A/N: I've found that writing drabbles is really fun, but that reading them is very frustrating because they're over just as I get interested, so this is a compromise between a drabble and a full story. It's a series of 100 word vignettes (I like the fancy word for drabble!) from John's point of view. They're chronological snippets inspired by various episodes, taking John from the fire that killed Mary up to the moment the Yellow Eyed Demon meets his fate in a Wyoming graveyard. Most of them are from Seasons 1 and 2, but I've also referenced A Very Supernatural Christmas (S3) and Jump the Shark (S4). Hope you enjoy!
Disclaimer: No rights, no cash. Bummer!
If Only Your Boys Knew How Much Their Daddy Loved Them
Embers
The moonlight was bright enough for John to see his boys' faces flushed with sleep. Dean slept on his side and Sammy curled into the shelter of his body, tiny feet resting on Dean's thighs. Sammy slept easily, but since the fire, Dean didn't sleep until exhaustion dragged him down. Like his father. John hadn't slept more than an hour at a time. Closing his eyes he saw Mary and fire; eyes open, the awesome responsibility he now shouldered alone. He scrubbed red rimmed eyes and rested his hand on Dean's head, quieting the nightmare before it could take hold.
Lessons
John drove all night for Jim's. Sammy slept in the back; Dean curled in the front, staring out the window. Dean hadn't looked at John since he'd yelled at him for leaving his post. John's heart still raced. He wanted to put his hand on Dean's shoulder, say sorry for yelling, but he didn't want the boy to feel the tremor in his hand, hear his voice shake. Wanted Dean to believe his father was unshakeable. Dean was tough, he'd ride it out. That shotgun had been steady in his hands. One day Dean would finish the job he couldn't.
Holidays
John hunted all through November. He was done two days before Christmas. Hit the bar and drank until he thought he might be able to sleep. He'd pass out in the motel and drive back tomorrow. Pick up something for the boys on his way. Closing time, he weaved back via the liquor store, spent the contents of his wallet on something strong and cheap. Didn't open the curtains until every drop was drunk. Woke up sick and cried in the shower. Made it back the day after New Year's, the gas tank on fumes. He forgot to buy presents.
Buckshot
John convinced himself of the necessity of many things he knew were wrong. It was the only way to do this job. Days when the truth leaked in? Well that's what whiskey was for. It wasn't what hunting friends were for. Should be looking to their own consciences. Dean loved the hunt, never objected to being bait, and he was ok. He was. Sammy needed to toughen up, not cry at the sight of blood. And where the hell was Bobby's family while he was telling John how to be a father. Bobby cocked his shotgun. John slammed the door.
Higher Education
John didn't sleep well for weeks after Sam slammed the door on his family. Angry words couldn't be taken back no matter how much they were regretted. And the boy had made his choice. But a father couldn't just bury his fear. John ran on autopilot. He walked, talked, ate. Drank too much. He hunted. He wasn't sleeping but he woke up the night Dean took the hit for him and didn't get up afterwards. John wouldn't have imagined he could sleep when his son lay unconscious in hospital. He snored for eight straight hours. He would sleep for Dean.
California
California was lousy with ghosts. Palo Alto in particular was a hotbed of supernatural activity. Dean seemed always to be finding leads that needed to be checked out west, so they'd be just a stone's throw from Sammy's campus every couple of months. Funny how the east coast was so quiet these days. Sam looked good. Happy, relaxed. Taller even, if that was possible. And if the leads didn't always turn out to be more than rickety pipes, or old folks with superhuman hearing and frisky neighbours? Well, there was sunshine, John figured, and it was never a wasted trip.
Parenthood
They were always blondes. He hated himself afterwards for replacing Mary, even for a few hours. He never went back, never wanted to see them again; hated them too. He should've been thrilled. Instead there was just fear. Another front to defend when he was already spread too thin. He'd never tell Sam and Dean. The night Adam was conceived John was already a week late. When he'd returned two days after Dean's birthday, Sammy was locked in the closet for protection and Dean had a black eye because the landlord disagreed with his decision to prioritise food over rent.
