’s a good man and he’s never gonna know that if you don’t let him prove it to himself.”

“He will. Someday.”

TBC

[DMartinez]

Part 7

Bobby jerked his thumb at Dean’s back. John glanced up to find that Dean had pulled the cord as far as it would go from Bobby’s phone and hadn’t quite managed to exit the room with the receiver. “He’s in serious trouble.”

“She’s had him twisted around since day one.”

“You just let him get pussy whipped?” Bobby poured them both a cup of coffee.

“It’s been highly entertaining.” John grinned into his cup. “If it don’t last, it’s still something I can look back on and be glad I did something so stupid as fall down a staircase in the middle of the afternoon.”

The day wore on in silence aside from the rumble of Dean’s voice on the phone. Bobby stared at John. “What are you hunting John?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, there’s a lie.”

“What’s with you, Bobby?”

“You look… preoccupied in the scary way.”

“You’re like a woman with the henpecking.”

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It’s a very strange way to live.”

“I ever tell you that you pulled me from the brink, John?”

“How’s that?”

“That boy in there and that boy you don’t talk about. I never saw… laughter in our world until them.”

“The boy in there is a nut job.”

“Undisputed.”

“Liz said something to me the other day. I measure my happiness by whether I judge Dean’s happiness to be appropriate.”

“Appropriate.” Bobby snorted at his friend. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Never mind.”

“John…”

“I didn’t do right by the boys. By Dean in particular. Sometimes he manages to be a normal man with normal wants and needs and when he’s…” John took a breath. “Spending his Sunday sitting on the floor with a newspaper and helping Liz cook breakfast, I don’t feel like such an asshole.”

Bobby only nodded and refilled both their cups. “Yeah. I hear you.”

“We have spaghetti night, Bobby. When was the last time you had spaghetti night?”

“1972. Winter. Maybe December, possibly January. Probably January.”

“Wouldn’t that be 1973?”

“Nope. Couldn’t’ve been any later than ’72.” Bobby took a long sip. “You gonna hang up your hat?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

--

John sat on the porch with Rumsfeld draped across his lap. He knew Dean was itching to get going but his leg was really throbbing and he needed a refill. They’d phoned it in but the pharmacist was taking his sweet time stocking the damned things.

“So, you got a girl to call your own, huh.” Bobby’s voice drifted out of the open garage.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“She puts up with you.”

“Yeah.” Dean’s laugh made John smile.

“Your daddy seems to like her.”

“Yeah, he does and Dad doesn’t like anybody. She’s just… She doesn’t put up with his shit… Not that he’s been giving anybody shit, exactly.” There was a long silence. “He tell you anything?”

“Your daddy? No.”

“Come on, Bobby. He had to have told you something. He’s like… having a mid-life crisis or something.”

“Dean. The man misses his son. He’s laid up. You got a girl. He’s just… thinking things over.”

“What things?”

“Like whether or not he can keeping going the way he has been. He’s getting up there. Lived longer than a lot of hunters who been in the game a lot longer.”

“Liz said something like that last week.”

“She sounds like a smart girl.”

“She is… could have gone to college.”

“She didn’t?”

“She got married to some guy. High school sweetheart.”

“How’d that go bad?”

“Lots of things. He cheated on her in high school once. Got a girl pregnant. Never sees the kid.”

“Sounds like a jerk.”

“Way I understand it, he wasn’t given an option. She’s not mad at him, I guess.”

“So… why is she with you?”

“You’re funny.” Dean cleared his throat. “We just… kind of… clicked, I guess. She’s smart and she doesn’t put me down for not being smart.”

“You’re smart, Dean.”

“Shut up.”

“Your daddy told me about the cartridges you came up with few months back. It works damn well. You could’ve been an engineer or something.”

“Anyway.” John could hear the blush in Dean’s voice. That boy never could take a compliment if it wasn’t on his looks. “So, she treats me like we’re the same… She don’t feel sorry for me. She don’t take my bullshit. She actually likes Dad.” Dean cleared his throat. “You ever meet a girl who was… funny about birth control?”

“Funny how?”

“Obsessive.”

“Can’t say I have.”

“I think… I think she… never mind.”

“You think she’s got a kid somewhere?”

“No. I think she would have told me if she did… I think she was gonna have a kid once. She gets… funny if she sees babies and if she hears someone talking about kids. That’s when she gets… funny about the birth control.”

“You looking to have kids with her?”

“No.” Dean said too quickly. “I mean… no.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

“I just… can tell she’s upset.”

“Well, then, at least you’ve got a clue. Men have been hanged for less.”

“You know… when Dad first broke his leg… he was babbling shit. It was probably pain and malnutrition and blood loss but he was going on about Sammy needed him and I needed to sit still and the woods was wrong. I don’t know about any of that. But he comes to and the first thing out of his mouth was something vulgar. Normally, I’d just give it to him but… Liz was sitting right there and that’s what he don’t do. He’s not vulgar with the ladies… unless it’s June Weathers.” The two of them had a laugh at that. John even managed a smirk at that. June Weathers was the furthest thing from a lady. “Then he sends her out to get the doc and he’s… talking about… grandkids and getting me and Sammy out of the life.”

“He ain’t the only one want that for you boys.”

“But this is Dad. He don’t talk like that. He… he’s scaring me, Bobby. He’s been sending me on hunts alone. He never does that. The last time he was laid up, we still did it together. He had to wait in the car but he was there… He just… sends me out. Good little soldier to take out the big evil.”

“He’s getting on, Dean.”

“No and it’s… other things. I think he’s got a crush on someone but I haven’t figured out who, yet. He’s been weird.”

“Your daddy don’t talk much. It’s probably just his mortality setting in. We all go through it.”

“You?”

“I ain’t always lonely, boy.”

The phone rang, truncating the conversation and sending Dean out to the porch. “Let’s get on the road, Dad. Meds are ready.”

