Disclaimer - I don't own Supernatural that privilege belongs to the CW, Kripke and Co. I'm simply borrowing them for a while but I promise I'll give them back but all the rest is mine. Also I'm making no profit, its just for fun and all standard disclaimers apply.
Summary - Money being tight, a tough decision needs to be made. Featuring Weechesters!
Thank you - To the awesome amyblair who sanity checked this for me as well as making me giggle with her Princess Bride comment! Thank you so much for your time and encouragement, this wouldn't be here without you!
A/N - I wrote this a while back but tucked it away for safe keeping and then completely forgot about it. But recently I stumbled across it, brushed off the dust and spruced it up a bit and here we are. I hope you enjoy.
The Bottom Line
At first he'd thought about selling the Impala.
It was too flashy and it had a tendency to draw unwanted attention. Plus it guzzled far too much gas from his stretched and rather threadbare wallet. With cash being tight, he'd been tempted and the guy that approached him was a collector - at least he knew a good thing when he saw it.
The offer was more than generous. And he'd pay in cash.
But he couldn't do it. Doubted that he ever could. It was one of the only tangible things he possessed that still linked him to Mary.
The car was going no where.
Plan B wasn't much better, but it was the only other option. It was risky too. He hadn't been John Winchester in nearly ten years. Not officially anyway.
It had taken some planning but in the end he'd chosen a large town. The nearest city wasn't near enough and he couldn't chance a small town. He needed to blend in, to be invisible. Forgettable.
But most of all he needed this to be over and done with. Before he over thought things and lost his nerve.
Not that he hadn't gone over the finer details a thousand times or more. The practicalities were easy enough to organize. It was the rest that was bothering him.
With his hands on the steering wheel he looked up at the building. A different branch but he couldn't go back to Lawrence. Hadn't been back since…well Mary. And that wasn't going to change any time soon.
Running a hand over his closely trimmed beard, he couldn't help but wonder if he was about to make a mistake. After ten long years he was used to making the tough decisions solo. There were no late night conversations and compromises. He was on his own. And that should have made things easier. But it didn't.
Most of the time he knew what Mary would say and how she would react to some of the choices he'd made. But whether she'd agree or disagree it all came down to the boys. And that was all that mattered. To him and to Mary. He was sure of it.
Grabbing the wad of papers from the passenger seat, John pushed the door open with a groan of the hinge and crossed the road.
It was now or never.
XoXoX
John was many things. But patient wasn't one of them.
Standing in line, he tapped his booted foot on the pristine marble floor, his teeth clenched so tightly that a headache was blossoming behind his eyes. Swallowing a frustrated sigh he glanced at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes.
The waiting was making him itch and his skin was crawling with unease.
He knew he needn't worry about the boys. Dean would take care of everything, always had and probably always would. And he'd just finished their latest hunt, a banshee in a nearby abandoned farmhouse. No loose ends there, he'd triple checked. There wasn't any reason to be worried. But he felt as if he was toeing across a knife's edge and in the darkest corner of his mind he knew exactly why.
He just… didn't want to think about it.
Because it wasn't stealing. It wasn't.
But he'd been trying to tell himself that for the last week after reaching into the trunk to cram his pockets with ammo only to discover that they were almost out of everything. Silver. Consecrated iron. Even normal rounds. The exact same week they'd eaten Mac and Cheese from a box for eight days straight.
Not that the boys complained. The sad truth was it wasn't all that abnormal for them to eat like that. Which made what he needed to do even worse. Because no matter which way he spun it, he ended up in the exact same place.
It didn't matter that he'd opened the accounts. It didn't matter that he'd put the $100 in there himself, faithfully, every month without fail for nearly five years. It didn't matter that the boys didn't even know the accounts existed.
Because he did. He knew. And it was stealing.
He was stealing from his boys.
He remembered all too clearly what the money was for. What expectations and hopes he and his wife had had for their children. An expensive education. A College experience. A happy life, with normal hopes and normal dreams.
It was bad enough that he was stealing money from his kids without their knowledge. But for whatever reason it was far worse that he was stealing away their future. Their chance of achieving everything he and Mary had dreamed.
It ate away at his guts as they churned uneasily.
"Are you ok, dear?" the old lady behind him said.
John turned around and saw the concern deepening the wrinkles around her mouth. He nodded silently before noticing that the line had moved on without him. Clearing his throat he took a few steps forward.
Of course when you got down to it, it was only money. The reality of having normal had been stolen from all of them after Mary's murder and John had known pretty much right away that things would never be the same for his family. No wife, no mother, no home, no security. Not with the knowledge that it was a 'something' that had taken Mary and not a 'someone'.