Only Smoke and Ashes
John followed the portents, arriving in Palo Alto to see smoke pouring from the windows. Sick with dread, he scanned the crowd and finally glimpsed his soot stained boys sitting on the hood of the Impala, Dean's steady arm around a dazed Sammy. He flashed to a similar scene 22 years before, wanting to crush them close like he had then. But he'd barely been able to protect them then, and this time he was too late. They were alive, but no thanks to him. They'd be ok together and he had to go. They all had work to do.
It's Just a House
John rarely turned his phone on anymore. He'd pick up messages weeks old. It would be too much temptation to go back if he answered their calls. But Dean's voice shook in that message from Lawrence so John got in his truck and didn't take his foot off the gas. But when he arrived... His boys should never have had to return to that house but they'd done their job; done him proud. John didn't know what Dean remembered of the fire, he'd never had the guts to ask. Missouri's look suggested it was a lot more than he'd hoped.
Gratitude
It was too late to do anything when he heard Sam's message. Dean was healed already. John didn't care about the guy who'd died to save his son, but he knew Dean would be devastated. He wanted to kill Joshua for sending his boys to evil disguised as good; wanted to kiss him for sending them to a miracle. He settled on buying him whiskey. He ached to see his boys with his own eyes but knew if he did he'd never let them go. He drove in the opposite direction; shed tears of horror and relief for his sons.
Casts no Shadow
Evil had noticed them and they were marked, that's what he'd believed, but sometimes he wondered if it was a freak occurrence and they could've returned to obscurity. Moot now, but he wondered, especially times like this, with his boys all cut up. Dean was letting go, Sam holding on. Was that an apocalyptic portent, everything upside down? He had to leave. Not because they were a liability, because he was. If he left now, maybe evil would follow him and they'd be safe. If he left now, he wouldn't break down and cry at the sight of their wounds.
Bonds
He'd kept up the monthly deposits into their college funds for years after Mary's death. In different banks, under different aliases. He hadn't touched a dime. When he finally did cash them in it wasn't because he was desperate for funds. He'd left Dean to get by with far less than he'd had in his pocket that day. He'd never tell Sammy, but he'd kept Dean's right up until he was sure Dean was in so deep he wouldn't ever try to leave. He'd kept Sam's up until the day he was sure Sam was so unhappy he definitely would.
Sight
Sam saw the future and John hadn't seen what was right in front of him. All these years protecting his family from monsters, salt and symbols, blood and death, town to town, false names, false trails and all along the threat had been within. Sam believed he was using them for good, these visions sent by a force of evil, leading him by the nose. And Dean, blind to any sign that Sam wasn't pure and totally human. John knew what was necessary, but he couldn't reach Sam anymore. Dean had to know, for when the time came to act.
Possession
Before everything. He wished he could claim the devil was still in him, but those words had been all John. His son bleeding in the backseat, barely conscious, words of scorn and spite still ringing in his ears. And Sammy, who'd wanted to walk his own path, who he'd accused of selfishness for leaving the family, now the one reminding him what family was, saving them. The blinding light and scream of metal; the moment of clarity before the darkness. Revenge was nothing. Revenge was the last thing that mattered if his sons were taken. In that moment he prayed.
Hope
Dean had held their family together longer than John had thought possible. Without him, John knew they'd break apart again. But Dean had fought his hardest in this battle he couldn't win. John had always known it wasn't justice or morality that drove him. Wasn't sure he even believed in good or evil anymore. The world was all about power and who won; who lost. But rage and revenge were hollow motivations in the end and it was the lack of deep conviction that allowed him to be pragmatic. If God didn't answer prayers, he knew someone else who would.
Peace
A righteous man would break the first seal. Through the searing agony he'd grinned when they told him. He'd never been righteous. He couldn't break that seal. The gate opened and he fought and slashed, tore and clawed like all of hell's creatures and finally there was fresh air, soft breeze, cool moonlight. And his sons. For the first time in so many decades he remembered something besides torture and despair. He remembered pride and love. His mission. It took his whole family to kill that demon; at last he understood he couldn't triumph alone. And finally, he remembered peace.
The End.
Thank you for reading. John's a fascinating character to write, with all that inner conflict. I read lots of different takes on him here on ffnet, so this is just my take. I hope you enjoyed it and I'd love to know what you think.