--

John pretended to sleep and Dean didn’t even pretend to read posted speed limits. Then the phone rang. “I’m on my way.” Silence. “Hey, man… no… no… I just thought you were someone else… nah, he’s right here… he’s out. He’s all busted up-… Man, you gotta cut him some slack.” The familiar sound of frustrated Dean pounding the steering wheel. “Sammy, you’re the one who’s ripping this family apart, not Dad… Who the fuck cares? Not me… Look, just keep on being a little frat punk ass and don’t call unless you actually want to work on the whole family issue.”

Of course, Dean was going to stew in his own juices for a bit. John had his own thoughts. It’d been four months and finally Sam was reaching out. God, he missed that kid. Always mouthing off and asking questions and… helping out in a pinch and damn if the kid didn’t think outside the box in all the right ways. It took twenty minutes for John to realize that he’d stopped pretending to sleep and Dean knew it. “How’d he sound, Dean?”

“Annoying, like always.” Dean sniffed. “He doesn’t belong out there.”

“He made his choice.”

“Why’d you let him leave us?”

“Couldn’t exactly ground him, could I.”

“You could have kicked his ass into traction… or let me do it.”

“He’ll get tired of it.”

“Quit it.” Dean bit out. “Just stop it. He’s not coming back.” Dean’s foot fell off the gas and the car slowed to a stop on the shoulder of some unmarked road. “He hates us. He hates this life.”

There was nothing he could say to make Dean feel better. “Dean… Sam’s a grown man. He’s got to live his life. Make his own mistakes.”

“It was a mistake. He should have never left us.”

There was nothing to say to that. John felt the same way. “Come on. Get back on the road. Your girl is waiting.”

Dean waited two beats, then put his foot on the gas. He didn’t let up or say a word until the motel was in view. Dean did a loop around the block then settled into the far side of the parking lot. John started moving when Dean didn’t. Didn’t bother with his duffel. Dragged his sorry ass up the stairs on his crutches and nodded to Liz when he made it to the room. She stared past him and when Dean didn’t follow, she stood up to look out the window. “Where is he?”

“Sulking.”

“Did everything go okay?”

“It all went as expected. Dean’s in a mood. I think you should… fix him.”

Liz stared at him for a long moment. She crossed the room and picked up the phone. “Hey Missy? … Sorry Mel… Look, I know I said I’d work tonight… Wait, wait… I’ll pull a double tomorrow.” She rolled her eyes. “Like you weren’t just gonna sleep anyways.” She plopped the phone down, fixed John’s pillows and planted a messy kiss on his forehead. She gripped his chin. “Leftovers in the mini-fridge. Clean clothes in the TV stand. Call if you need us or else I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Get out of here.” John jerked his head at the open door. The second she was gone, he got up to find the bottle he’d left behind. Under the nightstand? No. Under the sink. There. Guilt was best drowned with Jack and Jim.

--

“He’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“He’s got a pulse. Fast. He’s drunk.” Clatter of pill bottles. Clink of booze bottles. “And high. How fucking stupid.”

“Dean.”

“He knows better and… fuck… I didn’t follow him up.” Creak of mattress springs. “Dad?” He couldn’t talk. “Dad, wake up. Come on. Time for a shower.” Lifted up into the air. Dragging along. Cold. Dammit. “Come on, Dad. Come on. Shit.”

“Let me help.”

“Just… watch his leg.”

“John? Can you hear me? It’s Liz.”

“He’s… so fucked up. When he comes to, I’m kicking his ass.”

Cold. Wet. Thirsty.

“Here’s some water. Sip it. That’s good, John. Slow.” Cool. Soothing. “How many did he take?”

“Two at Bobby’s. Two after… my phone rang.” Rattle. Rattle. “Shit. He took four more.” Sniffles. “He’s never done this. You gotta believe me.”

“It’ll be okay, Dean. I promise. We can do this.” Cool hands.

“Liz, quick. He’s gonna throw up.”

Hot. Pressure. No Air. Relief.

“Ok, John. Rinse. Spit. Again. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Ok, Dad, gonna brush those teeth.” Flushing toilet. Fluoride. “Alright. Alright.” Cool water. “Okay, spit. Good. Good. Sit back down.” Cold water. “What are you doing?”

“Helping.” Soft and warm. Firm grips. Small hands.

“Holy shit, Liz, what the hell?”

“Be still, John. Be still. I’m gonna help you. Just be still.”

“Liz?” Heavy breathing. Surround sound. “Are you glowing?”

TBC

[DMartinez]

Part 8

John woke up in dry clothes, beneath the sheets of his bed. His eyes didn’t cooperate at first but he woke without even a hint of a hangover. When he turned his head, he could see the two of them, in their clothes, over the covers, both of them facing him, both of them asleep. From the creases in their foreheads, it wasn’t an easy sleep. Sitting up, John expected the room to spin. It didn’t. A pitcher of room temperature water sat next to his bed, he gratefully gulped a glassful.

Dean woke first and carefully eased off the bed behind Liz. He was quiet as he checked his father’s pulse, his eyes and damn if the tears in his eyes didn’t just kill John. Tears filling his own eyes, he hugged his first born. John found his tongue first. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do that to me. What the hell is going on with you?” Dean’s voice was thick with tears. “Don’t leave me alone, Dad. Don’t do it.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t… I wasn’t thinking.”

“Yeah you were. Too much. Just like I was.” Dean took a deep breath and let go slowly. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up and show Liz we don’t need her to hover today.”

John stared at his boy. Eyes red, jaw set. Pain etched across his face. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

“I know.”

“I won’t.”

“I know.”

“Dean…” John gripped his son’s shoulder. Met those eyes and couldn’t find the words. “Help me shave off this soup catcher? It smells like vomit.”

Dean coughed out a laugh. “Yeah, sure thing.”

They chatted idly while they washed up, John leaning on Dean because the bathroom was so small. Let Dean do all the shaving. Remembered when Dean was ten or so and had helped when John had sprained his wrist. Careful, smooth strokes. “How long you want these sideburns?”

“How long do you want to live?”

