Author's note: Hey there everybody! I'm new on this website, but I used to writing fanfiction on an italian's website of fanfic...That's because, well I'm Italian, I'm reposting my own fic in english here 'cause I would like to know if I've translate it correctly. I'm learning English on my own, so I'm just testing myself.
What I am asking you is if I've done mistakes on grammar or anything else, let me know so I can learning better your language.
And ... well let me also know if you like my story or not, no offense taken tell me what your opinion really is. :)
Thank you very much for helping me!
Enjoy the story.
Sayra

Plot: John is dead, but he left a last order to his oldest son.
From the story: "That was when Dean learnt to suck it up and do like is asking to, so he did what his father said as a good soldier does. [...]
He was ten years old the first time Dean said: "Yes, sir"."
Episode tag: In my time of dying 2x01
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of Dean, John and Sam Winchester. Unfortunately, they're Kripke's.

Don't carry the world upon your shoulders

He was four years old, Dean, when his life changed.
His mom died leaving him to face alone a father more and more absent and a little brother too little to take care for.
John, some months after Mary's death, used to leaving his oldest son alone with little Sammy in some motel's room. Dean didn't know yet where is father was going, what was important was his father's recommendation he made before leaving: "Look after your little brother, Dean." John didn't know that he hadn't need to keep saying it, because every time that he looked to baby Sammy, he promised to himself that anything bad would happen to him.
He was four years old and his childhood had already make way to a big responsibility.

He was five years old and his only desire was a dad who could play with him, a daddy who called him "son" with a sweet and proud sound of voice, not the raspy and tired one. A father you could have fun with, to hug and that smells like something clean just like the shirts his mother washed, that doesn't smell like dirty and blood or the mix of earth and alcohol. A father that smells like home.
He was five years old and he just wanted a dad by his side, the one that for a while now, there wasn't anymore.

He was ten years old, Dean, when his father taught him how to shoot.
John told him about the supernatural, the dark side of the world that took away his mother, about creatures like ghosts, vampires or demons: the reason why they have to "saving people and hunting these things".
John showed him how to clean a gun and load it first; uncle Bobby told dad his opinion about how young Dean was for this kind of life that "He is just a child, damn it!", but dad made himself clear enough: decision was taken.
Dean, by the way, thought of it as a way to spend time with his dad, like when he had taught him how to play baseball in the garden of their old house in Lawrence, and he didn't take it seriously. When he pulled the trigger he was hopeful he won't miss, but he did and he fell without expecting it. From his position on the ground he could see his father take on a dark expression in his eyes and he swore he had never seen him like that before. He felt tears in his green and sparkly eyes, just one blink and that sign of weakness would slip away on his cheeks. He couldn't let that happen!
"Get up and try again, kid. Stop acting like a child, time to grow up."
That was when Dean learnt to suck it up and do like is asking to, so he did what his father said as a good soldier does.
"One day your brother could need you and you have to be prepare to help him. Learn to protect your family, Dean."
He looked one more time at his father and he understood that that was a point of no return from where he couldn't escape, an only way road and he had just to go on. It wasn't exactly the way he wanted to spend time with his dad, but he learnt soon that all he had to do was acting like a good soldier and John would be proud of him.
He was ten years old the first time Dean said: "Yes, sir".

He was eighteen years old and, sit on a bed in the last motel's room, all he could hear was the family war.
Sam, for a while now, the only thing he was able to do was struggle against their father and those fights became bigger from time to time. All that shouts broke him apart every time, he tried so hard not to hear them, he could do nothing but jump on the fight trying to end it like always. He searched Sam's eyes and tried to talk some sense to him, but his brother became more angry and shouted to John more than before. Dean run away from the room without saying nothing and slamming the door, all he wanted to do was take a breath. He was walking alone on the streets of that unknown town, while a stupid need to cry grown inside him.
He was eighteen years old and behind him left only silences of things never said.

He is twenty-six years old now and he was in an hospital bed. His father was next to him, silent and sad, but Dean know better and he just knew that that moment was a goodbye.
John has left his boys to carry on the family business, the same job that ruined his family breaking them apart. Mary, for sure, had never wanted this kind of life for her sons and John knew it, but he couldn't let it go and forget everything, not after he saw his wife burned alive. He hadn't been a good father, he knew it, but he was so proud of his sons even if he had never told them. He was proud of those two boys grown up alone without a real education; he would have enjoy to teach them so many things, he would have like to tell his boys how much he loved them and that they were the biggest gift God send to him, but it was to late.
Dean, for his part, wanted to cry so bad, he wanted to tell his father everything he has never told him, he wanted to tell him that all he wished for was a dad by his side, that he was unfair with him and Sammy. Dean wanted to tell John that he loved him after all, after all those responsibilities, those burdens he always gave to him.
Silence. Once again.
He couldn't face him one more time, he didn't say anything in front of his father's figure, he remained silent with the same old lump in his throat, with the need to shout and let out everything. He was scared.
John came closer to him and whispered in his ear: "Save Sammy, but if you can't...kill him.".
In that moment Dean felt the ground eating him, his world was falling down again.

Watching his father's corpse burning, he notice that he had never told him: "I love you, dad.".
Sam is next to him crying, but Dean even in that moment can let the tears slip away.
John isn't there anymore, but in his mind he can still hear his voice charging him with his last order.
He is twenty-six years old now and on his heart there's the weight of a secret he has never wanted to keep.

Sam is talking, but Dean isn't listening to him, there is a voice inside his head that is singing the same song he could hear when he was a child before falling asleep:

"Hey Jude, don't make it bad
take a sad song and make it better.
Remember to let her into your heart
then you can start to make it better."