Title: The Father I Have to Be

By: Sierra

A/N: This story takes place in the Brotherhood AU, though it's not really necessary to be familiar with that universe to understand this story, there's just a brief mention. If you haven't checked it out, it was created by Ridley C. James and Tidia and I can't recommend it enough.

Thank you both, for opening up your creation so that other authors can contribute :)

This is a tag to "Something Wicked", picking up directly after John drops the boys off at Pastor Jim's.

Sammy is five today. Thank God. He almost didn't make it.

I could blame Dean, but it's my fault. There's enough blame to go around. I missed the kill, and I left Dean watching Sam, and he couldn't pull the trigger when he needed to. I haven't taught him well enough. If he is weak like that again, my boys will die … but what kind of father am I to put a nine-year-old boy in a situation where he might have to kill to protect his brother?

I'm the kind of father I have to be.

"John, what were you thinking?"

Jim Murphy's voice was soft, but stern, and John found himself wanting to shrink away from the pastor's scrutiny, his disappointment. John sighed, cast his eyes down to the black coffee steaming in his cup, avoiding Jim's gaze.

"I thought they would be fine for a couple days. I thought Dean could handle it- "

"Don't turn this around on him," Jim cut him off. "He's only nine years old."

"But he's not just any nine year old," John insisted, "he can't be. He needs to be better. Stronger."

Jim frowned, turned away to rinse out his now empty cup and then place it on a towel on the counter.

"You know I'm right," John continued, "those boys don't stand a chance at a normal life. They lost that the night they lost their mother. And with what we have planned for them... the Triad? I just want them to be ready."

Jim faced John again, his arms crossed over his chest. "They may not be normal children, but they're still children. You have to know where to draw the line, John. When you're asking too much of Dean. I know he doesn't say much, but he's still just a little boy too, and you can't expect him to be your partner. He's your son."

"I thought he was ready."

"Even if he was, he shouldn't have had to be!" Jim leaned forward and placed his hands on the table John sat at, his frustration growing. "Why didn't you just bring them here in the first place? It's only a few hours out of the way. You could have dropped them off and gone right back."

"Children were dying, Jim!" John argued, "children who had no idea what was coming for them, no way to protect themselves. And their parents were just as clueless. Dean's smart, he knows how to handle himself, he's better off than all those kids were. So I took a chance, I figured my boys would be okay, and those other kids wouldn't be... what if I'd brought them to you, and another kid died while I was gone?" He sighed, downed the last of his coffee, and stood up. "It's not fair to Dean, I know. But nothing about this life is fair."

"That's a poor excuse," Jim said, "and it would be little comfort to you now if Sam had died."

John winced. "I know... " He walked the length of the kitchen and looked out the window to the front yard, where Dean and Sam played with Jim's dog, Atticus. Sam was oblivious to how close he'd come to death, a wide smile on his face and hysterical laughter pouring from him as the dog tackled himto the ground and began licking him all over. Dean stood back and watched, a small smile tugging at his lips, but his shoulders still slumped.

"I screwed up," John admitted, "and it almost cost me my sons... I don't know what I would've done if... " He couldn't finish, his words trailing off as he looked away and brought his hands up to rub his eyes tiredly. "It's not Dean's fault. It's mine."

"I hope you told Dean that."

"No."

"John- "

"He can use that," John said, "it'll make him sharper. After what happened, he won't let anything come near Sammy."

"If you don't tell him, I will."

There was a moment of silence as the two men stared at each other, their thoughts swirling, their emotions running high; and in the silence, the voices of two little boys playing with a dog outside drifted into the kitchen. Both boys were giggling now, Atticus barking over them.

"I've gotta go." John grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, it was May but it was a cool one in Minnesota. "Take care of the boys."

"You know I will," Jim said, watching John gather his things and head for the door. "John?" The younger hunter paused. "Please, just think about it... I know you want him to be ready. But there's only so much Dean can take. You feel guilty, imagine how he must feel."

John nodded. "I won't make the same mistake again." He grasped the handle and swung the door open, taking a deep breath as his boys turned to face him; Sam grinned, ran to John and exclaimed up to him: "Atticus jumped in the mud, Dad!"

"He did?" John glanced at the Golden Retriever, rolling around in the mud puddle he'd parked the Impala next to; then he looked at Sam's mud-covered trousers, and shirt. "He did."

"Where're you going?" Sam asked, struggling to keep pace with his father as they walked down the porch steps and to the car. "When're you coming back? Did Pastor Jim make pie? Can we stay up late tonight?" The questions tumbled out.

"I'm going back to that town we were just in," John replied, catching Dean's gaze, "I'll be back soon. In a day or two."

Sam's lips turned downward in a pronounced pout he'd taken to recently. "Don't want you t'go."

"I've got to." John ruffled Sam's hair. "I'll be back before you know it. Now why don't you go ask Jim about that pie? And maybe a bath."

Sam wasn't entirely satisfied with John's explanation, but even at four years old he knew it was about as good of one he was going to get for the time being; without another word, he jogged back up the steps and into the house.

"Dad... " Dean started, but John held up his hand, then brought it down on one of the boy's shoulders.

"Make sure Sam behaves," he said, "I'll be back in a couple of days."

Dean's green eyes were wide and glistened slightly, tears of guilt of fear that the boy was far too stubborn to ever let fall in front of his father. John bit his lip, his stomach churning painfully, everything in him screaming at him to talk to his son, to tell him it wasn't his fault. I shouldn't have left you alone... I'm the one that screwed up, not you. It's so easy to forget how young you are.

"Don't worry, Dad," Dean spoke, startling John out of his thoughts. "I'll take care of him."

Nine years old going on thirty.

"Good boy." John patted Dean's shoulder, and swung himself into the Impala, forcing himself not to spare another look as the car roared to life and he drove out of the driveway.

It wasn't fair. Dean was going to carry that guilt for the rest of his life, believing he almost got his brother killed, he let his father down. He was nine years old, he was supposed to be worrying about passing 3rd grade, and looking forward to summer vacation. Sneaking out to play games at the arcade should have been a grounding, not a near death sentence for his little brother.

But that wasn't the life for them. It never would be. It didn't matter what kind of hopes and dreams John had for his children before, that may as well have been another life itself, because it was just as dead as his wife. If Dean worried about school and who got the highest score at the arcade, he'd wind up dead. So would Sam.

No, he shouldn't have left the boys alone, he knew that. He thought Dean was ready, was focused enough not to get distracted, was strong enough to pull that trigger when he needed to. He wasn't, and that wasn't his fault. That was John's. He needed to train him better, he needed to prepare him, if he let them down again he might not get a second chance.

I'm the kind of father I have to be.