Dean smirked a little and cut them at the base of his father’s ear. “Dude, you date yourself so much.”

“Well, this would be a Kodak moment if it weren’t for the rollercoaster of the night.” Liz had her arms crossed in the doorway.

“Go back to bed, Liz.” Dean murmured as he examined his work.

“No. I need to yell at someone and I’ve got you both trapped.” She shoved her hair off her face. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. I don’t care why. I don’t care how but you will deal with your issues some other way. I flushed the pills since you can’t keep yourself out of the bottle. If your leg hurts. Tough. I’m going out for pancakes and neither of you are invited.”

Dean raised an eyebrow and watched her go. “Glad I didn’t piss her off. Sucks to be you, today.”

“And every day.”

“Not every day. Remember that werewolf when I was a kid? That was an awesome day to be you.”

“All I remember was a creaking knee that gave away our position, nearly getting clawed up and spending an hour getting that smell off my skin.”

Dean stared at his father as if seeing him for the first time. “Dad… you were awesome. It came right at you and you just… fired at it… and it fell. Boom. Just like that. Effortless.”

“I wish.”

--

John forced himself to breathe. Gripped each end of his pillow behind his head. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Gritting his teeth, he sucked in air through his nose. Liz slid her hands along his thigh. “Just relax, John. Don’t think about the pain. Don’t think about a drink. Just relax. What relaxes you?”

“Recite firearm maintenance.” Dean suggested from where he was pacing the room like a caged animal.

“Dean.” Liz rolled her eyes but kept up the gentle massage.

“Roll of tape will keep dirt and snow from the inside of the barrel. Permanent marker on a spare scope helps keep sites through drops and falls on a hunt.” John gritted out between clenched teeth. “Oil rag never replaces a good brush. Oil rag swipe is better than no swipe. 90 clean is always better than 100 dirty.”

Then the pain began to ebb away. Liz’s hands rubbed harder but the pain was less. Her hands warmed his skin, his flesh, his bone against the cool steel of the plates and pins. Breathing easier, John really relaxed. “Field strip, brush, wipe; lube grit, grime or residue; reassemble; check the action. Clean the chamber, the bore. Copper solvent, bore guide, graphite rods, bench vise.”

“Get all the nooks and crannies.” Dean finished for him as he sat down.

Liz slowed her rubbing, his knee tucked under her arm. “Just breathe, John. Nice and slow. Keep thinking about guns if that calms you down.”

Then his leg began to tingle the slightest bit. Dean cleared his throat. Liz’s head turned to look at him, her hands slowing, lessening the pressure. “Better, Dad?”

“Yeah, thanks, Liz.” John nodded as she began strapping his brace back into place. Lack of pain allowed John to lay back and have his first coherent thought in about a day. He nearly missed the flurry of murmured words which sounded suspiciously like an argument. He had missed something but he wasn’t sure who would be the one to tell him what was going on.

When he finally turned his head, they were sitting still and close, heads bowed together, noses touching but not very relaxed or romantic. Watched the blatant ownership of Dean’s hands where one was tangled in her hair and the other gripped the base of her neck. Her hands fisted in his shirt and jeans. Neither letting go. Clinging without restraining. John shut his eyes.

--

John hobbled his way back into the room to find a lesson going on. Liz sat between Dean’s legs, his hands guiding hers to fit the pieces of a pistol together. Dean’s voice was low and steady. No come-ons or debauchery. Serious words about the pistol they were handling. “Never point a gun at someone until you plan to kill them. Loaded or not, a gun is a weapon.”

“With no bullet in the chamber?”

“If the other person has a gun and you aim a gun at them, they will shoot. They’re not going to ask if yours is loaded.” He chided gently.

John sat across from them to monitor Dean’s teaching methods and Liz’s progress. Their fingers were stained with oil. Just as Liz put the pistol together with only the slightest of prompts, her phone rang. Three heads whipped around to stare at it. Liz tilted her head and rose to pick it up, leaving the gun on the table. “Hello?”

Dean’s posture straightened when hers did. Then her shoulders hunched and Dean rose so fast, John felt a draft. “Liz?”

“Just a sec,” Liz called over her shoulder. “No… don’t… Just don’t… Maria, I can’t… It’s none of your business and it’s really not his… Fine… Just for a minute… No, I’m in a different room, now… I’ll meet you in the lot.” She turned as she hit the end button; her hands raised, she approached Dean. “It’s my ex. He needs to tell me something. I’ll be a minute. It’s not a big deal.”

“Want me to come down?”

“No.” She reached up to kiss his lips. “I’m coming back. Five minutes, tops. I’ll hold him to it.” Then she was gone. Dean stood glued to the spot. John took a minute to get his crutches together then opened the door to peer over the railing. Dean was still rooted to the spot.

John watched the lot. A Chevelle had parked behind the Impala. Two different worlds of Chevy with two different worlds of drivers. A tall, dark man climbed out and shoved his hands in his pockets as Liz slowed near the nose of the car. They didn’t hug or touch, just stared at each other for a long moment. He leaned against the side of the car and said something that made her cross her arms. Liz said something that made him stiffen. Then she shook her head and looked away. She rolled her head and seemed to listen to someone that John couldn’t see. She moved to lean into the car to hear better and be damned if that man didn’t check out Liz’s ass.

“What? What do you see?” Dean hadn’t moved and that was probably a good idea.

“Just talking so far.” John called back.

“What’s he look like?”

So John took a good long moment to gauge the man who had once captured Liz’s heart. “Six foot. Black hair. Needs a haircut. Spends too much time at the gym. Leather jacket, but new and shiny.”

“Pussy.” Dean muttered to himself and relaxed slightly. “What’s he drive?”

“Chevelle. ’72. Powder Blue, maybe Metallic glaze. Two door. Soft top. Convertible.”

“Seriously?” Dean started for the door but changed his mind and took a step back. “Powder blue? Has he no respect for his car?” Dean chewed that over for a moment. “Does he at least have the black stripes?”

“Not a one.” John shook his head. “I think he thinks he’s got a GTX.”

“What’s going on down there?”

“Just talk from the look of it.” John watched the body language.

Liz’s posture relaxed and an actual smile graced her face. It faded a bit as she straightened. Her ex’s eyes shifted everywhere but returned to her. His eyes flicked up to John, held, and then back to Liz. They exchanged a few words. Then Liz straightened and stiffened, addressing someone in the car. A blonde head popped out and Liz shook her head. There was more discussion before the driver’s seat was folded forward and a baby was thrust into Liz’s arms. John watched the secure way that Liz held the baby against her body. The awe that crept across her face. The sadness. Then he looked at the ex. Who wasn’t looking at all.

She kissed the baby’s head and handed it back. There was a look exchanged with her ex before Liz began backing away from the car. Liz disappeared out of view. The ex climbed into the car. It drove away but Liz still hadn’t emerged from the staircase. “Dean, go get your girl.”

Dean didn’t have to be told twice. It was a good twenty minutes before they returned to the room with a pair of reddened brown eyes and a pair of concerned green ones. That night, John didn’t drink though he needed it. Just listened to the night with its intermittent phrases of “you sure you’re okay?” and “I will be.”

TBC

[DMartinez]

Part 9

John stretched his legs and went for a long walk. The plates were still in his leg. He was going to have to either get used to the feeling of metal inside his body or risk the surgery to have them taken out. It was seeming like the latter. The nights had begun to cool. The night had descended while he was out. Figuring it was time to head in, John cut across the parking lot. He would have kept going had he not seen the movement out of his periphery. There it was again. The Impala was moving. Rocking, actually.

He knew better. He did. It didn’t stop him from turning to look. From peering into the fogged up windows. For blessing the car that turned up the road and allowed him the view of that silhouette. From watching a second too long. In the end, he was too slow to move on.

The door opened and a cloud of steam escaped into the darkening night. Liz stumbled out and gasped. John kept walking but he was too near the car. Dean laughed and said something in a low voice. Liz shrieked and began slapping him. “Dean! You’re a jerk!”

John only turned when he had to take the stairs up. Saw them in each other’s arms the way every young couple was at some point. When it’s still new enough. When nothing matters more. When it’s gonna last forever. Before it stops lasting forever.

Looking for something, anything, to do. John began building a sandwich for his belated dinner. He’d left the door open because it’d become a habit. When the trio was out and about the motel, the door was open. Inviting. Like a dorm room. They were the only ones on this end of the motel which was good because voices carried.

“Because… I can’t…”

“I’ve said it.”

“I know… and it means something, I swear it does.” Liz’s voice was shaky.

“Come on. Just… say it.”

“I can’t.” She pleaded. “I live every day… like it’s our last.”

“So do I.”

“No, you don’t. You give and you give and I love that about you but I’m always afraid that when I wake up… I’ll be alone and you’ll be gone and… if I say it… it’ll hurt that much more.”

“That’s why I said it. I don’t want to not have said it if I have to leave.” Dean’s voice didn’t shake at all. It made guilt slam down into John’s gut all the harder.

“What if you were gonna stay forever?”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to say it. This is good. The way it is. It feels good. If I knew I was gonna stay… I’d probably fuck this up.”

“Why don’t you stay? You could get a job. We could rent that house down on Mapleleaf.”

“Get married and have two-point-five kids? Get a dog and a down payment?”

“Don’t make fun.”

“Build a guest house and stick Dad in it.”

“Dean.” She tsked him.

“We’d have to hobble him permanently or he’d run off all the time.”

“Dean.” There was a long silence. “It’s just that… I don’t want anything bad to happen to you and fighting these… evil things… just… Stay here.”

“What incentive do I get?”

“You’re just evading the question.”

“Come on. Tell me.”

“I love you, Dean. I do… but I don’t think that I get to keep you.”

“See, was that so hard?”

“Yes, it was.”

John stood there with the mustard in one hand and the bread in the other and suddenly felt ill. Abandoning his meal, he brushed past them to escape into the world. He heard them call after him but he didn’t really hear them. They were just… a world away. Then John found himself at a pay phone, listening for the ring. Waited for the greeting. “Care to hear my confession, padre?”

“John… where are you?”

“Nowhere special.”

“Sam’s worried.”

“Sam’s not trying too hard to find us. Hasn’t called me once. He called Dean. The boy still knows our numbers.” John took a deep breath. “Jim… I’m walking the edge.”

“John, where are you?”

“Don’t worry about it, Jim.”

“John.” A heavy and knowing sigh. “What edge are you walking?”

“Sanity? Morality? Good. Evil. Something like that.”

“How’s Dean?”

“Fine. He’s fine.”

“John, are you okay?”

“I’m good. I’m fine.”

“Okay. Take care of each other and if you actually feel like talking, you know where my door is.”

“Jim.”

“John.”

“I’m okay. Just… walking a fine line.”

“Keep in touch, John. Sam’s not taking anyone’s calls so… Keep in touch.”

John set the phone on the receiver long after the line had disconnected. He knew Dean was waiting. Probably about ten feet away. “I haven’t been drinking.”

“I didn’t say anything. I wouldn’t.” Dean swore.

“My sources are drying up. I need to get on the road again.”

Thought he saw Dean flinch out of the corner of his eye but ignored it. Dean straightened and cleared his throat. “I’ll call around and see if anyone needs help.”

--

John didn’t know what Liz had been told but the way Dean spoke so freely in front of her in the last couple of hours said that she knew a lot more than she had when she had first started up with Dean. Free enough that John had no problem doing a weapons’ check with Liz doing her toenails on the next bed. It was hard not to notice. Wearing her uniform, foot propped up on the bed, hunched over like that. Also hard not to notice the singular focus on painting each nail just the right way. Clear. Why bother if it was clear? John waited until Dean had gone to refill some of their supplies to speak up.

