John likes coming home on his own terms, when he and Mary haven't been fighting and the house is quiet and peaceful. It's like a little nest, his own little piece of heaven, and not a cage two times too small. Mary is so beautiful when she's not crying, or shouting, and she's especially beautiful when she's asleep, like she is now.
Mary is strewn across the bed in the master bedroom, wearing flannel pajamas in the lightest shades of blue and a slipper on her right foot. The other slipper has fallen off and lying on the floor at the edge of the bed, bottom up and discarded. Her hair is strewn around her head like a golden halo. She is on her back with her arms at her sides, wrapped around her children. Her hands keep their small bodies in place and protect them from evil, although John and Mary's definitions of evil are very different.
When John thinks of evil, he thinks of the war and the communists and nuclear power in the hands of the wrong people. When Mary thinks of evil, she thinks of everything John would discard as being a myth or too "childish".
For a moment, John thinks about evil in the doorway of the master bedroom as he watches the rise and fall of his family's chests. It is Halloween, after all, and isn't that the perfect time to think of about scary things like that? John figures that the kids in costumes that will be swarming the streets a few hours from now don't think about things like nuclear war or Vietnam. That's good. They're just kids. They shouldn't have to.
He sits on the edge of his bed – he's careful not to be too loud or shake it too much as he sits down, lest he wake them – and hopes he hopes that his sons will never have to think about things like that. They're just kids. They'll also be 'just kids' too him, because they're his kids and it's his job to protect them.
Dean is four. He is curled up against Mary's right arm, small fingers grasping at her elbow. Dean'll be handsome when he grows up, John thinks. He already is, for a little kid, and already terrorizing the girls at his pre-school. John taught Dean how to wink this past Thursday. Dean hasn't really stopped winking since then and John's beginning to regret his decision. "It seemed like a good idea at the time" isn't really a good excuse when you're kid's winking at everything that moves (and some things that don't).
John hopes that Dean'll never have to hold a gun. He may want to, one day, but he should never have to. He hopes that same thing for Sam, who is wrapped around his mother's left arm, but the thought of Sam having to hold a gun is a little far off right now. Sammy's just a baby. Born on May 2nd, a day that is tied with two others (Dean's day of birth and the day that John finally married Mary) for the best day of his life.
So, Sammy's right around… well, John Winchester was never good at math, but he thinks that Sammy's just shy of his six month birthday.
John takes a deep breath, spreads his hands over his knees, and lets himself relax. The room is painted grey with the cold light of an afternoon day in the middle of autumn. It is silent. There is only breathing. John's thinking about Halloween and Sam and Mary and Dean and god, he's hungry, he should probably get off his lazy ass and make himself a sandwich and get back down to work, when the silence is broken.
"Hey," Mary says in her pitch-clear voice. It's dragged down and drowsy with sleep, but it sounds like a little bell and John loves it. She pulls her arm away from Dean, who stays asleep and instead curls into a little ball, and stretches it out towards John with a yawn. "Must've fallen asleep."
"Yeah," John says, and he grabs his wife's hand. They join and meet in the middle.
Sam yawns a little high-pitched yawn. "How's he doing?" John asks. Mary uses her free hand to offer a finger to Sam.
"Doing just fine," she replies. She blinks. She's still cloudy and drowsy.
The question 'how are you doing?' hangs in the air, but neither of them take the initiative. John opts for "H'Mary?"
"Mmhm?" she mumbles. Her thumb is absentmindedly stroking John's.
"I love you."
To her, the declaration seems unwarranted, but she accepts it. "I love you, too, John," she whispers.
It is October 31st, 1983.
They have two more days to love each other.
oops i wrote another spn fanfic uh oh
um i just really like john winchester.
i'd also like to hear what you think of this fic. (: