A/N; Hey This is just a little one shot about Sam and John which I promised ages ago since I didn't include John POV in the 'Into Dust' series. don't worry this is in no way related to that so if you haven't read it, it dosn't matter.
Sorry to those people waiting in chapter nine of 'APFTS' it's half written and very long and I should haveit up sometime this week-end.
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW!!! Happines and butterflies is given to those who do.
The Firefly
'What was silent in the father, speaks in the son, and often, I found the son the unveiled secret of the father.'
-Friedrich Nietzsche
John Winchester is a man of vengeance and obsession and bitterness but he is not one of regrets.
He's always done the best he can in a world too quick to rip the ground out from under him.
He's always done what he thinks is right. Given what he's capable of at the time. What he thinks is necessary, even if he doesn't like it, even if others hate him for it.
He's done the best he can but sometimes that hasn't been quite good enough.
His wife died in a baptism of fire.
Gut split, blood dripping- she is frozen this way forever in his unconscious mind, in his nightmares. A wax mannequin of the woman he loved poised over their child's bed.
He knows it's not his son's fault. That Sam was a baby and no more able to change events than to make the sky turn green.
And Christ he loves the kid. He's John's youngest, his baby boy. He loves him so god dam much.
But there's a little part of him, an irrational, crazy, angry part, that dose blame Sam. That whispers that none of this would have happened if his baby boy hadn't been born.
It's tiny, it's minuscule, it's nothing. Every other part of John loves Sam, perhaps doubly because of it.
But Sammy has always been perceptive, far too perceptive, for anyone's good. And even though it's such a tiny part, it sometimes seems as though that's the only bit his son can see.
The first time he's says it is in a wood in Nebraska, tracking a werewolf preying on a small town.
Sam's thirteen; a riot of petulance and teen age angst and nothing of John's is ever good enough anymore.
John tells him not to wonder off. Sam dose.
John tells him not to go anywhere alone. Sam dose.
John says to call for them if he hears anything.
Sam dose, but not before the wolf gets him.
Dean's there in seconds. Lays into the thing, Sam lying dazed and winded and bleeding among the bracken. His eldest disposes of the creature but not without a few scrapes himself.
John drags them back to the car, face white, hands shaking, and the image of the wolf tackling his youngest playing over and over in his mind.
He wants to say; listen to me. Listen to ME. How can I protect you if you don't? How can I keep you safe, keep you whole in this world your mother would never want you in, if you won't?
He wants to say, I shouldn't have brought you here, to this reality where growing up could be the death of you.
He wants to all of these things, but the words that leave his lips are -God-dam it Sammy! Why can't you do as your told! You could have gotten us all killed! Dean would never have done that! Why can't you be more like your brother?-
Why can't you be more like your brother? It's like a poisonous leech on his teeth that he can't unsay. Traitorous mouth.
And the look on Sam's face makes him feel like seven types of bastard.
It's not like he sets out after that, to destroy his child, but it's a slippery slop and god forgive him, comparisons work the way nothing else seems to these days.
Comparing him to Dean works.
He means to take it back later. He really does. He means to explain it all, clarify what he actually feels, thinks. He means to tell Sam he doesn't really want him to turn into Dean.
But somehow he never finds the time.
This is the way things begin.
He's distracted with research so he says, -Dean get your brother ready for pre-school.-He's late back from a bar and Sam's asleep, stories read, showered and homework done.
Dean just dose after a while and John stops asking. The transfer is seamless and the few times he even notices it happening John's almost relived. He's bone-tired busy most of the time these days and Dean's always been better than him with Sam anyway.
He watches them at breakfast one of the few mornings he's not away on a hunt. He stays quiet, unnoticed. A background setting.
Sam's sixteen, second year high schooler and Dean's twenty and too cocky most of the time for his own good.
Sam chows toast and cereal down while Dean potters about; getting ready to head out on research for the day. Wolfs down his own eggs and beans.
Dean says -Be good- and Sam scoffs, says he'll be late. Has practice for a team John doesn't know about and is meeting with friends he's never heard of.
Dean dose know; about the team, and the friends. About Sam's life.
He says -Maybe Sofia will be there today.-
John doesn't know her either but he can guess from the way Sam blushes. Dean laughs, gives him his lunch- a bloody brown bag for god's sake.
They leave together, Dean of handedly offering to drop him at the bus stop.
John stares after them for a long time and tries to pinpoint the exact moment Dean became Sam's father and not him.
There is a line apparently, a window of time.
This far and no further.
John didn't know about it. Assumed that the issues could be dealt with when it suited him. Believed that Sam was always going to be there, waiting for his approval.
They're on a hunt in New Orleans, a suburban Wendingo living in the sewer if things weren't fucked up enough. Dean's up ahead, playing scout.
Sam trips, makes a loud splashing sound and knocks into his father. Their weapons crash against one another.
John says -For god-sake Sam be quite? You don't see your brother making a racket do you?-
There is a line and once crossed things cannot be undone anymore.
Sam's eyes go dark. John realizes that something has been lost now, irrevocably.
Sam says -I'm not Dean sir- and shoves past him.
Something glows in his son.
John has always bee aware of it. Something inside of his son glows and in their shadow world it burns all the brighter.
Seventeen years ago he made the decision. Saw that brightness and thought, fireflies may glow in the dark but they die in the daylight.
Normality does not protect you from the darkness, he thought, it creeps in at the edges still, takes from you. Only you can't fight back there.
Missouri said -he shines. He won't be safe, ever. They will come for him wherever he goes.-
John thought, my wife is dead, let my son live.
John thought, I'll take the gun and the knife and the salt. I'll take the fire and brimstone and the life of crappy motels and crime and killing.
I will train my boys to do the same and you will let my son live. You will let him.
This was the agreement.
It is so innocent looking, clasped between Sam's angry fingers, white knuckles on white paper, like the Billy Joel song.
A full ride to Stanford. The world is abstracted.
Sam says -I'm going. I want more than this. I want more than revenge and obsession and death.-
He says -you were never there for me. You didn't raise me; my brother did because you were busy.-
He says -I was never good enough for you, I never will be.-
He doesn't say -you blame me for my mother dying.-
John can see it on his face but he doesn't say it. Not even Sam can voice that.
John thinks; it's true but not the way you think it is. The world got twisted, I got twisted.
He thinks; If you leave now, I can't protect you. If you go, I can't keep you safe.
He has spent too many years letting Dean be the father, letting Sam see only the blame. He has squandered too many cross roads. Points where, had he said the words, they all might have been alright.
And now his son, his baby boy, is here before him, caged fury and apathy. And John is helpless and angry and hurt. He doesn't want to be left behnd.
He thinks, I love you, I love you, but sometimes I got too caught up with keeping you alive.
He says -Don't defy me. You've spent too many years defying me, disobeying me. You're selfish. Going away, leaving me and your brother, that's selfish.-
He says -if you go, you can't come back. Not ever.-
Comparisons work for a while. So do threats and guilt.
But eventually they stop working and then one must face the consequences.
Sam nods once, twice, jaw clenching.
-Right- he says, soft, like the beat of a butterfly's wings.
He shoulders his bag and walks out the door.
The slam as it shuts almost sounds like good-bye.
-Fin-
So did you like it? do you want more in this vein? I've got a couple of ideas for Sam and Dean, should I write those too? make another mini-series?
tell me what you think!!!
TAFATT