Door open, blue sky as far as the eye could see over the Catskills. John stared off into the distance. Liz just waited with him. “When Mary died… Dean stopped talking. Just… shut down and no one and nothing could make him speak. Sometimes, he still does that. Shuts down for a day or so.”

“I guess so.” John nodded to her although Dean hadn’t done it since they had arrived in the little town.

“Six months, I waited for him to start talking again. Started thinking I was doing something wrong if he wasn’t talking to me. Tell the truth, I probably was. I didn’t handle her death well. Went about everything all wrong.” John stared into the blue, wishing to go blind. “We were on the side of the road. The car had overheated. Sammy was asleep in the backseat. I had my head under the hood. Dean was playing in the dirt. The radio on.”

Liz waited but John seemed to have gotten lost in the moment. “John?”

“Mary hated my music. Just loathed it… except for one song.”

“What’s that?”

“All My Love. Led Zeppelin.”

“Really.”

“She used to walk around humming it. Mostly when she was putting Dean to sleep.” John smiled to himself. “So, that day, I was mad cause it was hot out and Dean was hungry, I assumed, and the car was steaming. That song came on the radio and Dean started singing it. “All of my love” were his first words in six months.” John could feel the wet in his eyes seeping out. “Six months I was waiting for ‘Daddy, I’m hungry’ or ‘Daddy, take me home’ and my little boy starts singing Zeppelin while he’s playing in the dirt. I figured he’d be a water fall of speech after that but he… he just didn’t start talking. I guess the one thing that never changed was the music. No matter where we were, there was always a radio that always played Led Zeppelin and they always got around to All My Love. I did what I could to encourage it.”

“So you’re to blame for his classic rock fetish.” She teased lightly.

“It was the part of his mother that he could hold on to. It was the only sound he was making and after that silence, I needed to hear his voice. To know that he was still with me. I bought In Through the Out Door on cassette and I played it over and over for him. He would sit in the backseat with Sammy and sing softly. I got more tapes and he kept singing.”

“When did he start talking?”

“When Sammy started walking.” He laughed. “He had to run and tell me.”

Liz did the math in her head. “Sam was a late bloomer?”

“My fault. Too much riding in the car and not enough time spent cruising the motel rooms. I had heard that kids that walk late do everything else late… not Sammy.” John felt the tears prick his eyes because he knew what he was doing to Dean and there was not a single good reason for him to do it. “Sammy was a happy baby. Even given our circumstances and growing up without Mary. It was when he reached that age when he was old enough to know better that he stopped being my happy boy.”

“What about Dean?”

“Dean was always happiest when he had us by his side, which was pretty much his whole life.” John turned his face to look at her. “I wasn’t surprised when he moved you in. I was surprised at how fast he became attached to you.”

“Why? I already know he’s a man-whore but…” She trailed off at the look on his face. “What?”

“You’re easy to love, Liz. You’re very open. Dean’s not. He actively hides from things he’s afraid of. You scare him in ways he doesn’t know about and when he realizes it, he’s going to break your heart.”

Her jaw set and she looked away. “I’m not as easy to love as I used to be. Dean and I have no illusions about each other.”

“I can’t guarantee that we’re coming back.”

“I know.” She nodded. “I’ve already made arrangements. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.” She stood, setting her nail polish aside. “But sometimes I think you don’t know your son at all.” She walked off muttering about John. “Talking to me like I’m some lovesick teenager. Like Dean doesn’t talk to me. Like either of them actually talk to each other. Men make me sick.”

--

John lowered the radio. Dean wasn’t asleep. He wasn’t talking. Wasn’t chatting. Wasn’t even singing along with the radio. Not even when All My Love came on. That’s when John knew he was in for it. Dean was not going to yell or talk about it. Dean was going to shut down until he felt better. However long that was. John was just going to have to ride it out.

--

Caleb glanced back at Dean, then looked to John. He side-stepped his way across the room to John’s side. “What’s with him? Normally I’d’ve heard about six tales of loose women and bar brawls from him whether I’d asked to hear them or not.”

“He ain’t been in a bar brawl in months.” John shrugged.

“Witch get his tongue?”

“The boy misses… his brother.” John cut Caleb a look. “Leave him be. He’ll come round soon enough.”

The two older men watched over their shoulders as Dean methodically stripped and cleaned every gun on the table. The silence was palpable. John felt an “I told you so” from hundreds of miles away.

When John was through with the research, they had to wait a day to start the hunt. Dean disappeared that night and returned at dawn reeking of booze… and talking like he never stopped. “This one chick… she was stacked to… I mean… just… overflowing that shirt and… she wanted me to demonstrate my… very awesome talents with my tongue.”

John looked up when Dean halted his tale. Caleb was bored but that silence made the man straighten and pay attention. John wanted to tell Dean to go on just to fill the silence. The look in those green eyes halted his tongue and made him want to dump Dean off in the Catskills and forget about him. “I wanted to. I tried. I couldn’t get it up. Is that normal for a man my age?” Dean’s green eyes accused his father. John felt every word that Dean didn’t say. “Maybe I was drunk. Too drunk?”

“It happens.” Caleb shrugged. “You drinking Tequila? That does it to me from time to time.”

“Stick to whiskey.” John advised and pointed to the bed. “Sleep it off. We got work tonight.”

“Yessir.” Dean slurred. He barely got his boots off before he hit the bed and he was passed out before he did.

John didn’t dare look at Caleb. Could feel the younger man’s eyes burning holes in his head. John wasn’t about to admit what he had done. If Dean brought it up, he’d deal with it but… he knew that Dean never would.

TBC

[DMartinez]

Part 10

Dean cackled as he settled in the ditch. “Shit, that was awesome.”

He’d been drunk and drunker for weeks. John was fairly certain that Dean didn’t even know where they were. So, it was with great guilt that John steered the Impala while Dean slept it off. He knew where he was going even if he didn’t plan the route out. He pulled into the motel and checked in to the room they’d had before. It was vacant. He dropped his things in the room and hesitated before he walked down the walkway to the ice machine. He stared at the door for a full minute and a half before he knocked on the door. It was early and he should have waited but the guilt had been eating him up inside. It was a sleepy-eyed Liz Parker who answered the door. Her brown eyes went wide and she tried to see around him. “John, where is he?”

