Dean was staring out the back seat window, chin in his hand while the soft chords of Layla by Derek and the Dominos played in the background. They were headed to another job his father had picked up, a ghost of some sort, Dean didn't really care. School had been awful, the teacher accusing him of talking in class when he'd actually been telling another student to shut up. On top of that, he had homework, and even though he'd probably never see that school again since the Winchester's were headed three states away to deal with the ghost, his dad would insist on him doing it once they got to whatever hole they were staying in next so he "wouldn't get behind." Yeah, it was a little hard not to when he changed schools at least one every few month on top of all the weapons training his dad had him doing. He sighed and pressed his forehead against the window, letting the piano and guitar mixing their melodies calm his mind as the song came to an end.
Hey Jude, the next song began. Dean jolted upright. This was her song, the one she used to sing to him. He looked to his father, seeing a smile pull on his cheek, clearly not making the same connection to the song that Dean was.
Don't make it bad, the song continued. John's eyes found his in the rear-view mirror. Take a sad song, and make it better. The realization hit John as the smile ran away from his eyes. Remember to let her into your heart. John gave him a soft smile, letting him know it was okay to enjoy the song, to relish in her memory as he turned up the volume. Then you can start to make it better.
Hey Jude, began the second chorus, John starting to sing along softly, building confidence as the lyrics continued. Don't be afraid, he sang, turning briefly to look at his son face-to-face. You were made to go out and get her. He turned back to look at the road, glancing in his mirror or turning again every once in awhile to watch Dean, whose eyes watered a little as he looked over to Sam. The minute you let her under your skin, continued John and Paul. Sam had no memory of his mother, of her sweet voice singing this song, the way the smile played on her lips as she lulled him to sleep. Dean's heart ached. Then you begin to make it better.
And any time you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain. John gruff voice sounded almost soulful. He reached his arm back to gently shake Dean's knee, encouraging: Don't carry the world upon your shoulders. "Sing with me Dean!" For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool. Dean knew every word to this song, having engraved it into his memory the day she died. By making his world a little colder, he joined John softly, unsure whether he would start crying if he got too into it.
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah.
The piano echoed the last four chords. John and Sam were smiling at him. Hey Jude. Dean reached over to tickle Sam as the next verse start, now fully committed to belting out the song. Don't let me down. The toddler wiggled against his brother's hands, giggling as softly as possible so he could still hear them sing. You have found her, now go and get her. (Let it out and let it in.) John looked back again at his boys, all three of them smiling, truly and genuinely smiling for the first time in a long time. Remember to let her into your heart. In far too long. Then you can start to make it better.
John repressed the grief rising within. He wouldn't ruin this moment with his boys. He couldn't. So let it out and let it in. Dean held Sam in his arms the way his mother used to do to him, letting her memory comfort instead of hurt him. Hey Jude, begin. You're waiting for someone to perform with. His untrained voice was off-key, but that didn't stop him from loudly proclaiming, And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do. He brushed away the hair from Sam's eyes, bathing in the soft laugh that issued from him as Dean kissed his forehead. The movement you need is on your shoulders.
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah.
Yeah, McCartney crooned.
Hey Ju-u-ude, the first chorus began again, Sam loving every minute of John and Dean's off-tune singing, unable to keep a smile off his face. Don't make it bad. John looked back at his sons embracing in the back seat. Take a sad song and make it better. Dean was so much like his mother, in spite of his father's training. Remember to let her under your skin. He was such a gentle soul. Caring. Selfless. But John shoved all his feelings aside again to join in enthusiastically on the ascent of the song. Then you begin to make it better, his and Dean's voices climbed as Paul's did their fists pumping in the air with each word, better better better better better Ah!
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah, they chanted with fervor. Nah nah nah nah, hey Jude.
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah. John let his mind wander as he and Dean continued passionately, Sam reveling in every moment. Nah nah nah nah, hey "Sammy!" Dean improvised to his brother's utter delight, unable to fight the fits of laughter and pure happiness overcoming him.
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah All John could see when he looked at Dean was Mary. Maybe that's why he was so hard on him sometimes; he reminded him too much of her, of what they'd lost. Nah nah nah nah, hey Jude.
And Sam. Little Sam would never know her kindness first-hand. He'd have to experience it through Dean, because John was too weak to show him.
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah. He choked back a sob, tried to continue singing, but tears blurred his vision every time he tried. Nah nah nah nah, hey Jude.
Jude, Jude! A-Judy Judy Judy Ow! McCartney howled.
Dean hadn't noticed, and Sam had caught on to the tune, doing the best his three-year-old self could do. Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah, hey Jude.
Jude, Jude, Jude, Jude, Ju-u-ude!
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah. John's shoulders shook as he let out a quiet sob, hoping Dean wouldn't see, avoiding looking back in fear that he would. Nah nah nah nah, hey Jude.
Yeah, you know can make it, Jude. Jude you're not gonna break it.
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah. Dean noticed this time. Of course he did, he was more in tuned with his father's feelings than his own. Nah nah nah nah, hey Jude.
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah. Within seconds Dean had climbed over the front seat, unseen by his father, whose eyes were set dead ahead, trying to restrain himself, knuckles white as they gripped the steering wheel. Nah nah nah nah, hey Jude.
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah. John felt a small, gentle hand on his. He met his son's deep green eyes as the hand pulled ever so lightly on the wheel, urging him to pull over. Nah nah nah nah, hey Jude. John nodded, pulling into a dirt patch and putting the car in park.
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah, hey Jude. Dean wrapped his arms around his father's arm, but John pulled him into his lap, pressing him into his chest, resting their chins in each other's shoulders.
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah, hey Jude. He buried his face in Dean's shoulder, opening weeping in front of his sons, pausing only when he felt Sam's little arms from behind trying to comfort. "S'otay, Daddy," he whispered. John pulled him over the seat, adjusting Dean so he had one boy on each lap as they wrapped their arms around his neck, around each other.
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah, hey Jude. He rested his head in between their shoulders. He tried to steady his breathing, tried to stop crying, but couldn't as he felt Dean shake in his arms, a soft whimper escaping as his lips quivered on his neck.
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah, hey Jude. John rubbed his sons' back, Sam tearing up in sympathy, even though he wasn't quite sure why. He'd never seen family like this before. They were so strong. Maybe this is what strong people did.
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah, hey Jude. John had never grieved for Mary, not really. He'd drank and hunted, burying himself in it, not realizing that healing began with the two boys on his lap.
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah, hey Jude. Dean lifted his father's face up, letting his hand rest on his cheek, catching his tears, and almost breaking down again when he saw the sorrow in his dad's eyes. "It's okay, Dad," he promised. Sam looked up to watch the conversation. No, it's not, thought John. His wife, the mother of the two beautiful souls before him was still dead. It's not okay, but this is. He gave a little smile. "You boys are everything," he said, pressing them into him once more, savoring the close innocence of the moment.
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah, hey Jude. Maybe things could be different. He just had to try. Had to trust in what he had, in his boys.
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah, hey Jude. Take a sad song and make it better.
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah, hey Jude.
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah