Title: "A Hundred Demons, A Thousand Beers"
Author: Kat Lee
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The answer to their family's survival couldn't be found in a hundred Demons or a thousand beers.
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, names, codenames, places, items, fandoms, titles, and etc. are always © & TM their respective owners, not the author, and are used without permission. Any and all original characters and everything else is © & TM the author and may not be reproduced in any way without the author's express, written permission. The author makes absolutely no profit off of this work of fan fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: 244. That's the number of stories that were sitting on my hard drive collecting dust because I lack the energy and time to take care of them as I once did. My betaing pattern has always been to write, then type up if written on paper, the story, read it aloud to my beloved Jack and our children, editing as I go, and then finally format and post. Sadly, this part is simply taking too much of my time and energy, and my beloved Jack and I have too little time together in person these days to be able to keep up with my stories. So what to do? Give up writing? I actually considered it for a while, tried to make excuses to myself other than the large number of stories collecting cyber dust on my computer, as to why I lacked the energy and Muse to write new tales. And then, with the turn of the new year, I decided to stop running and face the problem. The problem is, quite frankly, that once one gets so bogged down in formatting and editing that writing is no longer a pleasure but the actual posting of those writings becomes a hassle and - egad! - work, it's time to cut something out, and that will never be the writing process. So, in short, yes, there will be mistakes in this tale. Yes, it's missing about half of the header information I usually include. But I wrote it for pleasure and am posting it in hopes of sharing that pleasure with others. Do with it as you will.
"I want my Mom!" It tore John up inside to hear his son shout those words. He had no choice but to grab his gun, his pack, and keys and go out hunting, because he didn't have any answers for little Dean and knew that, if he stayed, he would just end up crying with those same huge and sorrowful tears that were pouring down his son's face. He turned his back on him, because he couldn't open his arms. He couldn't open his arms, because he couldn't open his heart for opening his heart would again open those tears that had barely stopped after he'd killed a hundred Demons and drank a thousand beers.
He walked out, but his heart, hugging his sons through Bobby's strong arms and stronger but also gentle heart, stayed behind with his boys. Bobby held Dean as he cried. He held him, and he rocked him. He whispered words of whose meaning even he wasn't sure, eager to say anything to ease the little boy's pain while knowing that nothing could ever heal the hole in his heart and soul. Nothing could replace his mother or make him whole again, but he tried. He tried with every gentle touch, each hug and caress, and every good night kiss placed on little Dean's forehead after he'd cried himself to sleep.
Then he cast a look at Sammy, who always appeared to be asleep in these troubled times, and went after John. He'd find him sometimes after a hunt, sometimes during a fight, and sometimes about to bite off more than he could chew for his man was willing to face an entire army of Demons rather than his sons whom he seemed impossible to make happy. However he found him, he always brought him back out.
He couldn't heal him any more than he could Dean, but he could keep him alive. He could keep him alive for him and his sons. He reminded him every time he was ready to die that the boys couldn't lose both their parents, and he couldn't bare the thought of losing him. He held him much like he held his son, stroking his trembling skin and hair, soothing him with words of a better future that he could promise but yet not make happen, and calming his fears and anguish with kisses when nothing else worked.
He kept father and son going. He gave them the strength his own heart lacked, and when nobody else looked, when he was alone with no other souls to piece back together, Bobby sat and cried himself. He spilled tears into his beer, always keeping an onion and a knife handy should some one find him in his own times of grief.
But some one did find him. Every time, somebody found him, and he was never distracted by the onion, the knife, or even the growing stack of beer cans. He wasn't deterred by Bobby refusing to look at him and telling him to go to bed. He just walked on up to him, teddy bear clutched in one hand, wrapped his arms tightly around his Uncle Bobby, and kissed his scratchy cheek. Sam held to him, and together, they kept their family going.
The End