“In the car. Sleeping it off.” John shrugged. “Figured I’d let you know we were here so I could get some sleep and y’all could… do what you do.”

“John?” Liz stared up at him.

“I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Good to see you, Liz.” John tipped his head at her and turned to go back to his room.

“John, is he okay?” Liz started after him.

He paused at his door to look at her. “No, he’s not.”

She nodded and made her way down to the Impala without bothering to put shoes on her feet. John didn’t wait to see the reunion. He’d have to shoot himself if he watched just how much pain he’d caused his oldest son.

--

The air was too still. John had attempted to go get some lunch when he woke but when he’d passed the ice machine, the noises were just too much. They echoed in his head and he was so wrapped up in what he shouldn’t do and what he wanted to and what he needed to do. So John picked up his bottle. John packed his bag. He didn’t know where he was going but he was going without Dean.

Walking was always good and since he’d busted his leg, he’d needed to get it working again. The pins caused him pain now and again but going in for removal was just unthinkable. The bottle kept him company through most of the night. Then he’d gotten so turned around that nothing looked familiar. He’d stopped and napped to get his strength. Then he’d walked the better part of a day to end up just where he’d started. No key cause he’d left it behind. Figured Dean’d let the room go. He rented it anew and hauled his sorry ass upstairs to get cleaned up. Liz’s room didn’t have an answer when he’d knocked. Then he’d started to worry. Bought himself a fresh bottle and parked it upstairs to wait.

John watched the sun go down on the Catskills and wondered where the hell Dean was. No answer on his cell. No trace of him in town. John had made his way through half the bottle when the sun had gone its way and night set in. The light overhead didn’t work and shadows engulfed everything. He barely noticed the woman who leaned on the corner wall. She didn’t say a word, just stared out at the night with him, her face hidden from him by the shadows. Idly, he wondered how long she’d been standing there. “Nice night for a drink.”

“That it is.” He mumbled.

“Mind if I join you, handsome?”

“Do as you will.”

“I might take you up on that, stranger.”

John’s whiskey-addled brain could focus on no more than the curves of her hips as she walked over and took his bottle from him. No light to reveal her face when she faced him to hand the bottle back. What the hell? There was no harm in getting some while he could. It would take his mind off the little lady that he couldn’t have. He gripped the neck of the bottle over her hand and tugged her closer. She didn’t stumble; she swung her leg over both of his with practiced ease. She gripped the bottle and tipped it into his mouth, leaning down to catch what she spilled over his chin. Her other hand slid down his chest, flicking open buttons at random and sliding her fingers in to brush his chest and stomach.

John set the bottle aside, swallowing before letting her take his mouth. Hair fell all around his face as she settled on his lap, grinding against his crotch. John lifted his hands to her face, turning her face away so he could taste the skin of her neck. Let his hands fall down her body, over a handful of breast, curve of waist into hips, thighs to the edge of a skirt. Fingers splayed across soft ass cheeks, John let her rock against him. Let her tease him. Let her fingers do their walking across his chest, pausing to rub and flick his nipples, run along his abs and down to tear at the buttons on his jeans.

Her mouth mashed against his as her hands tugged his jeans out of the way, shoved his boxers down. Warm, soft hands on his hard flesh, pumping while he tasted her breath, her mouth, her skin. Sweat and bacon grease and the tang of perfume. John tried to pull her hips against his but she backed away, sliding off his legs and pulling away from his mouth. No warning what so ever before her hot mouth slid over the head of his cock. Fingers brushing through her hair, John let her go to it. Tipping his head back against the slide of her tongue on the underside of his erection. Moaning when the suction was just that good. Hips bucking when her lips pressed in the middle, tongue fluttering along the throbbing vein.

John tried to gently pull her off but with a shake of her head, she took him in deeper. Frowning at the movement, John could feel his balls tightening. Her hands slid around his wrists, pulling his hands out of her hair. His eyes focused on her hands around his wrists. His mind’s eye saw a pair of golden wrists inside the same pair of hands. Before he could fully process what that meant, John’s mouth hung open and he came hard into a humming mouth.

When he was able to form thoughts again, she was sitting on his lap, fingers pulling open the remainder of his shirt buttons, mouth smoothing over his neck then blowing her salty breath into his mouth before taking his mouth, letting him taste himself on her tongue. She hummed as she pulled away. “John, it’s been a long time.”

“Liz?” John’s shaking hands found their way to either side of her face.

“Of course it’s me.” She settled herself heavily against him. “Who else gets you off in public?”

Her voice had a bit of warning in it. Licking his lips to wet them, suddenly gone dry, he stared up at her. “Thought I was dreaming.”

“How much have you drunk?” She picked up the bottle to look at it. “Don’t tell me this is a new bottle.”

“Maybe.”

“John, you know you shouldn’t drink so much.” She leaned even heavier against him and capped the bottle.

He stared at her. Still unsure what he was seeing. What he was experiencing. She was different somehow and not just in what she’d just done to him. “Been calling Dean.”

Her eyes softened and she buried her face in his neck. “John, don’t drink so much.”

“Liz?”

“John, you know he’s gone. Come home. See Jack. He misses you.”

“Maybe.” He hedged.

She looked away, blinking back tears, biting her lip in a way that was no sort of good. “John, you’re the only father he’s ever known. He only knows Dean from pictures. He needs you. He’s getting to the age where my talks do nothing for him. He needs you. You were a good father, I think. You said you’d try to do it again… but I don’t see you trying and that hurts me more than you staying away for so long.” She stood and straightened her clothes. “And I’m not mad. I’m disappointed.”

John watched her disappear around the corner and wondered what in the hell had happened. Suddenly sober, he looked over the town. The tree overgrown and blocking his sight. He stumbled back to the room and called the front desk. “Sorry to bother you ma’am, but could you read me the date, including the year? Numbers get stuck in my head sometimes.” He waited as she read the numbers off. “Thank you, darlin’.”

Hanging up the phone, he picked up his bag and walked down the path to Liz’s room by the ice machine. It was vacant when he picked the lock. Looked unused. He walked out and glanced around. She had known where he was. How had she known? Then he spotted the lights on in a set of windows over a store that was closed. Hiking up the stairs, he waited outside the door but thought better and snuck a peek through the window. Liz stood over the table, rubbing her lower back while she listened to the boy at the table read out loud from a book that was laid open. She smiled and said something that John couldn’t hear. There was a roll of the head and shoulders that made John’s heart leap. That boy was every inch Dean Winchester’s son. John Winchester’s grandson. His grandson… growing up without his daddy. Dean’s ashes long salted, burned and scattered.

That’s what made the dots connect. That boy was about ten years old. Those trees had grown. Those woods. John turned and stared off into them. What did they do? Was it magic? Was it haunted? Was it Reapers or Djinn? He walked back into them. Sober and surefooted. He walked a path that he had made a year earlier. At dawn he emerged at his starting point. His true starting point. He climbed the stairs and there they were. Drinking coffee on the landing. He edged past to put his pack away and wash up. He joined them, drinking the coffee and drinking in the sight of the two of them.

John stared at her. 21 and not a line on her face; not a grey hair on her head. Not a lustful look tossed in John’s direction. Liz laughed at something Dean said and reached out to shove John away. Her hand connected with his stomach, causing him to tense up. Liz stared at him. “Wow, Papa Winchester is Papa Six-pack.”

“Dad, been working out?” Dean punched him in the arm.

“Keeping in shape.” John shrugged them off and removed Liz’s hand from his shirt. He looked at Dean’s smile. Genuine and bright and not the moody brat who had shared his space since last they had seen Liz.

“You out catting around last night?” Dean ribbed him. “Found an alley cat to howl with?”

“Dean!” Liz screeched and slugged him. “That is none of our business.”

“What? You agreed that he walked up here smelling like sex.”

“Dean!” Liz slugged him again. “Stop it. That’s inappropriate.”

John felt his face turning red. He sipped his coffee and ignored Dean’s jibes just so that he could listen to his firstborn talk. Listen to him laugh and breathe and love that woman while he could. John vowed that whatever it took, his boy would not be dead while his child was growing up without him.

“What’s that?” Dean frowned at his father.

John drained his cup. “I said, well it’s not like I was the only one.”

“You guys are horrible!” She exclaimed and shoved off the rail. “I’m going to go get some lunch.”

Dean leaned on the railing and sipped his coffee. The silence was not heavy and John was grateful for it. “Nice surprise, waking up to her face. Even better not waking up to yours.”

“Right back at you, son.” John stared into his cup.

--

John buried himself in his books. Studying and not talking. Dean knew enough to leave him to it. Didn’t ask. Just enjoyed the time he’d been allotted with Liz. John couldn’t find anything in the books, local lore, about time shifts or possessed woods or sprites. None of the signs matched. It made John wonder if the woods were a man-made phenomenon or if it were so old no one knew or if it were enchanted so that no one remembered. Then it happened. John saw the signs he was beginning to recognize. He hauled Dean out of bed in the middle of the night to go chasing it.

Dead end. Dean was quiet but not silent about it. That was better than silence. Dean did as ordered. He didn’t complain but John felt the weight of his stare occasionally. So after the hunt. John sent Dean on a small series of hunts. Told him to meet up at Liz’s in two months. John spent the time alone, doing his homework. Studying lore in everyone’s libraries, getting chased off when they couldn’t take his entitlement issues anymore.

Then there was only one thing to do. Go back. John drove to a town away and hiked back to the woods. He was ready. He had to know what and why and how. If he could stop it, he would. His mind raced as he stepped through time. Where was Sam? Was Sam safe? How did his oldest son die? Why was there a child from Liz’s womb who would look to John as father? Why any of it?

--

John stepped into the room slowly while Liz bustled about getting things done. He’d already agreed to stand in as babysitter but he’d never met the kid. He wandered about carefully, eying toys and scanning for pictures. Which he found on one high shelf and along the same wall. Pictures from the last ten years. Pictures that surprised him.

Dean with the baby. Broad smile, bright green eyes tinged with wetness.

John with the baby, not even looking at the camera. Eyes only for the first grandson. First son of his first son.

John, Liz and a toddler in the front lot, sitting on the car.

John sitting with Liz on his lap, her head leaning against his, the boy sitting on John’s other leg.

John and the boy trying a bicycle out, no training wheels.

John asleep with the toddler asleep on his chest

The kid and Liz playing with a bunch of blocks.

John tossing a ball with the kid.

Tears sprung to his eye as he realized everything that he’d not been able to do with his boys when they were growing up because of his bent on vengeance. Little league, soccer, dribblers, riding bikes, boy scouts.

“John, stop looking at those pictures. You always start leaking like a faucet.” Liz called out. John wiped at his face. “I was just kidding.” She stepped into the room and froze. “John? Were you actually crying?”

“Dean…” John gestured to the pictures. “Never seen him look so happy and then… to just…”

“Yeah.” Liz nodded, pulling her purse over her shoulder. She stepped into John’s side, stroking softly against his back. She kissed his shoulder and gave his belly a rub. “He’s pouting in his room. I didn’t tell him you were here yet. Thought I’d give you a few minutes to strategize.”

“Okay.” John nodded and tried not to freeze up when she leaned in for a goodbye kiss. He watched her go. Then he studied the pictures for another long moment then snuck down the hallway to find ‘the kid.’ He was indeed pouting in his room, glaring at his homework and rolling a pencil around on the desk. John cleared his throat. “What kind of marks are you gonna get if you put off doing your homework?”

“Pop!” Jack spun around and raced for the door. John was barely able to stop both of them from toppling over. “When did you get back?”

