Authors Note: So. If you do the math, he Winchester boys grew up in the eighties/nineties. Their father hunted supernatural beings for a living as an ex-marine. I'm going to go ahead with the assumption here that the boys did, in fact, get the crap beat out of them as children. Not abuse so much as punishment. Verging on abuse at some points, in quality more than quantity. He doesn't seem the type for the belt routine.
"I have a little policy…about honesty and ass-kicking, and that is: If you ask for it, then I have to let you have it"—Taylor Mali
That seemed an appropriate quote to throw in, in reference to John Winchester.
Sam: 13
Dean: 17
No matter how nicely I ask, they probably won't ever give me Supernatural. So credit for the characters goes to Erik Kirpke.
We Do What We Must
A fan fiction by Brooklynne Benson
Chapter 1: Something Routine
The '67 glided almost gracefully over the highway, smoothly cutting over the speed limit by a solid twenty miles per hour. At eighty five miles per hour, the engine's growling was all that stood in the way of the word 'graceful' in reference to the piece of raw power. John Winchester was behind the wheel, and calling anything John associated with as 'graceful' was as blasphemous as calling any one of the things he hunted 'pretty'. John Winchester did not associate well with 'graceful' or 'pretty'. It was his belief that anything that could be hunted with silver, iron, or salt and with the outward appearance of beauty could be counted on as intrinsically hideous. The concept of genuine beauty had died in him long ago.
It was with this outlook he regarded his life—as one big routine of hunt/kill, permeated only by the most fleeting glimpses at hope towards his larger objective which was the demise of the yellow eyed demon that had first taken his wife.
Currently he was occupying himself with the former of his occupations: the routine—this time just few demonic possessions, more numerous than they ought to be, in the small town outside of Sheridan, California. Piles of research papers were stacked between him and his son on the bench seat, teetering precariously in some futile attempt at organization. His eldest son's hand was resting on the top of the pile, his fingers curled limply around the map he'd fallen asleep holding. His forehead was resting against the window, his breath fogging up a patch of the it as he breathed slow and easy onto the cool surface. John's worn leather jacket was draped over him like a blanket. John cranked up the heater, checking the rearview mirror. Sam was staring pensively out the window, and John would have given anything to know what he was brooding on this time. He could never tell, and he'd never asked. John was not the emotional father type. If that meant he had questions for his son to which he would never have answers, then that was just as well. John wasn't sure that he wanted to know. Sam's outward defiance was enough to have to deal with in stark contrast to Dean's general obedience, nevermind what he didn't know.
"When we get to the motel, you and Dean salt the doors and windows. The smaller duffle bag on the right hand side in the trunk will do you fine for the night. I'll be back before sunrise."
"What are you going to do?" Sam asked, and he turned to stare at his father. He frowned, his eyes glistening with a familiarly dramatic amount of needless concern.
"Just talk to a few people. Stake some places out." Sam didn't bother to even look like he believed it.
"As though your brother would let me go on a hunt alone," John tried a smile, but it didn't touch his eyes. He was tired—it had been a long day, and he half a mind to go without Dean never mind the fit he would throw. If not for his fatigue, he might have considered it more seriously. At the mention of his brother Sam glanced over at the passenger's side where Dean was asleep. John slowed to something approaching the speed limit as they passed the City Limits road sign. They pulled into the first motel they saw, a dingy thing with one L-shaped string of rooms aside from the shoebox of a main office.
"Dean, son," John said, his voice low. Sam shook his shoulder gently. Dean snapped to attention, his eyes darting around for any hint of danger he might have missed. "We're here."
"Oh," and he immediately relaxed, deflating against the seat before unbuckling his seatbelt and following John and Sam out into the chilly night air.
"I'm going to go do some research after I check us in. Check the bags," John said over his shoulder as his eyes scanned the parking lot and he made his way to the front office, fake credit card already in hand.
"You don't think he's going to do any hunting tonight, do you?" Sam asked.
"Naw," Dean yawned. "He's been driving all day. Not on his A-game. Don't worry about it." Sam put the idea out of his head with a sense of obedience he could never show his father. Dean wouldn't lie to him, even if it was just for the sake of comfort. It was from this concept Sam's trust in him stemmed. "What's that?" He was staring at the binder under Sam's arm as he slung the smaller duffle bag over his shoulder and slammed the trunk.
"Homework," Sam answered. Dean frowned at him but said nothing, just led the way towards the front office door. His dad came out, brandishing two keys—one of which he threw to Dean.
"Salt the doors and windows, don't answer the phone—"
"Unless it rings once first." Dean finished for him.
"Don't cut me off, boy. I remember the last time you thought you had the rules down," John fixed Dean with his most potent father-glare and Dean fell silent. Sam pursed his lips at the surrender. He thought about saying something but John continued before he could get the words in his head. "Keep each other safe." Dean nodded dutifully, and Sam mimicked the motion. He couldn't imagine how he would have to keep his brother safe—it had always been the other way around. The idea of the roles being reversed terrified him. He didn't like to think about it.
TBC. More action in the next chapter I swear. I know this one focused a lot on John. There was a purpose behind that.
Read and review please.