A Long Time Coming

by kellyofsmeg

Sick of listening to them fighting, John helps his boys settle an argument.

A Long Time Coming

by kellyofsmeg

Summary: Sick of listening to them fighting, John helps his boys settle an argument.

Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine.

...

"Are not!"

"Am, too!"

"Are not!"

"Am, too!"

John Winchester used every ounce of concentration he possessed to focus his attention on the journal entry he was writing, trying to drown out the sound of his children bickering; there was no escaping when they were all stuck in one crappy motel room together. He could see his own irritation evident in his handwriting, which had become increasingly sharp and harried, clearly penned by a tightly clenched fist. The fingers of his non-dominant hand were tangled in his hair, gripping the dark strands right down to the roots. He grit his teeth, feeling his precarious store of patience depleting by the second, and knew he was close to his breaking point.

"You know I'm right, Dean!" Sam shouted. "Just admit it!"

"Never. I'm always right," Dean said stubbornly.

"What makes you think that?" Sam demanded.

"Because...because I'm older!" said Dean, flustered, knowing his comeback sounded lame.

"Age has nothing to do with this, Dean!" Sam's voice rose even louder. "You just can't stand that I'm—"

"Na na na na na! I'm not listening!" Dean clamped his hands over his ears and chanted.

John was dangerously close to snapping the pen in his hand, could practically feel his blood pressure climbing. He closed his eyes, and took a deep, calming breath before warning, "Boys..."

"This is so stupid!" Sam yelled, and John thought he heard him kick some piece of furniture, glancing up reproachfully at the sound; he wasn't crazy about having to pay any more fees for damage to a room.

Dean had been waiting for a chance to use his favorite annoyance-tactic. "I know you are, but what am I?"

Sam opened his mouth and closed it again, knowing that any retaliation he came up with would be a futile against Dean's current tactic—except for one.

"Smart," said Sam, crossing his arms.

"I know you are, but what am—dammit!" Furious at being outsmarted by his little brother, Dean said, "That's not how it works. The only reason we're even fighting is 'cos you're a sore loser."

"I know you are, but what am I?" said Sam, sticking out his tongue.

"Now, see—that one was a freebie, proof that I am always the kinder, less-vertically challenged—umph!" Dean was knocked back as Sam charged him, headbutting him square in the chest and heaving Dean off his feet. The brothers came crashing down on one of the beds. John could hear the sound of them tussling, yelling, hitting—and finally, his patience snapped.

John stood and slammed his fist down on the table, causing both boys to jump and freeze where they were, in a tangle of limbs. Sam's fist was poised in mid-air, and Dean had been caught in the act of resorting to hair-pulling.

"Boys, that is enough!" John said, his eyes flashing dangerously, his voice hard and stern. "I'm so sick of listening to you two . Knock. It. Off."

"Sorry, Sir," Dean said, with the good grace to at least look guilty for fighting with his brother, and generally be annoying. He realized he had a clump of Sam's hair in his fist and released it, elbowing him meaningfully.

"Yeah—right. Sorry, Sir," said Sam, grudgingly. "But Dad, you heard—he starte—"

"Sam, so help me, if you say 'he started it'..." John muttered, knuckling his forehead.

"But he did!" Sam said, "He just too immature to admit that I'm—"

"Don't even say it!" Dean threatened, all-too-aware that Sam was the one who still had him pinned by the shoulder. He also knew he could easily beat him off if their Dad wasn't hovering over them, clearly at his wit's end; he didn't approve of his sons fighting unless they were sparring as part of their training. "Don't you dare say it!"

Grinning peevishly, Sam whispered the taunt again, so low only Dean could hear him.

"Right—that's it!" Dean lifted his arms and caught Sam in a headlock, their father's reprimand already forgotten, back to a full-blown sibling brawl with no rules and no mercy.

"I'm too tired for this shit," John muttered to himself. He lumbered over to the kitchen, turned on the tap and dragged the spray faucet along with him as far as it would go. He aimed at the bed and clenched his fingers over the lever, showering the boys with a jet of cold water. They immediately stopped fighting, looking around to see why it had started raining inside.

It was with a look of very ill-humor that John returned the hose to the sink and turned off the tap. "This ends now. On your feet, boys."

Dean shoved his brother off him and obediently rose to his feet, standing at attention. Sam reluctantly pulled himself up off the bed and joined the ranks.

Hands behind his back, John marched over to stand before his twenty and sixteen-year old. "This fighting has gone on long enough. It's ridiculous, and childish, and I'm not going to listen to it a moment longer. The three of us are going to settle this argument once and for all. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir," Sam and Dean chorused, both looking straight ahead.

"Good," said John curtly. He walked in a slow circle around his sons, inspecting them from head to toe. "Stop slouching, Sam."

"Yes, Sir," Sam scowled but corrected his posture, drawing himself up.

"So?" Dean burst out as John emerged in front of them again. "Who's taller?"

"Hard to tell," said John, stroking his beard. "It's pretty close."

"No way," Dean laughed dismissively. "Geek Boy cannot be anywhere near my height."

"Not only have I neared your height, Dean—I've surpassed it," said Sam, smugly. "We all knew this day would come."

"No we didn't—don't!" Dean amended. "Never gonna happen, Sammy. Anyone with eyes can see I'm still taller. Dad, you have eyes. Who's taller? Look really hard." Dean puffed out his chest and arched his back in an effort to appear taller.

"I can't tell side-by side," John said, squinting over the tops of his boy's heads. "Stand back-to-back."

Dean and Sam obeyed, standing so their backs were touching. John laid his hand over the tops of their heads and decided it felt pretty level on both sides. "Hmm..."

"What?" Sam and Dean asked at the same time, each certain that their father had just declared them The Tall One.

"Still too close to call," John frowned. "Let's try something a bit more scientific. Dean, stand against that wall."

Dean did as he was told, as John went for his journal and two different colored pens. "Okay. Back right up against the wall, son. Stand up straight and stay still," he instructed. Once Dean had shifted to try to get as tall as he could and finally settled on a height, John laid his journal across the crown of Dean's head, using it as a level to mark his height on the off-white hotel wall in black ink, figuring a couple of pen marks in the dive of a motel room wouldn't ruffle any feathers.

"Done," John announced, as Dean stepped away from the wall to survey his mark. "Sam, your turn."

Sam strode purposefully forward, pressing his back against the wall as Dean had done before him. "Standing as tall as you can, Sam?" John checked. Sam gave his head the subtlest of nods, and John laid his journal carefully across the top of Sam's head, marking his height on the wall in red. "Okay. Step back, son."

The three Winchesters surveyed the two lines on the wall, and a split second later Sam whooped and raised his hands in the air in celebration; Sam's red line was a clear centimeter above Dean's black line. "Ha-ha! I told you I'm taller!"

"Wait—I'm the red line, right?" Dean turned to his dad, refusing to believe Sam could be taller than him.

"Nope. Sorry, son. You're the black line," said John, clapping Dean on the back in a small gesture of sympathy.

"Yeah, but look at that! The lines are so close, it's not enough to—" Dean rambled, clearly in denial. "Are you sure you didn't make a mistake, Dad?"

"Pretty damn sure," said John. "Sorry, pal. Looks like your little brother finally passed you by."

Dean shook his head furiously and looked around, desperate for reassurance that didn't come. Suddenly, he gasped like he'd seen something hideously atrocious, pointing at Sam's feet. "He cheated, Dad—he's wearing shoes!"

"So are you, Dean!" said Sam, exasperated.

"Okay," said John tiredly, "You get one do-over and that's it. Both of you, shoes off. " For once Sam was the first to obey his father's order, confidently kicking off his work boots. "You too, Dean."

It was with much more reluctance that Dean removed his boots, stretched, and took his place on the wall again. John marked his new height without shoes. "Come on, Sammy. You're up."

Dean, still glued to the wall, had to be elbowed by Sam to move. As with Dean, John checked to make sure Sam's feet were flat on the ground, heels to the wall before he marked his spot. Once again, the three Winchesters stepped back to survey the results.

"Oh man..." Dean bemoaned as Sam did a victory shuffle—the difference in the lines was a clear half inch now. "Dude, you cannot be taller than me..."

"Well, I am!" Sam beamed, playfully teasing, "What're you gonna do about it, big bro?"

"I guess I'll have to cut off your shins for starters..." Dean muttered, humiliated that his baby brother had finally surpassed him in height; the kid had been growing like a weed this past year, the threat imminent. He found something very unsettling about his 'little' brother being bigger than he was. "Or, we'll have to stop feeding you or something..."

"Relax, boys," said John calmly. "You look close enough in height; no one will even be able to tell the difference right off."

"Yeah, for now," Sam smiled smugly. "I think I've still got a few more inches left in me."

"Yeah—so do I!" Dean said, drawing himself up.

"Dream on, shorty—you haven't grown since high school," Sam laughed, giving his brother a good-natured punch on the shoulder.

"Watch it, Sammy. I know where Dad keeps the hacksaw and I know where you sleep."

"No one will be cutting off anyone's shins," said John warily. "Or alluding to threats about cutting off shins, even in jest. In fact, there will be no more fighting tonight. Period."

"Fine. Then I want a re-match," said Dean, crossing his arms. "Tomorrow morning."

"A rematch?" Sam repeated, laughing at the absurdity of his brother's proposal. "What, Dean, do you expect to grow overnight?"

"In fact, I do. We'll have Dad measure us again first thing in the morning."

"What're you gonna do in the meantime—find a stretching rack? A voodoo priestess—some lifts?"

"Nope. I just plan on rolling out of bed. You know how they say you're taller when you're sleeping, 'cos of gravity or what not? After a good night's sleep, tomorrow morning I can be up to a whole inch taller."

"Yeah, but so will I," said Sam, pointing out the fatal flaw in Dean's logic.

"Not if I keep you up all night by doing this," said Dean, flicking Sam's ear.

"Ow! But then you wouldn't get any sleep, either, so your plan still sucks!"

"Boys," said John, dragging a hand down his face. "Enough! I want both of you to go to bed. Now."

"Setting a bedtime, dad? Seriously?" said Sam incredulously. "What are we, six?"

"No, but you've both been acting like it," said John. "It's getting late, and I can't listen to any more of this right now. So both of you. Bed. Get."

Sam wasn't ready to give up that easily. "But Dad, it's summer, and—"

"Do I look like I care?" John snapped.

"But why, Dad? I don't have school tomorrow, we're not going on a hunt—"

"Because I said so," said John, tiredly. "Because I'm your father. Because I'm older, and—"

"Taller?" Sam suggested.

John closed his eyes, giving his head a slight shake. "Sure, that too."

"I dunno, Dad," said Dean, now circling John, sizing him up next to Sammy. "It's starting to look pretty close."

"No way," said John dismissively, knowing he had to have at least an inch on Dean.

"Look, Dad. Me and Dean will measure you. If you're taller than me, I'll go to bed right now, no complaints," said Sam.

"Sam, I'm not negotiating this," said John flatly. "You'll go to bed now because I told you to."

"Oh, come on, Dad," Dean egged him on, "Go with it. You're six-two, right? I'm six-one. Looks like Sammy's about half an inch over that. So you've already won. Unless you're already shrinking in your old age..."

"Them's fighting words, son," said John. He relented, kicking off his boots; he had a title to protect. He allowed himself to be corralled by his sons until his back was against the wall. Dean held the journal level while Sam marked his height with a blue pen.

"Still the reigning king," John said, nodding his approval at seeing that, for the time being, he was still taller than both his sons.

"For now," Sam smirked. "I'm coming for you next, Dad."

"We'll see, son," said John, clapping Sam on the back. "Now you'd better get some sleep if you ever plan on getting taller than your old man."

"Yes, Sir," said Sam, deciding to be a more graceful in defeat than Dean and honoring his promise to go to bed without complaint.

Ten minutes later, it was lights out and Sam and Dean were both in bed. As usual, John was camped out on the floor, where he preferred to sleep, if he slept at all; he usually stood guard or stayed up half the night reading. Tonight, he decided to try to get some shut-eye; he scarcely ate, slept, or stopped for breath when he was on a hunt. But the monster was dead now, and he was dead tired. John was just starting to relax when he heard the unmistakable sound of another scuffle breaking out.

"Bitch."

"Jerk!"

"Boys!"

...

The End!

It was tricky finding a time to post this since my internet has been on the fritz. I hope you enjoyed, and please review! :)