Title: Honesty Comes at Night

Author: NativeStar

Word Count: 930

Rating: K+ or PG,

Warnings: Nothing really, no pairings, spoilers only for Dead Man's Blood.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: John's thoughts as he listens to the police scanner watching over his sons in Dead Man's Blood.

A/N: This is not beta read as I'm still new to this writing lark and haven't found one yet, but it is rigorously checked and short.

There was nothing but idle police chatter on the radio John grasped in his hand. He was pouring over notes, getting a lay of the area, familiarising himself with vampire lore. Sam and Dean were getting some rest as per his orders.
At least this was one order that Sam didn't question.
There was no point in his sons loosing sleep unnecessarily.

His sons.

John couldn't help it. His attention drifted to the two beds. It had been too long since they had been together like this. John felt with a pang that he hardly knew his boys anymore. They had been through so much together without him. He knew what he was doing protected them but they were still his boys. Mary's boys.

Sam was stretched out, completely relaxed, his long frame reaching the very tip of the bed. It was so good to see his youngest again.
No matter how tall he is, he'll always be my baby boy.
John was sure the honeymoon period wouldn't last; sooner or later they'd find something to disagree over. Sammy had always been stubborn, forever asking questions and John felt that he would never truly understand his youngest. His eyes slid over to the other occupied bed. Dean, he had always been the good soldier, someone for John to rely on and guiltily he thought, sometimes taken for granted.

Dean looked peaceful, dozing on the bed. John knew it wasn't a deep sleep. He was lying on his back with one leg bent at the knee, somehow staying upright. Dean usually slept on his stomach, face mashed into the pillow, his arm underneath ready to grab the knife he kept there. There was no knife tonight, instead trusting his father to keep the demons away.

John smiled softly. He was so damn proud of Dean; he just didn't know how to find the words to tell him. Winchesters weren't known for their…what did Dean call it again? Chick-flick moments, John remembered, pleased that he hadn't forgotten Dean's unique way with words. Everything John did he did for his boys, for Mary. He knew they had given up so much, lost so much, but it was worth it. It will be worth it. They had to know how much he cared, how proud he was to call them his boys.

How could they think otherwise?

When all this was over, when that son of a bitch was dead, if he made it out alive and boy, was that a big if, then he could make sure his boys got what he'd always wanted for them. He wasn't quite sure if he was up for the job; for being the father they should have grown up knowing rather than the drill sergeant he had become. The hunt defined him in a way that he was sure he could never let go, not now and John had made his peace long ago with the fact that one day hunting would be the death of him.

Sam shifted in his sleep before settling down again. He was dead to the world. Sam had this ability to sleep almost anywhere at anytime. He was a trait he'd had since a small child, five minutes on the road and Sammy would be asleep. Unfortunately, Sam also had nightmares. For all the sleep he got it wasn't peaceful. John let Dean deal with the nightmares. Dean always had a way with Sam, could calm him down and get him to relax much quicker than me, always knew what words to say to get him to open up. He was the one Sam wanted after a nightmare. Sometimes he wished that Sam would look to him the way he looked to his big brother.

John knew soon he'd have to wake them. If they got nothing on the radio they would have to head out anyway and begin searching themselves. Following the patterns they'd had since childhood Sam would be awake and ready to go as soon as he opened his eyes where as Dean always took longer. When Sam was still young enough get excited by Saturday morning cartoons he'd take great joy in being the one to wake Dean. Usually early and usually with excessive poking and jumping on beds, although there was that memorable time where John had caved and bought them a set of water pistols…

He'd often watch his children sleep when they were younger. Many nights following the fire Dean would sneak out of his bed and John would find him in the crib holding Sammy, protecting him, ensuring nothing could take his baby brother away from him like his mummy. It broke John's heart, leaning in the doorway, watching, wondering the kind of life his boys would have without a mother and then later wondering what kind of life hunting was for two small boys.

What options were there? I had none, I was just doing what I could, what I thought was best.

The radio crackled pulling him out of his reverie.
"Unit 22 let me confirm. Mile marker 41, abandoned car, you need a workup?"
"Copy that. Possible 207. Better get the forensics out here."
This was what he had been waiting for. Turning to grab his jacket, he hit both boys on the leg to wake them up.
"Sam, Dean, let's go. Picked up a police call."
Sam woke quickly pelting him with questions while Dean grunted, dopily rubbing at his eyes. John walked out the door, smiling slightly, expecting his sons to follow him.

Some things never change.

Any feedback will be hugely appreciated :) good, bad or indifferent. Constructive criticism is especially appreciated.