Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural.
A/N: Yes, I know I have another story in the works right now. I am still working on it. Yes, I know I have a story that's still unfinished that I haven't updated in a while. I'm still planning to work on that one, but it's still on hiatus right now. But my brain spun this one out and it was just too good not to do. I am actively working on this story and Reverse Engineering, so the updates might come a little slower than normal, but they're coming. Promise. Thanks, guys :).
John had left the house feeling like a disappointment. Again. It was nothing new, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt every single time. To see that look on Sam's face, the one of betrayal and hurt that flickered between the rage and the hidden question of why don't I matter to you as much as everyone else burrowed into John's soul every time he saw it. John wanted desperately to grab Sam and hold him and tell him, over and over until Sam felt it deep in the recesses of his heart, that everything John ever did was for him. That when he did miss things like Sam's birthday or Christmas or the play that he'd stupidly promised Sam he would attend and then backed out at the last minute to go on this hunt, it caused him pain too. He wanted to see those things. He wanted to make Sam happy by being involved and being there for him. He wanted that.
He had patiently explained all of this to Sam, who of course didn't take it well. Explaining patiently had eventually turned into the ten thousandth fight he and Sam had ever had. He'd cuffed the back of Sam's head when Sam had shouted with tears in his eyes that you could see if anyone will take the hunt but you just don't want to because it would make me happy. The words you promised and the hunt comes first and I'm not going to not save people because it will mess up your social life and because I said so were now so automatic they were thrown around without thinking about them. John saw the pain that Sam was trying so hard not to feel, but he had to drive the point home. People were dying. That came first. It came before the birthdays, before the Christmases, before the play that Sam had worked his butt off for because he honestly believed, perhaps foolishly, that John was going to be there just because he'd promised he would be. The cautious little boy faith that his not so little anymore boy still had that maybe, just maybe, Daddy would keep his word this time and stick around and be proud of him.
Now John wished he'd just gone to the stupid play and left the witch alone.
He missed his car right now. It had taken nearly two full days for him to travel forty miles. He was tired, he was hot, and he was hungry, but he couldn't do anything about it. Not really. He'd stopped at a local river and drank as much water as he could stand, but that had been hours earlier. He hadn't been able to find any fresh water since, and he wasn't even going to try looking for food. He'd attempted to get some sleep in a local park, then in an alleyway, then in the backyard of a house, but had been chased away each time. He knew the only chance he had at the moment was getting back to the small house he'd rented on the edge of town.
As he travelled, John filled in the time counting down the miles by thinking, again, about the fight with Sam. He actually hoped, for once, that Sam would throw out his orders. He knew that he had a better shot at it with Dean out of the house and Sam there by himself at the moment. Dean had gone with John to fight the witch, and was no doubt out looking for him right now. The irony of the situation was not lost on him. He often thought of Sam as too soft, too sensitive for his own good. That he needed to toughen up or he'd never make it in the world. But right now, he actually needed Sam's big, compassionate heart. As the miles closed down and the house came into view, John felt an overwhelming sense of relief. He walked to the door and, out of habit, started to reach up and open it.
Then he remembered. He couldn't open the door. Flashbacks from the fight with the witch came back into his mind, and John cursed in his head so much that it would have made even him blush had he been able to vocalize his thoughts out loud. The reality of his situation hit him again, and it would have been comical had it happened to anyone else. If Dean had figured out what happened to John, he no doubt would have howled with laughter. At least I ganked that ugly broad, John thought. Now to fix this problem. John sighed and reached out to scratch the door, hoping to attract Sam's attention.
Because the ugly broad had turned him into a dog.