“Just a few minutes ago.” John hugged the boy back. “The warden’s gone to work.”

“Did she tell you what I did?”

“Why don’t you tell me what you did?”

“It was… never mind.”

“Come on, pal. Tell me.”

“Some guy at school said something and I hit him.”

“Okay. What did he say?”

“Well, I got a question first.”

“What’s the question?”

“What’s ‘white trash’ mean?”

John stared at the boy for a long moment. “Lots of times… it’s about people who live dirty cause they don’t know better or can’t afford to live clean.” He took a breath. ”Sometimes it’s the way people behave, without regards to rules. The thing is… the people who say other people are white trash… they just plain don’t understand that the needs and means of others are different.” John hoped he made some kind of sense because he suspected that he already knew where this was going.

“A boy at school said our family is white trash.” And there it was.

“I figured as much.” John nodded. “It’s really best not to respond when someone says that because it only reinforces their belief but I might have done the same thing.”

“Why’d he call us that? We don’t live dirty.”

“Like I said… sometimes it’s not about dirty or poor… it’s other things.”

“Like what.”

“Son… Me and my boys been called all sorts of trash all their lives. Because I don’t stay in one place too long. Cause they think I beat my kids, cause I drink a lot more than anyone should. Cause I own a lot of guns.” Took a deep breath. “Some said I killed my wife. Some say I was never married and my boys was from different mothers.”

“And that made them trash?”

“To some people. Yeah.”

“So… they might not understand why you don’t got a job?”

“Maybe.”

“Or that you’re my grandpa but I say Happy Father’s day to you?”

“Possibly.”

“The kid said it was because my mom loves my grandpa more than she did my dad.”

“That’s not true but I understand why you hit him.”

“Does he think it’s wrong?” The boy blinked. “That you’re… in love with my mom?”

“A lot of people do.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not normal.”

“Why?”

“Because other kids’ dads don’t die young.” John sank onto the narrow bed. “Because it’s not what families do.” It was clear the boy didn’t understand. If John had actually been the Winchester who had raised the boy, he might have been able to answer better, but he wasn’t. “Jack… I met your mom the same day your dad did. She and I became good friends.”

“And my dad?”

“Well, they were better than friends.” John had himself a grin at the memory of his son’s love struck face. “I don’t know if your mom ever told you but she was married before.”

“She was?”

“To a man that I’ve never met. She was young and it didn’t last long. She thought she would never fall in love again. Then she met your dad.” John cleared his throat. “My wife died when your dad was a little boy. I never remarried and I never really loved again. After we both lost your dad, we stuck together because we were hurting without him. You were only a few months old.”

“So?”

“So, we spent a lot of time together with a very painful and significant thing in common. You’re too young to get the boys and the girls and the feelings but your mom and me… we shared love. For your father, for you and for each other after a time. It’s not normal… and that’s why that boy at school said what he did.” John touched the boy’s shoulder. “It’s not normal but it don’t hurt no one.”

--

John looked through everything that Liz had but couldn’t find any clue to what had killed his first born son. It made him wonder. Then Jack came out of his room and perched on the arm of the couch. John held up the picture. “Jack, tell me what you know of this guy and maybe I can tell you some more.”

Jack shrugged. “He’s my dad.”

“Know anything more than that?”

“He died cause a Werewolf bit him and he… needed to be shot.” Jack’s eyes lowered. “Mom said you did it but that…”

“It had to be done. There’s no cure for a Werewolf bite. Your dad… he knew that. He was my boy and I would have done anything to keep him alive.” John stared at the picture of his boy and his boy. “I had a picture like this once.” Jack sat, transfixed. “Of me holding your dad and I can guarantee I looked just like that. Loved my boy.”

John found his seat and found Jack on his lap a moment later. “Your grandma was a pretty woman. Different from your mom. She was blonde and she had green eyes. Stole my heart the minute she said she’d go out with me.”

“How’d she die?”

“Demon.”

“How did Mom meet Dad?”

“I got tired of your dad yapping my ear off and I pulled over to eat some breakfast. Your mom was our waitress.”

“Wow. She’s worked there a long time, huh.”

“All your life and then some.”

“When did they get married?”

“Never legally. Common law. That means that they acted like husband and wife and did that for a long while. It’s not… accepted in this state but um… your dad was a citizen of the country, not the state. Probably your mom, too. They had their own rules. She took his name and you have it on your birth certificate.”

“Jack Samuel Winchester.”

“That’s right.” John felt his throat close up at the sound of his second son’s name on the lips of his grandchild.

“Mom says that I’m named Jack after you. Why Samuel?”

“It’s time for bed, kiddo.” John avoided that question and the boy let him. Every inch his father’s son. He never disobeyed an order. Jack simply kissed his grandfather’s face and hopped to the ground. A moment later, John heard the door shut. Then he heard the footsteps. “How long have you been hiding in the kitchen?”

“Not long.” Liz leaned over him. “Busy night all around, huh. I’m gonna shower. Meet you in bed.”

John didn’t know what to do with that. But his weary bones made it from the couch to check the doors and windows. To the bed where he shucked his boots and jacket. He didn’t do more than lay back on the pillows when she emerged in a long flannel nightgown and scooted across to lay her head on his shoulder. “I try to tell him about Dean. He wants to hear about you. He’ll listen to you if you talk about Dean.”

“I’ll try that.”

“I know that you just got in but…” Liz snuggled close. “I am in the mood but… it’s that time… so if you can hold out a couple of days, I can greet you proper.”

John stared down at the top of her head. “That time?”

She picked up her head and rolled her eyes. “Ovulation time.”

“Right.” He hoped he could fake his way through this conversation because he had no clue what that was about.

“Our family tree has some interesting forks in it; I’m not looking to add any more.” She pointed out.

“Of course. Right.”

“You okay?”

“Tired.” John struggled to put the pieces of the puzzle together but he wasn’t altogether convinced that he wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating. He wondered what would happen if he fell asleep in this world. Would he wake up in his own world? Was there even a difference?

TBC