But stealing away their final chance, the only thing that was left of old hopes and dreams, or anything remotely normal made him want to get the hell out of dodge, breaking a few speed limits along the way.
But desperate times called for desperate measures. And what was done was done. There was no going back now.
Straightening his shoulders he took a deep breath and nodded to himself, silently approving his decision as he moved to the front of the queue. The bottom line was that he had a family to protect and defend. A wife to avenge and a job to do.
Finally, a light flicked on at a cashier's desk. He strode up, with a fist full of documents and papers.
"How can I help you today, Sir?"
His children had always come first and this was no different. They wouldn't have a future at all if he couldn't fight and defend it.
"I'd like to close two savings accounts."
XoXoX
He bought an arsenal.
Every possible bullet for each firearm. A sack of the highest quality rock salt, a ton of old silver to forge, new knives and after his conversation with new contact Daniel Elkins last week, additional arrows for the crossbow and a machete.
Vampires? He still couldn't say it with a straight face. But at least he'd be prepared, even if he wouldn't believe it until it saw it with his own eyes.
Turning off the engine, John slipped the key out of the ignition his stiff joints creaking as he climbed out of the car. Like a moth to a flame, Dean was out of the small house they were renting, the hinges squeaking as the door snapped closed with a teeth-rattling slam.
"Thought I told you to oil that?" John barked.
Dean looked up, face tired and somehow older than his years. John wasn't sure when it had happened but he knew all too well who had put it there.
"You were longer than you said, Sir. I had to spend the last of the cash on food."
Sometimes it felt like there was a war being fought in his head. The words he knew he was going to say verses the words he wanted to say. But somehow in the end there was never much of a battle.
"Had to go out of state." Not I'm sorry, or I should have called. Just the bare facts.
"You get it all? Everything?" Dean asked. "The Bowie too?"
John nodded and popped the trunk. He watched as Dean stared inside like a kid in a candy store. Eyes wide, mouth agape. "We win the lottery or something?"
He chuckled as Dean reached for the new Bowie knife, the midday sun glistening off the stainless steel as he rested his index finger on the tip of the blade. "No, not quite, son."
And he saw how Dean shrugged, accepting the need to know non-answer as he went through the new contents of the spare tire compartment. It made him proud and broke his heart all at the same time.
"Then where'd it come from?" Sam chirped from behind him. And really he should have guessed. The kid was full of questions. Hell, one of his first words had been 'why'.
He looked down at his youngest, unruly brown locks and a questioning frown. Still too short for his ten years but then again he'd been the same at that age.
He wanted to brush the question off. Shout out an order and be done with the subject. But for some reason he couldn't. All he could see was the disappointed look on his wife's face when he got back late from the garage and missed reading Dean's bedtime story.
It had been their money. Whether they knew about it or not. And it was their future that had bought the ammo.
"I cashed in some savings." Short and simple. And close enough to the truth for him to able to sleep without a chaser or two of Whiskey.
Sam tilted his head to one side. "What savings?"
"Just some money that I set aside for the future," John said.
He wasn't sure what he expected but when Sam seemed to accept his words he found himself releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding.
Sam joined Dean at the trunk and John watched his sons as they squabbled over who got to pick up the machete.
"…because I'm older and you're still a little dweeb," Dean said his palm on Sam's forehead as he held him at arms length.
Yes, it was just money, just naïve hopes and dreams of young parents. But maybe one day it would be possible. Maybe normal would be achievable. One day, when it was all over.
"Quit it, Dean!" Sam squawked as he tried to wriggle free, his foot hooking around Dean's knee as they both hit the asphalt. A wicked smile spread across Dean's face as he tried to pin Sam in a head lock but the kid was as squirmy as a worm.
"Boys," John said, voice deep and booming with authority and he watched them both fall into line like soldiers waiting for orders. He knew that at some point he'd become more of a drill sergeant than a father. It hurt. But war wasn't a child's game and he had to man up. They all did.
As he looked down at his boys, standing tall, with heads held high, it stuck him how fast they'd grown. How much time he was losing. Had already lost. "How about we go for pizza?"
He couldn't help but grin when two faces lit up and a race to who got to ride shotgun was announced.
His boys were everything. His future, his legacy. They were priceless. Investing in their future wasn't always about taking care of their finances. It was about keeping them safe, teaching them to be prepared for what he knew was out there.
And some things were more important than cash in a bank.
The End
SAM: Hey, Dad? Whatever happened to that college fund?
JOHN: I spent it on ammo.
Dead Man's Blood (Series One, Episode 20)
A/N – A little birdy told me that you all might need a little pick me up after the finale (fingers in ears – I'm trying to remain spoiler free!) so I hope this helps to sooth those aches and pains. Take care, Madebyme